“What?” Landry answered his cell. We were driving back from making a deal with the Aryan Brotherhood. More allies for the war that was coming. Landry hung up without saying anything else. But his face had frosted over to fucking ice, and he jerked on the steering wheel, suddenly heading right. His foot was lead on the gas.
“What’s going on?” I asked, my heart starting to pound knowing something was big was going down.
“Keon and his crew are out near Marble Falls. Cutting some deal on our fucking soil.” Landry was so filled with rage that he spat when he spoke. I felt the familiar heat of hate travel through my veins, lighting me the fuck up inside. My leg bounced, itching for the fight I knew was coming.
“Brant just called it in. They’re there now, waiting for us.” Nodding, I reached into my jeans and pulled out my knife and gun. My shoulders tensed, my eyes scanning around us as Landry pushed his truck to its fastest speed.
Keon Walters was a piece of shit. Trying to come onto our soil and trade guns out from under us. I glanced at Landry. His face was beet red. Keon Walters had fucked up three months ago when he’d taken out Landry’s childhood best friend. Roy Harris had been shot through the head.
Keon Walters had held the gun.
Landry had been waiting for this day.
“Five of them,” Landry said, clearly referring to how many of Keon’s men were making the deal. “The black bastard is there too.” Landry smiled. It was the coldest fucking smile I’d ever seen.
My heart beat faster, excitement at the thought of Keon dying a slow and painful death under our white hands making my dick hard. I gripped my knife tighter, putting my gun into the waistband of my jeans. A minute later, I jumped out of the truck into fucking chaos. Brant and Charles were charging across the back street, guns firing back at Keon’s crew, who were taking cover behind dumpsters. A slug made its hit on Charles, and his body slumped to the floor.
I glanced down, seeing his eyes wide open and a bullet wound in his head. My hands gripped the knife so tight I almost broke the fucking handle. “Cunt!” I snarled and started running across the street. I made it to the first fucker before he’d even had the chance to run. I stabbed the knife into his tattooed neck and watched him drop to the ground, his crew’s colored bandana dropping beside him.
I moved to the next asshole, taking my gun from my jeans and sending a bullet straight into the impure fucker’s heart. I smiled, a cold damn smile, as his eyes locked on me and blood dripped from his mouth. The last thing he’d ever see was a Klan brother, smiling at him as he drained of life.
“Tank!” I snapped my head to the back of the far-off dumpster. Landry was fighting to keep one of the bastards in his grip. The closer I ran, the faster my pulse raced. Keon Walters. Brant appeared beside me—cut up, injured, but fighting on. He’d taken out a couple of these pricks too.
Landry threw Keon into me. I didn’t waste time; I smashed my fist into the fucker’s face and pummeled him into the ground. It was only Landry dragging me away that stopped me from ending the fucker right then.
“Hold him down!” Landry ordered. I put my rage aside and did as he said, pushing down on Keon’s shoulders. Landry got above him and smiled that fucking cold smile again. He brought his knife to Keon’s face. Keon tried to break from my hands, but I was too strong. The asshole couldn’t even move an inch.
The sound of police sirens blared in the distance.
“Landry,” I warned. “We need to get out of here. Now.” This place was too public. Someone had seen us. Not all the cops were on our payroll.
His eyes narrowed on me. “I won’t rush this.” He brought his knife to Keon’s throat and slowly sliced across his skin. Just to watch him bleed. “This is worth doing time for.” He met my eyes. “If we’re arrested by one who isn’t ours, we’ll only be in for a few years. You know we have protection against anything more. It’s our duty to get this revenge. This is for the Klan, Tank. For the brotherhood. For Roy . . .” He focused on Keon. “Now. Hold the impure bastard down. I’m gonna make this fucker scream . . .”
The sound of a truck backfiring cut through the memory and brought me back to the here and now. Calvin’s arm slipped from me, and he and his brothers went toward the sound of the noise. Some new drunk asshole drag racing on the land, no doubt.
I looked around me. People were starting to pass out drunk; the sun was starting to rise. I needed to get the fuck away. To be alone and just breathe. I walked around the back of the property to the bike shop, instantly relaxing at the sight of it. I was a motorcycle mechanic. This was my shop. I’d missed it.
I stopped dead. My bike was standing by the side of the shop. My saddlebags full of my things. My tools, clothes, every-fucking-thing.
Tanner stood to the side, an empty whiskey bottle in his hand. A fucking lump threatened to block my throat. “Tann . . .” I said, but he just nodded his head once and tried to walk away. “Tann!”
He turned his head. “Go. Before I ain’t got no choice but to put a fucking bullet through your skull.”
“Tann . . .” I said again, but he wasn’t saying fuck-all else. His flannel shirt was tied around his waist, revealing the swastika on the back of his sleeveless shirt. And I fucking watched him go until that swastika was out of sight.
My heart pounded. This was my one chance to get the fuck gone. I jumped on my bike and took the back route out of the ranch. I didn’t look back. I just fucking rode, to where . . . it really didn’t matter.
For the first time in my life, I was free.
Chapter Two
Susan-Lee
“And your new Miss Central Texas is . . .” My cheeks ached from holding my fake-ass smile. My feet felt unsteady as the shoes I was wearing cut into my skin. But wearing heels two siz
es too small would do that to a bitch.
I caught sight of my mamma, hands on her face as the presenter undid the envelope. “Miss Susan-Lee Stewart!”
Flashing lights from snapping cameras bombarded me, and confetti cannons burst in the air above the stage. I felt the disappointment from the other girls on the stage, their jealousy and sadness thick like smoke, clogging the air. Flowers were pushed into my hands, a sash draped around my pink dress, and a crown placed upon my head.
I grinned and waved like the robot my mamma had made me into. I saw her smiling up at me from the stage. Smiling like it was her who had won. Hell, it was. I could literally give two shits about this life.
My lips started to quake as the fake smile strained the muscles of my face. My eyes roved over the clapping crowd like I was seeing it from above, seeing it from another person’s point of view. My heart pounded in my chest, and my head span.
What the hell am I doing here?
My feet stepped backward, then back again, until I spun around and fled from the stage. For once in my pathetic life I just ran, letting instinct take over. I ran and ran; even the torturous heels slicing into my feet didn’t stop me.
“Susan-Lee! SUSAN!” I heard my mamma’s voice from behind me. But there was no melting of the heart, no feeling guilty enough to stop. That bitch had made my life hell, and I was done. Her high-pitched shrill made me run that much faster, the bruise on my ribs pulsing with every step.
Seeing a fire exit sign, I hurried in that direction. I dropped the flowers to the floor, pushed on the bar, and rushed into the bright sun. I fled down the back alley and onto a small road. I searched left and right, my hand held out, praying for someone to stop.
I couldn’t take one more damn day of that life. Another day of the dresses, the sunless tanner . . . and my mamma’s fists.