Page 101 of Beautifully Shattered
Chuckling, I step back, closing the shower door so she can finish, and I go and get changed since the front of my clothes are soaked through.
Once dressed, I head out to the barn, catching up with JD before we join church via livestream, which is fucking weird, but has somehow now become the new fucking normal.
Smitty is adamant that his government contact isn’t bullshitting, and by the end of this week, we’ll be back in lockdown again. And while I don’t mind the idea of being locked away with my Angel, these fucking lockdowns are slowing down business and making it harder for the club to earn money, let alone how hard it is to hunt down the fucking rapists that need to eat lead.
Smitty explains that the man who saved our arses in the road ambush after the club funerals is apparently an old club associate, Blake Moore. He’s a veteran who hung around the club when he rejoined society after three years in the Australian Forces, but he ended up in prison for manslaughter after a bar brawl. He’d only been out for a few months before this pandemic bullshit kicked off.
Unbeknownst to me, Smitty had reached out to Blake and offered him a deal to get fast-tracked into our club if he went undercover and tried to join Satan’s Rebels.
It was a huge fucking ask, but since his family is estranged, keeping their distance because they can’t handle his PTSD, the chance to join our club was the closest thing to having a familyhe was gonna get. And since he appreciates our moral code over the Rebels’, he was happy to help.
When Blake saved us, I hadn’t recognised him. His hair was dark, and he’d grown a thick, bushy beard, whereas before he’d been blonde with only stubble. But he’d killed Rebels for us and let us knock him out to make it look real, and because of getting away with that, he’s been pulled deeper into their inner circle.
“So we have a confirmed location?” JD asks, and on the screen, Smitty nods.
“We do. I’ll share that only when we’re ready to move in.”
I grit my fucking teeth.
He doesn’t trust us. And fuck, he’s probably right not to. If I let slip to Abbey where the Rebels were holed up, she’d go all fucking GI Jane and try to save Darla and Nessy herself.
“Has he confirmed the condition of our Doxies?” I ask, and Smitty nods.
“They are pretty banged up.”
“And?” JD snaps, his fury bubbling to the surface.
“They’re strong women,” is all Smitty fucking says, and before I know it, JD hurls his can of beer across the fucking barn, the fucking thing clanging off the tin wall.
“Nessy hasn’t even had her twentieth birthday yet!” JD roars. “She’s not fucking strong! She’s barely moved out of her scared-mouse stage, and those fuckers are raping her, aren’t they?!”
“Hold on to that anger for the weekend, brother,” Spud says, stepping into his VP role before Smitty flies off the handle for being yelled at. “Stay focused. Nessy and Darla need that fire pointed at the sick cunts hurting them.”
JD bends in half, letting out a fucking howling yell, and the barn door bangs open, black-clad Marx men pouring in with their guns raised.
Fucking hell.
“Stand down,” I call, holding my hand up to stop them. “Everything is fine here.”
They scan the room quickly before nodding and lowering their guns, backing out of the barn.
“I’d still like to know what you had to do to get that level of protection from the Marx family,” Smitty mutters. “I can’t even get Leo Marx to call me back.”
That’s because the Marx men are businessmen. They don’t like dealing with thugs, which is exactly how they see Smitty, with his God complex and fucking unhinged mood swings.
“I had to suck a lot of Marx cock.” I grin, and Smitty actually smiles.
“You sick cunt. Get the fuck off my screen.”
And just like that, he closes church.
JD is pacing, rage vibrating off him as he looks from the now blank screen to me.
“I want to punch the fucker.”
I chuckle. “This about the Doxies, or the fact he’s demanding Jols return to the compound?”
“Fucking Doxies, of course!” he yells, but when I raise a brow, his shoulders slump. “Fine. Some of it’s about him bossing Jols around like he’s got a fucking claim on her. He married her mum, and they barely see each other unless someone’s getting married or buried.” JD scoffs, starting to pace again. “You know, I should just tell him. Walk right up to him and tell him I’m claiming Jols.”
