Page 23 of Baja
Moments later, I’m barreling down the long, dark road leading to the clubhouse. I bring the truck to a lurching stop and nearly rip the door from its hinges, getting out and rushing to the passenger side. I pull Alice from the car and into my arms, feeling the warmth of her body pressing against my chest.
I push through the clubhouse doors, ignoring the worried faces of Sage and Ophelia.All that matters is Alice.
Sage jumps to her feet, gasping. “Alice.”
“Where’s Juneau?” I surge forward.
“Waiting in the infirmary,” Ophelia says in a hurry, and I whizz by her, heading down the hall toward the back of the church.
Inside the bedroom, Juneau and Sukie are waiting. “Oh my God. Mom.” Sukie’s voice trembles as I lay Alice gently on the bed and brush the hair from her battered face. She looks so fucking fragile. A pang of guilt cuts into my chest like someone is cutting my heart out with a dull blade.If I’d only gotten there sooner.
“Baja,” Harlem’s voice reverberates from behind me, which means the bastard who did this to my woman is on clubhouse grounds. My jaw clenches, ready for what needs to be done.
“I won’t be long.” As much as I don’t want to, I back away and allow Juneau and Sukie to take over. I follow Harlem, who leads us outside and across the cemetery to the back end of the property. The Mausoleum looms in the distance, tucked in the farthest corner of the cemetery. Roots and moss cover the crumbling gray stone. With their twisted, outreaching branches, the trees surrounding us form a canopy overhead, strangling the moonlight. Twigs crunch beneath our boots as we weave past the smaller headstones, and the air is thick with the scent of damp earth. Death lingers all around us—fitting for what lies ahead.
The rusty hinges on the iron door creak as we swing it open and enter the stone structure. Inside, my brothers are waiting. And in the center of the Mausoleum, bound, gagged, and on his knees, is the man of the hour.
Salem strides up to me. “It’s your show.”
“He’s a cop.” I shoot back, even though I give zero fucks about his damn badge.
“Doesn’t matter,” Salem replies, his voice steady and low, giving me the green light to do what I want.
I pull my gun from the holster, stand before the son-of-a bitch, and rip the dirty glove from his mouth.
He coughs. “You’ll never get away with this.” His voice is hoarse, each word rasping like it pains him to speak.
His words are met with silence.
“I’ll kill you!” the desperate bastard wails at the top of his lungs so hard he chokes.
“Scream all you want. Only the dead can hear you.” I glare down at him. “You touched her.” My hand tightens around the grip of the gun as it hangs at my side. “She bled because of you. She cried because of you.” I raise my arm. “You wanted to break her, and you thought you could hide behind that badge and get away with it.” I step closer, towering over him until the barrel end of my gun is digging into his eye socket.
“What do you want? You want me to ask for forgiveness?” he sneers, but there’s a hint of desperation in his voice as death creeps into the room, lurking in the darkness, waiting to snatch his soul.
“Forgiveness isn’t mine to give. That’s between you and whatever awaits you on the other side. I’m just here to arrange the meeting.”
I pull the trigger.
11
ALICE
Everything hurts.
My body screams in pain, yet my mind is numb.
A shiver runs through me at the memory of his violation against my body. Even my brain struggles to comprehend what happened.
When I came to earlier, I was lying on the ground, and Baja was beating the life out of Ricky. I’ll never forget the animalistic rage I saw take over Baja at that moment. Had it not been for him showing up, I’d likely be dead instead of sitting in what looks like an exam room at the Fallen Ravens clubhouse while Juneau assesses my injuries.
All I can think about isSukie would have found me dead.
With a shuttered breath, I push those thoughts out of my head. Thinking about the what-ifs will only thrust me into a darker place than I already am. It’s bad enough that the vision of her mother’s banged-up face will forever be burned in her memory. Just like the expression on her face, the moment she walked into this room will be burned in mine. I haven’t seen myself, but I don’t need a mirror to know my face looks like it was used as a punching bag. The sterile tray sitting beside thebed is littered with the bloody gauze Juneau used to clean my wounds.
I flinch when he applies a sterile strip to the cut above my eye.
Juneau’s jaw ticks. “Sorry.”
