Defying Destiny (Forsaken Sinners MC Series Book 3) (3 page)

“Is he going to be all right?” I ask quietly.

He takes too long to answer, so I get up and head toward the door. Fuck it, I’ll go to the hospital and find out myself.

“Holden, wait.
Holden
!” he shouts as I ignore him and make my way through the building to outside. The hospital is only about a mile away. I don’t have my truck, but I can walk there. It would be faster than going home to get my truck.

Just as I get outside, I feel someone grab my arm. I yank out of the grasp and turn around. Officer Jacobs is standing there, looking a little uncertain, but determined. He has every right to be uncertain. I’ll drop his ass if he keeps me from getting to my dad.

“Let me go.”

I turn to go, but the next words out of Officer Jacobs’ mouth stops me cold.

“Holden. He’s gone, son. I’m so sorry.”

I just stand there. I couldn’t have heard him right. My dad isn’t dead. He must mean he’s not at the hospital anymore. Yeah, that’s it. He’s probably already home, waiting for me.

“By the time we got there it was already too late. He suffered a blow to the head, probably from a tire iron, and a gunshot wound to the chest. I’m sorry, Holden, but he’s dead.”

It’s with those last words that every piece of thread that was holding me together snaps. No longer able to hold the beast that lies in wait at bay, I was no longer Holden, a seventeen-year-old boy. I was no longer anyone’s son. I was now a man that had been wronged. A man that would do whatever it took to find the people who did this. I didn’t even recognize who I was anymore, but I knew nothing would ever the same again.

Chapter 2

I feel a burning in my gut, like I could literally breathe fire. I don’t want to believe my dad is dead, but I can feel it in my heart—or where it used to reside—that it’s true. My dad was murdered.

Turning around to face Officer Jacobs, I get right in his face. “Who did it?” I say in a deadly voice that I don’t even recognize. It’s like something has taken over my body. I’m no longer the beast I’m used to turning into, but a demon of Hell. It’s a welcome feeling. It helps hide the pain.

“Just calm down, son. Let’s go back inside and we can talk about this.” Five minutes ago I would have let it slide, but not now.

“I asked you a fucking question!” Deep down I know this isn’t a road I should go down, but it’s the only way for me now. When my father was killed, I died too, so there is no more letting things roll off my back or go in one ear and out the other. No more wanting to be nice and just make it through the next few months. What do I have to look forward to now? Not a goddamn thing. I can’t turn the other cheek. Not this time.

“Holden. You’re walking a very thin line right now. I understand you’re upset, but you don’t want to do this, I can promise you that.”

Fuck this shit. I don’t need him to find out who has lived their last day on this hell rock.

Turning around, I storm off down the street and head toward my house. I can hear Officer Jacobs yelling at me to stop, but it’s a lost cause—
I’m
a lost cause. I couldn’t care less if I go to jail. I couldn’t care less if I die tonight—as long as I can take the motherfucker who took my dad away with me too, I don’t care.

I make it home in fifteen minutes. I barely even remember the walk here, but I don’t need to. All I need to know is that I’m getting in my truck and driving down to the bar where it all happened—where my father took his last breath.

I have enough sense not to drive like a maniac and avoid going to the bar right away. I’m sure Officer Jacobs will be looking for me there, so I head out of town and just drive for a while. As much as I try to get my anger down to a somewhat normal level and try to get a piece of myself back, it’s hopeless. The fucker that killed my father not only took my dad away from me, but he took myself away from me too. I don’t have it in me to care right now though and whoever did it will soon find out what a huge mistake it was to kill my father. They fucked with the wrong man.

I’ve felt this way a few times in my life and it’s always when I’m angry and about ready to knock someone out, but this time it’s different. It’s worse. It’s like there’s no controlling it and no going back from it. Whatever is taking over my body, mind, and soul is here to stay. Maybe that’s a good thing, though. I don’t want to think of the good things in life or plan for a future that doesn’t include my dad.

An hour later, the only thing I’ve managed to do is get more pissed at what happened and more determined to find the fucker who did this. I may only be seventeen, but when he feels my wrath, it will be like he’s dancing with Lucifer himself.

While I was I driving, I decided that I would do to him what he did to my dad—minus the gun. I don’t have one and I know my dad didn’t have one either, and it would be too hard to get one on such short notice. I’ll just beat him with a tire iron. I know Officer Jacobs didn’t say that was for sure what was used, but I’m just going to go with it. But I won’t make it quick for him. I’ll make sure to hit him where it’ll hurt the worst, but not kill him quickly. I hated science and any other class that had to do with the human body, but at least I know where all the major organs are and how to hit him where he’ll feel it the most.

Stopping back at home, I pack as much as I can into a bag and look around my father’s room for anything I don’t want to leave behind. I find his old dog tags, a picture of me and him when I was probably ten, and a few of his shirts.

While I’m digging through his dresser drawer, I find a shoe box. Not sure what’s inside and if it’s something that is important, I open it up. Inside are envelopes filled with hundred dollar bills. By my rough estimate, it’s about thirty grand. I guess my dad put some of the money away for a rainy day. Well, it may not be raining, but I’m taking it. I know he would want me to have it, even though he may not approve why I’ll be using it. But then again, maybe he would.

I don’t know where the other twenty grand is or if it was stolen off his body last night, but Officer Jacobs didn’t mention it so I’m just going to assume it’s gone. Doesn’t matter where it’s at. The money I found will be more than enough to get me away from this place after I take care of a few loose ends.

Grabbing everything I’m taking with me since I won’t be back, I head back out to my truck. I see my dad’s Harley sitting there and decide to load it in the back as well. He taught me how to ride last year and I was planning to buy my own bike after graduation so we could go riding together. Now that will never happen, but doesn’t mean that I can’t take his bike to ride to remember him by. Getting it loaded is a little difficult by myself, but once I have the bike strapped down, I get in my truck and head toward downtown.

I don’t want my truck to be spotted, so I park a few blocks away in an alley by a dumpster. This way I can make a quick getaway if needed, and for what I have planned, I’m for sure going to need it.

Grabbing the tire iron, I head toward the busy bar.

As I get closer, I realize the place is packed. There are about thirty cars parked in the lot and then there are about ten motorcycles parked on the street. I still have no real plan to find the person or group that was involved with killing my dad, but I figure I’ll just go in and talk to the bartender first, then see if anyone else there knows anything. I have a feeling that whoever did it will be there tonight, maybe even bragging about what they did and spending the money they probably stole. If they are, I hope they’ve made peace with whatever they need to because they won’t be alive for much longer.

Before I head inside, I walk around the side and into the alley. Seeing a dumpster off to the side, I figure that’s where my father took his last breath. Walking closer, I look for any sign he was here, but I see nothing. Glancing around, I notice a door that must lead inside the bar. Knowing I can’t take my weapon of choice inside, I place it in the alley across from the door. Now all I need to do is lead the fucker that killed my dad out here and I’ll have him right where I want him.

Making my way into the bar, I see that the amount of people inside is doubled, if not tripled, for the number of cars outside in the lot. This may be more difficult than I originally thought.

There are people everywhere; there isn’t an empty seat at the bar, all the tables seem to be full, and there is barely any standing room. It’s muggy as fuck in here, and I can barely breathe. Looking around once more, I notice the only place that isn’t crowded is in the back, where it looks like about a dozen or so bikers are congregating. People seem to be giving them a wide berth, probably because they are in a biker gang. I’m surprised with the people in this town that they haven’t starting running for the hills, screaming. You don’t see a lot of bikers around here, at least not the serious biker types—the ones that are in it for life and not just extracurricular purposes.

I have half a mind to start with them, thinking that if someone caused trouble last night and killed my father, it would be them. But something makes me rethink that train of thought. Instead of approaching the bikers, I head straight for the bar.

When the bartender sees me, he gets an odd look on his face and looks toward a group of three men off to the side of the bar before coming over toward me.

“You can’t be here, kid. Go on home now.”

I know he knows who I am, and probably why I’m here, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m not leaving without what I came for. It’s gonna take a whole lot more than that to make me leave.

“My father was here last night. I want to know who he was with,” I say calmly.

The bartender looks back at the same group of three men as before, then turns back to me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid, so it’s best you just leave.”

He looks almost sincere, but there’s something in his eyes that isn’t truth. Leaning in close, I give him one more chance. “Listen here, motherfucker. Someone killed my father right outside these walls and I know you know who did it. All you need to do is point them out.”

The bartender hesitates for a few moments, thinking about what he should say, but I can tell he isn’t going to cooperate.

“Yeah, okay. Your old man was here last night. He was drinking and trying to start shit with everyone. I tried to cut him off and told him to just go home, but he wouldn’t listen. He started fighting with a group from out of town and they went outside. That’s all I know. Now, you need to leave.”

Why the fuck was he so desperate for me to leave? And why do I feel like he’s lying? It’s not just because that doesn’t sound like how my dad would act, but it’s something else. Maybe the way his eyes are darting back and forth between me and that small group of men watching my every move, but it’s also just a feeling.

Looking over to the group of men, I stare long and hard at them. Then it clicks. These are the men that killed my father. That’s why the bartender was looking at them when he saw me come in and more so when he was talking to me. It also would explain why they haven’t taken their eyes off me, either.

I need to lure at least one of them outside, and I have a feeling the one that delivered the final blow to my father will be the one to follow.

Dropping my head, I pull my facial features to show nothing before looking back at the bartender. “All right. Thanks for your help.” I lace my voice with sorrow and disappointment, like I believe what he told me.

“I really am sorry, kid,” the bartender says just before I turn around and head toward the back. There’s a door that leads out to the alley where it all started. This is where I want to lead his killer—where he will take
his
last breath.

As I walk past the bikers, I notice one of them has his eyes on me. He’s older than the rest, but is younger than my father. He has darker hair, but it’s cut short, and he’s fucking huge. But what really makes me take notice is his eyes—they are intense but caring. It’s like when I lock eyes with him, he can see inside of me and knows what I’m thinking, what I’m going through. It almost makes me stop in my tracks, but then I remember that my father is dead—he was murdered—and I’m here to get my revenge.

Steeling myself, I look away and walk out the back door. It’s dark in the alley, barely any light shines from the street lights. Good. That will work in my favor.

I make my way to the opposite side of the alley and lean against the wall, my eyes burning a hole into the door that leads back inside the bar, just waiting for someone to come out. And I don’t have to wait long.

The door opens and two men step outside. They are both from the group of three that the bartender kept glancing at. I fucking knew it!

When the door closes, one of the men—he’s a little on the bigger side and looks to be slow moving—stands to the side of the door and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s the lookout. The other man—he’s tall with longer, stringy hair—walks toward me.

Stopping in the middle of the alley, he crosses his arms and smiles a cruel smile. “You looking for someone, boy?” he sneers, and I know instantly that he’s the one who killed my father.

“Not anymore I’m not,” I growl. My blood pumps harder now and my hands itch to plow into his face and wrap around his throat. All in due time. I want to make him suffer first.

The man by the door laughs, which just pisses me off even more. Motherfucker will get his after I deal with this shitface.

Taking a few steps closer to me, the man in front of me snickers. “So let me get this straight. You come here tonight and what? Confront me about your piece of shit daddy? Is that it, boy?”

Hearing him even mention my father has me seeing red, but I hold back. “Nah. I came here tonight to put the motherfucker that killed my father in the ground.”

Now both men are laughing like this is some kind of joke. Like that fact that they took the only person I have on this earth I care about away from me is a laughing matter.

Not being able to hold back any longer, I rush forward and catch him by surprise with a powerful uppercut to his chin. He stumbles back a little and shakes his head.

“That was the only one you’ll get, boy. Now I’m going to do to you what I did to your daddy,” he growls as he pulls a knife from his back pocket.

“That’s what you think, fucker,” I say as I reach down to grab my weapon—the tire iron.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement from the door. The lookout man is moving in, but still keeping off to the sidelines, no doubt ready to step in if he thinks his friend is losing.

Focusing back on the guy I want to rip apart with my bare hands, I smile the first smile since I found out about my dad. It’s cruel and full of vengeance. “Let’s do this.”

Everything seems to happen in slow motion after that. The man with the knife strikes out toward me, barely missing my stomach. I move out of reach, but I miscalculate his speed because before I even realize it, he slashes my arm, just above my elbow. The sting barely registers, but is enough to fuel the rage inside of me to make him pay. I’m going to peel his skin off his body slowly with his own fucking knife. I don’t want to make it fast, I want to torture him.