Van Helsing Damned (Immortal Hunters MC #2) - Helen Scott Page 0,2

real, or happening to me.

“He’s going to stitch you up in a couple of places.” Crash’s face is in front of mine again, filling my vision, and my heart aches a little.

I’m glad that I’m not alone in this place.

I nod again.

The doctor gets to work. I know he stitches a spot on my arm. A flash of a memory hits me, of the pain from a knife as it slices across my arm. That’s how I received this injury. I remember that now, even though I don’t want to remember it. Somehow having the doctor stitching me up feels like I’m being hurt all over again, no matter how much logic tells me I’m not. Sweat beads my forehead, and I bite my cheek until I taste blood.

The doctor finishes. There’s a wound at my neck. I remember teeth. Growling. Screams. Some mine. Some the prisoners. Some from the Prez. My gaze had slid to the Prez’s cage, where a doctor had finished injecting him with something. The scientist had left the cage with an almost happy gait, then saw what was happening outside of that cage, and for the first time seemed to realize there was a fight happening.

Fucking arrogant bastard. Wasn’t even worried about the chaos around him. Not even in that moment.

My gaze jerks to my nightstand as the thread from the stitches pulls at my flesh, and a tear rolls down my cheek. My Chosen Weapons are there. The two magical daggers that helped me escape.

But it wasn’t the daggers that saved you, a traitorous voice whispers in the back of my mind.

A shiver rolls down my spine. No. It wasn’t the daggers. But I can’t think of that now.

I need to keep it together. Because now that I’m back at the compound, I can’t stay silent forever. I have to come up with a story these guys will believe about what happened with the scientists.

Because as much as they seem to care about me, they won’t if they find out the truth.

Whatever lie I have to create, it needs to be a good one. Or I’m dead, either way.

3

Striker

Knowing that Dani is back here and safe is the only thing that's letting me concentrate on anything at all. Everything in me wants to go and see her, to make sure she's okay with my own eyes, but I'm drowning in paperwork.

The Prez left things in a mess. It's like he's given up on the club completely. Or rather, he had. He’s dead now.

None of us had any idea how badly he was ignoring his duties. Now we know and we're going to have to move some serious product to keep up with the other clubs in the area and keep nationals happy. It also means that we'll need to induct a few of the prospects since we're losing members left and right thanks to these new mutant supes and the attacks on our compound.

He even let our deals with suppliers go cold, so I know I'll have to be a kiss-ass to get them on our side again, which isn't a good thing since I don't kiss ass. The worst part is how everyone is looking to me for answers, and I have none to give them. I don't even want to be in charge, not really. When I became VP I thought it would be an easy job for a couple of years, a way to give back to the club for everything it's given me.

I never expected to actually have to be the President.

Worse, I never expected the Prez to betray us like that.

He is—was—my friend. He kept this side from us for all these years, and I have no doubt that it is years given the way everything seemed to go so smoothly for him. How many other things did he give the Necron Order? Did he help the scientists that are experimenting on humans? Did he help lure people to them? Or just help them cover up their activities so we didn't find out about them until now?

Rage boils inside me just below the surface and though I try to keep it in, it doesn't work. Everything comes pouring out of me in a primal roar. The trinkets that line the bookshelf behind me shake from the force of it. Something falls and the sound of the thing breaking pushes my rage over the edge.

I barely even know what I'm doing when I grab that stupid banker’s lamp with the