Twelve
Kitty
“Stupid idiots,” I mumbled as I left church.
Since Ghost found and rescued Ari, the club had been in turmoil, because not only did they find Ari, but they also found Layla. The problem with that was the two women were held in two different places. While Ghost and his crew saved Ari, Dylan was still out there, trying to get Layla. I was anxious for Dylan to return with Layla. They hadn’t yet, but I knew they would soon.
As for Ghost and his team, they returned the other day with Malachi and Darden who were currently chained in the shed. Why they were not executed immediately I would never know.
Until Reaper’s return, Ghost was in charge and holding court in church, looking for new information. Those men were the stupidest men on the fucking planet. How they ran this damn club, I would never know. I had to lay it all out on the fucking line, and they still didn’t get it. What did they want me to do? Draw them a fucking map.
When I woke up this morning, all I wanted to do was have a nice breakfast and meet Ghost’s woman. Ari was a sweetheart. Shy and timid, and though I liked her fine, I worried she wouldn’t have the strength to make it in this club. The Golden Skulls were famous for chewing up and spitting out women like a piece of gum. Yet somehow, Ari had managed to make it this far. So, what did I know?
I was having a good morning, too, until my brother came and told me I had been requested in church. Not that I gave a damn, but it didn’t take a genius to know why. Those men couldn’t tie their shoes without guidance most of the time. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe they could handle or deal with what shit was going on in the club, but after years of watching them make the wrong decisions and fucking things up worse than they were before, I worried they had no clue what they were doing. I had some hope when Reaper told me he had his father killed, but when I learned Jeffery Darden got away, I wasn’t so sure anymore. Instead of putting a bullet in the man’s head immediately, they basically let him go.
They were morons. I left the Golden Skulls years ago for their decisions and bad choices. I was tired of seeing brothers killed or murdered for shit they knew nothing about.
I left this club for a damn reason. And there were several of them sitting in that church. None of them saw the writing on the wall. How I allowed myself to get caught back into their evil web of deceit I would never know. Okay, I knew how it happened, but in my defense, it was the only way. It was either come back to the fold or let Dylan go off and get himself killed.
Like I was ever going to let that happen.
No. What I should have done was stayed away. But did I do that? No. Apparently, I was a glutton for punishment, and my penance for knowing everything was dealing with stupid people.
Shaking my head, I returned to the kitchen to find Ari cleaning up. Deciding to ignore the voices in my head shouting at me to just walk away, I jumped in and helped her. She was a nice girl, and though I knew this life would chew her up and spit her out, I liked her. She was too damn sweet for what lay ahead of her, but she loved Ghost, and there was nothing I could do about it. I had my own problems to deal with, like doing what I could to keep my husband alive.
Smiling at my daughter, who was sitting in her highchair, I handed Ari another dish when we all heard shouting from the front of the clubhouse. Running for the door, I ran into the main room to find, Reaper screaming orders as he carried Bullseye in his arms, blood dripping on the floor at his feet. “Healer! Get the fuck out here now! Player get Layla to the clinic! Roxy, help me. We have more wounded!”
There was so much blood. I’d never seen so much blood before in my life as it dripped in pools around Reaper, leaving a trail as he walked further into the clubhouse. My husband was lifeless in his arms as Reaper struggled to hold onto him.
I knew this day would come.
It always did.
So much death.
It was everywhere. I couldn’t escape it. No matter what I did, death always found a way back into my life. I was never going to get away from it. Death was everywhere, always lurking in the shadows for its next victim.
Standing there, I did nothing as brothers came rushing from every direction, trying to help as best they could. I could have told them it wouldn’t matter. It never did. Death always won. Men stumbled into the club, bleeding and screaming out in pain. Roxy instantly went into doctor mode, barking orders left and right, along with Healer, who helped Reaper take Bullseye down to the clinic. It was total pandemonium as men gathered the wounded and made their way downstairs.
It was like Déjà vu. I’ve seen this story before. I watched it unfold many times, and it always ended the same. Death took the souls it wanted, leaving the rest to feel the pain of the loss.
Somehow, I found myself in the clinic watching as death moved about the room, smiling as it waited for its next victim. I knew who death wanted. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was barely moving. I should have known. I should have prepared better, but nothing could have prepared me for this.
Madness reigned around me as brothers moaned, some screaming out in pain. I’d seen brothers hurt or wounded before, but nothing like this. Ink laid on a gurney, not moving as Massacre tried to stem the blood from his belly. Chisel repeatedly cursed as he sat holding his leg while blood pooled underneath him. Chaos groaned as Roxy prodded his shoulder. And then there was Healer who worked on Dylan, who looked to have been sliced open from hip to hip, and Player sat over in the corner rocking Layla, who seemed to be unconscious in his arms.
“Fuck!” Healer shouted as he kept adding gauze to Bullseye’s stomach. “Roxy, what’s the damage!”
“Chaos has a shoulder wound. Through and through.” She shouted, moving to the next gurney where Chisel sat holding his leg. “Chisel has a gunshot wound to his left thigh. Looks like the femoral artery was nicked. Clamping it now!”
The moment she inserted the clamp into Chisel’s leg, he screamed, right before he passed out. “He’s going to need surgery immediately, Healer. It’s bad. He’s going to lose his leg.”
“Healer,” Massacre shouted. “Ink has a bullet in his stomach, man. It didn’t go through. It's still in there. I can’t stop the bleeding!”
“Fuck!” Healer cursed. “Viper, call Judge! Tell him it’s a fucking emergency and to stop sightseeing and get here fast. We don’t have enough hands!”
“On it,” Viper said, reaching for his phone and making the call. I knew it was bad if Healer needed his brother Judge to come in. I hadn’t seen Judge in years. He was always a quiet one. Sweet and very smart, Judge never seemed to fit into the biker life. Not that I would ever judge anyone for their choices in life, but Judge seemed more like an honest civilian than a ruthless biker. Unlike his brothers, Judge never partied, never participated in the clubs’ sexual exploits, or dipped his dick into the slut-pool. He and a few others left before the shit hit the fan several years ago, months before Pop’s was murdered. None of them knew where he’d ran off to.
I did, but they never asked me, and I never said.