Dylan: Golden Skulls M.C. by Rebecca Joyce

Author:Rebecca Joyce [Joyce, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-12-22T18:30:00+00:00

Twenty-One

Dylan

I had seen some sick shit in my life but watching Sandman bathe in blood was now in my top three nastiest things I’d ever seen. The mute bastard spread blood over his face and arms as if he were trying to lather it. But when he licked his lips, I had had enough.

Turning to Reaper, I glared as Reaper snapped. “Sandman! Sit your fucking crazy ass down. This isn’t bath time.”

Sandman stepped away from the dead man, turned and walked over to the sink to wash his hands and face. Lowering the chain, I ignored the pooling blood on the floor. It wasn’t that I hadn’t seen this shit before. It was the fucker causing the destruction.

The man was seriously not right in the head.

Slaughter helped me drag the dead body into the adjoining room. Laying the body next to the others, I asked, “You sure you can handle working with Sandman.”

Slaughter nodded. “Ain’t nothing wrong with the man.”

“He’s fucking crazy.”

“We are all crazy, Bullseye. Just because you use a rifle to kill doesn’t make you any different than Sandman. Reaper uses his blades. Digger likes dynamite. Hell brother, I use my fist. How is what we do any different from Sandman?”

“We don’t bathe in the blood.”

“Yea we do,” Slaughter said, standing. “We just go about it differently. I get Sandman. He’s honest. What you see is what you get. That I can get behind.”

Slapping Slaughter on his shoulder, I nodded. “Okay man. If you change your mind later, come to Reaper or me.”

Walking back into the main room, I grinned as Ravage and Ink brought in a very pissed-off Carmine.

“This fucker is mine,” I growled as Ravage and Ink hoisted Carmine off the floor.

“Words first.”

All eyes landed on Sandman as he reached for Sunny’s headphones and put them on. Closing his eyes like before, he leaned his head back and smiled.

“Did that crazy fuck just tell you what to do?” Ravage muttered.

“I think he did,” I replied.

Reaper shook his head and muttered, “It only took four dead men and a bath in blood for him to understand. Bullseye, you can’t touch Carmine until Giovanni arrives.”

“Italian fucker should have flown faster then,” I snarled, reaching my arm back before plowing my fist into Carmine’s jaw. Mother fucker betrayed my sister. He was never walking out of this tomb. Carmine cursed loudly before spitting blood in my face. Before I could react, a fist flew past me and straight into Carmine’s face, breaking his nose.

“The Italian fucker is here,” Giovanni said, taking off his suit jacket, handing it to his brother Salvatore who nodded at me before stepping back. Rolling up his sleeves, Giovanni walked closer to Carmine and said, “I’m going to gut you.”

Before I could stop him, Giovanni reached into his pocket and produced a switchblade which he deftly flicked open before jamming the blade into Carmine’s stomach several times.

I looked over at Salvatore, who silently shook his head.

This was not the Giovanni I knew.

This was not the calm, calculating man I remembered.

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