Page 139 of Parrish

Chapter Forty-three

Jack Parrish

Locked and loaded, with our saddlebags full of torture devices and the Charon boys on loner bikes we dragged our pipes to Boston. None of us were too keen on fucking shit up in broad daylight but revenge isn’t something you can pencil into an agenda.

With Scout’s approval, we took the lead, charging into the Ice Rider’s compound ready to turn up and drop any fool who got in our way. The moment I killed the engine on my Harley, the adrenaline spiked in my veins. I became all too aware that if all went well, this would be my last time riding with the men I call my brothers. The curtain was finally closing on Jack Parrish. After today I wouldn’t live to defend the reaper on my back. The realization made me anxious and as I reached into my saddlebags to retrieve my belongings; I vowed to leave my mark.

Strapped with enough tools to torture the Devil himself, I reached into my kutte and pulled out my gun. My boots crunched against the gravel of the parking lot as I marched towards the front door. Before I reached it, it opened and one of the Riders stepped outside. He barely got a chance to lock eyes with me before I fired my gun.

One to the heart.

Two to the brain.

One cunt gone.

Stepping over his body, I entered the clubhouse and had at least ten guns aimed at me. A grin ticked the ends of my mouth as I drew out another gun. Crossing one arm over the other, I wrapped both fingers around the triggers and with Wolf and Pipe now at my sides; we painted the fucking walls red.

Blood red.

The rest of our guys filed through the door, shooting their way deep inside the clubhouse, hunting for the fucking man who put the hit on Scout’s woman—the same man who hopefully held the intel on the cartel.

Through the thick cloud of gun powder, I spotted the man of the hour.

The president of the Ice Rider’s MC who went by the name of Chains.

Well, I was going to give new meaning to that name.

With my men covering every square inch of the room, tagging one body after another, I lowered my guns and charged for the spineless cunt.

It was one thing to rip the life out of a man, it was another to fuck with a man’s pregnant woman.

Even if this prick didn’t give up Javier, I still would’ve made it my business to be here. I still would’ve taken pleasure in torturing him.

Reaching Chains, I grab him by the back of the neck. Winding my free hand behind me, I pull out a rusty link chain from my back pocket and wrap it around the fuckers neck, tugging until the rust melds into his flesh. His hands wrap around his neck and his fingers struggle to find purchase beneath the metal that threatens to choke him.

I laugh.

I fucking rejoice.

The first chord of the hallelujah sounds and somewhere a fucking crow flies, ready to snatch this cunt’s soul and deliver it to the Devil himself.

Fly birdy, fly.

Kicking Chains in the ass, I watch him drop to his knees and bend to his level, twisting the length of the chain around my fist.

“Do you know who I am?” I ask.

He jerks his chin.

Another smile.

The second chord strikes.

It’s a cold, and it’s a broken hallelujah.

“On all fours,” I order.

He submits to the demand as I rise to my full height.

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