“I'm sure you already know what my answer's going to be,” Austin growls. It's then that I expect the blows to start, for weapons to be drawn from pockets, for yet another fuckin' scuffle. I don't expect to hear a shot fired, a burst of sound that shakes me to my core. A spray of wetness that splatters my face and drops Melissa to her knees.
Somebody just shot Melissa fucking Diamond. From behind.
Beck
Chapter 7
My mind rips to shreds as I explode forward, sliding to my knees on the ground next to her. She's still alive, that much I can tell, even as my eyes scan the buildings around us looking for a shooter. But whoever it was only fires the single shot.
“Oh, come now, Mel. You can't go like this,” I growl out as I touch her cheek. She's coughing and groaning, bleeding out from her midsection. I touch my hand to the wound, try to stifle the bleedin'. But I ain't gonna be able to do much for her. I have to get her to a fuckin' hospital.
I look around, snatching the attention of a fellow Triple M'er. I have to help Mel, but I also can't leave my other friends high and dry.
“Put pressure on her wound,” I snarl at the man; Christopher is his name. He's been in the club as long as I have. I know I can trust him with my friend. I pass Mel over and rise to my feet, blood surging hot and fiery through my veins. My vision blurs a bit as I pull the gun from my pocket and raise it up, aiming it on the first man in blue and white that I find. Fucking pussies. I don't expect a lot from people, but I demand some Goddamn pride and dignity. I thought Seventy-seven Brothers was at the very least a respectable club. Not anymore. Not any-fucking-more.
I line my shot up and fire, just once, moving onto the next guy in line. Anybody that has a gun, I'm going to shoot to kill. Sorry, didn't want it to go this way, but I was pushed. I lock onto that cold calmness that comes when you're drenched in shit and ain't goin' nowhere. It's that shield that falls into place that protects the heart, at least for that single moment in time. What nobody bothers to tell ya is that once you're alone in bed at night, the feelings you got rid of before come rushing straight back, slamming into you and knockin' you silly. They all move in at once – with a motherfucking vengeance.
A smile tweaks my face as I fire off another round, drop another man. A split second later, I'm jamming my elbow into a man's face as he comes up beside me, a wrench in one hand. It's the Sergeant. Well, hot damn. I force my gaze to stay off the spot I left Melissa, turning to the guy with the blue eyes and the ugly smile. I don't bother to level the gun on him; he's too fucking fast, getting into my space as I drop my weapon to the ground and reach out to intercept him, throwing him against my bike hard as I can. He comes right back at me, nearly a foot shorter but a hell of a lot tougher than I'd have given him credit for.
I don't get the chance to deck him one that he deserves because there's another guy on my right, two more on my left. Shitty thing about numbers: seventy-seven to twenty-five, even forty-four if we were all here and able-bodied, doesn't make good odds. I slip the hammer from my pocket and swing it around, hitting a blonde in the side of the head with it. The crack that follows is fucking sickening. I just grin wider, keep that smile on my face as long as I can. It can protect me the way nothing else could. I kick out and smash the other man hard as I can in the kneecaps. Dropping down, I slam my body into the Sergeant as he comes at me again, wrench still clutched firmly in his hand. When he falls to his back on the pavement, I don't hesitate in drawing my knife, falling to my knees in front of him. Having military training comes in handy sometimes. Every once in a great while, you get to kill the bad guy.
I thrust my knife into the man's gut, smiling while I do it. Breaking inside. I pull my blade out and hit him again, and again, and again. One more time for good measure, splattering my face with more red, staining my devil driven heart a darker shade of black. Without waiting around to see what he does, I surge to my feet and swing into another group of Brothers. I unleash the motherfuckin' beast and pray to God I can at least get my friends out of here alive. I don't have time to look around and check on them. The odds, even for me are overwhelming. If everybody in Triple M had been where I've been, this would be a piece of cake. As things stand, I'll be lucky to find out that some folks were at least able to hold their own.
I swing my hammer like a fucking sword, smashing the metal into the bodies of the men around me, their black jackets and blue colors a blur to my wild vision. Beck Evans takes a break sometimes, steps out of his body and lets the animal take over. Right now, that animal is furious. I spin around and through a gap in the melee, I see the bloodstained spot where Mel had been laying. But she's not there anymore. Christopher is, but he isn't fucking moving. I look around, my eyes scanning the gathered crowd as quick as I can. I manage to find Kimmi and Austin, but I don't see Mel anywhere. If she could get up and fight, I'm sure she would, but I don't see 'er. I do not fuckin' see 'er.