The Last Betrayal (24 page)

“Where is she then?” Curiosity always gets the better of me, even if my gut tells me to shut the hell up.

He sighs before looking at me, saying, “She’s with our son, if my sources are right, then she’s visiting her sister.”

“And why aren’t you with her?” I raise my eyebrow at him. If Lauren went anywhere, I’d want to be right beside her.

“Work. Are you done with the interrogation now?”

I see the tick in his jaw and glazed over eyes and decide to step back. No use rocking the boat. “Was just asking, I don’t know much about you and seeing as we have endless time, I thought I could get to know you,” I reply, leaning my head back against the headrest.

“Fair enough. What about you? You have an Old Lady?” he asks.

Ah, so he does want to talk. “Yeah, her name is Lauren. She actually came over with us. Her and Cobra’s Old Lady are best friends and always wanted to visit London. Plus, I would’ve never let her stay back home without me.”

Blade chuckles at this, I guess he has the same protective streak in him as I do, being in this lifestyle, it comes naturally.

“Let me guess, you went all caveman on her to get her to come?” His chuckle grows louder, and I have to smack him on the arm to shut him up.

“No, actually, for once I didn’t have to go all caveman on her. I was planning on it though if she didn’t agree to come.” A smile curves the corner of my mouth, remembering that night of the party.

“I’m surprised. Most woman won’t just up and leave for a last minute holiday.” He rubs his fingers along the scruff of his jaw, before lowering it back to the steering wheel.

Just as I was about to ask him another question, Trick hurries out his front door, frantically locking it before running for his bike. Guess that bastard’s in a hurry. Let the fun begin.

We followed Trick straight to the planned drop off place, and we came to a stop before the road bends so our car wouldn’t be seen and walked the rest of the way. Around the drop off area, are patches of dense woods, enough to cover ourselves and a few hundred more. I know the Prez, Mack, Dope and Beardy dude were somewhere around as well, they had decided to get here hours prior so we didn’t miss a thing.

The roar of bikes thunders through the air as we lay in wait, silent and unmoving. They race past us into the large empty space of the industrial estate we were at.

Silence once again surrounds us, and only the scuff of boots on the pavement can be heard. It’s too late in the day for birds, and I’m thankful for it, birds can be a pain the ass in these situations.

Trick stands there, arms by his sides and his back to us, but we hear clearly what’s being said between him and the guy with the Nazi sign on his neck.

“Josh, we meet again.” Trick shakes the man’s hand in a friendly manner, clutching it to him with his other.

“Indeed we do. Is the drop off still on, bud?” Nazi guy, or Josh, asks Trick in a hoarse, gravelly voice, clearly a heavy smoker.

“Yeah, mate, nothing’s changed.” He looks down at his wristwatch before continuing, “Ten minutes, tops.”

“Good stuff. Thanks for your help on this, mate. Those twats need to be taught a lesson. No one messes with the Hell Riders and lives to tell the tale!” His voice echoes over the vast space, and I wince at the loudness.

Adrenaline starts coursing through my veins, my heart beating faster. This is it. Time to finally put this shit to rest for good. My gut twists at the possibility of us failing, of death and destruction to the Crusaders. Thankfully, there are only five of them Hell Riders, and Trick. We have nine men hidden behind these trees.

“Hear, hear. These idiots have been at large for too fucking long, and I’m glad to be patching out,” Trick says, sealing the deal on his betrayal. That fucking motherfucker is as good as dead standing there right now. He won’t be leaving here alive, that I can fucking promise.

I see movement to the right of us and we crouch lower in the long grass. Prez’s silhouette comes into view. I know it’s him by the way he carries himself, his swagger so to speak, and a man on each side of him.

“Freeze, asshole!” Prez shouts, gun pointed at the back of Trick’s head. Dope and Mack have theirs pointed at Josh and the others, their backs tense and legs spread in a fighting stance.

Josh bellows out a laugh, clutching his stomach as if laughing was hurting him. “You’re funny, mate. What are you? Police?”

“Your worst fucking nightmare.” Prez’s voice remains calm, but the deep baritone carries through the trees to us. We step out of our places, guns drawn and walk slowly toward the group.

“Stop right there, boys,” Josh says, pulling his gun from his holster and pointing it directly at us.

Me and Blade stop not too far behind Prez and off to the side. “Not expecting us?”

“I was expecting Mack and friend, Trick as well, but what the hell is a Yank doing here?” he asks, staring daggers at my face.

“Exactly the same as you are. Revenge,” is my cool reply. I roll my neck before my eyes land on the man that has gone against the club, against the pledge he took when he was patched in. The hate I feel for Trick goes beyond my hate of the Hell Riders, hate that I can’t control even if I wanted to.

The rest of our men emerge from behind the trees surrounding the area behind Josh, their guns pointing at the remaining Hell Riders.

An evil, cold smile forms on my mouth as Josh looks around him before landing back on us. “What the fuck, Trick? You set us up?”

“Nah, he never set you up, mate. He betrayed us. Broke trust and loyalty with his deceit. We haven’t told him jack shit since we found out. That’s probably why you’re standing here in this dump and not at the drop off site.” Mack’s chest rumbles as he laughs. “The Prez always said the Hell Riders were gullible bastards.”

“Which dick is the Prez?” Josh asks, his brow knitting together in confusion.

“Me, asshole. I’m the big Prez. The one that rules over every Crusader Chapter in the world.” He takes the last few steps to Josh, the cold barrel of his gun pressing against the man’s forehead. “I’m the one who is going to fucking kill you.” With that, he fires the gun, the sound reverberating against the tin warehouse to our right. Josh’s body slumps to the floor with a loud thud, and Prez spits on his body.

“Trick?” Mack says with his gun trained firmly at the man’s head. “We trusted you. You were a brother. Why the hell would you even think to do this? You knew what shit went down in the States with these pricks, yet you still went against us with them!”

“I’m sick of you ruling over every fucking thing we do, every piss we take you need to know about it. The Hell Riders was my dad’s legacy. Those arseholes ripped that away! He killed him, and took away everything that was mine. I only joined your pathetic club because my dad thought you had viable information that could help us in our venture into drugs and prostitution.” Trick snarls at Mack, pain etched across his features with the mention of his dad. “That was before they killed him over in the States. You ruined everything for me!”

“You ruined everything for yourself. You could’ve gotten far in this club, but now I thank my lucky fucking stars you didn’t.” Prez comes to stand in front of Trick, face to face. “Hell Riders were vile, nasty, full of evil little men that chose greed over reason. You’re no better than the shit on the end of my shoe, boy.”

They stand there, facing off with one another, breathing hard.

We all stand in silence, waiting for what happens next. It doesn’t take long before the Prez lays the first punch into Trick’s stomach, the air leaving him in a whoosh. He lays punch after punch on Trick’s face before grabbing his hunting knife and slicing open the prick’s shirt. Cut after cut, Prez writes out a message for other Hell Riders, ‘You will not win’ signed with his initial and the Crusaders’ graffiti signature.

“Now it’s time you get sent to hell with the rest of them.” Prez pulls the trigger over Trick’s heart and the life seeps from him before us; eyes rolling to the back of his head as his body twitches.

After that, all hell breaks loose with the remaining idiots. Shot after shot rings out until silence fills the smoky air.

I lay on the cold, hard ground, unable to move from the searing pain in my shoulder. Fuck! Not long after registering the pain, darkness pulls me under, the white stars in my vision takes me to the depths of blackness.

Receiving the call that Champ had been shot nearly killed me. I fell to my knees in the middle of the hotel lobby, screeching into the air. I felt the blood drain from my face, but I couldn’t form a coherent sentence to tell Alexis, who stood near me, what the call was about.

Now, sitting in the waiting room of the local London hospital, I feel numb. The pain of the phone call had left me feeling shocked and worried over Champ’s health which eventually turn to anger and bitterness, but now all I feel is numbness. The tears have long stopped, but the puffiness of my eyes reminds me that this is all too real.

We’ve been sitting in this hot room for three hours waiting on news about Champ and Mack. All we know is that one of the Crusaders’ brothers lost his life when a bullet straight to the heart killed him instantly. He may not have been a brother from back home, but he was a Crusader nonetheless.

Alexis has had me wrapped in her arms for the last thirty minutes, rubbing soothing patterns on my shoulder. I stare at the stark white wall on the opposite side to me, unblinking.

“Family of Liam Marcus O’Brian?” A deep, male voice asks from the doorway.

“I’m his wife,” I say, uncurling myself from Alexis and rushing to stand in front of this man in a white jacket. “Is he okay? Please tell me he’s okay.”

“Let him speak, Lauren,” Alexis says from her beside me. I glare at her before turning my full attention back on the doctor.

“He’ll be fine. The bullet was an easy one to remove. He’s all stitched up and will be ready to go home once his anesthetic has worn off and his catheter is removed. He’ll need to be able to go to the toilet before we release him, just to make sure the catheter didn’t leave any damage. Other than being in discomfort for the next few weeks, I’m confident he’ll make a full recovery,” he tells me, a reassuring smile taking over on his face.

“Thank God!” I scream into the room, tears streaming from my face in happiness. “Thank you so much, doctor.”

“Give him an hour and you should be able to see him.” With that, he turns and walks from the room leaving us all to finally breathe a sigh of relief.

I haven’t lost him. He’ll be okay. My Liam…my Champ…will be okay.

“See, told you he would be okay.” Alexis wraps me in a warm embrace, swaying us from side to side.

We’ll be taking him home in a few hours. And our flight is tomorrow. We can put this mess behind us once and for all.