intentions. I swallow, staring at the muscles along Bullseye’s neck as they bulge. Everyone is silent now. I dart my eyes to Braveheart, the smallest of the biker bunch, and while he isn’t shaking in his boots, he is terrified. Bullseye has a good five inches on him and seventy pounds.
“You heard me,” Braveheart lifts his chin in defiance. “It isn’t my fault. You’re looking for someone to blame for Candy.”
Bullseye lets out a melodramatic laugh, one that lets everyone know he isn’t to be taken seriously. Or if he is, he’s lost his mind. “You think I gave a damn about her? She was a whore. A cut-slut. A hole for my cock, Braveheart. She can easily be replaced with another.”
“Bullseye,” Tool hisses from the lack of care Bullseye is portraying.
“What? You think I’m mad about her? Then you all must not know where my goddamn loyalty lies. I want to know who almost killed Patrick, Skirt, Mary, and the rest of us. What about Poodle and Melissa? Melissa smacked her head on the side of the house when it blew up. Is she going to wake up? Get your head out of your asses! She was a fucking whore who didn’t give a damn about your ol’ ladies and just wanted to take a ride on your cock. You want to know what I care about?” Bullseye flicks the dart from his hand and it lands right next to Braveheart’s head. “I care about the fucking club, my brothers, my damn sisters!” he roars, banging his fist on his chest like a gorilla would before a fight. Bullseye closes the space between him and Braveheart, the rage gassing the air and making it hard to breathe.
One ignition of Bullseye’s fist and this entire place will go up in flames.
“Maybe someone needs to reconsider where their loyalties lie if you think I’d put a cut-slut above my own damn family.” Bullseye grips Braveheart’s throat, and I wiggle in bed to sit up straighter, waiting for someone to stop him.
He’s going freaking crazy!
Braveheart doesn’t break eye contact with the fire-breathing beast currently standing in front of him. I understand where he gets the name. I knew the story about how he got it, a fight, but witnessing the bravery is something else entirely.
“Let him go,” Reaper’s order cuts through the threat seamlessly as he stops at the bottom of the stairs. He wipes the soot off his face with a rag and stares at Bullseye with nothing but a pissed off look. “Or I swear, Bullseye, you’ll have a heart carved on your chest by the end of the day. The last thing I want to do is add more wounds to what’s happened here, but I will.” Reaper takes the last step down from the stairs and peers around the room, lips tight. He has a cut on his cheek, stiches in his arms, and worry etched in the lines on his face. “We do not,” he says calmy, “need this shit right now!” His voice is deep, loud, booming over everyone else’s. He slams his fist against the wall, and a few guys take another step back to get away from Reaper’s wrath.
Bullseye loosens the grip around Braveheart’s neck and takes a step back, plucking his beloved dart from next to Braveheart’s head.
Reaper crosses his arms and lifts one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “The last thing we need is to be at each other’s throats. Everyone needs each other right now. We nearly lost Patrick. Skirt. Jo. Mary. And I don’t know where the fuck Tongue is. I swear to all the vile things if that bastard is dead, I’m going figure out a way to kill him again.”
“No one has heard from him. He is AWOL. His phone is dead. We have no idea where he is,” Poodle conveys and then turns to glance over his shoulder to check on Melissa who is currently unconscious. I wonder if she’s supposed to wake up. I hope so. Poodle’s eyes are red-rimmed from tears.
Seeing men cry hits me in a different way, especially when it’s men like Poodle. Big, bad bikers wearing leather, waving their weapons, and riding their Harleys. Then to see them cry, to know people as badass as them can breakdown and care, it’s a different sight to see.
“Do you think he’s behind this?” Bullseye asks, staring everyone down. “It’s odd that he isn’t here, right?”
Reaper grips Bullseye’s neck and yanks his