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“No witnesses. Take care of it.”
“He’s a kid, Prez.”
Silence.
Dead silence.
Fuck.
I don’t know what happened, but one minute the kid was holding a Glock on me, the next, I heard him fire. Call it gut instinct or just pure survival mode, I don’t know. All I knew was that one minute the kid was standing and the next he was lying next to his mother.
I just killed a kid.
The hotel room door slowly opened and in walked Montana with the rest of the brothers. No one said a damn word. My gun still aimed where the kid was once standing as I stared, begging, pleading for the kid to stand back up.
“Clean-up crew is on the way,” Payne said, as Malice walked over to the kid and took the gun from his hand. He then kneeled beside the boy, bowed his head and whispered something before marking his head with the cross. Getting to his feet, he quietly left the room.
“Where is the other one?” Montana asked.
I shook my head. “Not here.”
“Fuck. Storm, find the bastard. Let’s go.”
Following, I said nothing as we all walked out of the hotel as if nothing happened. By the time we made it back to the clubhouse, I was so fucking pissed off I couldn’t see straight.
A kid.
I fucking killed a kid.
As soon as we entered the clubhouse, I didn’t think. I hauled off and punched Montana square in the jaw. Not relenting, I hit him repeatedly as men who were supposed to be my brothers all stepped back, leaving the two of us to our fight. Montana stood his ground, saying nothing. Which only pissed me off more. I wanted him to fight me back and the stubborn bastard wouldn’t. Even when I broke his nose, he never hit me back.
I couldn’t reconcile it all. He was just a boy. Barely ten years old, if even that. Children were to be protected. Not gunned down.
No witnesses, I remembered him saying. Just what in the hell kind of club was this? Realistically, I knew I didn’t have a choice. The kid shot at me, but he was a child. An innocent who was grieving the loss of his mother. A fucking bitch of a mother, but his, nonetheless. Why didn’t he put down that damn gun? I would have helped him. I wanted to help him. He never gave me the chance. Now, a kid lay dead because of me.
Arms came around me as I struggled to reconcile what I had done. It was one thing to kill an adult, but a kid was a whole other story. I couldn’t get his scared face out of my head. I could still hear the hurt and terrified tone of his voice. He just wanted his mother. A woman I killed. He saw it all.
“You’re hit Vicious.”
“I killed him,” I gasped, as the reality of my actions seeped into my bones. I took the life of a child. An innocent child.
“Gregory, he shot you. You defended yourself. You need medical attention.”
I wasn’t listening. I didn’t care.
Pushing away from him, I turned to find myself face to face with Malice. The one brother who rarely talked and only when specifically needed. Out of everyone, he was the only one who seemed bothered by what I had done. He kneeled beside the kid’s body, even said a small prayer for him. “I know what you are feeling. If you don’t find a way to move on, this day will haunt you for the rest of your life. You don’t want that Vicious. You have a woman and four beautiful kids at home who need you. Don’t let the actions of someone else stop you from living the life you deserve, brother.”
Logically, I knew he was right. I heard the words, and they made sense. But how did one reconcile and live with the aftermath of killing a child? That was what I wanted to know when my knees buckled. Brothers caught me, helping me to the floor.
“Fuck,” I heard Montana growl. “He fucking nicked the artery. He’s losing too much blood!”
“I’ll call for an ambulance,” Mercy said, running from the room.
Staring into Malice’s eyes, I barely whispered, “How?”
“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” Malice replied, as the room turned black.
Twenty-Four
