Page 67 of Tav
Mercy’s mouth opens and closes and nothing comes out except an awful wheeze as he watches the scene in front of him. Royal struggles and scratches at my hands, trying to remove the garotte from cutting into his fat neck, but it’s no use. With my knee propped on the back of the chair I’m leaning back with my full weight, the thin wire cutting through skin, fat, muscle and ligaments, stopping when it hits bone and Royal’s hands drop to his sides.
An awful mewling sound leaves Mercy, his eyes wide, staring at me. I watch as his dreams, my nightmares, turn to dust in front of him.
“You, you, you-” he points a bony finger at me, too lost to even form the words he wants to say.
“Where are your angels now, father? Hmm?” I step up to the bed and grip his hand in mine, turning to look at my handiwork. “You disowned your sons, threw them out like trash, calling them weak and useless. You wouldn’t stand up for me when I came to you time and time again to tell you of the horrors I endured at Royal’s hands. No, instead you gave him another of your ‘precious’ daughters. You blamed our stubbornness on the devil and called us weak. Well, daddy dearest, who’s weak now?”
I tilt my head until I’m looking into his dark, soulless eyes. My hand finds the textured handle of my gun, the weight feeling right in my hands. I press the muzzle against his temple and lookdeep into his eyes, waiting for recognition that it was me, me who ended him.
“Goodbye Father. Give my regards to the devil.”
Chapter 20
Tav
“Babe, Pixie, wake up, baby. We’re home.” I gently brush her short bangs away from her forehead, trying to gently wake her.
She’s been crashed out since she got in the car. She held it together after getting rid of Royal and her father. She even held it together when a lone sniper came out of the trees behind the Prophet’s home. Luckily, she recognized him as her male contact, Justice, otherwise he would have felt the cold steel of a fuck ton of bullets. He set to work cleaning up our mess and assured us he’d keep an eye on the women and children at the Keep until they decided what they wanted to do.
I’m fairly certain that without a Prophet a lot of them will leave, either go home to their families or find a new church. Others were in so deep that I’m unsure they’ll ever leave the Keep. Tombs Security has a few contacts within the services we sometimes contract to, people who have worked on deprogramming cult members and the like. I passed their numbers onto Justice. He’ll need it if he’s serious about helping them move on.
“Pixie, we’re home. The kids will be waiting,” I kiss her temple, damp from where she’s been smooshed up against the headrest.
She mumbles and tries to shove me off. I smile into her temple and press more kisses to her face, moving on to her cheek and neck, snorting when she whines.
“Alright, I’m awake!” she grumbles, blinking owlishly. “Oh, we’re home!” She unbuckles her belt and flies out of the car.
Chuckling to myself, I get out and stretch, feeling how good it is to have this chapter behind us. Well, almost. Savage and Dex have a woozy Hammer balanced between them, leading them to Chewy’s favorite place in the world.
“Come on prospect, may as well enjoy our heroes’ welcome,” Rider says, clapping his hand on my shoulder far harder than needed.
Following behind Rider, Tank, Nitro, and Fox into the clubhouse, I come to an abrupt stop when they do. Marx is standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, head hanging, mumbling to himself.
“Two days. I was gone for two fucking days.” he shakes his head before straightening, and I’m very sure glaring at his brother. “Rhodie, I left you in charge. What the fuck is this?”
Marx moves further into the room, allowing the rest of us to make our way into the room, where we too come to an abrupt stop.
Everything looks as it always does, well apart from what appears to be dildo coat hooks dotted around the room. But no, that’s not what has Marx gaping. That would be the sight of my sister standing in the middle of the room, the two moms-to-be and Lovely gazing up at her as she wears a baby carrier on her front. A baby carrier complete with an alligator in it.
“It’s my baby, Marx!” Chewy coos, patting the head of the thing, which is sticking out dangerously fucking close to her face if you ask me.
Dom side eyes me and then rolls his lips between his teeth, trying not to laugh. Chris also has eyes on me, a smirk on his lips. Fucker. Pixie wanders over to look at Chewy’s baby, but instead of cooing over the gator, she instead looks as though she’s examining it. She pries its mouth open before closing it and running her hand over its snout.
“He’s malformed. This is the one you were hand feeding?” Pixie asks her brothers.
“Yeah, his upper jaw is too short. He has polydactyly and his toes are curled up,” Dom answers.
“Chris said he’ll never be able to feed himself properly, nor will he be able to survive in the wild,” Chewy adds, looking unusually sad about this.
“He may not survive in the wild, but he sure as hell will scare the shit outta people in the Rev Room,” Pops adds with glee.
Chewy places her hand on the gator’s back as he rests in the carrier on her front, her eyes huge as she stares at Marx.
“It’s like when a kid asks their dad for a pet,” Tank mumbles to someone behind me. Whoever it is snorts in reply.
Rhodie steps up next to his Ol Lady, pulling her into him. He, too, gives Marx the big eyes.
“You’ve already named it haven’t you?” Marx accuses his enforcers.