Soul Avenged (Sons of Wrath, #1) (22 page)

Ayden parked
the bike out back next to Stan’s Lincoln.

Aside from the
vehicle that everyone in town recognized, Stan was known for a
shotgun he affectionately referred to as ‘Kochanie’. Not only a
prominent and well-known, if not feared, member of the Polish
community, Stan was rumored to have ties in business relations that
kept even the cops at bay.

Stale cigars
and grease hit Ayden’s nose the moment she walked through the door.
Familiar.
Dark wood tones of the booths and bar, carved from
another century, absorbed most of the light, casting back a moldy
faded finish, leaving her eyes no choice but to adjust.

She had no
reason to come here. Only the Wrath Brothers could sucker her into
drinking, otherwise she stayed away from the stuff. That’s what
made Sully’s the perfect place to keep out of the Alexi’s sights,
though. Besides that, in hanging out, she learned a wicked game of
pool.

“Well, well,
well, if it ain’t my favorite little shit coming to visit me
again,” Stan said in his raspy voice. “To what do I owe da
honors?”

“Can it, Stan.
I’ll take a Coke.”

“Coke.” He
threw his hands in the air. “She comes to a bar and orders a
fuckin’ Coke.”

“You want I
should go to another bar? Just pour the goddamn drink.” Ayden’s
glare challenged him before she smiled. Even
her
demeanor
changed in the place.

Stan’s big
burly arms reached over the bar and wrapped around her, the source
of the cigar smell confirmed. “Where you been, kiddo?”

“Around.”

Unlike most
human lambs, Stan had knowledge of the lycan population. One could
only suspect it was his underground connections that lent insight
into happenings the rest of the world wasn’t privy to.

“Hungry?” he
asked.

“Starving.”

He gestured
toward the back entrance she’d just come through. “Like some damn
stray I gotta feed every time you walk through that door.”

“Then, why do
you?”

“Because I
love you.” He puckered his fat lips.

“If I knew
where those lips have been, I might kiss you back.”

A deep chortle
rattled in his chest and escaped on a choking fit.

Ayden cringed.
“You need to quit with the cigars.”

“When I’m
dead, I’ll consider quitting.”

“So,”—she
leaned forward and lowered her voice—“anything new?”

“Had you
visited me yesterday, I’da had some juicy news. Some shithole off
eight mile, so I hear.”

“I’ll bet my
loot topped that.”

“Yeah?” He
cocked a brow. “Find something good, did ya?”

“I wouldn’t
call it good. More like curious.”

Stan drew back
and grimaced. “Curious? What da fuck do ya do with curious?”

Ayden
shrugged. “I’m still trying to figure that out. He might have
something I’m looking for.”

“Doll, you
need to –”

“Stan!”

Both Ayden and
Stan twisted toward the interruption: Walter Sawicki, the resident
drunk.

Stan rolled
his eyes. “Here we fucking go.” He leaned on his elbow, turning
back toward Walter.

“Stan! Tell me
something. What the fuck kinda Pollack names a bar after a
Mick?”

“Get your ass
home, Wally. Too much, like I told ya.” He turned back to Ayden.
“Moron. I can’t seem to convince the stupid bastard that Sully’s
ain’t short for Sullivan’s.”

The loud slur
of Wally’s voice rose over the quiet conversation humming thoughout
the bar. “I’ll tell ya what kind. A backstabbing, lying bastard. A
disgrace to his own people.”

“Enough, you
drunk son of a bitch. Get out!” Stan shouted over his shoulder.

“You’re gonna
kick one of your own kind out, but you’ll let every other foreign
bastard come in here and drink and eat for free.”

Stan shook his
head. “Christ. I knew better than to give him that last drink,” he
muttered. “Whiskey. Does it to him every time.” A gold wedding
band, sunken into swollen fingers, tapped the top of the bar. “I’ll
get that food. Give me a minute.”

Her eyes
scanned the room as she sipped her Coke.

In the corner,
two men, bikers, stared her way. She’d seen the bikes out front
when she pulled in. Not unusual at this bar, but something about
them looked different from the
usual
gangs that frequented
the place.

Only one
single thought popped into Ayden’s mind.
Wolves.

“Say, Stan?”
she yelled “Think I’m going to take that food to go.” She tipped
her head down toward the tabletop, watching for the bikers’
reaction in her periphery.

One shifted in
his seat.
Yep
. Ayden did her best to contain the grin
begging to skate across her lips. She’d finally get a chance to
blow off some steam.

Stan called
out the order to the cook in the back and returned to her. “Ya just
got here, what da fuck?”

She shrugged.
“Something came up.”

“Sounds like
trouble.”

The grin she’d
fought to contain finally crept across her face. “Always is.”

“Don’t I know
this? You still keep with those high rollers?”

Ayden
shrugged. “From time to time.”

“Do me a
favor, ask their top dog, what’s his name again, Greg?”

“Gavin.”

“Yeah, right,
Gavin. Ask him if he wants an old piece of shit bar. I’m lookin’ to
sell soon.”

Ayden smiled.
“Will do.”

“Jimmy! That
food up yet?” Another gut-wrenching cough forced Stan to double
over his bulging belly.

“Hey, thanks,
Stan. Good to see you, fat man.” She chuckled at the last
remark.

His dry,
chubby fingers clutched his belly. “What the hell ya talkin’ about.
Lost two pounds this week.” A brown paper bag was handed to him
over the countertop, and he passed it on to her.

“I’m just
giving you shit, Stan. You look great. Keep it up.” She winked. The
grease had already begun leaking through the bag, promising its
contents would taste damn fine. “What’s the goods for tonight?”

“Steak, fries
and cheeseburger. Your fucking favorite.”

“Yummy.” She
stood up from the bar and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “See ya
round.”

“Hey, you stay
out of trouble.” Stan pointed a finger at her. “And don’t be a
goddamn stranger.”

Grabbing a
pack of matches on the countertop, her gaze swept the room.

As she turned
toward the door, the men in the corner were polishing off their
beers, heads tipped back. One laid money down on the table. She
pretended not to notice them.

Cold air
stirred as Ayden opened the door to exit the bar. Hand gliding
across the dagger at her hip, she strolled casually toward the bike
and tucked her food into one of the side pockets. The door clunked
closed behind her, taking far longer than it should have after her
release. A second or two later, the two men appeared a few feet
away on the opposite side of her ride.

One must’ve
stood nearly six foot five with a buzz cut and muscles bulging from
his chest and arms. The other, slightly smaller and covered in
tattoos, flashed her a black-toothed grin.

Heat stirred
inside of her again—a wild flame that inhabited the darkest parts
of her soul. Up from her stomach, it rose, carrying a rush in its
wake. Her fingers stretched out to calm it. “Evening, gentlemen.
Can I help you?”

The bigger of
the two crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze skimming over her
bike. “Can you help us? Yeah, I think you can. You like to ski …
slayer
?” He chuckled at himself while the other motioned
jacking them both off at once.

Ayden gave a
demure smile and sighed. “Not particularly.”

Light flashed
off her blade as it glinted through the air and penetrated the
larger man’s chest before he could blink. He howled and gripped the
hilt.

In the next
breath, his friend exploded into form, charging Ayden like a gray
bullet.

She struck its
throat with a fist, throwing the wolf backward as the first wolf
lunged, dagger still lodged in its chest.

Ayden
unraveled her bullwhip. Silver snapped through the air like a bolt
of lightning and caught its hind leg, yanking the lycan to the
ground. She wrenched it toward her and hammered at the beast, her
fists lost in a mangle of gray fur.

She pulled the
dagger from the first wolf, twisted to stand, and jabbed her other
attacker mid-section without losing position over the one she’d
caught. With a tug, its bowels spilled out of the wound from the
gut hook.

It fell to its
knees and grabbed an organ half-protruding from its stomach,
shoving it back toward the wound as though to re-stuff it into the
gaping hole.

The wolf she
held down on the ground swiped its claw across her face. Warmth
trickled down her cheek. Blood. In one fluid move, she stabbed the
dagger into the wolf’s neck then dragged it across, severing the
head.

Again, the
first wolf lunged for her, entrails still attempting escape from
their rancid host.

She thrust
upward as its large claws swiped. Dodged. Jaws snapped just short
of her face. She punched its stomach, dislodging the viscera that
hung from its mutilated gash, and leaped atop of the beast when it
hit the ground.

Ayden set her
Beretta to its maw and pulled the trigger, flinching as its brains
exploded out of the crown of its head. Sparks flew as she dragged
the knife across the concrete in her severing of its head.

She hopped
from her knees to her feet into a crouch before rising slowly and
wiping the blood off her face with the back of her hand. “That felt
good,” she said, breaths heavy. “Thanks, guys.” Her fingertips
grazed her cheek. Deep gouges of ragged flesh had already begun to
heal, the ridges softening beneath her touch as they sealed
together. “Damn wolves.” She spat on the one at her feet. “That
leaves a scar on my face, I’ll track you down in hell and kill you
again.”

Before anyone
could see, Ayden piled the bodies in a heap. She pulled the matches
out of her pocket and tossed the flame onto the two mounds before
the wolves changed into their human forms. Luckily, fur caught fire
quickly.

Stan burst
through the door as Ayden mounted her bike, arms outstretched.
“What the fuck?”

“Goodnight to
you, Stan.” Giving a quick salute, Ayden closed her helmet shut,
and squealed out of the parking lot.

She sped down
the streets, the sensation exhilarating. These neighborhoods had
been her home for the last five years. How could she give that
up—no matter how tainted it may seem—and stay in the manor as some
housewife to Gavin?

She
couldn’t.

Ayden pulled
into the cracked parking lot of an old monastery. The building had
its beauty, old architecture from a time long passed. Two stone
lions met her on the staircase leading to the large wooden door.
She pushed it open, skirting the dirt that lay on the other side.
Streams of moonlight peeked in through the broken windows. It’d
long been condemned for parts that were rotting and torn away. She
prayed no one would find it—the only place she stayed with some
consistency, aside from the manor.
Home
. If the lycans or
Alexi ever got wind of it, she’d have to give it up.

Ayden passed
the marble foyer to the winding staircase. The top floor, broken
and dilapidated with exposed innards of wall, where thieves had
stolen the copper plumbing, provided the perfect perch for her to
look out down onto the city below—a great ‘scape, and the moon as a
backdrop.

She took a
seat on a rotted piece of wood that had softened enough to act as a
chair, beside a broken window. Grease had seeped through the brown
takeout bag, making it translucent, and growls rumbled as the smell
of burger and onions hit her stomach, saliva pooled in her
mouth.

A scuttling
across the floor caught her attention.

Silvery eyes
crept toward her, far too small for her to react.
Rats
. She
tipped her head as the small scavenger crawled out of a pile of
decayed building materials and came into view. Its white body
almost glowed in the darkness.
Odd
. She’d never seen a white
rat loose before. “Where did you come from?” she whispered to
herself.

Most of her
companions at the monastery were brown or gray.

It stopped
short of her, rising up to its hind legs and sniffed the air. Ayden
tossed it a piece of her bun. It nibbled quickly then inched
closer. She took a bite of the burger and tossed another piece.

It again
inched closer with each offering.

Fast as a
bullet, a large gray rat shot out of the darkness, rolling the
white rat into a tight ball. Squealing indicated that the larger
gray rat bit and clawed at its opponent.

Ayden tossed
another piece of food and the two released each other, scampering
for it. She unhooked her whip and snapped the large gray rat. A
strip of blood glistened across its body. It curled and chattered
its teeth. A hissing sound accompanied the scurry of its retreat.
After a moment’s hesitation, the white rat approached the food.

“No species is
spared,” she muttered. “We’re all victims of something bigger,
aren’t we?”

Ayden shared
the rest of her meal with the small friend, all the while
contemplating her circumstances. It was possible Kane held some
insight into her past. Perhaps he knew her attacker—the lycan she’d
spent the last five years hunting to no avail. Not that she’d know
him by sight. Her only hope was that
he’d
recognize
her
somehow and his identity would be revealed.

In essence,
she’d been chasing a ghost for all those years. Because the
likelihood that he’d remember a victim from five years ago seemed
slim.

Did she want
to know her past? Her pulse raced at the thought. Who wouldn’t want
to know such a thing? The thought terrified Ayden, though. Would
knowing make her weak? Would killing her enemy rob her of purpose
in life?