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My body vibrates with adrenaline. Blood thrashes, feverishly and volatile, through my arteries and veins. "I. Want. Dustin. Dead!"
"Dustin has left the District," he states plainly. "He is taking care of an issue I have up north."
"Even better. Let me meet him up there," I bite out.
"Max, think about this," Clay says, still seated casually. He swirls his whiskey around the glass; not a drop is missing from its initial fill. "Go home. Be with Cassidy. Let the matter settle."
I look at Butch, who is now completely unreadable, and then back at Clay. Jimmy has big plans for him. Perhaps that has infiltrated my big brother's honour as a Butcher. Am I wrong to think his loyalties lie with us? No. He's sly. And he's cut throats for me before.
"The fish rots from the head," Jimmy says, drawing my scowl back to him. "We are the head - Storm and Butcher. Don't be therot. Do as Clay says. I give you my word that whoever disrespects my family will never do it twice."
I bite back my growl, turn my back on him - knowing just how much he fucking hates that - and stride from the room. The door slams behind me.
I may be punished for that. But he needs to know that if anyone disturbs her peace, gets in her way, derails her progress out of the fucking nightmare I've put her in -Fuck. If she so much as feels unsafe. Even a hint. A murmur of unease. I'll rip his world apart. Dismantle it. Dirty deed by dirty deed.
Passing the maid who I'm sure looks delicious on all fours, I suppress the urge to fuck my anger away. Not too long ago, a different version of myself would have dragged that girl into a room, buried myself deep inside her, and made her scream my name. But now I ignore my cock, jump into the Rover, and speed off towards the gym.
When I arrive, the gym is near empty. My guards usually call ahead, anticipating my destination while I drive. We are all followed: Xan, Clay, Stacey, Bron sometimes, but he slips them on his Ducati when he wants to be alone. Butch likes to have eyes on each of us around the clock. Given we can't even trust our own at the moment, it's a good thing too.
And I have eyes on Cassidy now. . .
I grab my pager and send a quick message to Carter.
Max:Get someone on Dustin Nerrock. Watch him.
Glaring across the gym, I note both training rings are free and there is only a handful of men in the weights area. I clench my fists.Dustin fucking Nerrock.Craving the ache and fatigue, I head straight for the bags.
After a three-hour weight and boxing session, my mind has relaxed somewhat. My muscles are on fire, but my mind is cool - settled. I'm about to finish up when Butch storms in, his voice booming across the room. "Everyone out!"
Fuck.
He enters like a goddamn nuke exploding; people fly off like shrapnel in the opposite direction and out the nearest exit. Although he's in his fifties now, his frame thicker and movements heavier, that doesn't weaken him. He is evermore fuelled by determination and pride. And while a lesser man might tire of such an exhausting level of expectation, he is only ignited by it.
Gripping the bag on either side, I slow its movements before pressing my forehead to it. I sigh harshly, stealing a second before the mayhem starts. Sweat pours from my brows and down my nose. Time's up. Turning to face him, I brace myself for what is to come.
A lesson in respect, I am sure.
"Gloves off! Get in the ring!" he orders.
Fuck.
Caught between wanting to show him no weakness and wanting to keep all my teeth, I stand strong. He doesn't even bother to remove his shirt and tie, ready to mess me up dressed like a fucking accountant. With determination in his eyes, he strides past me and into the ring. I follow him, working on removing my gloves. As soon as I enter, he swings at me.
"Fucksake," I growl as I duck under his fist.
"You fucking amateur!" Butch growls. Lunging towards me, his head bobbing, he lands a right hook into the side of my jaw. Pain shoots through my face and into my eye socket. "I thought you were the smart one!"
Dodging another punch, I fumble around with my sweat-soaked gloves, trying to get them off. They finally drop to the mat.
He jolts towards me. His fist flexes. Keeping my arms high, I block his quick swing to my face. That pisses him off.
"I told you I would take care of this!" Butch growls.
I take a few light steps around while he darts from foot to foot. There is nothing but 'The Butcher' in his deep-set scowl right now and defence is my best bet. Still, I throw a few punches his way, connecting on the third, but then he charges at me, shoulders lowered and arms on guard. I hesitate. He slams me into the mat with a loud thud.
Dropping on top of me, straddling my hips, his weight pins me down. I'm a fucking big guy, but he's heavy with rage and disappointment. I hold my forearms up, shielding my face as he beats the living shit out of me. His fists feel like a wooden bat to the side of my head. A few vision-blackening blows rain in, and my eyes are forced shut due to sweat, drool, and sticky blood.
My every sensation is now felt in the dull smacks of his knuckles. Even though my forearms are shaking with exertion, I keep them high, blocking the strength and destruction of each one of his swings. Our collective grunts and growls are animalistic and raw.
