Shift (The Disciples' Daughters #2) (22 page)

EARLIER THAT DAY...

I’d gotten the call that morning. During the night, Roadrunner, Tank, and Jager had finally caught a break. Penelope and Jackson had come back to the apartment, stumbling in drunk and high off their asses. The guys had waited to get in, watching a live feed Jager had set up. The two had started to go at it and the guys nailed him right before Jackson nailed her.

I couldn’t have picked a better time if I had engineered it myself.

“Blue balls right before we off him. Fucking cold,”
Daz had said.

I’d made a plan with Ash. She was going to visit her dad’s grave with Ace on her. He’d volunteered, though he wasn’t entirely thrilled at missing the show we were going to put on with Jackson. Deni was watching Emmy at their house. Slick was home to guard them. Cami was with them. Slick was also less than pleased to miss out, but his pregnant woman was his top priority.

Stone opened the door to the shed at the far end of the clubhouse property, revealing the piss-ant motherfucker tied to a chair. The floor was covered in a tarp—standard operating procedure, making clean up easier.

I walked in, my brothers filing in around me.

“How do you want him?” Stone asked.

“Strung up.”

Ham and Gauge moved to do it. They cut him from the chair, recuffed his hands, and linked the chain of the cuffs on a reinforced hook in the ceiling. He was hanging by his wrists, his feet not reaching the floor even as he danced around and extended his toes to try. All the while, muffled cries came from a gagged Penelope, tied to her own chair in the corner of the room.

Once they had him trussed up, I approached.

“Hello, Jackson,” I said with a grin.

He started pleading like a bitch, but it was swallowed by the cloth gagging him.

“You know why you’re here?”

More indistinguishable noises came at me. I was taking them as a no.

“You touched something that doesn’t belong to you.”

His head started shaking back and forth, with more incessant noises accompanying it.

I grabbed a knife from the worktable at the side of the room and held it to the fucker’s throat.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” I warned. “I know what you did. You raped my woman, and you’re going to fucking pay.”

He didn’t say anything. I took the knife away, then shoved it into his thigh for safe keeping while I moved around him to the bitch tied up at the back of the room. Jackson’s screaming was the best sound I’d heard since Ash had come on my cock the night before.

I stood over Penelope, who already had tears all down her face.

“I don’t believe in hurting women,” I told her, and her body relaxed. “Don’t think any real man is okay with that shit.” I knelt down so I was at eye level and she wouldn’t miss what I was saying. “But you, I’m starting to question that stance.” Her eyes got wide, her body shaking so much, she was likely hurting her skin against the ropes.

“Ash fucking trusted you. That motherfucker raped her and she went to you. You broke her in your own way with the bullshit you pulled. For that, you’re going to pay.”

I stood, pointing over at the still whining fucker who was bleeding everywhere. “You love him?”

She nodded emphatically, like that was going to help the situation.

“Good. Then you get to sit here and watch what happens to him.”

The bitch screamed, but I didn’t give her another thought. Eyes on the prize, and my prize was waiting for me.

I stood in front of my brothers, Jackson still screaming and making a mess behind me.

“Ash belongs to this club as much as she does to me,” I said to them. “Anyone else feels they deserve a shot at this fucker, you take it now. I ain’t stopping once I get started.”

Roadrunner stepped up first, as I knew he would. Crazy motherfucker grabbed a blowtorch, a tool Indian was known for having a certain affinity for.

“One request, brother,” I stopped him as he approached. He didn’t answer, just met my eyes. “I want him conscious when I get to him.”

He smiled and clicked the friction lighter twice. A flame sparked to life from the nozzle of the propane tank and he stepped around me to get to work.

A couple hours passed before it was my turn. The fucker passed out a couple times, necessitating Doc to step in with the smelling salts.

I was gratified by the number my brothers did on him. Every one of them had stepped up for a turn, not just the guys who had been around when we were kids. They all knew Ash, both from whatever time they were around before she left and the weeks since she’d come home. Bearing witness to the gore was not something I wanted for Ash, but I wished she could see all the guys avenging her. Maybe then she’d really understand what she meant to the club.

When I stepped up, Jackson was a fucking mess. Every sort of bodily fluid was on him.

I grabbed a bucket one of the brothers had filled with some water and shifted it into my arms, noticing it was freezing cold when it splashed up onto my hands. With a good heave, I tossed the water onto Jackson and his constant whimpers turned into a sharp cry.

“Just gettin’ you clean,” I said. “It’s no fun not being able to see our handiwork.”

I stood there a moment, looking at the damage my brothers had inflicted—cuts, bruises, stab wounds, and charred flesh covered his whole body. As the water dripped away, blood oozed in again.

I took it all in, hearing Ash’s quiet voice in my mind.
“He raped me.”

The rage built. I felt it moving through me, igniting my blood. He touched her. He hurt her. It was finally time to make him pay.

I set the bucket over beside Jackson so the opening was down. Grabbing a long blade from the table, I stepped onto the bucket to get high enough.

“You touched my woman,” I told him, lifting his limp hands above the cuffs. I pressed them together so the backs were touching, then, with a powerful thrust, buried the knife through both hands.

Stepping down, I kicked the bucket away. I grabbed a handful of rock salt from a container on the side of the room and flung it against Jackson’s body, aiming for the largest wounds.

While that burned for a while, I perused the selection of sharp tools on the table.

“Doc,” I called, louder than necessary.

“What you need, brother?”

Still talking, making sure Jackson could hear even over his panting and moaning, I asked, “What’s going to be my best option here for castration?”

Jackson, who hadn’t moved much in a while, his battered body unable to muster the strength, started to flail and fight his cuffs. The movement made the bleeding worse and tore at his hands. I grinned.

Before Doc could give me any sort of answer, before I could pick a tool to work with, the door banged open. “We need to move,” Stone ordered.

I swung around, not fucking pleased about being stopped. “What the fuck for?” I demanded.

“Ash called,” he said, and that alone had me moving. I threw the bloody knife to the ground. “Ace took her to the cemetery, then told her to get down and went off, gun drawn. Message cuts out at the end.”

There was something he was holding back. “Say it,” I demanded.

He stared straight at me. “Heard Barton before the message cut off.”

Without a word, I grabbed my SIG from the back of my jeans and fired three rounds into that fucker Jackson. One between his legs, one in the gut, and one to the throat. He’d bleed out. No surviving that. Then, I took off.

Inside the clubhouse, I armed up, the guys all doing the same. We were all on our bikes moments later, riding toward the cemetery at full speed.

In my head, a constant mantra went on and on:
Just hold on, Firefly. We’re coming.

When we made it to the cemetery, I was ready to ride right on the path to Indian’s plot. Stone, however, raised a fist to stop us at the lot. Everyone pulled to a stop, including the van someone had taken. Jager jumped out of the passenger seat of the cage and announced, “Been tracking both their phones on the way over. Ash’s is down. Last location looks to be right by Indian’s grave. Ace’s is several yards east of there.”

Roadrunner spoke next. “There’s some woods at the edge of the property in that direction.”

Stone instructed, “We go on foot. There’s risk already that they heard us pull in.” I went to speak, not wanting to take that fucking long to get to Ash, but he cut me off. “No, man. Know you’re freakin’, but we don’t need to give Barton warning we’re coming. No telling what he might do.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Let’s fucking move,” I demanded.

Every step, even at a dead fucking run, felt like it took too damn long. Ash was there somewhere. I refused to accept anything else. She was there, and she was alright. We were going to get to her and we were going to fucking kill Barton once and for all.

She was going to be alright.

She had to be alright.

“Please, please, just hang on,” I begged. Ace didn’t answer. He didn’t look at me. He just lay there, bleeding.

Barton didn’t approach, didn’t say anything or demand I get up. He hadn’t reacted when I ran over. I looked up to find him inspecting his man, who was not, as it had appeared at a distance, leaning against the tree. He was dead. His body pinned like a scarecrow. Ace had stuck two knives into the tree trunk and then positioned the man so the hilts of each knife supported his armpits. I didn’t know how the head stayed up. I didn’t want to look that high to find out.

Ace had set a trap for Barton. He’d lured him here to save me and got shot doing it.

“What the fuck?” Barton muttered to himself. “That sick motherfucker mutilated him.”

I didn’t answer, didn’t draw attention to myself. I focused on applying pressure to the gunshot wound in Ace’s gut.

“Dammit, Jones,” Barton went on, “where the fuck are the keys?”

Keys? It took me a moment to understand. Jones was meant to drive whatever car Barton was using to get me out of there. Ace had the time to position the body. He’d probably found the keys, hid them. Barton didn’t seem to realize it. He wasn’t searching Ace.

Then, true clarity swept over me.

He wasn’t searching Ace.

I glanced over. His gun was at his side while he patted down his dead crony.

Barton didn’t realize Ace had been reaching for his gun.

I hesitated. I didn’t want to move, to stop pressing on Ace’s wounds. What if he bled out? But then, what was going to happen when Barton realized Ace had the keys? His distraction might be the only chance I had to get us both out alive.

My hands trembled as I lifted them away from Ace’s body. My throat tightened as the blood began to flow faster, but I forced myself to keep moving. Trying to be as quiet as possible, and keeping an eye on Barton as he went about his search, I pressed my hand to the ground and pushed it beneath Ace’s back. He was heavy—heavy beyond just his weight. He was heavy in the way a body became when someone was unconscious or…

Nope. I made myself shut that thought down.

I felt the butt of the gun against my fingers and nearly cried with relief. I grabbed on, yanking it out without much resistance. I glanced between Barton’s back and the gun. It was a pistol, a SIG Sauer. A gun my dad had taught me to shoot. My eyes jumped to Barton, then back down to check the safety. It was off. I kept my eyes up while I brought the gun down low and cocked it between my body and Ace’s, trying to muffle the sound. Barton didn’t notice.

Moving, I took to my feet and moved directly behind Barton. I held the gun in both hands, lining up the sight. With a deep breath, I pressed the trigger in.

Barton’s arm flew forward with the force of the shot, his weapon falling to the ground. He cried out as he swung my way. I brought the gun up to point at his head.

“You fucking cunt!” he roared.

Blood poured from his arm, dripping onto the ground. He went to step toward me.

“Stop! Stay where you are,” I ordered.

“You think you have the guts? I fucking dare you, bitch,” he spat. “But you better be fucking sure you kill me. You don’t, I’m coming after you, that club, and your daughter.”

The breath rushed from my lungs and my hands flinched so much, I was surprised I hadn’t accidentally squeezed the trigger.

He knew about Emmy. I hadn’t planned to kill him. I was going to keep him there until the Disciples got there. Stone had to have gotten my message by then. I think I convinced myself we could hand Barton over to the cops. I had no idea how I’d planned to get the guys to agree to that, but I hadn’t really thought about how he would have to die.

Until he mentioned Emmy.

The man had taken my dad, had killed my mother. He threatened the men I called family and planned to rape and kill me. He’d shot Ace. None of that mattered compared to his threat against my Emmaline.

He couldn’t walk away. He couldn’t live another day if he had any ideas about hurting her. The risk was too great.

My heart was pounding. Sweat began beading everywhere. My hands felt slick on the butt of the gun, so I gripped it tighter, until my knuckles started to ache.

“You can’t do it,” he taunted.

No, he was wrong. For Emmaline, I could do anything.

I blinked my stinging eyes to keep my focus on him sharp. The front sight was lined up to the center of his forehead. All I had to do was pull the trigger.

Then, another yell filled my ears.

“Ash!”

Sketch. He was there. They were all probably there. I could hear the footsteps and muttered curses.

“Ace,” I called back. “He’s been shot.”

“Ash, baby, lower the gun. We’ve got it,” Sketch instructed. It sounded like he was a few feet behind me, but I didn’t look. I didn’t take my eyes off Barton, not even for a second.

“No. No, he shot Ace. He killed Dad. He ordered them to rape my mom.” I adjusted my grip on the gun, centering the sight.

“Baby, he won’t walk away,” Sketch promised.

“He threatened Emmy.”

A hush fell over the men at my back.

“Ash,” Sketch whispered.

“He threatened her. He said he’d come after her. He’ll try. I won’t let him have the chance.”

I felt his presence right before Sketch’s hand touched my back. Every muscle in my body tensed to the breaking point in order to resist the urge to melt into his touch.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I’ll take care of it. I swear to you. Just give me the gun.”

“No. I have to see it. I have to know he’s gone.”

“Baby, you don’t need to have that in your mind.” His touch became firmer, his hand pressing in as he inched closer.

I took a small step forward. “I do. I need to see it or I’ll never be sure he’s gone. I need to know it’s over.”

“Ash,” he tried again.

“No!” I shrieked.

“Someone else get a fucking shot,” he ordered.

Oh, no. My time was up.

I looked at Barton. I saw my daddy’s face, remembered the morning of the last time I saw him.

“Morning, Firefly,” he greeted when I came into the kitchen. I went right to him, like I did every morning, and he kissed my forehead.

“Morning, Daddy.”

“Coffee?”

I shook my head. “No, thank you. Gabe will be here soon.”

“What’re you doing today?” he asked as he sipped his coffee.

“I don’t know. I think we’re just doing breakfast and then going to hang out at his place.”

He was giving me a weird sort of smile. “Need you to do something.”

“What?”

“Get that boy to the clubhouse at five.”

I cocked my head to the side, confused.

“He’s getting his prospect patch tonight,” he explained.

A smile broke out on my face. “Really?”

“Really, sweetheart. But you gotta keep that to yourself.”

“Of course,” I swore.

Setting his mug down, he walked my way. He spread his arms open and I moved into him, wrapping my arms around his middle. There was only one place on earth I felt as safe as when Gabe held me, and that was right here.

“He’s a good man. I’m glad to know the man taking over the job of caring for you is going to be a Disciple. You’ll always be right here.”

He was right. It was perfect. Gabe and I would always be in Hoffman, right where Dad was always going to be. It was everything I’d wanted since I was a little girl and Gabe told me he was going to become a Disciple, marry me, and we’d have kids together. He said he’d make me the happiest wife ever.

I saw Dad briefly later that night, after Gabe got his prospect patch and the guys threw a party, but only briefly. Gabe and I snuck out early.

I could see Dad’s face so clearly in my mind—his scruffy facial hair, the crinkles by his eyes, the little white scar on his right cheek he made up a crazier story about every time I asked. I’d never gotten another chance to hug him that way, to have him wrap me up tight like I was still a little girl. I’d never smell the tobacco and motor oil that always clung to him. Even, it seemed, when he was just out of the shower.

There was no bringing him back. There was no way for Emmy to know him, to experience the love he would have given her in spades. There was no hearing him call me firefly ever again.

Barton had stolen that from me, he’d stolen it from Emmy, and then he’d threatened to steal her from me, too.

With a calm settling over me that would likely terrify me later, I looked through the sight and pulled the trigger.