Page 3 of True Bastard
“Time’s up, Pauley. You had your chance.” I glanced at one of my brothers, a hulking figure known as Carver, who cracked his knuckles ominously.
The tension in the bar was palpable. Everyone knew that a refusal or further delay would lead to violence. Pauley’s hands trembled as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled wad of bills. “It’s all I’ve got right now,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
I took the money, counting it slowly, methodically. “This is a start,” I said finally, pocketing the cash. “But it’s not enough.”
I let my threat hang in the air, the implications clear.
Fear overwhelmed Pauley as his face lost all its color, and his eyes betrayed the terror in his heart. Impassively, I watched as he frantically struggled to find the words that might give him the extra time he so desperately needed. “Please. I’ll get you the money. I just need more time.”
With a frustrated shake of my head, I stood, sending the chair flying backward before shoving the table so hard thatit slammed Pauley against the wall, the table’s edge pressing agonizingly into his gut. Leaning over the table, I grabbed the lying motherfucker’s neck and squeezed. “I don’t believe you.”
Despite his attempts to claw and scratch at my hand, I tightened my grip, feeling his nails dig in, and watched as Pauley’s eyes bugged out, blood vessels bursting, turning the whites of his eyes a horrifying blood red. When I witnessed his lips begin to turn blue, I squeezed harder, and with a quick flick of my wrist, I smiled when I felt and heard the snap of bone under my fingers—the smile growing as I watched the life drain from Pauley’s bloodshot eyes.
With a final release, his body thudded heavily onto the table, his limbs askew, a smell of stale alcohol clinging to his clothes. To any other person, he looked as if he were sleeping off a drunken stupor. Standing at my full height, I took one last look at the dead man before I uttered, “The Brotherhood thanks you for your payment.”
The bar held its breath, a heavy silence falling as the weight of what I’d done settled over the room. Glasses paused mid-air, conversations abandoned in favor of wary, sidelong glances. Carver loomed at my shoulder, his presence a silent warning to anyone who might have considered objecting.
No one did.
They never did.
Leaving the way I came in, I headed straight for my bike, threw my leg over the seat, and quickly started it up. I looked over at Carver and informed him, “Heading to Rapid City.”
Carver said nothing as he walked over to his bike.
I knew he wouldn’t.
Backing out of the parking lot, I gunned my engine, heading south to collect another debt.
Chapter Two
Kyllian
I had just fallen asleep when I heard it.
The throaty rumble of his bike. Taking a deep breath, I flung back the covers and got up, not bothering with my robe as I rushed to the window, my heart pounding. There he was, leaning against his motorcycle, the moonlight casting a silvery glow on his broad shoulders.
Storming out of my bedroom, I made my way downstairs, careful not to make a sound.
As I reached the front door, I paused, taking a moment to steady my breath, then swung the door open and glared at him. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded. “I told you I didn’t want to see you anymore.”
He straightened, his eyes glinting as if he meant to intimidate me.
“Come on, babe. I said I was sorry.”
Standing firm, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Go away, Jessup. We’re over.”
He growled, slowly walking toward me. Leaning against the door frame, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “Either you let me in, or what happens next is on you.”
I stood there, my heart hammering in my chest, torn between my anger and the urge to gouge his fucking eyes out. Jessup was nothing more than a lazy fuck, and he wasn’t even good at that.Too bad for him, I was done with his shit weeks ago when the asshole showed his true colors and broke my fucking nose.
I scoffed, moving to shut the door in his face when his hand shot out, catching my arm in a vise-like grip. “You can’t just ignore me, Kyllian. We’re not done.”
My arm felt like it was about to snap. “Let go of me, you psycho,” I hissed, trying to wrench free. The smell of stale beer and desperation clung to him, a sickly-sweet perfume I’d come to detest. He was a storm I’d been trying to outrun, a mistake I’d foolishly let into my life.
He didn’t budge. “You think you can just walk away? After everything? You owe me, Kyllian. Just like everyone else.” His voice was a low growl, laced with a menace that sent a shiver down my spine. He was right, in a twisted sort of way. I had owed him, but the debt had been paid in bruises and broken trust. Now, all that was left was a burning desire to see him gone, to scrub his memory from my existence like the grime he seemed to attract.
With a surge of adrenaline, I twisted my arm, catching him off guard, and shoved him hard. He stumbled back, surprised by my sudden resistance.
