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I couldn’t even begin to imagine how she was feeling at that moment. I didn’t push it. I let the whole thing drop. I wasn’t going to force her to talk about it, not when she was in such a fragile state of mind.
“Fine,” I muttered. “But I’d like to know what in the fucking hell you were thinking when you stabbed my fucking dad in the arm?!” I barked at her. I was pissed at him for treating her like a man and putting his hands on her. I was pissed at her for fucking injuring him. He was my fucking dad, for crying out loud. I had a right to be fucking pissed off about it, didn’t I?!
“I wanted him to get the fucking message to never fucking lay his hands on me again, Cole,” she snapped back at me, a thousand different emotions lacing her words. “Being raped doesnotmake me weak, and I won’t let any fucking bastard try to treat me as if I feel otherwise, do you understand? I don’t regret stabbing him.” Tears filled her eyes as she spoke. My heart clenched in my chest as I pulled her into my arms, holding her as silent tears fell down her face. “Cole, I don’t want to be a victim,” she whispered.
I tilted her chin up so she could look into my eyes. “Then fight back, baby.” I kissed her forehead. “But taking it out on the people who want to help you won’t help anything. Now, when we ride out tomorrow to get these bastards that dared to fucking touch you, my dad’s shooting arm isn’t going to be useful, and we’re going to have to hope that his other arm works just as well.”
She sighed and rested her head back against my chest. I pressed my lips to the top of her head and just continued to hold her in the darkness of the lot.
* * *
Amelia
The guys had been gonethree days, and it had been the longest three days of my life. Katie hadn’t ridden with them. She had been sticking around the clubhouse, keeping her eye on Clay who still wasn’t allowed to go on runs because he couldn’t be trusted to be sober.
Wasn’t it ridiculous how you could have an alcohol addiction, but you couldn’t have a drug addiction? Sometimes, this club had some seriously fucked up guidelines.
I looked down at my phone when I felt it vibrate in my hand. I answered it as soon as I saw Cole’s name flash across the screen. “Hey.”
“We’re riding in. Clean some tables up. We’ve got some members that need immediate help,” he told me, and then, he hung up.
“What a dick,” I muttered, putting my phone back in my pocket. “Katie, we need to clean up some tables, and we need medical supplies.”
She nodded at me, and we began cleaning the tables up quickly. I heard the bikes the instant they rode through the gates. I flung open the clubhouse doors and watched as Cole jogged over to the van and began helping carry people in. My stomach twisted with a bad, uncomfortable feeling when I didn’t see my dad anywhere.
I quickly made my way over to Travis, not caring that I knew he was probably still pissed at me for stabbing him. “Travis, where’s my dad?” I asked, trying not to panic.
His eyes filled with tears, and my chest tightened with an indescribable pain. “Amelia—” He didn’t have to say anything more. I could already see what he was trying to tell me.
Ryan and Lorenzo were carrying my dad’s lifeless body into the clubhouse. I ran over and reached them as they placed him on a table. Grabbing his hand, I dropped heavily into a chair, my sobs wracking my chest. “Daddy, no,” I sobbed. “You can’t leave me. You can’t fucking leave me!” I screamed.
Mom stood beside me, tears flowing down her face. I laid my head down on his bloody stomach, sobbing, not caring that I was getting blood all over my face and hair. “Daddy, please come back,” I cried. “I need you.”
This shit couldn’t fucking real. My dad was strong. He had gone on numerous runs, and henevergot injured. This couldn’t fucking be possible.
Katie came over and pulled my mom into her arms. I saw Cole wrestling the ATL president out of the van.
Rage.
All-fucking-consuming rage boiled in my blood.
I got up and stormed outside. I was fucking livid, and I was ready to spill blood.
The president smirked at me as I reached him. “You fucking killed him, didn’t you? Raping me and beating me just wasn’t enough, was it?!” I screamed at him, my hands shaking.
I jumped on him, knocking both him and Cole to the ground. I began slamming my fists into the president’s face. I wanted to hurt him, to make him feel at least a little bit of the pain that I had been forced to feel.
Cole yanked me up and held me in his arms. I struggled against him, kicking and screaming. At one point, I even bit him. Lorenzo came over, and Cole shoved me against him. “Get her the fuck out of here!” Cole roared, shaking his hand that was bleeding pretty badly from where I bit him. “Lock her in a fucking bedroom for all the fuck I give right now. Get her out of my fucking sight.”
I kicked Cole in his nuts before either of them saw it coming. Cole groaned, falling to his knees and clutching himself, his face painted into a look of pure pain. I swung back and did the same to Lorenzo. Then, I snatched Cole’s gun from his cut before he could stop me and shot the president and his brothers as they were pulled out of the van. Once the gun was empty, I threw it on the ground and stormed inside of the clubhouse, my chest heaving.
“Honey—” my mom began as soon as I stepped inside.
I held my hand up to my mom’s face, effectively shutting her up. “I don’t want to fucking hear about how it’s okay to be sad,” I snapped at her. “I don’t want to hear that what I just did will fill me with guilt.” I glared at her. “Dad wouldn’t be fucking dead if I had just ridden off and never came back like I should have. He would still be alive and making everyone here fucking happy if I had never started this goddamn shit storm in the first place.”
I stormed away from her to my room, slamming my door shut and locking it. I changed my clothes into my ripped jeans, black tank top, boots, and my leather jacket with my cut. I threw my hair up into a bun and grabbed my gun and knife, making sure I had extra bullets.
I wouldn’t be a victim anymore. I wouldn’t let anyone else I cared about get harmed. If that meant I had to ride out, I would. If that meant that I had to kill every fucking bastard that crossed my path wrong, I would.
