Chapter One
~ BEAST ~
Back in my room, I sat on the edge of the bed while the prospect packed up my shit. I wasn’t leaving because Doctor Collins told me to—far from it. I was leaving because I hated that place and everything in it. I wanted out of here and to be back home with my club and my brothers. That place was just a constant reminder of the pain I had endured and all I had lost.
My head was spinning from the exertion of the past thirty minutes, sickness clawing at my insides and making me feel like I was going to puke, fire dousing my lungs, my muscles aching, throbbing with the constant strain of standing up, of walking and moving, of doing normal shit that normal people could do. The prospect looked over at me, his gaze filled with worry, but he didn’t say anything. I swiped my hand over my forehead, feeling it slick with sweat as I struggled to stay upright.
Fuck Doctor Collins.
Fuck Belle.
Fuck this hospital.
I was goddamned fine.
Or I would be once I got out of here.
Gauge was on his way with some of my brothers to take me back home, and I couldn’t wait. I was a fully working man again, and back at the club I could have all the beer and pussy I wanted, starting with Lola. I’d show that bitch how much of a man I still was and then I’d kick her out of the club for talking to me the way she had.
The door opened and Shooter, Casa, and Gauge walked in. Shooter’s expression was dark, and a man like Shooter didn’t look like that unless something really bad had happened. The prospect stopped what he was doing as Gauge clicked the door shut.
“You couldn’t stay put for another week, huh?” Gauge grumbled, his arms crossed over his chest.
“See you got your eyes back, brother,” Casa said, nodding toward me.
“Got a cage downstairs ready to take you back to the clubhouse,” Shooter said, his expression hard, serious...
I looked between them all, sensing that something significant had happened. Now that I’d taken my head out of my self-pitying ass and I had the use of both eyes, I was seeing a whole lot more. And right then I was seeing that some serious shit was about to go down.
“Are any of you going to tell me what’s going on or are you going to keep playing with my balls?” I snapped. “Because I’m all for foreplay, but I’d rather get it from a sweetbutt than any of you fuckers.”
No one laughed.
Not even Casa, and I’d just joked about his two favorite things.
My stomach soured further.
“You found out who did it,” I said, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. It was a matter of fact even before Shooter nodded. “Who?”
Gauge and Casa exchanged a look, but Shooter kept his gaze on me. Steady, calm.
“Brothers, I need to know.” I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the news. Echo was back inside my head, and he was just as furious and desperate as me to know who it was that had killed him. Who it was that had almost killed me. And who it was that had lost me the woman of my dreams.
I’d always been a violent man. Violence bred violence, right? And in the end, we become what we most fear. I’d started my life unwanted and had been punished, abused, and unloved. And I’d become the outcome of those actions. Never caring enough to let anyone in. I’d never pushed someone away because I’d never let anyone get close enough to care. Not until Belle.
That one night had destroyed more than just my body. It had destroyed my mind. And I’d put myself back together as someone different. Despite what Belle thought, I wasn’t good; the goodness had been cut and burned out of me until I wasn’t whole anymore. And Belle deserved someone whole…someone more.
In a different life, we could have been good.
“You might wanna sit down for this,” Shooter said, interrupting my tangled thoughts.
“Fuck that, Prez, just tell me.”
He huffed out a breath and looked to Casa, whose expression was serious.
“Italian mafia,” Shooter said.
I scowled. “How sure are you?”
The Italian mafia was serious.
Really fucking serious; it meant war.
“A hundred percent, brother.” He looked back at Shooter. “We got the cops on the payroll to check phone records of people in the area that night, linked it up to their men. Followed them for a few days, hacked their phones, and heard talk. Realized it was connected to the new buyers we’ve been in talks with. Told you they were from Cali, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, my scowl growing deeper.
“Big pockets, big connections, and an even bigger risk. But the payroll was worth it. Italian mafia found out and wanted in on our territory. Thought they could take out a couple of our guys and scare us off. They want our product. They want our buyers, and they want us gone.” He ran a tattooed hand down his beard, his face lined with worry.
“There’s more?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.
“Yeah, this is where shit starts to get fucked up.” Shooter looked to Casa, who took a step closer.
“I found talk on the dark web…about that night,” he began, and I froze, dread seeping into my blood and turning it to ice. “I followed some leads and traced some shit and…” Casa stopped talking, dragging a hand over his shaved head before looking at me. “It was filmed, brother,” he said, his voice filled with apology and dismay.
“What was?” I asked with a heavy scowl, but then I knew, and I wished I didn’t.
“That night. Everything was filmed. Echo, you…all of it.” Casa cracked his knuckles and swallowed. “I’ve taken it down, but…” His words trailed off.
Dread hit my stomach like a lead balloon and I sat back down on the edge of my bed, feeling dizzy. Being tortured for hours was bad enough, but knowing that there were videos of it out there and people were watching it. Getting off on my pain. My screams. My nightmares…Echo’s death.
“Show me,” I said, my conviction weak as I looked down at the floor, shame marring every word I spoke.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, brother,” Gauge stepped in. “You did good. You never broke. You never gave shit away. You did yourself and the Highwaymen proud. There’s no shame in it, brother.”
“You watched it,” I said, my words hollow.
It shouldn’t have mattered, yet it did.
I’d relived that night a hundred times over, maybe more, and every time it morphed and changed into something worse, something more bloody and violent. My screams got more agonizing, the pain was more excruciating, the night darker, blacker, the fire brighter, hotter. And the screaming of the horses filled every space in between.
“Beast, you did good,” Shooter said.
I looked back up. “I want to see,” I growled, my tone darkening, “and then we’re going to take these motherfuckers out, one by one.”
“There’s another…complication,” Shooter said, interrupting my tirade. “The prospect says you and that nurse of yours have been gettin’ close.”
I scowled over at the prospect. “I fired her this morning.”
“How close did you get?” Gauge asked.
“What the fuck does she have to do with anything?”
Shooter dragged his hand over his short beard again, a nervous tic that he’d developed in the past couple a years, and I knew that things were about to get even worse. “Well, seems she’s been seeing someone.”