“Why? Why my son? There are so many other members that have club brats.”
“I know that, we’ve been watching. However,yourcharter was the one to torch my clubhouse in Cali. So when that sexy bitch Bethany showed up with your kid in tow, it was the perfect opportunity to get my payback.”
“So you’ve been watching the entire time and planning to take him since she showed up?”
“I have…and now he’s mine.”
“The fuck he is. I will find you, and I will get my son back.”
“No, you won’t, but I have a deal for you. You’ll get him back, eventually. He’s going to be raised by me, and when he’s a grown man, I’ll let him go back to you. If he wishes.”
“Not fucking happening,” I grit and the line goes dead, making me shout.
Throwing my phone against the wall, it smashes and I begin to hyperventilate. His words crawled right under my skin and have begun to fester already. I think he’s crazy enough to believe what he’s doing is in his right. He can’t take my son and keep him.
That’s medieval shit, sending your kid to live off with the enemy or another king. In our case a rival club and I’m assuming Puppet is the President over them all. We didn’t snuff out the Iron Fists; we poked the fucking nest and now they’ve come back to swarm.
I’d heard they were a hard club—hell, we all had. That was why we were sent in the first place. We were warned that they don’t fuck around. Neither did we. At least I thought we didn’t. Clearly we had no fucking clue what the hell we were doing.
There’s so much more here, so much under the surface. I can’t just kill the Fists I find like I’d want to; this is going to take planning. How the fuck can I possibly pull this off? There has to be a way.
To think the Iron Fists have just been sitting back and waiting, biding their time for retaliation. We were stupid enough to believe we’d outdone them. The opportunity arose, and they took it, leading us straight into a goddamn trap. I’d bet their clubhouse isn’t even in Oklahoma. It was all a ruse to make the club weak enough for them to easily take what they intended.
“Talk to me,” Ex grumbles.
They haven’t left yet; he and Ruger have been by my side waiting to help me—everyone has. We buried Scot and Bronx yesterday, but I wasn’t present. I loved my brothers, but I have my own shit to deal with. I know if they were here they would understand and want me to keep looking for Maverick.
“What’s going on?” Viking asks immediately, noticing me flipping my shit. I puke again. I’ve lost weight this week from being sick so much, but it’s the only way my body is coping with the stress and pressure I’m under.
“Breathe, brother; tell us what just happened.” Chaos rests his hand on my shoulder, another good friend of mine, having my back. Regardless, without Mav I will blame them, no matter how much I tell myself not to.
“It was him,” I get out between heaves.
I feel like my chest is seizing up, and I’m having a fucking panic attack or some shit. I can’t breathe. It feels like my ribs are squeezing me in a vice grip. Like my heart’s going to burst straight through my chest. It’s not like running too much. It’s like sticking your head under water and being forced to suck in nothing but water. It fills your lungs, weighing your body down, choking you the fuck out.
My vision goes blurry for a moment, and I puke again, but this time nothing comes out. I have nothing left to expel. Acidic aftermath fills my mouth and I gag a few times. The blurred vision is new and not something I want sticking around.
Eventually it passes and I’m able to explain what just happened. I tell them about Puppet and everything that was said. I feel like I’m losing my mind, like this is all a sick joke or a goddamn nightmare and I need to wake up.
Letting it hit me all over, I shut down and go on a rampage, punching and throwing everything I can find. I down a bottle of Jager and then upchuck it all back up, damn near immediately. It gets so bad that I’m pricked with something in my back, and then everything goes black.
Princess shakes me awake, upset.
“What’s happening?” It leaves me in a groggy mumble as I meet her concerned gaze.
“It’s time for you to snap out of it, B.”
“I can’t deal with this, Prissy. There’s nothing I can do.” Brushing her off, I fall back against the pillows. My body aches from lying around and sleeping so much. I have to, though; I can’t handle being awake and not being able to do anything. No one here will let me leave to go find my son. No one has answers. I can’t cope like this.
“The fuck you can’t,” she replies angrily and suddenly she’s straddling my waist. She rears back and unleashes a harsh slap. Copper overtakes my mouth as my lip splits on the inside, and, for the first time in a week, I’m seeing her face clearly. “Shit is happening!” she screams, her bruised face scrunching up in sadness and anger. “No more, Bethany. You’ve fucking slept and moped for a week.”
“Well excuse the fuck out of me, Mrs. Fucking Perfect, but my son was stolen from your husband’s club!” I shout back and the bitch rears back, hitting me again.
It’s enough to infuriate me to the point of throwing her off my waist and jumping out of bed. “Bitch!” I yell, my hand coming to my face as I get some distance from her.
“Do I have your attention now?”
“Yes. What. The. Fuck.”