Page 1 of 23 Hours

CHAPTERONE

A string of blood splatters across the toe of my leather boot. An old grease rag that’s been promoted to a gag muffles a shriek of agony. The head of a hammerclinksagainst the concrete as it lands on the floor of our shed, an omen of what’s to come.

Welcome to the party.

I’m Gunz, your chaperone this fucked-up evening… the sergeant-at-arms of the Sacred Sinners MC, mother chapter. Ya know, the home of where it all began.

Before I break you in, we need to go over a few ground rules.

One—don’t fuck with the Sacred Sinners. Two—if you neglect rule number one, your ass gets strung up naked in the middle of our prez’s fun zone—the place men get taught lessons the hard way.

Pretty damn sure you don’t want that now, do ya?

Three—Prez’s old lady is off-limits.

Her name’s Bink.

She’s ours.

The daughter I never had.

If you haven’t met her yet, she’s the short, big-breasted blonde ‘round these parts, who makes our lives run smoothly on the SS compound. She’s also the mother to my grandbaby, Leech, whose first birthday is just around the corner. You touch either of ‘em and you become worm food, no questions asked. Capiche?

Reaching into my cut, I extract a root beer Dum Dum and pop the sweetness into my maw before tucking both arms across my chest. With my back propped against the wooden wall, I watch Big Dick, our six-foot-eight, long-haired, bare-chested national prez, lose his last shred of sanity. If it were any other day, I’d stop him. Hell, I’d step in to take care of what needs done. Today’s not that day.

“You think you can come to my home and fuck with my family!” Upper lip curled over his teeth, Big’s fist slams into the skinny captive’s stomach. He’s been working him over for hours—breaking bones, making him bleed—reveling in his cries for mercy.

Happy to watch the torture unfold, I smile around my sucker stick. It’s better this way. Someone’s gotta pay.

“You think you can take away my old lady’s innocence and there won’t be consequences? Make her kill people! You think I’m a pussy? That I won’t retaliate? You’re gonna die. Your prissy-bitch friends are gonna die. I’m gonna kill every last one of you motherfuckers!” Each sentence is punctuated with the beautifulthudof fist meeting flesh. Air is torn from the man’s body. His knees buckle, leaving his over-stretched arms to support his weight as Big pummels his torso, turning his innards to soup.

We’re at war, if that much isn’t clear. Ground zero for the latest attack. The first we’ve had here in close to thirty years. Big’s taking it personally, as he should. We all are.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, a crew was sent to take us out by the infamous Remy Whitaker, sex trafficker extraordinaire, a sicko we’ve had beef with for ages. We’ve got ourselves an assassin on the side who takes his brand of disgusting off the streets and frees his merchandise. Remy ain’t keen on us fucking with his business, and we’re not down with the sex trade. Seems we’re at an impasse. A bloody one that’ll end one of two ways—us dead, and there’s a fuckton of Sacred Sinners, or him and his crew buried six feet under. I’ll let ya guess which one we’re bankin’ on.

Somebody pounds on the shed door from outside. It bounces on its hinges. “We good in there?” It’s Kai, the new VP of our chapter. We added the oversized blond to our local brotherhood ‘bout a month ago. He might be green here, but he’s been running with the SS for half a decade. Before that, he was special ops in the Army. Real hardcore, classified shit. Stuff nobody’s supposed to know about… besides me, ’cause I can find anything on the web, dark or otherwise. You wanna know about the bitch your husband’s been texting? I’ll find out in thirty seconds. Think I’m joking? Does it look like I’m laughing? Give me a day, and I could corrupt the entire US military system. Forty-eight hours and I could sell nuke launch codes to the highest bidder. It’s a good thing I’m a goddamn patriot. Some would use the term hacker. I call myself a tech guy, ’cause I go beyond the coding, hacker crap anybody with half a brain could do in their brother’s bug-infested basement.

“Yep,” I reply to Kai ’cause Big’s too busy unleashing his rage to answer. Sweat glistens across his blood-splattered skin. For what these assholes did to our Bink, there’ll be hell to pay. Lucky for us, we’ve got two more of these bastards locked in the clubhouse basement whenever Big’s gotten his fill with this bitch.

“You need anything?” Kai double knocks on the door, makin’ sure we’re straight.

“Kai! You talkin’ to Gunz?!” a brother hollers over loud rock music. It’s coming from inside the clubhouse, through the shattered front doors they’re workin’ on fixing. Lots of glass and debris to clean up after last night’s shootout. We’re lucky nobody got dead on our side.

“Yeah, why?” Kai replies.

“Is Big in there, too?” Ah. I recognize that voice. It’s Malcolm, the prospect.

Side-eyeing Big, I wait for my brothers to work out whatever needs to be handled on their end.

“Yes,” comes from Kai.

“One prisoner wants a word,” our prospect explains.

’Course they do. Bet I know what they want.

Our new VP ain’t happy with the news when his usual laid-back tone lowers to a growl. “A word of what?”

Bein’ new and all, there’s no need for him to get mixed up in that shit. Not yet, anyhow, considerin’ he’s got a torso full of bruises. The idiot got himself shot half a dozen times yesterday. Good thing he was strapped with a vest. “I’ll handle it, Kai. Just give me a minute!” I holler, then turn to the big guy, checkin’ to see if he’s worn out yet, or able to talk. By the firm set of Big’s jaw and determination cast like granite in those blue eyes, I’d say he ain’t stoppin’ before sunrise. A bloody evening it shall be.

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