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“Winter!” Starla gasps, coming to my side in an instant.
As I revisit the taste of my mint gelato, my mind races with thoughts of who might possibly hold a grudge against us. The words don’t sound like something Athena might write. If she wanted to threaten us, I imagine she would get much more direct with her messages. Something like,Just kidding, bitch. You think I’d let you get away?or something in that vein.
But this… this is revenge.Revenge for what?If not Athena Saint, I can’t think of a single person who would want to come after Gabe or me. When we left Blackmoor, Athena was the only thing we were running from, and like Gabe said, it wouldn’t make sense for her to break the truce. Not when she’s as pregnant as I am.
Gabriel’s arms wrap around me, supporting me as I gasp for air. “Easy, love,” he whispers.
I tremble uncontrollably. How could this have happened and out in the open on a public street? Admittedly, it’s a quiet evening as it’s the middle of the week, but this seems so brazen, I’m terrified to think of what these aggressors might dare to do next.Sure, the Devil’s Sons are now stationed around the clubhouse and our house, but what about the next time I go into work? Will they find me there? Come after Mallory and me?
“I’m going to find out who’s doing this,” Gabriel says adamantly.
“And when we do, they’re going to learn what a big mistake they’ve made,” Dallas adds with conviction.
17
Gabriel
The growingrage inside me only intensifies over the next few days. Clearly, whoever is coming after Winter and me is on a rampage, and I don’t trust that Winter’s safe anywhere she goes. I’m driving her to work on my motorcycle each day until we can replace her broken window at the shop. I’ve insisted she stay inside until I arrive to pick her up, but I don’t know that I trust her to get safely to and from work each day until we put an end to this. Hell, I don’t know that I even trust her to be at work at all. But Winter insists she has to do something or she’ll go mad with worry.
Still, the threatening messages don’t end with the broken window and a crowbar. Despite the club’s heavy twenty-four-hour guard, when I arrive at the car shop the next morning and park my bike out front, I find a dead raccoon flayed and strung up across the door.
“Motherfucker,” I growl as Dallas follows a few steps behind me.
“Who are these psychos?” he demands.
“And where are Duke and James?” They were supposed to be watching the shop. It feels as though a rock settles in my gut, and despite the grotesque sight hanging from the door, I reach for the handle and yank it open.
I don’t step inside before checking first, prepared for another assault. But once I’m sure the room is safe, I step inside and look around. Grunts of pain bring me to the far side of the shop, where James is hunched over the work counter.
“The fuck happened?” I demand as I approach.
James whirls, a mix of fear and aggression in the snarl that twists his face. But when his eyes land on me, his shoulders slump. That’s when I realize his hand is still on the counter. It only takes me a minute to realize it’s been pinned there, a nail driven through the center of it into the wooden surface below.
“Shit,” Dallas growls.
“They took me by surprise about an hour ago,” James explains, his voice thready with pain.
“Where’s Duke?” I ask, stepping forward and grabbing a pair of bolt cutters to cut the head off the nail.
James shakes his head. “I came inside to take a shit. Left him at the front door, keeping watch. When I came out of the bathroom, they jumped me. I haven’t seen him since.”
“Did you recognize any of them?” Dallas presses.
James shakes his head and grinds his teeth as I put the bolt cutters as close to his skin as possible without hurting him. Then I clamp the tool down until the nail’s head snaps free. James growls in pain, his lips peeled back as he grips his wrist fiercely.
“How many were there?” I ask.
“Two,” he answers distractedly as he huffs deep breaths, preparing to lift his hand free. He howls as he does so and cradles his hand to his chest as soon as the top of the nail passes through the bottom of his hand. “Fuck!”
Stooping for the medical supplies below the counter, I grab the iodine and a roll of gauze. Then I hand them to Dally. “Patch him up. I’m going to find Duke.”
“Gabe, wait for me,” Dallas insists.
But I shake my head as I head back toward the front door. Outside, I assess the bloody execution scene more closely, studying the raccoon’s body before my eyes shift to the ground beneath it. Scuffles on the pavement would indicate some kind of struggle, followed by two drag marks across the dirt-covered ground. I follow them around the corner of the building, bracing myself for any unexpected attack.
The sounds of the water slapping up onto the quay behind the building is disrupted by sporadic splashing. I make my way there quickly, and my gut tightens at the sight I find. Someone’s strung Duke up using one of the mooring posts. His face is nearly plum-colored from lack of oxygen, though his hands cling desperately to the rope, his eyes bulging frantically. Fortunately, he’s roughly hip-deep in water, so his weight hasn’t completely cut off his airway yet, but I can tell he doesn’t have much longer. His arms are shaking violently with the effort to keep himself from choking.
“Hold on, Duke!” I shout, dashing onto the Quay and yanking my pocket knife out at the same time. “I’m coming!”
