Page 64 of 23 Hours

I hate this.

For me.

For us.

Again, I try to swallow.

Ugh.

I want to scream.

I want this to be over.

No more.

Please.

No more.

CHAPTERTWENTY-TWO

GUNZ

The heels of my shitkickers scrape across concrete as I pass brother after brother in the hall. Our chins lift in mutual respect as I’m guided from one corridor to the next, through a double doorway, and into a large office where a group of us have taken up arms, ready to kill whatever motherfucker gets in our way.

Next to a whiteboard, I leave Kade with Lace as I scope out the space alone, to get a clearer vision of what’s about to go down.

Tables are pushed to the far walls. In the center of the room, each woman is naked and bound, seated in a row of chairs. A couple of feet separates one from the other. That seems to be the going trend around these parts—incapacitate. Above each of them, a single bulb sways to-and-fro in a morbid display of debauchery. Leaving little to the imagination, their vaginas are visible, bare tits splattered in what I assume is dried cum. Thanks to the fabric tied around their heads, they can’t see a thing. Nor would I want them to. Not since Remy’s crew has sheared their hair clean off, leaving them bald... as bald as me.

A growl rumbles viciously in my chest as my molars grind. Nostrils flaring, I do my best to keep my anger in check. Foolish action breeds deadly consequences. It could get them killed. It could get her killed. My Kit. The furthest from me. On the end. Chin resting on her chest in defeat, purple hair gone, skin pale.

I’m here, love.

I’m here for you.

In hopes she’ll sense my presence, I channel the unspoken words in her direction.

Not much longer, sweetheart.

She doesn’t move.

If it wasn’t for the shallow rise and fall of her chest, I’d think she was dead.

I continue my perusal of the space. Calm, as if I’m bored. As if there isn’t a line of brothers impatiently waiting for their moment to unleash. Many already coated in blood from battle. They bounce on the balls of their feet, necks cracking, as if they’ve taken a fresh snort of coke, and the world of death is now their oyster.

Fifteen, possibly twenty, men wait in the darkened recesses of the room, a mirror of our own. They’ve planned this well. If I wasn’t here to destroy them, it might impress me. Only I’m not. Because you don’t do this to innocent women. Women who’ve done nothing more than be a part of our world, nothing more, nothing less.

Staying focused, I don’t look at any one female longer than necessary. I can’t. Not if I wanna get us outta here in one piece. They’re nothing more than bodies in chairs—faceless victims. I can’t identify them and make this any more personal than it already is.

I step forward—out of our shadows and into the light. Enough to expose myself to the enemy. To become the key player in tonight’s game. Power vs. power. Them vs. us. They’re about to become the pawns on my playground. Welcome to the show.

A man dressed in an expensive black suit and tie steps behind our girls. “Hello, Gunz,” his thick, Russian accent articulates.

To appear less threatening, I relax my stance and cross both arms over my chest. “Hello, scumbag.” My tone’s flat as I tip my chin in slow greeting, my eyes meeting his in strength.

A smile splits the Russian’s lips. He chuckles, dark and amused. “Ah, yes. Funny, American.”

This is new. An outsider working with Remy. Perhaps his empire spreads further than I anticipated. Or… he brought in the big dogs to help in this fight. Either way, I’m ready for anything.

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