Chapter 4

LEGACY

The temperature in the clubhouse suddenly plummets as the night air blows in, but no one else notices. Too busy fuckin' whatever bitch they got in the Pussy Parade. Pirate is still workin' his way down the line, shoving his fingers in each woman to test them—looking for the tightest cunt at the party.

Old fuckin' bastard loves to make them cry.

My heart thunders as I give the big doors another experimental shove, hoping to slip out without them creaking. Of course, there are tons of reasons for me to go outside—but I don't want anyone to notice.

Not a soul looks my way. Clenching my jaw, my eyes skim over this place for the last time. Good riddance—it's brought me nothing but pain and dark marks on my soul. My first kill happened in this clubhouse. The first time Pirate beat me so bad I couldn't walk. The first time he shot me to ‘teach me not to be a pussy'.

This place is hell. And those who stay are damned.

With the fires of remembrance licking at my heels, I turn suddenly and place both my palms against the door, ready to give it a shove and disappear forever.

But suddenly the wood disappears, and I lurch forward, stumbling face-first into someone wearing a cut just like mine. The scent of stale tobacco, smoke, and leather snakes up my nostrils as my brother grabs my arms to stop me from falling. Snapping my eyes up, I stare right into Wolf's ugly mug. A scar crosses his face, old, jagged, and gruesome, but that's not what makes him so hideous. No. His ugly is all on the inside, a darkness that seeps out of him and touches everyone in his orbit. Of course, he's my father's best friend—his most loyal dog. The one who never questions, willing to unleash his brutality at Pirate's whim.

His mouth twists down into a scowl. "Goin somewhere, you little shit stain?" he snarls, shoving me backward into the room. The door slams shut behind us with a finality that sends a shiver down my spine. Wolf looks at me knowingly, like he can see all my secrets, and a sense of foreboding settles like a boulder in my gut.

Frantically, I scan the crowd, searching for Venom. The old man's got his cock in one of the club girl's mouths while another brother is taking her from behind. The whole room buzzes with the sights and sounds of spit-roasted bitches getting fucked every which way. Pirate's face fills with evil glee when his eyes fall on his pet beast, who gives him a chin lift. And everyone is completely oblivious to the sudden shift Wolf's appearance causes.

Shit.

A whistle cleaves the air with the power of a thunder crack—bringing the entire room to heel.

"Bitches—get gone," he shouts, ignoring the grumbles of objection. The brothers aren't happy to leave the warm holes before getting to nut—but when Prez gives an order you listen… or you die. "Members and prospects, Church. Now."

Is it too late? Do they know?

Trinity…

Shaka stands outside the door to Church, our club's soundproof room where we hold meetings. In front of him is a large oak chest—our weapons trunk. Members file past, dropping guns, knives, and even a beloved set of throwing stars into the huge musty box.

No weapons in Church. It's been a rule for as long as the club's been in existence, as far as I know. Shit can get heated in there—weapons mean dead brothers.

Still, even though it's the norm, something doesn't feel right as I pull my piece from my belt. The cold steel barrel whispers against my skin, sending a zip of foreboding through me. Why would Pirate end a fuckin' Pussy Parade? Nothing makes him happier than ripping through some fresh cunt.

My mind whirls.

"Don't forget the one on your ankle, brother," Shaka reminds me under his breath when I place my gun into the chest. Fuck.

"Thanks. Damn, don't know where my brain is today," I joke, playing it off with a smile before bending down to unstrap my second weapon. My hand shakes noticeably, and Shaka looks at me with concern in his eyes. And I can't get over the heavy knot of worry churning in my gut.

He knows. He knows. He knows.

The room looks like it always does. As usual, the cavernous space is empty except for an enormous oval wooden table that's surrounded by an assortment of chairs. In the center of the table, a skull scorched into the wood along with a hastily carved Demon Breakers scratched underneath it. The letters are uneven, some barely even legible—nothing to be proud of.

Venom grunts as I take a seat next to him. "Any clue what this is about?" he asks. His voice is steady and calm, but knowing him like I do, it's clear he doesn't like the change in routine any more than I do.

"No," I murmur quietly. The scrape of chairs and grumbling fills the space; a bunch of grumpy bikers pulled away from their booze and bitches. It doesn't make for a happy audience.

"Better be important," Lash complains, his chair screeching along the floor like nails on a chalkboard before he slams down into it with a huff of annoyance.

The door to Church closes with a slam, and I cross my arms over my chest to avoid jumping like a little bitch. Fuck, I'm on edge. My eyes snap toward Pirate. He saunters toward the head of the table with some extra pep in his step.

This is gonna be bad.

My brothers shift in their seats and tension builds within the room. There's no teasing or joking tonight. No ‘Prospect put on a show' catcalls or demands. Something's off, and we all know it.

Pirate runs a finger across his President patch as he looms over the head of the table, and every single person holds their collective breath as a sadistic smile—that's half snarl—overtakes his face.

"Tonight was supposed to be a celebration. It was supposed to be the day three of our prospects became brothers."

The silence is deafening as he pauses, looking up and down the table, eyes falling on each brother. When ours locks, a twisted glee fills his. This is it. My final breath.

"But, instead, we have a traitor in our midst. A little bitch who thought he could leave the Demon Breakers. A little bitch who thought he could run away in the dark of night. That we would just let it go." My fingers itch to reach for the gun at my ankle. But, of course, it's useless—locked in a box outside the door.

Pirate's statement causes anger to flood the room, building into a roar. And I don't dare move.

"Blood in. Blood out," Wolf bellows, and the club answers the call. Chanting the words over and over again. Blood in. Blood out. Blood in. Blood out. You kill for the club to prove your loyalty—and the only way to leave is death.

Pirate pulls a gun from his back, and the steel gleams in his hand. The world narrows to the barrel, the dark black maw ready to drag me to hell.

He brings it up, pointing it at me across the table, but I refuse to flinch. Refuse to beg or apologize. Lifting my chin, I stare right into the opening and wait for the bullet to rush toward me. End this violent life.

I'm sorry, Trinity. My heart cracks. I'm never gonna see my sunlight again. She was the only thing that made this life worth living. Please be safe. Please be safe.

The sound of the gun clicking has the brothers silent once again. He cocks the gun, aiming for my head. My heartbeat throbs in my temples, and roars in my ears. But I don't flinch. Don't close my eyes.

My father stares daggers at me, one finger on the trigger…

Then pop pop.

Pirate fires, and I wait for the pain—the end.

Whatever the afterlife is like…