Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
He hesitated, then leaned down.
I didn’t need to say much, I didn’t even have the strength to if I was honest, yet I forced out one name through gritted teeth. “Jared.”
His whole body went rigid.
I didn’t need to explain. Didn’t need to spell it out. He knew.
And I made sure he saw it in my eyes—the promise, the vow.
Jared had been feeding them our intel the whole time. Betraying us and selling us out. And I was going to be the one to end him when I was ready. But they needed to know so they could keep eyes on him wherever he went.
The wheels of the plane slammed against the tarmac, and I forced my eyes shut. I couldn’t cry. Wouldn’t.
As the cargo bay lowered, I saw the uniformed soldiers marching in. They moved in unison, their boots striking against the metal as they carefully lifted the first casket. It was then—only then—that my resolve broke, and the first sob tore out of me.
I clamped my jaw shut, but it was too late.
They had been here, beside me, hours ago, laughing, talking about going home. They had kids and families who were now going to live their lives without them. They would never truly know the heroes they were.
The music played softly in the distance, the rhythm of boots against the pavement fading as the coffins were carried away. More soldiers boarded, wheeling out the injured. Five men, barely clinging to life, strapped to gurneys hooked up to oxygen and IV drips.
We should have been flown to Germany for immediate treatment, but our work didn’t exist on the record. We had all signed the waivers before deployment—we wouldn’t stop. We’d be flown home no matter the risk.
As they rolled me off the plane, the sunlight hit my face like a blade. I squinted, my body still too weak to protest. Then I heard it, a low, familiar growl.
Engines.
Not the kind from military trucks or med-evac transports. This was deeper, rougher, more powerful. It started soft, but it grew louder, stronger, until I could feel the vibrations in my bones.
The soldier pushing me hesitated, then gestured toward the edge of the airstrip. “I think they’re here for you.”
I turned my head, my breath catching as I took in the line of motorcycles parked in formation behind the fence. Chrome and steel gleamed under the morning sun, a silent wall of metal and men.
I couldn’t see their faces, but I didn’t need to. I knew who they were.
Three figures stood just in front of the lineup, waiting. Watching.
The darkness finally pulled me under, but not before I knew—I wasn’t alone.
Chapter 12
Preacher
The final breach of confidence Duke had done for me was handing me the letter Kyle had given him the day she showed up on his doorstep after finding her mother.
I stared down at the folded paper, taking a slow, measured breath before flipping it over, my gut tightening as I recognized the familiar scrawl of Jill’s handwriting.
People always said you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. Fuck that. She had been a vicious, poisonous, psychopathic bitch, and I was glad she was gone.
Now, all that was left was to see what filth she had left behind—what twisted, venomous words had ruined everything with Kyle.
I unfolded the letter and read it, almost instantly regretting my decision, but I forced myself to read every word.
I’ve never hated anyone more than I hate you and him. You were meant to be the ticket to everything, but he didn’t care.
He hates you. Hates me. Hates that I didn’t give him a son, and that he got you instead. I tried telling you, but you wouldn’t listen, and now look?
He was fucking that whore Store today, and when I confronted him, he hit me. He told me he was going to kill both of us. He’s never been faithful. Hated having you at the MC because he thought it made him look weak to the men when he got caught fucking a slut while you were around.
And he couldn’t sell the little girls with you there, so he sent you home.
I hate you. You ruined my life. But as your mother, I will do you one favor.
RUN.
That was it?
This insanity, written by someone who was drunk and under the influence of whatever drug she could get, was what had destroyed everything?
I snorted, my lips twisting in disgust. The whole damn thing read like a drunken, drug-fueled rant, hastily scribbled between gulps of vodka and whatever high she was riding before she put a bullet in her head.
It was sloppy and pathetic. And yet, sadly, it had worked.
Jill had known exactly what she was doing. She had timed it perfectly—Kyle would have been at her most vulnerable after finding her body, her mind already cracked open from years of abuse. She wouldn’t have questioned it, wouldn’t have doubted it. She would have done exactly what Jill wanted.