“You’re insane,” I breathed.
“No, I’m just fucking pissed.” He brushed me off and looked away.
A sudden wave of weakness softened my limbs, and in the back of my mind I was vaguely aware of a dull pain heating up inside of me. Period pain. A new fear took up residence in my core. I needed to get to the hospital. I had to keep Elias distracted while I worked out a new escape plan.
“Caveman’s accident—was that you?” I asked, trying to breathe away the pain in my womb and keep my focus on escaping.
Elias looked up and grinned. “Now, that was spur of the moment decision. I came across him and his two-bit skank by chance, and I just thought to myself, why the fuck not? Let’s see how easy it is to do this. So, I rammed him. One sweet little tap with my pickup and they zipped off that road like a fucking pinball!”
He started to laugh out loud, almost maniacally, but then stopped when he realized I wasn’t laughing along with his craziness.
“But Caveman wasn’t involved with Talia’s death,” I said. The police and the MC had put it down to a one-off act of road rage. Not the start of a personal vendetta against the club.
He shrugged. “Like I said, it was spur of the moment. I didn’t decide to start with those low-life thugs until after Caveman’s accident.”
He paused and bit his lower lip as he recalled what happened next. It was clear he felt proud of himself.
“Isaac’s death, now that . . . that was some sweet, sweet revenge!” He drew in a deep breath as if the memory brought him much pleasure, and then exhaled slowly, savoring the satisfaction clouding his diseased mind. “That outpouring of grief and devastation was mind blowing. It was like the peak of a climax. The wane of an orgasm. I couldn’t have imagined just how satisfying it was going be, not in my wildest dreams. I hoped it would devastate everyone, I mean, clearly. But I had no idea just how catastrophic it was going to be.” He laughed again, that same crazed laugh of an unstable man, then sighed, disappointed that I didn’t share his humor. “I have to admit, though, the others didn’t feel nearly as satisfying as Isaac. But then again, nothing ever beats your first high, does it? Irish. Tex.” He waved them off like they were afterthoughts. “Not nearly as exciting.”
“What did you do to them?” I asked. I had to keep him talking. Stall him while I worked out my next move.
He grinned nefariously at me, and again looked pleased with himself.
“Irish was easy, stupid fool. He could never turn down a bourbon, so I got him drunk. Then once he was passed out—”
“—you shot him.”
He clicked his fingers. “Just like that.”
“And Tex?”
“I waited for him to get home, knocked him out and then placed him in the garage and turned on the car. Easy.”
The police still thought it was an accidental death.
But it wasn’t accidental. It was murder.
“Now, Freebird . . .”
My eyes darted to his. “Why hurt him when he wasn’t involved with Talia?”
Elias shrugged. “Poor timing. He walked in on me setting up Irish’s suicide so he had to go. He started yelling at me, calling me a murdering cunt as he rushed at me. So I grabbed the tire iron Irish had in his bedroom for protection and beat him to death.”
Just like that.
My breath left me. Freebird had died because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I remembered him lying in that ditch, all bloodied and broken, his body already starting to bloat. My heart twisted and I shook my head.
Elias waved it off. “Collateral damage, if you will.”
“Is that what Mirabella was?”
He snickered. “I knew killing her would end Jacob. Slowly. He would die a painful, aching death without the woman he was so in love with.” His eyes gleamed with a sinister brightness. “Just like Cade will.”
Alarm flared in my chest.
I thought about Jacob kneeling in a pool of Mirabella’s blood and wondered how Cade would cope with my death.
“But you killed Jacob anyway,” I said, my voice shaky and hoarse.
“I had nothing to do with Jacob’s motorcycle accident. That was all him.” He shrugged. “Pity. I was enjoying watching him suffer.”
Nausea bubbled up inside me when I remembered the rooftop conversation we’d had the night of Mirabella’s death. How we’d shared a joint and he had asked me about the moment Mirabella had died. He wasn’t asking as a grieving friend, it was a perverse question from a sick mind. He’d probably gotten off on it. Aroused by the devastation unfolding around him, psychopathic fuck.
I breathed out heavily, trying to calm my heart. He was crazy. An overwhelming sense of anger and grief washed over me.