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Hands grapple at me, but I attack them too, shoving someone away so hard, I hear screams and shit breaking behind me. I block it all out, focusing on Trick.
I get him in a position where he’s in front of me, his back pressed to my chest, my arm tight around his neck. I squeeze so hard, he chokes beneath my force. If I was in the right mind, I would’ve noticed he stopped fighting me. His hands hang limply at his sides, not reaching to stop me from crushing his windpipe.
I don’t know what I’m doing. My attack is uncoordinated and aggressive. I would keep going until his final breath, but hands grab at me. I fight them off, resuming my attack, slamming my elbow into someone’s gut before I get Trick on his back.
No one touches what’s mine.
No one harms my girl and is allowed to keep fucking breathing.
I don’t give a fuck if he wears the patch.
I fully intend to end his miserable prick life, and the way he’s choking on his own fluids tells me I’m getting there.
His face is a bloody mess, one eye completely swollen shut, and he’s no longer fighting back. His gaze is just locked on mine, as if he’s waiting for me to finish this. As if he wants me to kill him.
A thick arm wraps around my neck in the same way I’d grabbed Trick. A second joins and then a third as I’m dragged back under their intense weight.
I fight like a demon, but I’m pushed down onto the floor, heavy knees pressing into my spine as I breathe in the smell of stale beer and whatever the fuck else is on the dirty carpet beneath my nose.
“Get off me!” I roar like I’m possessed.
My body reverberates with the need to keep attacking, but the amount of pressure on my back and legs keeps me in place.
“Easy,” Hawk’s voice snaps out. “Calm the fuck down.”
I’m not ready to. I still want to beat Trick to death.
“Let him finish me.” Trick’s weak voice penetrates through the pounding in my ears.
It inflames the fire burning through me, and I thrash against the men sitting on my body. I’m all too eager to oblige the cunt.
“Gladly.”
“You shut your fuckin’ mouth.” Howler’s words are curt, and I’m not sure if they’re directed at Trick or at me.
The knee in my back makes me grunt as it presses deeper against something that hurts. I can’t fight the combined forces on top of me, though I can see one of the brothers holding me down is Terror. His eyes are locked on Trick, his mouth as tight as his jaw. He’s pissed too, and I remember his pregnant old lady was in the middle of that shit storm too.
Glancing along the length of the carpet, I try to raise my head to find Skye, but someone has hold of the back of my neck. “Where is she?” I grind out, trying to push up and getting nowhere.
Heavy fuckers.
“Skye!” I yell her name, needing to see her.
She steps into my line of sight and my stomach knots. Her eyes are wild, wide, and terrified as her hand wraps around her throat, hiding whatever damage Trick has done to her.
Her other hand is pressed against her belly, protecting what I should have—our kid.
“I’m okay,” she assures me, but the rasp of her voice does nothing to alleviate my fear. Her usual sweet tone is choked and wrong because of that fucker.
“Get him out of here,” Howler orders, and I can do nothing but watch as a bleeding Socket and Blackjack drag Trick to his feet. His legs don’t seem to work, and he leans heavily on them as they remove him from my eyeline.
“I want him dead,” I growl, breathing like an angry bull.
“Yeah, we got that message loud and fuckin’ clear,” Hawk mutters.
“I think we should let him go,” Terror says.
“You don’t get a vote,” Hawk snaps at him, “and quit pouring oil on the fuckin’ fire.”
