Mikhail Russo’s lifeless body is laid down on the ground beside his fallen brothers as the remaining Wolves stare in horror. Unlike the others who have fallen through smoke inhalation and burns, there’s a perfectly round bullet hole right through the center of his skull.
Christian drops to his knees, the grief instantly taking over him, and as the rest of the Wolves drop to their knees in respect of their former leader, one man remains standing with a twisted grin on his face.
Snake.
I catch his eye from a distance and watch as he turns on his heel and runs, telling me everything I need to know and giving me another target. I look back at Christian and for a brief second, I wonder if now is the time to tell him before Snake can get too far. But with the cops and the grief heavy in the air, I save it for another day knowing that the Wolves will be able to track him and won’t stop until they have Snake right where they want him.
An eye for a fucking eye.
As everybody grieves, I turn to face the burning Den, wondering what my next move will be. Like Christian said, they’re all counting on me, and this next move has to count.
I don’t know what I’m going to do or how I’m even going to do it, but what I do know is that Nic was right. From now on, I won’t bother trying to save his soul because, as of now, his soul is fucking dead to me. No longer is this about trying to save Nic and hoping that he can somehow find himself on a good path and start earning forgiveness. This is about cold, hard, revenge.
Dominic Garcia is going down for what he did here today.
Mark my fucking words.Chapter 34Thirteen men.
Thirteen fucking men lay dead at my feet. One of them being Jaren, a friend, and another being Russo, Christian’s father, and a leader. Miss Davies' father.
How am I supposed to handle the fall out from this? I’m just an eighteen-year-old girl. The Wolves are going to want answers, and they’re going to want them now. If I’m not careful, we’ll be starting a whole new war with the wrong people.
The whispers are already going around with everyone assuming the Widows are responsible for Russo’s death, but I won’t let that fly long. I don’t care how many times I have to scream it from the rooftops, we will not be starting another war with the Widows when they’re innocent of this crime. The real culprit will be paying, and he’ll be paying with his life.
As for Nic, I still don’t know how I’m going to go about that, but I will handle it, even if it’s the last thing I do. I can guarantee it.
I drop down onto the soot-covered floor, my ass instantly getting wet from the water that’s flooded through here over the past two hours. Sadness settles heavily into my heart as a feeling of failure washes over me.
I’ve been their leader for two seconds, and already thirteen men are dead. How will I morally ever be able to live with myself? What was Russo thinking when he put me in charge? Sure, I might be strong enough to tell a dickhead when to get fucked, but dealing with the pressures and heartaches of the reality of this world? It’s too much.
My head falls into my hands, and I sit there with my heart on my sleeve until the familiar rumble of the Veneno vibrates through the ground. My head snaps up just in time to see Colton bringing his car to a stop, and as I get to my feet, the tears begin staining my cheeks again.
I run to him.
As my body crashes against his, the heavy sobs come tearing out of me. Colton wraps his arms around me, sliding his hand up to hold my head tightly against his chest. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers, his chin dropping down over my head as he stares at the devastation before him. “I’ve got you.”
I cry into his chest, this time not caring about how weak I appear to the Wolves. I’m human and entitled to break down every now and then. All that matters is how quickly I get myself back up again, stronger, wiser, and more determined than I was before.
After a minute, Colton’s hands slide down to my arms, and he gently pulls back, looking deep into my eyes. “Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes full of concern.
I shake my head. “How could I ever be okay?”
“I mean physically,” he amends. “Are you hurt? Did the paramedics check you out?”
I shrug off his concern. “I’m fine,” I grumble, glancing back at the men still on the ground, some still struggling to breathe but refusing to take their asses to the hospital. “Besides, the paramedics have more to worry about than checking in on me. These guys are stubborn and need all the help that they can get. Who knows how long they were breathing in smoke and fumes before I got here.”