I FIST THE WHEEL. We go ahead with the plan. Bronson is with Carter somewhere in the thick, dense bush. Aurora waits at home with Luca and the men, ready to initiate a recovery operation should we not come back tonight.
And I drive alone.
Thick grey smoke rolls along the bonnet, icing the dark metallic sheets in white and brown soot as I drive through the debris of the bushfire.
To her.
And I’m feeling.
So fucking much.
It’s dangerous.
Distracting.
Blackened trees border the road. The national park fire is a 360-degree glow of orange. The heat is immense, contracting the metal of my Chrysler. The fibres shrinking within this woodland furnace.
I head further into its depths, towards more scorching intensity. Ahead, I can only make out mere metres. Cracks rattle my bones as branches snap in half in the vast distance.
This is red, hot, earthly hell.
I roll down a dirt track, steering towards the meeting site. My mind drifts to the text message I received thirty minutes ago as I geared up. It read: ‘We will be there. I will keep her safe. You have my word, brother.’
She’s out in this heat, too.
Without me.
But ‘a leader is always alone’, and I have never felt lonelier in my own presence than I do in her absence… Christ. I’ll die before I let anyone take her from me. I’ll crumble the world around her body.
The corridor of charred trees is narrower now, black limbs reaching over the track, the higher ones disappearing into the smoky air.
Passing through a scorched gate, I enter the campground. My fist tightens on the wheel as the glow of lights drill through the grey abyss. Ominous dots. One beside the other. The row of bright headlights alerts me to the barricade of bikes ahead. The dense fog hazes my vision of much more.
Flanking them will be Bronson, Carter, and three soldiers, on foot, navigating their way through this terrain.
Dammit.
They won’t be able to see a fucking thing. Won’t see my signal. And I can’t get an aim on anyone. My heart thrashes hard under this premise. I won’t lose them. I can’t.
Unable to measure the distance between my car and the awaiting lights, I pull over. Fisting the wheel on a final thought of her, of the sweetness she gave me, the hints of what life and love could be, I inhale hard and exit the vehicle, feigning a smooth unaffected manner.
Still suffering it all.
All the way in my veins.
Rounding the bonnet, I open my arms wide, welcoming, calling out, ‘Now you have me. Let’s talk about why we are really here.’ Honing my ears, I try to decipher movement, chatter, orders, anything, but the silence hangs with the thick smoke around me. Their engines are killed.
Interesting…
They are not in any hurry to get away. Not wary.
‘Are you tired of hearing the name Butcher?’ I go on. ‘Tired of seeing the name Butcher all over the news. Tired of having men refuse your business because of us. Of hiding from your own city.’
‘Where is my daughter?’ I jolt to the north as his voice punches through the smoke from my left-hand side. The dark silhouette of a man appears through the smoulder, followed by the hazy outline of several in his shadow.
Dustin.
And I know this is an execution.
The tightness of my bulletproof vest below my suit reminds me they’ll need to aim true. I press my hand to my collarbone. Hold the scar that mars it and recall what he had me do when I was eighteen. What I did for him. For Jimmy. ‘You don’t want your daughter. You want me.’
He scoffs. ‘I have promised her to one of these men behind me, you see, and he’ll be rather unimpressed if she’s not here.’
‘Don’t lie.’ I face them straight on. ‘You don’t want your daughter. You want me. You can have me. Let my brother go. I’m bored of this. Of the theatrics. I’m the one you want.
‘My dad fucked your wife, and she grew his heir in her stomach. You raised the boy as your own…’ I say, stepping to the side, trying to see through the smoke. I try to force an emotive response from him. A passionate man is a vulnerable man; I know this most of all today as it’s boiling inside me. ‘Did it hurt when you found out he wasn’t yours?’ I continue. ‘Then I fucked your daughter. Butchers are infesting your life, your city, right? I’m the head of this Family. It’s me you want. Why aren’t you just shooting me? I’m the one you need to make this all stop.’
I know the answer, of course; he wants us all. All of Luca’s sons dead. Our bodies forever ash in the national park.
‘Clay Butcher, the Don of the District,’ he mocks, and the sound burns fierce hatred through my Butcher head. I realise he’s the impartial man. I’m the one on the cusp of volatility today. ‘Still a self-centred son of a bastard. You give yourself too much credit again. You can fuck my daughter as much as you want, Clay. Please, she’s on the house.’
I hiss through my teeth.
‘You see,’ he says, ‘there was a time when I would have handed you the cigar afterwards. We almost had an understanding between our families. I knew that I needed to marry my girls off to one of your brothers, or my part in this empire would be overthrown as soon as you took over.
‘You married Jimmy’s daughter. And well, your brother, Bronson, is damn out of his mind. It had to be Max. But then the Slater girl got involved. And she got in the way of that. And she brought the Slater boy into the light to remind me of what your father did. To show him off. And now—’
He walks towards me until I can see the shadowed edges of his face, the sharp lines cutting across his cheeks and jaw. I haven’t seen this face in years. I once said that Fawn bared no resemblance to him, but— I lock my jaw. Now all I see is that his eyes mirror the same shape as Fawn’s… I want to remove them. He doesn’t deserve her likeness.
‘I’m no fool,’ he says, his tone circled in hatred. ‘It doesn’t matter that my daughter takes your cock each night. You won’t be making me a boss under your leadership.’
‘While I’m still alive,’ I implore, wanting to reach the fifteen or so metres between us and pull his tongue out through a slice I make in his throat. ‘It’ll end with me.’
‘No, it won’t,’ he deadpans, and I hear feet shuffling. The rolling of rocks below uneven steps.
My smooth outward armour slips right off when I see Xander hauled towards me by a leather-clad biker. I recognise the thug as the Sergeant at Arms, Crow. Or Colin Marone for when he’s a civilian filling in his papers at the City Building.
I know them all.
‘Clay.’ Xander searches the area around me, blood rushing from his face as he takes in the scene. Me, alone. No sign of an ambush. ‘Clay…’
Dustin grins and raises his gun, and when he presses the nose to Xander’s temple, a desperate sound rumbles from my throat. A second. That is all it will take. A second and my baby brother will have his brain misting the thick, pungent smoke. ‘My daughter?’ Dustin insists, and as I stare at my brother, blue-eyed and bruised, a stab of affection, of protectiveness so intense slides into my chest. I realise I chose Fawn over him. I can’t not… choose my little deer.
We lock eyes. ‘He always was the invisible Butcher, wasn’t he? The forgettable one.’ No. He’s the right one. The perfect one. The good one. I’ll die in this park for him, with the hope he’ll live and one day understands why I chose her. Hope he accepts with sad melancholy that it does not lessen my absolute loyalty to him and my family.
‘Here.’ My body stiffens. Max’s voice seeps into my blood, setting it to boil, my muscles pulsing to claim what he took from me—her.
With my fingers curled to the point of searing pain, I turn slowly in the direction his voice comes from.
Squinting through the thick grey haze, I watch Max appear like a ghost, shielding my little deer with his body. They came on foot. They. Came. On. Foot!
‘Hello,’ Fawn says softly, speaking to her father for the first time in her life. My muscles convulse with need—a need to wrap my arms around her. Protect her from the smoke. The heat. Him. Everything.
She must be so overwhelmed. Confused. I need to get to her, but then she steps forward, provoking words to claw through my clenched teeth, through my waring resolve. ‘Step back, Fawn!’
She gasps at the sound of my voice, squinting through the dense atmosphere, stilling her gaze on me as smoke parts between us. Her mouth moves as she breathes my name. ‘Clay.’ The haze brings the word to me. Not Sir. Not today.
Dustin laughs, and I know I’ve lost the war of wills. Shown him everything I should have meticulously guarded. I revealed my affections, my moves. Lost. I fucking lost.
Unable to wait, unable to signal Bronson and the others, I edge towards him through the smoke as Fawn has captured his attention.
Still with his gun to Xander’s temple, he says, ‘Let me get a good look at you.’ Eyeing her, he takes in her appearance—skin pinkened and slick from the heat. He regards her like a prize colt he might purchase and race, wear to the ground, and then put a bullet in once it has served its purpose.
‘Well, aren’t you lovely,’ he finally says, and I hear my growl rumble between my ears. ‘I understand why Clay Butcher finally thawed. Don’t you want to give your daddy a kiss hello? It’s polite, after all.’
He waits, but she tilts her head, looking at him as though she is trying to recognise herself in him. When she doesn’t respond, he says, ‘No? Well, we can work on that.’
I still my creeping forward when he looks back at me. He frowns, his stare shooting to the trees behind me. ‘Order Bronson and the others to move where I can see them. He wouldn’t have missed this. I know he’s in there. I can feel him. I can always feel a Butcher.’
Fawn takes another hesitant step toward her father. My little deer, seemingly unafraid. Intrigued, instead.
‘I wanted to meet you,’ she almost whispers, and my heart aches from hearing her sweet, honest cadence. He never deserved her. ‘I came all the way here to find you. But I found Clay instead. Do you actually want to trade Xander for me? Do you want to know me at all?’
Xander suddenly drops his head back into Crow’s face, provoking a grunt from him. Quickly, he twists to grip his shirt, whirls around using the thick dazed biker as a shield, and ducks behind it just as Dustin’s gun goes off.
A bullet meant for Xander appears like a red portal in the centre of the Sergeant of Arm’s cheek.
Chaos breaks loose.
Rounds suddenly echo through the hot, coasting fog. The thick smoke lights up with small flares from the firing weapons ahead.
Dustin growls, turning his gun towards us, firing through the haze. Shooting at everything. Anything. Anyone.
Only ten or so metres away, Max shields Fawn. Suddenly, his arm jolts backwards as he takes a bullet for her. It must have hit his bone, or it would have broken through his flesh and landed in her face.
He grunts and cups his shoulder as blood spills through the webbing between his fingers.
Fuck!
‘Max!’ I roar, rushing to them. Reaching for my little deer, I grip her close, drop with her to ashy debris, and cover her body while unseen bullets soar around us.
‘Max? Talk to me,’ I call out, unable to see him while I guard her beneath me.
Fawn whimpers within my hold. The sound of ammunition hitting the dirt around us forces high-pitched yelps of terror from her. She covers her ears.
I lift my head to assess Max’s condition, but he’s crawling along the dirt towards Xander, moving with strength, unaffected by the wound. That’s my brother.
Xander meets him on the ground, and for a second, they embrace, and I smile with relief.
Then I hear Bronson’s laughter ring from somewhere inside the circling black mist, a manic sound that follows a gurgling howl, then a roar of hysterics.
‘Seven lil’ bikers all in a row, seven bikers in a row, ‘ he sings, and I catch a blur of his silhouette and another’s dashing around behind the headlights across from me. ‘Take one down, what do you have’—A man groans—’Six lil’ bikers all in a row.’
Max is on his feet now, charging straight towards an oncoming bike. He throws himself at the rider, slamming the body to the dusty ground. Soot and debris rise around them. The two wrestling figures are swallowed by smoke. The smacks of skin to skin follow them.
Assessing the immediate area, the unknown location of Dustin unnerving me, I pull Fawn with me as I crawl over the ashy dirt on my elbows towards the Chrysler.
I hide her behind the tyre, cup her cheeks soaked in tears and soot, and kiss her lips. Feeling too much. Damn her. I love her too much. Then I rip open my suit shirt, tug the bulletproof vest from my body, and fasten it around her.
She clutches at my shirt. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’
I punch kisses over her face. Anger towards her surfaces. Now she is safe. Now she is in my arms. My hands twitch. ‘Don’t ever do that again, little deer. Don’t ever defy me—betray me again!”
My choice of word throws her—betray—her breath catching on it. ‘I’m so sorry. I couldn’t let you choose me.’
‘Dammit! I will always choose you!’
Her small fists shake, still curled around the fabric at my chest. ‘Maybe I can talk to him.’ She wheezes, and the word betrayal takes on new meanings as her concerns shines in tears. No. She’s just desperate. Confused. She knows this has to happen. ‘Yes. Yes. Maybe he will stop this. I can convince him I’m worth knowing and that we are in love and—’
Fuck. You’re worth knowing, sweet girl. He’s not!
But I don’t have time to coddle her as the war continues around us. Shaking my head, I say, ‘He shot at you, sweet girl. He shot at you.’
Her lips wobble, and I curse, ever fuelled by the need to make him pay. Goddamn it. I don’t have time for more sentiment, so I drag myself from the sweet, little hands desperate to keep me close.
‘No,’ she cries as I head back into the open. And it dawns on me that it may not be my safety or her own that causes her to suffer through that cry. Perhaps it is for her father. That the reality of him, his existence, and the slight similarity in the shape of his eyes may have altered the idea of him for her—he’s real now.
Fucker. Drawing my Glock, I find purchase behind a blackened trunk before moving to another.
I hear Bronson sing again. ‘Take one down, what do you have”—another groan echoes—“five lil’ bikers all in a row.’
Upon me, a biker appears through the grey clouds and throws a fist into my face. I hiss on contact, dropping my gun. I curse.
He gets in close, so I pull him in further by his cut and slam my forehead into his nose.
The biker thug stumbles backwards, and I use the reprieve to claim my knife from my belt and slice him from ear to ear, the sound of gurgling vibrates through the slit.
Then I hear Fawn screech and ice slides through my veins. I dash to her place beside the tyre. My heart thunders in my throat. She’s gone. ‘Fawn!’
I hear her gasp, and my brain fractures. I charge straight towards her frantic sounds as the thought of losing her tears my stone heart in two. I’ll die for her.
I’ll take every bullet, all the pain, the beatings, and it’ll be my greatest pleasure to suffer them for her. To die devoting my life to her. So if there is a fucking heaven and by some crazy instance, I am allowed to visit from the pits of hell, I’ll hold her unborn baby for her because I am devoted to her even in death.
I rush to the sound, dodging trees, jumping over the wreckage of a bike on fire. Passing Bronson on his knees, straddling a biker, sliding his blade upwards into the fucker’s mandible.
Abruptly, I see them.
A burning branch lays over Max’s leg, pinning him to the dirt. Flames flick around his body. Across from him, Dustin approaches with a knife raised and—
‘Fawn!’
She jumps on his back, grappling her father, one arm around his neck while the other slaps hysterically at his face. My bratty queen. Dustin bucks around, but the knife—
Fuck! I get there just as he attempts to stab her, carelessly slashing, trying to leave her with holes in her shoulders and neck.
I see red. Growling, I catch his arm, giving her relief to release her grip. Dropping to her feet, she rushes to Max. Xander has found him, and together they manage to heave the scorched trunk from his thigh. Max rises to his full height.
In one quick succession, I snap Dustin’s arm at the elbow, the limp ulna and radius bone hanging pendulously.
He howls in pain.
Max is upon him instantly, kicking Dustin’s kneecap in, crumbling his leg, making him a wailing pile of backward-facing bones.
‘No lil’ bikers left in the row.’ Bronson emerges through the smoke, streams of bloody carnage sliding down his face and forearms, a knife in each fist held out wide. ‘Hello, beautiful brothers.’
He stops by Xander, and the national park is suddenly swept in eerie stillness, only interrupted by Dustin’s cries and groans. As though the entire forest has quietened down for our revenge.
My brothers let their demons out tonight, let them free to roam the national park until they must be reined in again. For my brother’s women and children. For their sense of peace. For each other.
Carter and our men are close now too, watching from a distance as large unharmed mist-covered figures.
I reach for my little deer, pull her in, and cup her cheeks, staring into her uncertain dual-coloured gaze.
‘Are you hurt?’ I don’t wait for an answer, examining the ash-iced skin at her neck and shoulders. Small cuts mar her flesh from the tip of his knife, rocks, twigs; it doesn’t matter what. I clench my teeth. Dirt, dust, and soot cover her face and clothes, and I need to get her home. I need to care for her.
‘You put yourself in danger,’ I say tightly, finding her blue and green gaze. ‘I should bend you over my knee, little deer. Expose your arse and pussy and spank you until the thought of leaving me—’ I choke on that admission. Dammit. Correcting myself, I say, ‘Of defying me, will make you tremble.’
She touches the bristles on my unkempt jawline. Her lips tight, and her eyes soft as she reads me. My sentiments play out on the surface despite my attempts to conceal them.
‘I will always choose you, Sir,’ she says breathlessly, and my chest fucking throbs with affection for her. Her eyes widening, they slide past my shoulder. ‘Clay…’
Turning to follow her gaze, I see Max stalking Dustin as he tries to scoot backwards on broken limbs. Max’s large muscular frame creeps over the fucker’s crippled body.
‘Stop. I’ll leave,’ he begs. ‘I’ll leave the city. Cross?’ He calls out to the President of the Stockyard MC—otherwise known as Brock Riley—and is greeted with silence. ‘Cross?’
‘Gone,’ Bronson states smoothly, wiping a stream of red from his lip with the back of his hand.
‘You’re alone, Dustin,’ Xander confirms. ‘Can’t you feel the Butchers all around you?’
‘Fawn! Don’t let them kill your daddy—’
‘Don’t say her name!’ I hiss, nodding at Max, who kicks Dustin’s jaw shut. The sound of snapping teeth echoes. The knock sends him into an almost unconscious state.
Pity.
Dustin’s head lulls along the dirt, his eyes rolling around like marbles within his skull. We may have taken him back with us once, drawn out the revenge. Not today. The bushfire will end this. The bodies charcoal soon.
I hear my sweet girl’s breath hitch faster. This is not for Fawn to see. I pull her face into my chest, protecting her from the murderous scene. She can be my queen without witnessing her own flesh and blood die. That action doesn’t rip away her strength. Nor undermined her bravery. It allows her humanity.
‘He’s yours,’ I say to Max. ‘Finish him.
Bronson and Xander look on from my side, and Max glares down at Dustin as the rarest of smiles creep across his face. Time becomes longer, stretching, as he hovers over him. The glow of the fire sets the backdrop. The grey smoke circles Max like the phantom of each betrayal readying itself to reap the consequences.
For the kidnapping of Konnor.
The attack on Cassidy.
For being undeserving of his daughter.
“Silence him, Max,” I order, not wanting to lead Fawn from my clutches to the safety of the car but not wanting her to hear his howls of pain either.
Max squats slowly, hovering over Dustin. A shadow cast over the crippled body of his enemy.
He reaches down and tears a piece of Dustin’s shirt, removing a strip of soiled fabric. Dustin comes to with a hazy groan as Max shoves the ash-covered material into his mouth, muffling the guttural sounds that rumble out.
Dustin begins to choke, the smoke and soot filling his pulsing throat, provoking it to contract and fight for air.
“I don’t like his eyes,” I say in Sicilian, holding the trembling body of my sweet girl, only further driven by her sorrow. Further angered by his effect on her.
Max’s smile widens.
Dustin gapes as the shiny blade approaches the first glistening orb, his black pupil darting to follow the skew just as it connects. Sliding in with ease, the blade spears the brown eyeball straight through the centre.
A few twists later and Max has the first orb impaled and plucked from Dustin’s skull.
He flicks the wet ball to the dirt, where it lies on its side, sizzling in the charred dirt, wide and watching as Dustin vomits around the cloth. Muffled rasping sounds curdle within his clogged mouth and throat. His body shakes with horror.
Max leans in for the second one, slowly lowering the blade closer and closer until the tip dips into the fluid coating Dustin’s last eye—the last one that looks like Fawn’s.
He plunges in slowly.
A fraction at a time.
Then he slams the knife down until only the handle can be seen bobbing and swaying with the eye it has impaled.
My brother is not a man of words, but he still hisses by Dustin’s ear, ‘No eyes. You must really feel the Butchers all around you now… And a Butcher is the last thing you will ever feel.’
