33. Cam

thirty-three

Cam

She’d been glorious, beautiful, and beyond comprehension when she’d pulled Archer’s forty-five. The sun made the red in her hair glitter as fiercely as the look on her face. I’d take all the pain, all the torture, for her.

And then my worst nightmare had come true. She was leaving, even as I shouted her name so loud I felt the blood vessels burst in my throat, as I threw my body against Puck’s arms, dragging him through the grass. I fought with everything I had, but Jester was there, too. Maybe someone else. Full-grown men pulled me to the ground, holding me back to keep me from killing them all.

Because I would. Even Merc. The anger, the hate, the betrayal that surged through me jerked the bodies that held me forward.

My best friend disappeared with my girlfriend as I fought against Puck’s arms. After the third or fourth solid kick landed against Jester’s legs I put him on the ground with a grunt, he let go.

I only had Puck to wrestle with as the sound of Harley engines disappeared into the distance. My voice was so hoarse now, the screams were more croaks. What Preacher had done to Ro was unforgivable. But what he’d do to Riley—to hurt me? This wasn’t just about fucking her to get back at me.

He’d break her.

My chest imploded. The pain-coated shards ricocheted inside me, even blinding me. None of them were my brothers, none of them were the people I’d pledged my loyalty to. When Archer died, he’d taken with him the parts of this club that made it special.

But he’d given me something more. A reason to live, a reason to fight, and while there was breath in me, I’d do just that—for Riley.

Cold, steel resolve gripped my muscles tight for an instant, then I gave up the fight and sank to my knees. My chest was heavy as the air burned my lungs with each breath, and a cold sweat made my skin clammy. The cotton t-shirt that clung to my skin was flecked with blood, and my hair fell into my face.

I was the perfect picture of a broken man…until Puck let go.

I shot to my feet, around the building, and to my bike.

“Mother fucker.” It sat on two flat tires. Something sick sank in my gut.

“Damn.” Puck skidded to a stop behind me before turning back to his bike.

Then I remembered Archer’s bike, the key suddenly hot in my pocket.

“The bay door, Puck. Open the fucking bay door.” I dashed through the front entrance of the clubhouse, slamming into Ivan and sending him tumbling into several others. He was shouting something, but I no longer listened. I threw a leg over and turned on the ignition. The old school kick-start was something Archer loved. And as I cycled through a few priming kicks, I wished like hell he hadn’t.

Metal rattled as the engine roared to life on a final kick, and sunlight streamed into the clubhouse.

Other bikes were firing, too. AP, Jester, they all filed in behind me as from the clubhouse.

Ro’s place. Riley. Not for the first time did I ride like hell for my girl. But this time, the desperation chased away all other thoughts. I’d break every finger on his hand if he touched her. I’d kill Merc for going with this, for agreeing to it.

Of all people, he should know how much she meant to me. He knew me the most.

I licked my lip. The metallic taste of dried blood waking whatever it was inside me I’d fought so hard to keep quiet. The violent mass of emotion that had killed a man would kill more today.

Riley hadn’t calmed that beast. It lived. For her.

A glance in the rear-view mirror showed that I wasn’t alone, not by a long shot. Everyone had followed, making up two rows behind me very similar to how I’d ridden Archer’s bike the last time. Thinking about how Riley wasn’t against my back, I ripped the throttle tighter, my t-shirt whipping around my middle.

I turned into Ro’s place, searching for Riley. She stood in the driveway, not far from Merc’s bike, beside the man I’d once thought was my best friend. But Preacher sauntered to her, swinging his arms like he was the biggest dick on the block.

He wasn’t.

I don’t know if I cut the bike off. I barely registered slamming the kickstand down with my foot.

“Preach!” I ran the instant both feet hit the gravel. I’d be damned if someone stopped me. I was more than three decades younger than him and faster. He’d barely turned when my fist struck his jaw, bone crunching beneath knuckles.

He stumbled back, my left punch drove him to the ground. I landed on top of him, swinging both arms. Short, rapid blows to his face. For Archer. For every snide comment. For destroying my club. For Riley. Skin split at my knuckles, across his nose. Blood poured from his face. A lone gunshot rang out.

I glanced up to see Merc standing over me, facing away, a nine-millimeter pistol raised. Hand fisted in Preacher’s shirt, other one raised to deliver more punishment, I glanced over my shoulder.

Paul was on the ground, blood pouring from a bullet wound in the middle of his forehead and a gun in the dirt beside him. He’d been about to shoot me in the back.

All around us, Desert Kings stopped their forward motion and gawked at the scene in front of them.

Merc turned his pistol to another one of Preacher’s cronies, as the man himself moaned and twisted beneath me.

“You’re dead, kid,” he breathed. I turned long enough to spit in his bloody face.

“One. More. Step.” Merc ground out at the other guy, who put his hands up, palms out.

Ro’s driveway around us was blood soaked.

“Cam.” A warm, feminine hand rested on my shoulder.

I looked up to see Riley peering down on me. I’d expected fear, but what stared down at me was guilt, remorse even. With a hard shove, I pushed and stood, wrapping her in my arms to inhale the scent of her hair.

“I’m sorry.” She looked up, forcing me to look at her. “But trust us just a minute longer.”

She pulled away from me, leaving me staring at her as she walked to the lone blacked-out sedan in the driveway. For the first time, I recognized Ky Soletsky’s car. Riley bent in the window, speaking earnestly.

Merc, his pistol still trained on Preach’s man, was speaking to his father, and the others as bikes continued to roll into Ro’s driveway and tidy front yard. As Ky rounded , pieces began to click into place.

I didn’t trust many people. Merc and Riley were it. My best friend glanced over his shoulder. “Brother, Archer’s forty-five is in my waistband. I’d feel a lot better if you had it until your finishes what she’s started.”

Preacher rolled to his knees, wobbled from side to side, and pulled his own from his vest. I kicked it away, as I gripped Archer’s and pointed it at him. Fitting that I would kill him with Archer’s gun.