Soulless:MC Biker Romance (Black Thorns, #2)(6)

By: Franca Storm


I slam my hand into his chest, knocking him back. “Stay outta my way! You feel me? Stay the fuck outta it! This is my fight!”

He don’t make a move to retaliate. But I see him ‘bout to argue back yet again.

Then a voice interrupts us.


I spin ‘round to see Smiter standing there.

“Told you to stand down.”

He shakes his head. “That ain’t never gonna happen when your life’s on the line, brother.”

Fuck. I draw in a breath and then point to Ricky. “Needs taking care of. You got it?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” His eyes dart to my bloodied hands. Ain’t mine. It’s all Ricky’s. “You all right?”

“Fine,” I snap. “Just…sort it.”

“Ax. I got it,” Dealer interferes.

“Then work together,” I say, done with this arguing shit. I brush past Smiter and make my way over to my bike parked a few feet away.

“You headed back to the clubhouse?” Smiter calls after me.

“Later. Got some shit I gotta do first.”

“Need one of the boys with you?”

“Nah. Personal shit,” I tell him as I shake off my cut and pull my leather jacket outta one of the saddlebags. I slip it on and stow my cut away in the bag. He frowns at what I’m doing, probably figuring exactly why I ditched the cut—to go undercover and not get ID’d as Thorns. He knows the only reason I’d be doing that is to protect the club from what I’m gonna do—so, it’s gotta be bad shit.

But he don’t call me on it and just says, “All right.”

Shame Dealer don’t know when to back off like Smiter does. He barks at me, “Ax! Listen to me!”

Fuck him. I made the mistake before of trusting in someone. And that someone was Trig. Asshole ended up making me lose everything. Ain’t gonna make that mistake again by trusting Dealer here. Ain’t gonna let no one have power over me no more.

I don’t bother looking back.

I mount my Harley and gun it.

Time to get this shit done.

Chapter 3


Jackson O’Neil

The guy at the bottom of my hit list.

I gotta start at the bottom and work my way up. It’ll be quicker that way, cuz the higher up I go, the more complicated it’s gonna be to take each one of the fuckers on it out.

Jackson was the only guy who ever managed to get outta the Devil’s Mavericks—my old man’s club—without dying in the process. Walked right when Skinner started getting into some disgusting flesh trade shit. That business venture was short-lived—club ran into too much heat over it. But Jackson didn’t give a crap. As far as he was concerned, he was done with Skinner and his club.

Problem is, Skinner always had to have the last word.

He castrated the poor bastard with a machete, telling him that he turned his back on his family—the club—so he weren’t gonna let him make his own. His punishment for leaving. Not long after, Jackson made a bunch of threats to take out Skinner’s non-club family—his blood. Me and any kids I had down the road. I was fucking stupid, cuz I never did shit ‘bout it and I even had a shot once, a couple of years back after I’d left Thorns. But I’d taken pity on the guy. Come on, what Skinner had done to him was brutal.

But now, all that pity’s gone. All I got now is conviction. All I see now is the threat he’d be to me leaving the club and tryin’ to settle down and start a family with Rox.

And no one is gonna be left to threaten us when I’m done.

It’s brutal shit, but I gotta do it. Only way me and her can ever be together—if all the threats are gone.

I swing my leg over my bike and make my way over to the office of the used car lot. Jackson lives where he works—in the apartment above his office.

Brushing my holster as I approach, my hand stills suddenly when I see the state of the door. The lock’s been shot out. Two bullets through it.

I quickly shake off the shock and get my shit together, ripping my gun outta my holster and cocking it real fucking fast.

I kick open the door, the force of it almost ripping it off its hinges.

I step inside to the pitch black office and feel ‘round on the wall for the light switch. I find it and flip it on.

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