Sitting on my bike, I watched as she strode out of the darkness like she didn’t have a fucking care in the world. I knew she didn’t give a damn because I didn’t fucking care either. It didn’t matter if we didn’t like each other. This motherfucker needed to die and we were the only ones who could do it.
When I called her and told her what I needed, I should have known her crazy side would rule because mine did as well. There was a reason we were the way we were. We were the puppets of evil, created and cultivated within the depths of Hell by the Devil himself.
All of us were, and only we could kill one of our own.
“Where the fuck is he?” she asked, looking bored as she surveyed the area.
“Second floor.”
“Let me guess, last fucking door on the right.”
I nodded, knowing her mind went to the room our father tortured her in before a brother in the Disturbed MC put a bullet in his heart, killing him and almost killing her. I said nothing as I watched her hand move toward her chest, where the small scar over her right breast marred her skin.
“What do you need me to do?”
Looking at my sister, I simply said, “I need your crazy.”
She slowly turned to look at me and I watched her face, so much like our father’s, turn malevolent while her eyes darkened. “Don’t you know, brother, I’m always fucking crazy.”
Together, we walked into Hell.
The weight of Amelia’s death hung heavily on my shoulders, driving my every action. In the aftermath of her passing, I had reached out to Sinclair, the only person I believed would understand and aid me in my pursuit of vengeance.
For me, the world shifted dramatically the day I discovered the truth about my birth mother. Her tragic demise was not an accident, but a deliberate act of malice. Determined to ensure that my twin brother, Gray Greer, paid for the heinous crime, I had asked Sinclair for assistance, knowing that his network and resources were unparalleled. I could have reached out to the kid, but I didn’t want him warning the others.
This was a fucking family matter.
Club be damned.
Every moment I spent with her was a revelation, as she slowly peeled back the layers of deceit to uncover the bonds of something greater than myself that had been missing in my life. Her loss was like a piercing wound, one that stuck me deep and fueled my relentless drive for justice. I was just getting used to having Amelia around when that sick fuck took her from me.
I promised she would be safe and protected.
Now she was dead because of me.
When I rushed into her apartment that night and saw her sitting on her couch, dead, something snapped within me. Something I never knew existed. I only knew my birth mother a short time, but in that span of time, she had left her mark. She was innocent and I was supposed to protect her. A victim of her upbringing, Amelia never got the chance to live life on her terms. From the moment she was conceived, my mother was nothing but a pawn, used for our father’s sick, twisted games.
The sight of her lifeless body in the silent room, the crimson stain of her life’s blood marring the couch she sat on, a stark reminder of the evil that had taken her from me. My resolve hardened. Every object in her apartment seemed to whisper her name, telling me tales of the life she would never complete, but hearing his fucking laughter told me that the path to retribution would not be straightforward. It would require cunning, patience, and unyielding determination.
Sinclair understood the depth of my pain and vowed to help me. He took his motherfucking time, but what he uncovered solidified my resolve. Nothing and no one would stop me until my mother received the justice she deserved, and if I had to die to give her that fucking justice, then so be it. I was ready to die.
Entering the warehouse, we both looked around as the hair on my neck stood.
Something was off. I felt it more than anything, and when my sister slowly reached for her knife, I knew she felt it too. There was darkness in this place. A sinister depravity we were both familiar with, almost reminiscent of the place we were created in.
Making our way up the stairs, neither one of us said a word. Our senses heightened for anything that lay within the darkness ahead of us. I remembered the moments of quiet with my birth mother, her gentle touch and her soft-spoken words. Her stories of a past I never knew, of dreams and hopes that were cruelly shattered by those who sought to control her. Her memory was my guiding light, pushing me forward even when the path seemed insurmountable.
As we closed in on Gray, the tension mounted. The stakes were higher than ever, and the final confrontation loomed on the horizon like a storm gathering strength. I knew we had to be prepared for anything. Gray was clever and ruthless, traits we all shared, but our resolve was fueled by something he would never understand—love and loss.
I thought it odd that after the life I lived, I could feel such emotions.
Love was something that always eluded me. I never understood. Now I did and while I would rather die than admit shit to anyone, I knew love and felt love. And because of that one fucking emotion, I also felt pain, the heartache of loss. I didn’t know what angered me most, that I succumbed to love or the loss of love. Either way, it didn’t matter because the only emotion I felt now was revenge.
Moving deeper into the darkness, every sound amplified the distinct threat that lay ahead. We moved with precision, almost like we were the same person and maybe we were. Our determination for vengeance, to end the cycle of pain foremost in our minds never wavered when we approached the door at the end of the hall and I felt a surge of adrenaline.
This was it. The moment I had been waiting for was within my reach as I kicked open the door and walked in.
Inside, the air was thick with tension. Gray stood in the center of the room, a smirk playing on his lips as he continued on like we weren’t even there. Around him, I saw tables laden down with beakers and test tubes. He placed a glass tube into a frozen cryogenic unit before closing the lid and a man rolled the unit away.
