Guardian Angels ✔

25 - No Word

Alex had hoisted herself on a pile of pallets inside the warehouse. That horrible night was finally over. She had made it. She had endured Miles' torture and even though he had wanted to break her, she felt anything but weak. He would suffer too. He would surely discover what it felt like to be violently penetrated ‒ she would show no mercy as she jammed a broomstick into his ass until she had torn open his guts. She pulled up the corner of her mouth as she tried to picture his face, his pleas, and her hatred and vengeance were so prominent they drowned out the burning pain below.

From the corner of her eyes, she looked at Miles. He had turned away from her and she wondered what thoughts crossed his mind. Did he feel regret? Was he looking forward to the next time? Not that there would ever be one, but she doubted that thought even popped up in his dumb head.

The door opened, her brothers and Alvarez filed out, all with tensed faces. Her eyes shot to Juice like a reflex. She hadn't spoken to him in days. When he entered the building this morning, he hadn't even looked at her, and he still avoided her glance. His face was pale, his eyes wide.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

The sudden tension made her freeze and she aimed her glance at Clay.

"A brick of coke is stolen." It was Jax who took the floor. "Tonight."

"I haven't seen anyone," Rat answered immediately.

"Exactly..." Chibs looked at them, one by one. "So it must've been one of ye three."

"Shane hasn't been inside," Miles spoke up immediately, his voice tensed. "We never left the back of the warehouse."

For a second Alex was overwhelmed because Miles wanted to keep her out of the danger zone until she realized he was trying to cover himself in a far too obvious way.

"Bullshit," she snorted. "We all have stretched our legs and walked around now and then, we are no less than the others. It could have been any of us, the Mayan included."

Miles sent her a deadly glare, which she ignored. Of course, she knew he hadn't stolen the drugs. He had been too busy raping her. It must have been Rat or the Mayan.

"Go to the armory," Jax told them. "We'll find out who it was."

. . .

Miles stared at the gun at the center of the table. His brothers wanted them to play Russian Roulette, forcing them to show their loyalty to the club by willing to die for them. There were five chances and one bullet. Cold sweat glided down his back. He wasn't the guilty one, and neither was Shane. His jaws tensed as he looked at the girl. Why the hell had she contradicted his words? Now he looked even more suspicious.

Of course the idea to pin all this to Shane crossed his mind. If he exposed her now, everyone would believe she was the one working undercover, taking the drugs. But he was sure she would drag him along. Giving his brothers the idea that he had known she was a girl without telling anyone, made him complicit. And if they discovered what he had done with her yesterday, instead of reporting his findings... A shiver crept down his spine.

Yesterday he had felt all-powerful, now he just felt miserable.

In their current mood, they would surely shoot him through the head, right here.

His fingers were trembling as he looked at the gun. Was there really a bullet in it? It was clear the older club members were enraged and they were just a bunch of disposable prospects, so why wouldn't they be serious?

He took a deep breath. There was no way out. He rather showed his bravery before Shane would do it. Barely able to breathe, he stretched his hand to the revolver and picked it up. The metal felt freezing cold against his skin, and his muscles were so tense that the cold was aching.

The gun was shaking in his hand as he put it against his temple. Fear squeezed his heart, making tears appear in his eyes. He glanced anxiously at Jax, who stared back coldly. Miles took another deep breath, squeezed his eyes, and screamed as he pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

Panting, he lowered the gun.

He was safe. He was really safe.

In a small burst of euphoria, he shoved the weapon to Shane. Her fingers didn't shake as she took it from him, nor when she pushed it against her head. The glance in her eyes was so ruthless he felt a pang in his stomach. Her glance reminded him of Happy; so emotionless, so fearless. Jealousy flamed up again, and suddenly he wondered if her tears had even been real yesterday. Maybe she had just toyed with him, just to give him a false sense of power.

Her eyes were aimed at the vice president as she pulled the trigger.

Click.

Again there was no shot.

The disappointment was enormous. Oh, how easy would it have been if she had shot herself through the head? Then nobody would ever discover what he had done.

. . .

Alex laid down the gun in front of Rat. She felt the need to squeeze his shoulder in an encouraging gesture, but she didn't. Instead, she moved her glance to Miles. She had been so afraid he would expose her that putting a gun to her own head had barely bothered her.

She didn't even truly believe there was a bullet in it. If a committed prospect died, how would that help their case? Still, the fear had clenched around her heart for a split second. She could be wrong. She had seen those men do more things than someone with common sense would do.

Miles was avoiding her glance. He had been the main reason that she had wanted to be strong and she had been determined to keep silent. She could feel the shame radiating from him, even though Rat neither succeeded in pulling the trigger without screaming.

Her eyes wandered to Juice, who stood a bit to the side. She had heard he had stopped by at the warehouse yesterday, and it was obvious he felt nervous. Was he the one they were looking for? Had he stolen the drugs? She couldn't imagine. The club meant the world to him. Then why was he so nervous, why were his eyes shooting from left to right, and was he avoiding any eye contact? Was he afraid she had ratted on them? Was he afraid they would kill her soon? She would give anything to talk to him, but there was no chance on that now.

Not any time soon.

None of them had refused to play Russian Roulette, meaning her brothers needed to find another way to discover who was lying.

Alex knew there were only three potential thieves, of which only one was sitting around this table.

It had to be Rat or the Mayan.

Or Juice.

And her intuition kept screaming that last name.