The Biker's Rules
“Your daddies taught me there are no moral codes in war.”
The room tilts.
I can hear my own breathing now — shallow, too fast. I try to slow it, but panic is a living thing clawing at my ribs.
“They scarred MY children,” Harry continues, and for a flicker of a second, something almost human flashes across his face. Hurt. Twisted into hatred. “Broke them.”
His jaw tightens. “And now I’m going to do the same. One son of each monster will suffer, before they themselves beg for death.”