“What’s it to you?”
I shook my head and turned around, striding back toward the gate. “Not interested.”
Fang and Hawk followed close behind me, and the gate was almost shut when Winger yelled out.
“It’s about who killed your dad.”
I froze. “What did you say?”
“Your dad. I know who killed him.”
I was on the runt of a man before he could blink, lifting him by his shirt and dragging him up against the fence.
He yelped like a little bitch. “Two K and I’ll tell you everything!”
“You tell me everything and I won’t leave your body cold and dead on your mama’s lawn.”
He blanched. “I need the money.”
My fingers crept around his throat. “Your mama need a new lawn ornament? Start talking.”
The fight went out of him. “Fine. I don’t know who set it up. But I know who carried it out.”
“I’m waiting, and my fingers are getting the urge the snap something. Considering the nearest something is your neck, you’re gonna want to give me a name.”
I let my fingers flex tighter around his neck, eyeing the bluing color of his lips as his oxygen supply was cut off.
Fuck, that was satisfying.
Winger scratched and grappled at my fingers, and eventually, that was annoying enough for me to drop him back onto his feet. He coughed and wheezed, staring at me with big bloodshot eyes.
Hawk blew out a plume of smoke from his cigarette. “A name, asshole. Or start digging your own grave, ‘cause you ain’t walking out of here alive.”
Winger’s big eyes darted between us while he rubbed his rapidly bruising neck. “The hitman the club uses when they want someone gone.” His voice was raspy and weak.
I could barely hear him. But when he uttered out the name of the man who’d taken my father and left my mother in a coma, I committed it to memory, carving it into my heart until I could carve their names into his.
“Scythe.”
It rained the morning of my father’s funeral. Which was fitting, ‘cause the old bastard had actually liked it. Nobody else did though, and the service we held at the cemetery was full of black leather jackets, umbrellas, and somber faces.
I let the rain drip down the back of my neck, staring blankly at the minister in front of me who’d fucking promised not to drone on with religious bullshit and yet didn’t seem to be able to help himself.
“Allister ‘Army’ Maynard, was a friend and brother to his club members. A doting father to Warrick—”
Somebody behind me let out a guffaw of amusement at the use of my full name, and I cracked my knuckles.
“And a devoted husband to Alegra.”
“Who the fuck is Alegra?” someone commented none too softly.
“He means Fancy, you moron,” someone hissed back.
The minister tried to get control back of the large crowd, but something off to the left caught my eye.
Bliss.
She stood at the very edge of the graveyard, a black dress skimming her knees, a black umbrella clutched in her hand. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, which hung over one shoulder.
I waved her over.
She shook her head.
I frowned and waved her over again.
She bit her lip uncertainly.
“Fuck this,” I muttered. “Can we get on with it. We’ve got a party to have.”
A cheer went up around me.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love and respect my father. But this wasn’t him. He would have been chomping at the bit to get back to the compound and a bottle of scotch too.
The minister fumbled around and huffed a bit, but there wasn’t much he could do when I stepped forward and took a clump of dirt from the pile next to the open grave. I threw it in, watching it spread over the shining mahogany of my old man’s coffin. “See you in Hell, old boy. I hope they have air-conditioning.”
After the life he’d led, there was no way he was getting through Heaven’s pearly gates.
None of us were.
Except maybe Bliss, because even dressed in all black, she was so fucking beautiful she had to be heaven sent. “See you all back at the clubhouse.” I strode away through the rain, my steps quickening the closer I got to Bliss.
“Hey,” she said when I approached. “I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t invited, but I just wanted to come pay my respects—”
I grabbed her hand as I passed but didn’t slow down. She hurried in little heels that sank into the soggy ground while trying to keep up with me.