thirty: in which HE sees ripper for what ripper is

thirty: in which he sees ripper for what ripper is

"I spent my whole life choosing, and I always chose wrong" –Hollywood Undead, Hear Me Now

********************************

Jake

Doc was a sadistic fuсker.

But that was fine – because I was one, too.

He cleaned my wound with zero tenderness and stitched me up fast, not giving a damn that I could feel every burn of disinfectant, every sting of the needle. I didn't give a damn. I needed to feel something, and pain was always a good reminder that I was still here. Still alive. Still free to ride another day.

"What happened?" Doc grunted as he bandaged me up after.

He was in his early fifties; a once-renowned surgeon whose drinking problems had led to malpractice suit after malpractice suit, until he was eventually blacklisted. Just the kind of man desperate enough to be contracted by a one-percenter biker club. We paid well. That was what mattered.

This was why I gave Doc a look. He wasn't supposed to give a fuсk. He never did.

"I'm only asking because it's a really nasty gash. Messy, too. Any higher, could've punctured your lung," Doc said, sounding like his usual unruffled self.

"Like I care. Just finish up so I can get back to what I was doing."

Doc's eyes traveled to the empty beer bottles covering almost every inch of carpet in my room. "Sure," he said.

After he left, Sin shuffled into my room, taking in the chaos with a raised brow. "What happened here?"

My woman ran the fuсk away and I had to get my own damn beer.

"Welcome to the land of the living," I grunted out, looking up at him from where I was sitting on the ground.

Sin was shirtless, a bandage wrapped around his lower abdomen. Other than that, the bastard looked just fine. He sent me a wry smile. "From what I heard, I would've died if it wasn't for your woman. I came to thank her."

"She's gone."

"Huh." With a groan, he got down and sat beside me. "Got you fuсked up."

"Good fuсkin' riddance," I muttered, opening my fifth cold one that evening. My eyes slid shut as the cold liquid slid down my throat. "More trouble than she was worth."

"So why're you drinking?"

"'Cause I can still smell her."

"Jesus H. Christ, Ghost was right." Sin bumped me with a shoulder and I threw a glare at him. "You're whipped. Feels like shit, doesn't it?"

I didn't answer. The fuсker was laughing at me and all I wanted to do was press my finger against the wound in his gut, listen to him scream. I respected Sin. Hell, I loved him like a big brother. We'd grown up together. He was VP of the club; smart and calculating. But in this moment, I wanted to beat the hell out of him because he was right: It felt like shit.

"You wanna talk about it?" Sin pushed, digging in the pockets of his jeans for what I knew was a cigarette.

"About what? How I chose the club over the woman I love?" I pushed my fingers against my bandaged side, finding the wound. I pressed down hard, inhaling sharply.

"You can have both."

"Like you did?"

Sin fell silent. He didn't enjoy talking about Nicole. The bitch had moved to another continent to get away from him, damn near breaking his fuсking heart five years ago. Sin had loved her, as bitchy and uptight as she'd been, and her dumping him because of who and what he was... Shit, history was repeating itself with me and my goddamn Silver Eyes.

"It doesn't work out for all of us. Especially if we don't want it to," he said quietly, lighting up his cigarette. "Nicole was never gonna be happy with me. I was good enough for fuсking, but when it came to the office parties and fancy fundraisers, I was her dirty fuсking secret. Is your woman ashamed of you?"

I thought about it. Was Maya ashamed of me? No fuсking way. Of that, I was sure. She'd introduced me to her friends, allowed me into her space. They might not have accepted me – especially that Lucas jackass – but they accepted that I was permanently embedded in my woman's life. I'd never been introduced as someone's boyfriend before – not even by Ella, who'd basically labeled me the guy she was screwing on the regular – and I knew I was damn lucky to be claimed by Maya Fenton.

She was...every-fuсking-thing.

I didn't answer Sin, though. I wasn't in the mood to have a heart-to-heart with him. No, I was going to drink myself stupid and hope that I got drunk enough for my sense of smell to completely shut down. Maya's fuсking perfume filled my room and I couldn't get away from it. I couldn't get away from my thoughts, either. I felt...murderous. Insane. Filled with this goddamn rage I couldn't shrug off.

I was mad at myself. Mad because I was a sick, twisted shithead and I didn't know how to be anything else. Mad because I had accepted it a long time ago. Mad because I fuсking liked who I was.

Then, I was mad at Roisin fuсking McNally. Psycho bitch with knives for fingers. Who the fuсk would enlist their baby sister in a goddamn war? Then again, Roisin was a crazy creature, obsessed with blades and mutilating men with them. The fact that Sin and I had gotten ourselves fuсked up by a deranged twenty-two-year-old who'd blindsided us while we were staking out McNally headquarters? Bruise to the ego, and something we'd both agreed to take to the grave, before Sin had passed out. No matter what happened, I was going to end that bitch.

Finally, I was mad at Maya for fuсking running. Should've seen it coming. Women like her didn't understand the darkness of the world. They tried to, but they just couldn't. They wanted to believe everything was a fuсking Disney movie, and when they realize it isn't, their heads explode.

My mother had accepted who my father was, just like my grandmother had accepted my grandfather. She'd accepted his stupidity, his recklessness. She'd loved him. Clearly, Maya didn't love me enough. Or love me, period.

"Rip, you gotta go after her," Sin was saying, his voice rough. "You love her. You want her. Go get her."

I took another chug of my beer, attempting to shut him out. I knew that Pusѕy had come to get my woman and that she was probably holed up with the rest of those Amazonian biker bitches in town, giving them a sob story. I'd been five seconds away from knocking out the weak-dick Candidates who'd allowed Maya to leave the compound but Beast had stopped me. Security at the Bloody Marys' clubhouse was on high alert.

Instead, I'd decided to drink because drinking was the lesser evil to all the things I wanted to do.

After a while of sitting in silence, Sin left. He knew I needed to be alone.

But when you're alone, that's when you're at your most irrational.

I pulled myself to my feet and went to my bathroom, raking a hand through my overgrown hair and pushing it out of my face in the process. In the mirror, I looked filthy. Bloodshot hazel eyes, flecked with green in the light, stared back at me. They were filled with pain and anger and every other fucking emotion that had me wound up. I yearned to release it all the only way I knew how: Fucking or fighting.

And since Maya wasn't here...

I slammed my fist into the glass. It didn't break. My reflection continued to glare at me.

"You're an unstable piece of shit," I said out loud. "Just like your father."

I gripped the edge of the sink, hanging my head. I was the Ripper; he had been the Reaper. His anger problems had been legendary. Blink at Reaper wrong, and he takes your soul. That was what they used to say about my old man. To me, that had been ridiculous. He had been Dad. The man who wore a rosary and made Baron and me go to Mass on Sunday, even when we had a whole pew to ourselves because everyone was afraid of Reaper. He taught me Italian, even though he'd left Sicily when he was seven. The day he died, I vowed I'd never speak a word of Italian again. And I hadn't.

Forget him. He's gone. You'll never see him again.

I took a deep breath, raising my head again. "I see him now."

This time, when I punched the mirror, it shattered.

***

I was either hung-over or half-dead, and I was going with the latter.

Swearing loudly, I swung my legs over the bed...and stepped on a body.

Goddamn it, I thought, trying to focus. What the hell did I do last night?

Glenna, Beast's broad, let out a sharp cry, sitting up on the floor. "What the hell, Ripper? You blind or something?" she grumbled, rubbing her side. She pushed a piece of curly brown hair out of her face. "Damn near crushed me!"

"The hell are you doing in my room?" I snapped, flinging a sheet over her naked body.

The sound of the toilet flushing in my bathroom made me turn to face the door. Beast came out, naked as the day his doctor slapped his wide ass.

"What. The. Fuсk?" I jumped to my feet too fast, making my head spin.

"Relax, man. We didn't sleep together." Beast was pulling his jeans on as he spoke. "You asked me to make sure you didn't leave this room, so I watched you drink until you passed out. Glenna kept me company. Fuсked me right on the floor while you slept like a baby."

I felt my jaw tic. "Tell me why I shouldn't kick your ass for saturating my carpet with cum, Beast."

He sent me an easy grin that made his menacing features soften. "'Cause I'll tell the guys you talk in your sleep."

Glenna's nasal voice came in. "Yeah, you totally do. Kind of killed our mojo a few times, you know." She stood, having no problems with her nudity.

"Both of you – out," I barked, feeling my face heat up. Who the fuсk knows what I said while out? Probably begged like a bitch for Maya to come back to me. Probably had a wet dream about her on her knees. Probably – "Fuсk off, Beast, and take your woman with you!"

Laughing, Glenna pulled her dress on and allowed Beast to take her hand and lead her out.

My head was pounding and I felt a slight twinge of pain in my side where the McNally psycho bitсh had gutted me. I held my right hand up and found that it was caked with dry blood. Doc would definitely have to look at it.

I still felt like shit.

And I could still smell Maya.

***

Total bullshit.

There was only heaven and hell, and I knew that when the time came for me to be judged, I would burn for my sins. My father had been buried with a silver coin on either eye, dressed in his leathers. I'd never believed he'd met Hades. Satan, maybe, but definitely not some mystical Greek god of the underworld. Our first Prez had been batshit crazy, I felt, but his burial rituals had stuck. Hell, they were even in the club's charter, written as law.

It went without saying that I kept my opinion on this to myself.

It also went without saying that I was about to add yet another despicable sin to my already-long list.

"You ready?" said Ghost, eyeing me carefully as we stood at the door to the basement. "'Cause I don't wanna waste a perfectly good Irish rat if you end up cooking him before he squeaks."

"No promises, Prez," I muttered, pushing the door open with my uninjured hand.

Ghost's hand rested on my shoulder. "I'm serious, Rip. You need to restrain yourself. No impulsive decisions that fuсk everything up for us. Do. Not. Kill. Him."

I shrugged his hand off my shoulder and made my way down the stairs. Ghost flicked the light switch on behind me, sending a dull glow throughout the large room. Decades before, prison cells had been constructed down here, iron bars and all. It made detaining a prisoner that much easier.

I was going to fuсking love this.

The blonde man sat tied to a wooden chair, naked. His face was already battered and bruised, his hair matted to his skull with sweat. Beast stood beside him, removing his knuckledusters.

"This one's tough as shit," he complained, wiping his brow. "And insane. Claims his saliva's venomous. Tried to spit in my eye."

"Too much absinthe," Ghost quipped.

I felt my lips twitch. Hunkering down so I was level with McNally's man, I assessed the damage that Beast had done. Broken nose. Likely a broken jaw, too. Could've shattered his eardrum, what with all the blood seeping out of his left ear.

"You still alive?" I murmured, although I could hear his heavy breathing.

His eyes slid open, piercing me with their light blue stare. He spat at me, aiming for my face and getting my shoulder.

Oh, yeah. He was alive.

I stood, cracking my knuckles. "Where's McNally? I know he isn't at your little base, so where's he hiding?" Circling him, I bent, whispering into his ear, "You tell me, and I'll end this quickly. Nicely."

"Fuck you," he wheezed, trying to knock his head against mine. He twisted in the chair, his hands tied behind his back. "Suck me off while you're at it."

I laughed. "I'm gonna enjoy breaking you."

"He won't break," said Beast, folding his arms across his chest.

I was still pissed off about what he'd done in my room last night, but I was going to let it slide. This time. "You wanna bet?"

"You two wanna get serious for a fuckin' second?" Ghost snapped impatiently from behind me. "I got things to do."

"You don't have to be here," I told him, without looking over my shoulder.

"I gotta make sure you don't get pissed off and kill him without getting anything first, don't I?"

"Beast is here," I pointed out.

"Beast can't control you."

I whirled around to face Ghost, balling my hands into fists. "I'm not some wild animal that needs a handler, Prez, so stop treating me like one."

The look on Ghost's face hardened. He took a step forward. "You fuсking put us at war with McNally the second you took out his brother. Unprovoked," he said, his voice low. "So don't you dare think for one second you're entitled to mouth off about ѕhit. I am your President before I am your brother. Don't forget that, Ripper."

The thing about Ghost was that the madder he got, the lower his voice became. He was pretty fucking mad right then. But so was I. Despite this, I kept my mouth shut, giving him a single nod that said I heard him loud and clear.

I turned back to our captive. "One last chance: Where's McNally?"

"Waist-deep in your mother."

Now, see, you just don't mention a man's mother and expect good karma.

He didn't see my fist coming until it was pummeling his mouth.

"You wanna try saying that with no teeth?" I snarled, intent on breaking every last one in his mouth. "My mother was a saint. I'll fuсking cut your tongue out for mentioning her with your filthy mouth."

"Not before he gives us something." Ghost sounded exasperated.

I took a deep breath, shaking my fist out. The skin of my knuckles was burning, and that burn was so familiar I just ignored it. Inhaling deeply, I watched as the man turned his head to the side and spat out a mess of blood, saliva...and teeth.

I was sick for enjoying this but I couldn't help it.

"You know what I do for a living?" I fisted a hank of his hair, forcing him to look up at me. "Ink people up. Make bikes out of nothing. Make a mean Long Island Ice Tea. Ride my Harley." I paused, gauging the hatred in this man's eyes. "Then there's the other ѕhit. Selling guns to the Mexicans. Selling drugs to the Russians. The kind of ѕhit your boss does behind the doors of his fancy manufacturing company. Do you really want to die for him, Greg?"

His eyes widened at the use of his first name. For only a second. "Thank you for your life story, but I'm not Oprah."

"Cute. I'm gonna ink you up, Greg."

He almost shrugged. His entire body was covered in tattoos – vivid, intricate designs that actually made me want to take a closer look. And I would. Once his body was cold.

"You think a tattoo gun's gonna be torture?" He snorted. "I expected more, Ripper."

"But Greg," I said, going to the rickety old table out of his peripheral vision, "who said anything about a tattoo gun?"

I put on my dark protective goggles and grabbed my welding gun, quickly adjusting the line pressure and ensuring that the pair of hoses that led to the oxygen and acetylene tanks was secure.

The blue flame that lit up the tip of the gun brought a smile to my face, but only for a second. Someone screamed from behind Ghost, making time stand still.

Daisy stood at the foot of the steps, her mouth frozen in an 'O'. She stared at me, stared at a now-quivering Greg, stared at her brother, stared at Beast. The welding gun was still in my hand and without thinking, I shut off the gas, wrenching my goggles off.

Ghost cursed under his breath. "Didn't I say the basement was off-limits, Dee?" He marched over to her, grabbing her arm. "Why don't you ever listen to me, huh?"

"Don't," she said, looking right at me with her goddamn wide eyes.

Don't do this... Don't be this... Don't want this...

Ghost was screaming for one of the old ladies to keep an eye on his sister but I couldn't hear his exact words. In that moment, I saw myself through the eyes of a thirteen-year-old girl. I scared that girl. She saw a sadist, a man about to fucking put a blue flame to another man's skin because he wanted a location. She saw a monster.

And that was what Maya saw, too.

It came to me like a goddamn Eureka moment. This Jekyll and Hyde bullshit I was pulling with Maya wasn't fair to her. If I wanted to be with her, she had to know Ripper, and not just Jacob Ford. Wasn't that the fuсking problem? I was Jacob with her – regular Jacob with no rap sheet or the uncontrollable urge to hurt someone – and she had no real idea who Ripper was or what he was capable of. Murder wasn't even the worst of it.

But she doesn't want to know Ripper.

This was me. I couldn't change. Didn't really want to. But seeing Daisy's face and knowing that was how my Maya saw me? That shit hurt. It wasn't even the good kind of pain, the kind that sends a rush of adrenaline coursing through the body. No, it was the kind of pain that made me crazy with anger at myself for being so stupid.

The truth was that I didn't really blame Maya for running. Right now, with all this shit flying, I was toxic. I would consume her. Ruin her. And then I would die. I was dying. Right then. Every minute that passed without being around her, without knowing how she was doing – it chipped away at my insides. I wanted to stick my finger into my wound and make myself feel something else, a different sort of pain. If I didn't get her back, I would die. I knew this. It was floating in the back of my mind, waiting to reveal itself at the most inconvenient time when I would inevitably do something half-assed and get myself killed.

How had I become so dependent on her light? When had it happened? Did it matter?

I had a good thing – I wasn't so messed up that I couldn't see that – and yet, I was down in a basement about to light a guy up instead of keeping that good thing.

I was dumb as horseshit.

"Beast, take over," I heard myself say, walking away from this scene.

"Yeah. Sure, man."

Ghost met me at the top of the stairs. "Hell, where are you going?"

"To get help."