all Torch really needed to hear. There was nothing else worth discussing, no memories worth bringing up; heart-to-hearts were reserved for family and friends, this guy was neither. He was just a stranger who Torch knew all too well. Nothing had changed, George obviously didn’t feel an ounce of fucking remorse for the shit he’d done and it was just as well. The smarmy motherfucker would make for an easy kill with that attitude.
Fuck the pity, all Torch felt as he stared at his father’s face was contempt.
“I bet your parents are really proud of their little biker whore,” George spewed at Liv.
And there went the last of his shits, no fucking way would this asshole get away with disrespecting his woman a second time. Torch angrily pried George’s jaw open and yanked out his tongue, then pulled his bayonet knife from its pouch and cut right through it. He took a step back and watched as his old man started gagging on the blood pouring out of his mouth.
He didn’t feel a fucking thing.
He stood there for another minute… but still didn’t feel a fucking thing.
Just end it, he told himself.
Wiping his sweaty palm, he got a grip on the knife and lunged forward. Without a word, he shoved the blade in George’s neck and angled it upward. As his father started convulsing and choking, Torch grabbed him by the shirt and threw him down.
Zed approached and wrapped an arm around his shoulder from one side, while Liv came around and wrapped hers around his waist from the other. Together, they silently watched the last of his biological family bleed out in seconds.
As George Larter let out his last breath, Torch inhaled the warm, summer air and let it infiltrate his lungs. It felt… cleansing.
He heard voices coming their way and looked back to see Grimm, Gauge, Squid and a couple of the Kansas City guys.
Grimm walked around George’s head and handed Torch a drawstring bag. “You feel better, brother?” he asked, looking over the bloody mess.
“Yeah, actually I do.” Torch opened the bag and scooped out the coins to count them, all twenty-five were accounted for. He tossed it to Squid for safe keeping since he was their money man. He turned to his old lady and pulled her to his chest. “You good?”
“Just peachy.”
He grunted and kissed her neck. “Fuck, you’re the baddest and sexiest bitch alive. I’m gonna make you come all night long.”
She pulled her head back. “Don’t you have some cleaning up to do?”
Zed slapped his back. “Take her ass home, we’ve got plenty of hands to take care of it. What do you want us to do with the compound?”
Torch looked over at the fence line. The property was at least five miles from civilization and there was plenty of darkness left to work under. They could easily get the cars and bodies out, pick up most of the shell casings with the help of metal detectors, and destroy bullet holes in walls, but their fucking DNA was probably all over the goddamn place. Would the spared militia members get the law involved if they left it standing?
In case they did, there was only one solution.
“Burn it down,” Torch ordered. “And make it look like an accident on the off-chance they have insurance.”
: 27 :
| TORCH |
Sucking up his pride and apologizing—to anyone—had never been much of a strong suit. Women? Fucking forget it. If a crawler didn’t like something, she could show herself the door and send the next one in.
But times were changing, especially for Torch. It had been a week since they’d crippled the militia and Buddha would be getting his transplant that day. The doctors had warned a month-long hospital stay could be in the cards, depending on how quickly his immune system rebooted itself. Even if shit went without a hitch, their president wouldn’t physically be up for the daily club grind for at least another three months post-release, maybe six. Hell, maybe a year, it was too soon to know. That was assuming his body didn’t fight Nadia’s marrow, a real possibility nobody wanted to think about.
Simply put, there were just too many variables at play to comfortably predict how long Torch would be filling in, which meant he’d need to adjust on more than a few fronts. He wouldn’t be going back to just giving his vote and following orders anytime soon, he’d be leading and answering for the table’s decisions indefinitely. And with those responsibilities