I turn around to face Pope. “Mind if I borrow Precious?”
Pope narrows his eyes at me, pursing his lips at the request. But then he takes another long look at Marigold, drops his eyes to Damon’s body, and a grim understanding fills him. Flickingopen the leather safety latch of his custom holster, he pulls his signature axe out and passes it directly to me.
“Thanks.”
He shrugs, his voice steady. “She’s one of us.”
Without a single second of hesitation, I bring the heavy axe down right in the middle of Damon’s neck. The blade is incredibly sharp, and it only takes a few more hard, precise swings before Damon’s head completely separates from his body.
I wrap my fingers tightly in his dark hair and lift the severed head up, turning back to face Marigold.
“Holy crap, that’s hot,” she mutters.
Then she looks deep into my eyes, letting me see every single shred of the absolute truth in hers. “I fucking love you.”
“Fucking love you too, baby.” I casually toss Damon's severed head over to Malice and hold the bloody axe back out to Pope before turning my full attention straight back to her. “I'm damn proud of you.”
She scrunches her nose in that maddeningly cute, impossibly perfect way only she can. “For what?”
“For slaying your monsters. Out here tonight, you didn’t need anyone to rescue you, baby. You were your own damn hero.”
Marigold’s gaze drops to Damon’s lifeless, headless form sprawled across the concrete. “He’s really gone.”
I slide my hand up to her throat, fingertips pressing softly to her skin, feeling the steady thrum of her pulse beneath my touch. “Yeah, baby. He’s completely gone.”
“Now what?” she whispers, her whole body collapsing into me as the weight of adrenaline and exhaustion finally drags her down.
“Now you can stop fighting. You can stop running. Now, baby, you can finally fucking live.”
“Okay. Can we go home now?”
“After we get you looked at by the medic.”
Patch walks over to us right on cue, aggressively shaking his head in annoyance. “After you’rebothlooked at.” He cuts a hard glare directly at me. “Did you just completely forget you have a fucking hole in your side from where the bastard stabbed you?”
“Now that you mention it,” I mutter, my face twisting in a sudden wince as Marigold gasps and yanks up the hem of my black shirt.
“Let’s go. Right now,” she demands, narrowing her eyes at me in a way that leaves absolutely zero room for argument.
“You and Marigold will ride in the back of the cage,” Pope orders, stepping in to take command of the scene.
“My bike—” I start to protest.
“Zodiac will follow right behind the cage riding your bike,” Pope cuts me off, referring to another newer prospect in our ranks. “That cool with you?”
I glance over at the man he’s talking about. He’s a hell of a lot younger than most of us, but the rigid way he holds his frame tells me he’s already seen a massive amount of shit in those short years, and absolutely none of it was any good. He’s here for the exact same reasons we all originally gravitated toward the Saint’s Outlaws. The brotherhood. The absolute loyalty. The deep, grounding knowledge that you’ll always have someone standing at your back.
“Fine,” I tell the prospect, my voice low and warning. “You fuck it up, I do the exact same thing to you.”
Zodiac lowers his head in quiet, respectful acknowledgment. “Treat it like my own, brother.”
Pope glances around the dark warehouse space where Marigold spent the last day, a heavy scowl settling over his face. “Burn this entire place to the fucking ground. Make sure none of this shit comes back on the club.”
Manic and Butcher snatch up the gasoline cans we stash in the cage, dousing every inch of the warehouse with ruthless efficiency. Blitz, Ducky, and Basilisk drag in the last bodies from outside, stacking them in a grim heap beside Damon. When every enemy is accounted for, Butcher empties the last of his fuel over the mound, making sure nothing is left untouched.
I draw Marigold close, arms locked around her waist, my chin pressed to her hair as we watch Pope light a match and send it spinning onto the drenched pile. Flames roar to life with a savage whoosh, and the warehouse fills with the choking, unforgettable stench of burning flesh.
“Can we go?” Marigold asks quietly, her head leaning back against my chest.