She might have been the daughter of one of the most powerful men in Leeds, but it was clear he hadn’t taught her a fucking thing.
I hope that thought haunted him at night.
Her face turned red, then purple. Her legs kicked at the floor, her heels scraping against the floor. She scratched my arms, spitting blood at me as she tried to shove me off.
She was no match for me. Dantehadtrained me. Dante had allowed me to unleash my inner warrior. She was never any competition. Not in this fight, and not in my relationship.
Iownedthis.
A wet, rattling gasp escaped her lips. Her eyes fluttered. Her strength faltered. And still I didn’t let go.
I leaned down until my face was inches from hers.
“You could’ve walked away,” I whispered. “But you wanted what I had. You wanted to be me. Well, Vicky,thisis me.”
Her body jerked once more beneath me.
Then went still.
I didn’t move. I stayed right there, straddling the wreckage, breathing heavy, soaked in her blood.
She had wanted to cause chaos, and now she had it. One final, bloody dose of karma served chaos.
I stared down at the body. And for once, I didn’t feel guilt. I felt like myself.
Not the version I’d tried to be. Not the mother, not the girlfriend, not the puppet trying to keep everything together.
Just me. The biker bitch who survived hell and built a home in the ashes.
There would be consequences for this. More of my messes for the club to clean up. Another murder for them to cover up. But funnily enough, I couldn’t find it in me to care.
And I knew, deep down, Dante wouldn’t care either.
Just as I was about to climb off Vicky and call him, to let him know what I had done, I heard the creak behind me.
I turned—and there he was.
Dante.
Leaning in the doorway, arms crossed, unreadable as ever.
“How long have you been standing there?” I asked, my voice rough.
“Long enough.”
“How mad are you?”
“On a scale of one to ten, I’m a solid eight. You know, I could have sent Sunshine here with a gun and a barrel of petrol. You needn’t have gone to so much trouble.”
I held his gaze. “I like trouble.”
“So I see,” he smirked. He looked down at Vicky’s body, then back at me.
“Are you ready to admit it yet, Rachel?” he asked quietly. “Or do you still want to run?”
My voice cracked, just a little. “Admit what?”
“That you’re just as fucked up as I am,” he said, stepping forward, his eyes never leaving mine. “You just come in better-looking packaging.”
