Page 2 of Pope’s Purgatory

When I cut up the last piece of the Steel Slayer, I separate the chunks of meat and tissue from the bone and toss them in their respective piles. The flesh will be sent to feed the sharks, and the bones will go to the incinerator in the basement of the slaughterhouse.

The rage has cooled to a simmer just below my skin, but I’m still far from appeased.

“You look like a damn horror flick, Prez,” Ducky remarks, walking into the butchering room.

I chuckle at his look of comical horror when I smile. I can imagine what I look like, covered head to toe in thick crimson.

“Feed the babies,” I order. “Where’s Malice?”

“Cleaning.”

“Tell him we need an appointment with the funeral director. Get a prospect in here to clean up.”

My bare feet smack against the concrete floor of the slaughterhouse as I head toward the wash area. I step under the hose hanging from the ceiling and squeeze the nozzle. Leaning my head back, I groan as the cold water rains down, washing today’s sins from my body.

My enemies are trying to steal the last bit of light left in my life. I’ll never survive this world if her life is snuffed out, and that’s going to happen if she stays in this lifestyle with me.

There’s too much fucking darkness in it.

Birdie owns my soul.

I’ll need to sever that bond, and it’ll have to be done in the most brutal way possible. If my enemies were to tear my chest open after knowing that, they’d witness the decay of my barely beating heart.

Once the last of the blood swirls down the drain at my feet, I release the nozzle and shake my head, slinging most of the water from my hair. Pretty Boy stands by the door, waiting for me with my clothes and kutte.

“Is everything clean?” I ask, pulling my jeans on and sliding my kutte over my shoulders, not bothering with my t-shirt. I hang it from my back pocket and lean down to pull my socks and boots on. Then I stand and run my fingers through my wet hair. “Let them know we’ll head to church when we return to the club. Seems we have a lot of shit to go over.”

“Will do, Prez,” he replies, passing my phone to me.

When I return to the slaughterhouse’s main area, Ducky sets two five-gallon buckets beside the door. “Where’s his head?” I ask.

Malice laughs, leaning down to lift something from the Styrofoam cooler at his feet. He lifts the head out by the hair and smiles victoriously before turning to speak to the fucking thing. “Show some respect and say hi to my Prez.” He brings it closer to him as if it’s speaking in his ear. “What’s that? Seems you’ve lost your head, little feller.”

We’re all a little fucking crazy around here, it seems.

“Looks as if he’s struggling to speak,” I remark. “He’s been a bad boy. Send him to his club.”

Malice pouts as he returns the head back to the cooler of ice, disappointed that I cut his puppet play short.

“After you drop him back off to his club, head back to ours. Same with you, Ducky. Take the boat and feed the sharks, then head back to the club. We need to attend Church.”

I run my eyes over the slaughterhouse one last time to ensure everything is in order for the dayshift before locking up and arming the security system.

The war is here, and I need to do whatever I have to for us to come out the victor.

I’ve never been asoft man. That shit didn’t change when I got with Birdie. She never seemed to mind, always showing me she loves the man I am. Birdie is the only one who can tame the reaper roaming restlessly under my skin.

Many nights, I’ve come home to her covered in the filth of my enemies with adrenaline running through my veins. She’s never hesitated in opening her arms and letting me work out my aggression on her sinful body until I’m sated.

The wind whips through my damp hair as I ride toward the club. Birdie sent me a text to let me know she was waiting. I figured it’d be best not to leave her alone too long with Spunky and Dimples running around the clubhouse. My little bird doesn’t get along with those two club whores because they like to act like their cunts are special. Probably are to some brothers, but I’ve been so goddamn obsessed with Birdie that other bitches barely register with me.

Just means I’m going to have to let her mark me tonight to show the fucking world who owns my dick.

As I stroll through the club doors, my woman barrels into me and climbs my body.

With a chuckle, I grab handfuls of ass cheeks so I can hold her to me. “Hey, little mama,” I rumble, staring into her fucking stunning eyes.

Heterochromia—one green, one a bright honey.

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