Chapter Forty-Eight

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*Letha's POV will be in the next chapter! Aiden and his family troubles need to be wrapped up before we switch back to our leading lady!*

*Letha's POV will be in the next chapter! Aiden and his family troubles need to be wrapped up before we switch back to our leading lady!*

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•Aiden•

The guys swiftly move into the room, guns raised at the Italian surrounded by his small band of remaining cohorts.

Their weapons are raised but their hands are shaking, their eyes darting back and forth between our group. We have the upper hand. We have the numbers. There's only four of them as opposed to our small army.

They don't stand a chance. This is the end of the line for Donatello, and his men seem to know it.

I follow closely behind Jace, as many of the men are still keeping an eye on me, probably thinking at any moment I'll run from my impending execution.

Will they do it here? Will they kill me and leave me for the buzzards at this very spot in the desert?

I look around and see Ash is unconscious, but Blade isn't. He doesn't look like he's doing too well, but he's surely conscious enough to order the killing of me.

The overbearing ammonia scent of urine and coppery bitterness of blood assault my senses as I take a pass over the room once more, examining the carnage as I go.

Ranger is laying on the floor on his stomach, blood pooling around his lower body. His back isn't moving and I know he's got to be dead.

I close my eyes for a split second and try to calm my raging stomach at the sight of the gore before me.

I may have grown fond of these guys over the months I've been undercover, but there's no way in hell I could ever be apart of this life for real.

The death. The murder. The blood. It's all too much for me to handle long term. I already know this would fuck me up for life, but fortunately, I'll be dead soon anyway, and then I won't have to worry about the disgusting memories of being apart of a criminal biker club.

My stomach rolls and I lurch over, spilling the contents of my nervous stomach onto the bloody floor of the torture chamber.

"Get it together, rat," Jace spits over his shoulder, turning to face me with a narrowed gaze that forces me to stand upright, frightened of what he might do if I disobey again. I wipe away the remaining puke from my mouth with the back of my sleeve and take a deep breath.

"Get me the fuck off this table," Blade growls, rattling the chains strapping him down onto the surgical table he's positioned on top of.

Men from the San Bernardino chapter quickly rush to help the Vice President, along with the rest of the club who are also strapped to the walls by rusty, bloody chains.

The men look like they've taken a beating, that's for sure. But, Ash... Ash looks dead. If it wasn't for his subtle breathing, he would look like a corpse. Hell, with how ashy and pale his skin is, he could double as an undead zombie at the moment.

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