Page 74 of Chief's Addiction

The angry voices inside grew clearer.

“—completely fucked now! They’ll be coming for us!”

“Shut the fuck up! I’ve got connections, all right? The Russians’ll handle that piece of shit.”

“The fucking Russians aren’t going to save your ass from Chief, man!”

“Now,” Morpheus murmured.

We burst through the door, guns raised. The scene inside was surreal. Spike sat perched on a wooden crate marked ‘EXPLOSIVES’ in red lettering, a glass pipe in one hand, lighter in the other.

Two other men, presumably the ones who’d helped kidnap Cora and Beckett, sat in folding chairs a few feet away, phones in their hands. All three froze at the sight of us, their eyes going wide with shock.

Morpheus didn’t hesitate. He fired off two shots in rapid succession, both shots finding their marks in the heads of Spike’s men. Their bodies slumped forward, phones clattering to the concrete floor as blood and brain matter painted the wall behind them.

I barely registered the gunshots. My focus had narrowed to a pinpoint, centered on Spike’s gaunt face as recognition, then fear, flickered across it.

Spike leapt to his feet, pipe shattering when it hit the ground.

“Fuck!” he yelped, scrambling backward. “Chief, listen, I can exp?—”

I didn’t let him finish.

With a roar, I launched at him, taking him to the ground. My fist connected with his face, the impact jarring my arm all the way to the shoulder. But I felt nothing but satisfaction as his nose crunched beneath my knuckles.

“Wait—”

“You fucking touched her,” I snarled, punctuating each word with another blow. “Put your hands on her. Hurt her. Hurt my kid.”

Spike’s feeble attempts to block my assault were useless. Each punch drove the rage deeper, feeding the fury inside me instead of sating it. I wasn’t even aware of the others in the room until I felt Killer’s massive hands grabbing my shoulders, physically hauling me off my prey.

“Easy,” he rumbled in my ear. “Kill him now, won’t get what you need from him.”

I struggled against Killer’s grip for a moment before the logic of his words penetrated the red haze of my fury.

He was right.

I needed Spike alive. At least for now.

Looking down at what I’d done, I felt a savage satisfaction. Spike’s face was barely recognizable, a pulpy mess of blood and broken bone. One eye was completely swollen shut, teeth scattered across the floor beside him. He made a wet, gurgling noise, trying to draw breath through his broken nose.

Good.

I hoped he fucking choked.

Morp pulled out a burner and punched in a number. “Bring the van around,” he ordered before ending the call.

Then he turned to Dread and Havoc. “Find the keys for the other van. Get all these crates loaded and take them to the warehouse.” Then his eyes came to me. “You done because we need him alive so we can find out what the fuck he was planning.”

Was I done?

No, I didn’t think I was.

I circled back to Spike, who was groaning on the floor, blood bubbling from his lips. Visions of my woman’s battered face flashed in my mind and I drove my boot into his ribs, feeling something give beneath the force of the kick.

“That’s for Cora,” I hissed before lifting my boot and kicking him again. “And that’s for Beckett.”

I straightened my cut. “I’m good for now.”

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