Of course it was.
With my control fluctuating, I knew this was the last place I should be.
My temper was already wavering under the restraints I usually tackled it into, and the need to let go, to let it fly free, to feel anything other than how I was currently feeling was imperative.
I needed oblivion.
Climbing off my bike, I stared up at the mini mall that had earned the club a fortune since its inauguration. There was no denying that. It had also caused its share of misery too.
I still couldn’t go into Daytona without thinking about what Giulia had gone through in there.
That fateful night had triggered so much, had brought us to this point. To this moment in time.
Fate.
I was too logical to believe in it, but everything was feeling pretty fucking fated right now.
This level of fuckfest had to be at some greater being’s behest, didn’t it?
Sucking in a breath, not even feeling the cold through my leather gear, I strode toward the strip joint.
Hawk was off work today because I knew Sin—not that he’d admit it—was terrified Amara would stab him in his sleep and making him work on Christmas Day was one such way to earn a stabbing.
As a result, Hungry John was the one doing a double take at the sight of me.
“Prez?”
Hungry John was one of the men whom I didn’t hear much from. He kept his head down, ear to the ground, heart loyal to the Sinners, and didn’t cause me shit.
On a night like tonight, I recognized that I didn’t fucking appreciate that enough. Hadn’t shown him that appreciation either.
Clapping him on the back, I said, “Merry Christmas, Hungry John.”
He blinked at me, but I could see that the rumor mill about Dad hadn’t started yet because he shot me a sheepish grin. “Merry Christmas, Prez. What the fuck are you doing here?”
I shrugged. “Got to take out some trash.”
His brow furrowed, but his gaze was resolute on mine. “Hawk showed you the footage?”
“That surprises you?”
“No. I told him to wait until after Christmas though.”
“Why?”
“Things are hard enough on you right now. It could be the last Christmas with your dad, things are crazy with the MC… It didn’t seem important, especially since Inked ain’t even on staff tomorrow or the 27th. Not like he could have stolen much else.”
“I appreciate that, Hungry.”
“Wouldn’t normally have told him to keep it back. Know you like to be involved. But it’s Christmas, you know. After a tough year, waiting didn’t do no harm.”
“You’re not wrong.” Hawk was trying to impress me though. He wanted off bouncer duty at the strip club. Amara was insanely possessive so it wasn’t like I could blame him. “Is Inked behind the bar?”
He peered at his watch. “Should be on a break.”
Fate, again.
“Around the back?”
“Probably.”
“I need your cage.”
“Need me to give you a hand?”
“Nah.”
Hungry passed me his keys. “See, cages come in handy.”
I shot him a glance. “You just hate the fucking cold.”
He smirked at me, but when a couple of drunken assholes wandered over to the door, his attention split, and I clapped him on the back to let him get on with his work.
Before I could head down the walkway at the side which separated the bar from the club that was for security and deliveries only, he snagged my arm and asked, “You doing okay, Prez?”
I locked up. “I’m doing fine,” I lied.
He shook his head. “You’ve got murder in your eyes.”
How right he was.
“I’m fine,” I repeated.
He shrugged, but there was a knowing look on his face that I’d have smacked off if we didn’t have an audience.
As he let me go, I walked down the passageway and, irony of ironies, that was where I found him.
One leg cocked back against the wall, smoke in hand, head tipped so he was looking up at the covered roof of the path.
At the sound of my booted footsteps, he didn’t bother shooting me a glance, just drawled, “Fuck off, Two Knives. I got five minutes.”
I didn’t answer until I was a few steps away. “You ain’t got five minutes, Inked.”
He straightened up in surprise because I never came down here, but didn’t move away fast enough to stop me from grabbing him by the stubby ponytail, twisting him around, and slamming his head into the wall.
He groaned as he staggered back, and when his hands came up to defend himself, the quick one-two jab had him turning in a drunken pirouette before he face-planted on the ground.
Picking him up by his jacket, I started to drag him down the pathway.
Once the door was a few steps away, and aware there’d be CCTV on the streets, I hefted him over my shoulder with a grunt seeing as I could hear that Hungry was alone now.
I called out, “Inked’s pissed, Hungry John. Better get him home. Think the bar staff will manage without him?”
“Yeah. Don’t see why not,” Hungry replied, opening the door for me.
I nodded at him then walked over to his cage. “I’ll have it back to you in an hour.”
“Thanks, Prez,” he said cheerfully.
Slamming Inked into the truck bed, the only place I could go was the motel…
Or the Fridge.
I could access that around the back of the clubhouse.
That seemed like a smart thing to do. The motel was closer and there were fewer chances of me seeing one of my brothers, but even in the haze of grief and misery, I had some good sense remaining.
Like a man possessed, I drove back up the road to the compound, and when one of the new Prospects saw me, a guy called Jensen who I knew would make a great addition to our security team, he nodded as he opened the gates.
“Merry Christmas, Prez,” he called out, and I returned the greeting even though nothing was fucking merry about this Christmas.
Goddammit, if I heard that again today, I’d lose my fucking shit.
It took an extra five minutes to get to the clearing between the compound and the Fridge, but I wasn’t disrupted on the way.
I heard Inked start groaning and slammed on the accelerator to make it there in time.
Again, fate was on my side.
Only after I’d dragged him out onto the ground, only after I’d hauled him up the few steps to the Fridge and when he was spreadeagled on the floor, did he start to stir in earnest.
The second his eyes opened, though they were dazed, I grabbed one of my knives and slammed it right between his fucking legs. The floor was concrete, so the tip glanced off the surface, sending a shockwave of pain down my forearm, but that was nothing to the grief suffocating me.
As Inked yowled in surprise at how near the blade was to his family jewels, I rasped, “Since when did you think I was running a charity?”
Dazedly, he stared at me before he slurred, “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you not putting every dollar in the cash register and pocketing whatever you fucking feel like taking.”
His eyes widened and his flight-or-fight responses kicked in because he cried, “I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
He tried to kick me but I tilted the knife backward so the edge of the blade was digging into his dick.