The angry heat in my bones switches to ice.
“What a coincidence,” I laugh. “I was just about to act out a little fantasy of mine.”
He frowns, puzzled.
“Yeah, it’s definitely not the same fantasy,” I admit. “In mine, you die.”
Behind Mr. King, I see Bane move quietly into position. He’s standing directly behind Mr. King, feet planted, his face neutral. Bane reaches with his left hand to a knife that I know is sheathed in the waistband of his jeans.
“This isn’t what I wanted Vincent, but this is not a game,” I say, parroting back his words to me when he handed me over to Jack. “I wish I could say I forgive you for what you’ve done to me, or at least tried to do, but I’m not there yet. Maybe with counseling, who knows? But I’m sure as hell not giving you any more chances to hurt me, my sister, or anyone else. You’re done. Your little game of playing god and destroying people ends tonight. Goodbye, Vincent.”
With a movement so swift and sudden that even I barely see it, Bane’s arm swings around, plunging the blade of the knife into Mr. King’s ribcage and burying it up to the hilt. Mr. King gargles, stunned, his eyes harried and frozen on me as if I can explain. And then Bane twists he knife, sealing Mr. King’s fate. I feel it echo through Mr. King’s body as he twitches and his weight sags a little into my legs.
“Clark,” he croaks, twitching. “You…bitch.”
“That’s no way to address a lady,” Bane whispers in his ear.
Vincent’s iceberg eyes bulge and his face contorts. He’s gasping like a fish when he reels forward into me, clutching at my shoulders. His nails dig into my skin painfully, as if he’s clinging onto his very life. But it’s useless. Those eyes, once so invulnerable and cold, are widening in shock as the blood and the seconds drain out of him.
“Clark…”
He convulses, careening into me, and slumps.
Dead.
Bane is right behind him, and he wraps an arm under Mr. King’s armpits to hold him steady while with his other hand he deftly unlocks my handcuffs. I bring my arms down gratefully, rubbing circulation back into them. My heart is thundering in my ears, and I can feel Mr. King’s sticky blood spilling over my belly. Even with Bane’s help, Mr. King’s deadweight is getting to be too much for me.
“Hurry,” I whisper.
“Lift his arms,” Bane grunts.
I raise one of Vincent’s wrists, locking it in the cuffs, and then the other. Now he is suspended like a hunk of meat in a butcher’s shop, a macabre addition to the horrible D.L. Club’s entry hall. With any luck, no one will even notice him until the club closes. That’s how we leave the great and powerful Mr. Vincent King, another casualty of the hell he helped to build.
Just like we planned, Bane and I turn and walk away as casually as possible. We slink through the crowd toward the MC members’ elevator. Judge Jefferson is still there, talking to the bouncer. When he sees us coming, he shifts his stance to block the bouncer’s eye line so we can slip past. Judge Jefferson gives me a wink over the shoulder of the oblivious bouncer as I slip past.
As the elevator doors close behind us, Bane takes my hands in his. It’s then that I realize I’m shaking. He pulls me in to him and holds me tight against his body. I can feel his heart beating through the muscles of his chest, and am somehow soothed by the powerful feel and sound of him. He rests his chin on the crown of my head, and I can feel his soft breath against my hair. I may be trembling against him like a leaf, but he’s my rock.
“We did the right thing Ava,” he murmurs. “That was the only way out. Kill or be killed.”
“I know.”
He holds me close as the floors zoom past, and I find myself chuckling against him.
“What?” He asks.
“Only in the D.L. Club could a half-naked woman covered in blood draw no attention.”
He scoffs. “Fast shower for you, and then let’s blow this popsicle stand.”
When the elevator doors open, we practically sprint to his room. Bane double-checks everything in the backpack he has packed for us while I speed-shower, scrubbing and scrubbing with soap but feeling like Lady Macbeth; that damn spot just won’t ever come out.
I’ve now killed a man. Along with Mr. King, I’ve killed Old Ava for good. Now, the only way to go is forward, and I know exactly who to hitch my wagon to.
When I step out of the shower, I see that Bane has laid out some clothes for me on the bathroom sink. It’s a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a leather jacket, underwear, a bra, and boots. It’s cohesive, shades of navy and gold, and all the correct size. As I shrug it on, I let out an involuntary sigh of relief. God, it feels amazing to wear real clothes in my own size. It’s been for-fucking-ever!
When I join Bane in the bedroom, he doesn’t even have to glance up to know my question. He’s zipping up the backpack and stroking behind Jenny’s ears.
“A going-away present from Blair,” he explains. “She wouldn’t stop giving me shit for dressing you in my underwear. And yeah, it’s totally creepy that she can guess everyone’s size. She’s always been like that.”
I smile, as ready as I’ll ever be. “Shall we?”
“Let’s rock and roll.” Bane stands to his feet. I take the backpack filled with cash and supplies from him, and he also hands me his Remington. Then he turns to the pit-bull. “OK, Jenny. You’re not gonna like this, but you’re coming too.”
He squats down beside the dog, who hasn’t moved much in the day since Meat Grinder’s emergency surgery. She’s got a fresh bandage on her side and chest, and her stumped leg is wrapped snug in clean linen. Bane scoops her into his arms and gives her a little kiss between the ears that makes my heart feel stupid squishy and like a bursting gusher candy.
A devastatingly charismatic, dimpled smile flashes across his face. “Alright. Got my redhead and my pit bull. Just one more girl to go.”
I roll my eyes, knowing he means his motorcycle. “Oh my god, are you always this cheesy?”
“Only after I kill the bad guys.”
It’s only half funny, half disturbing, but I still laugh with him. He’s holding the door open with his foot and I hop up to my tiptoes to kiss his lips before I pass him into the hall, smiling into his handsome, hard face.