Crisp air. Orange and red leaves on the trees. Misty rain mixed with fog. Fucking pumpkin spice everything.
It’s a regular late September night and I should be harassing my club members about all the fucking pumpkins we need to pick up for the hay ride down at the orphanage back home.
Instead, I’m talking a man out of killing the only witness he’s found who might know where his missing wife is.
“Riot. Think man. What the fuck’er you doin’?” I raise my voice to be heard over the revving bike motors as my brothers ride in behind me. They kill their engines and, in the silence, the only thing that can be heard is my friend loading the chamber.
Petrified eyes swing my way from the man on his knees in front of Riot.
“Riot, man. Look at me.”
He does. His crew is behind him but they don’t look as concerned as I feel about brain matter spilling all over the road. Cops or not, that shit needs to be done in a more private setting. Murder isn’t my bag, but I’m not against cleaning filth off the streets. I have a few of my own demons I’d like to put down permanently.
But I’m done with bloodshed and bullets.
“Reaper, brother. Just the man I needed to see.”
I spent a few years on the road as a nomad after leaving the Marines with an honorable discharge. Shrapnel and the death of my closest buddies made it clear I needed a new line of work sooner rather than later. But like most dumbass men, it took me a while to realize burying my grief with more death wasn’t the answer.
Not until a night in New Orleans and her did I see how far down the dark rabbit hole of grief I’d fallen. Her touch, her kisses, and her fire brought me back to life. And then I woke to find my bed empty for all but a red kiss left on my pillow.
And a missing ring.
I rub at the pain stabbing through my heart. I have no business thinking of a one-night stand from years back right now but the memory of Arabelle chases me through the streets every damn day for more than one reason.
“Can you believe this asshole thinks he can blackmail me?”
Riot clocking a poor bastard on the back of the head pulls me out of my thoughts.
I might not want to be here leading my family’s biker motorcycle gang, but here the fuck I am doing just that. With a slightly different rule book than what my father and grandfather used in their day.
“I can believe a lot of shit,” I answered, “but that’s a hard one to swallow, brother.”
“That’s what I thought.”
I’ve met a lot of people in my travels. The Sons of Bratva Savages sit at the top of that list and all its brothers. I’ve bled for them and they’ve done the same. We exchange business and watch each other’s backs. That boils down to one thing. If they call, I ride because they would do the same for me and my crew, the Dirty Sinners, any day of the week.
“He looks like a fucking man possessed, Prez. You sure this dude deserves that slug?”
Seth “Rock” Meyer, my best friend and VP of the Dirty Sinners, throws the edge of his chin in the direction of Riot.
“He’s going through some shit, but he’s ’bout as stable as you or me.” Which isn’t saying much considering we run guns, own underground gambling joints, and a few other enterprises only the inner circle of the gang knows about.
“Huh, that’s not really comforting.”
I throw a hand out and clap Rock on the chest, my hand striking the leather of our club’s cut with a thump.
“I know, man, but I can’t leave the SOB in the middle of the road with his gun pulled. One of our asses might get shot. Besides, the Savages have our backs here.”
Across the road, five men with grim faces stand beside their bikes. I catch the eye of Ares, their president and we exchange a knowing look. He doesn’t like this any more than I do, but stopping Riot from getting his answers won’t be done without shooting him between the eyes first.
I like the man so I would rather it not come to that. It’s safer for all of us to let him get what he needs.
“Looks to me like it’s the other way around. We’re here to give them back up. But why?”
Good question.
“You could be right. But they didn’t ask us to ride hours in the pouring fucking rain for nothing. Let’s see what this shit is about so we can get back home.”
“Copy that, Prez.”
I cringe at being called Prez. It’s not a position I stepped into willingly. But I’m trying.
I swing my leg over the seat of my bike and pound cement to the middle of the abandoned two-lane road. Ten sets of bike lights illuminate the otherwise pitch black. This far out of the city there isn’t any other set of headlights to be seen in either direction. At least that’s one good thing.
I don’t stop until the tips of my shit-kickers hit the knees of the scum Riot has pinned to the ground with a loaded gun pointed at his temple.
I keep my hands at my side demonstrating I have no intentions of pulling my weapons. My Desert Eagle 44 magnums tucked under my cut are mere inches from my hands, but this calls for a little more finesse. “You sure you wanna do this? This can go two ways and only one of them is about to get ugly if you pull the trigger. You know I’m right.”
I hold Riot’s gaze with mine.
Riot harshly taps the man’s temple. “He broke the contract, Reaper. Get ready to collect another soul. This one goes straight to hell. You hear me?”
Ares straightens from where he’s leaning on his bike. “Listen to our friend, Riot.” My Russian friend is the size of a bear. When he moves you feel hunted by a predator.
The stinging scent of piss in the air says the dude on the ground thinks so too.
Ares’ crew mimics his position and all stop at the edge of the road all looking on as their brother roars into the night sky. “Fucking asshole, why don’t you just tell me? She dies because of you and I swear to the fucking Heavens above I’ll hunt down every brother you have, every sister. Every fucking kin that shares your blood and make them pay for your sins.”
I’ve known Riot for years. He doesn’t have an evil bone in his body. He is former law for God’s sake. Killing is our last resort, but I think we are all about to meet this man’s limit. And for as long as I’ve known him, he’s never broken a promise.
I can feel my crew coming up behind me. I peer over my shoulder and sure enough, my vice president, road captain, and a couple of Sinner enforcers mirror the Savages. We’ve formed the circle of death. No one in. The intended dead only leave after they’ve given up their soul.
I nod at Ares and he returns the respect. He’s ready for anything that is about to go down.
I turn my attention back to Riot. Red, bloodshot eyes drift to mine. We stand about the same height and have the same build. Going toe to toe with him won’t be fun, but if I have to save him from himself, I’ll take the beating. “I hear you, Riot,” I say calmly. “But you know as well as I do dead men don’t talk, brother.”
“You’re right about that.”
Riot’s head moves up and down so I know he’s hearing his own words and mine but he still drives the butt of his gun grip into the skull of his prisoner.
“All I want to know is where I can find my wife and this asshole wants to squeeze me for another half a mil. I’m done. It’s not the money. It is the principal of the matter. I already gave him seven due per our contract. Now I want what is mine. The information I paid for. And then we will talk about the soul he owes us.”
Fuck. That’s not good.
I kick at Riot’s prisoner. “Stop pissing yourself and answer the fucking man. He might let you live. If you talk fast.”
Quivering lips pull back from blood teeth. I see Riot had a little warm-up time before we rode up.
The dickhead’s hands are in the air as if pleading and showing a little weakness will get him anywhere. “I’m sorry man. I am. I didn’t know. I just thought you were another client. Genesis’ undertaker didn’t mention shit about you being a Savage brother. The stupid bitch.”
“Now you know, asshole.” I come to a knee in front of him and look the man dead in the eye. “I’ve seen death as it moves over a soul ready to collect. There’s a reason I’m called the Reaper. I suggest you spill your secrets before the devil is the one asking.”
I rise to my feet as Ares walks to the middle of the road and stands opposite of me and Riot. Between us, the bastard on his knees quivers in fear as he should.
“We called you in, moy brat, because this man claims to be Sinner blood. We thought you would like to look the man in the eye and hear the lie for yourself. When he found out that didn’t save him, he claimed to be Chaos blood.”
I grunt.
“Thought that would leave a bad taste in your mouth.” Ares’ Russian accent is heavy.
“There’s bad blood there for sure,” I answer. “This one is a nomad. Probably crossed paths with the Chaos crew.” At least that is the only thing I can come up with to explain how he knows about my crew and the one my family has feuded with long before I was born.
Ares brushes his knuckles against his scruffed-up chin, looking like there’s somewhere else he would rather be right about now. But we both know that’s not how club life works. “Agreed,” he says flatly.
I lock eyes with my vice president and he’s thinking the same damn thing. We share boundary lines with the other motorcycle gang. The Chaos Riders are rotten to the core and a thorn in my family’s side for decades.
But I’ve seen this behavior before with nomads. They claim one crew or another as blood and then escape trouble never to be seen again.
“You wanna take him?” Riot asks, but I can tell he’s silently begging me to say no. “Or give the word and I’ll take him off your hands.”
Now I know why the piece of shit isn’t already eating metal slugs. Riot would never overstep the line of respect between our crews.
“How bad are his offenses? Is it limited to blackmailing or has he done something else?” He’s not my responsibility but I don’t need another death on my hands if I can prevent it.
Riot taps the side of the man’s head again. “He killed a Savage prospect tonight. A new member I considered a friend. Lied to us. Tried to blackmail me, as you know. That’s three offenses. You take him, he lives. We keep him, we hand out justice the Savage way.”
A fast kill, a faster burial.
Rock is beside me. “Load him up. We’ll deal with him back home.”
Cracked asphalt grinds beneath my boot’s heel as I turn. And that’s when all hell breaks loose.
I hear the roar before I feel the pain as steel slides through flesh.
Fists fly, and my crew surrounds me like a shield. I pull my girl from her holster beneath my leather cut so fast my VP’s eyes shoot wide open. I aim over his shoulder but even with my quick reflexes, I’m not a match for the man holding the smoking gun.
Riot’s expression is void of emotion as the man’s body hits the ground.
Warm rivulets of blood seep into the beltline of my jeans. I peer down and wrap my hand around the silver handle sticking out of my side. I pull the blade out and toss the two-inch piece of shit on the ground beside the dying nomad as my men step to the side. I’ll have to talk to them about keeping me from my own fights.
“You wanna kill a man, you better come at him with more than a toy,” I grit out, but it’s too late. The enemy is already dead.
I shake my head. All this could have been avoided. I might be done with the bloodshed, but death is not done with me it seems. “Demons to hell. Ashes and Ashes. Some men only want to take the hard way out.”
My crew surrounds me, their expressions full of surprise. I’ve only been their President for a little over a couple of months. We’ve all known each other since we were in diapers but this is the first time they’ve seen the color of my blood. And every single one of them had my back.
I’ll remember that. I clasp hands with Rock and we bump shoulders. No words are needed. He knows what it means.
I make sure to acknowledge each of my crew with eye contact and they do the same.
Then I turn to Riot who still grips his gun. Probably thinking about putting a few more rounds in the dead fucker at his feet.
I walk up to him. “I owe you, man. But maybe next time you can check for the backup weapon. This shit is gonna sting for a month.”
“I hear you, brother. You know how messy this life can get.”
I do.
I drop a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry about your wife. You’ll find her. You need my crew, we’re here for you.”
There’s a level of despair I’ve never seen in a man’s eyes before when his come up to meet mine.
“Call me if you need me. You copy?”
He nods and I move to Ares.
“Shit’s not right with him and I hate to bring up business on a night like tonight. But I’m here and you’re here.”
“Da, moy droog. What is it? Anything you need.”
Rock steps in for me as I pull some disinfectant and a pad out of my saddle bag.
“We have a new shipment coming through your territory next week. Mind helping out with an escort? I have a shaky feeling about these new clients.”
Ares is already nodding his head at Rock. “Da. Speak to Rage and give him all the details. We have your back, moy brat’ya.”
A few months back there was a big takedown between the Savages. Rivals looking to move in on their territory. Come to find out, it was Ares’ honest-to-God brother and father looking to move in and steal from their own kin.
It didn’t end well for his father or the betraying brother. Until Ares’ had his brother’s blood on his hands only one man in his crew knew he was the son of Russian mafia royalty. Pulling back the curtain on his true identity didn’t go over too well with everyone in his crew, but to me, I don’t care where a man comes from. We all have roots leading back to somewhere. All I care about is loyalty. Once you show me you have my back, you’ll have mine until I die.
The ride back to Haven is long and I sigh in relief as we cross city limits. The familiar scent of woodsy smoke hangs in the crisp air and cleanses my lungs of piss and blood.
Rosie will have fresh pie and coffee which sounds good after hours of the open road.
We roll down the main drag, a route I’ve avoided since the new bookstore opened up a few weeks ago for one reason and one reason only.
My dream, my heart. My reason for breathing. And the reason I haven’t slept in forever. The dark-haired, green-eyed beauty who left my bed two years ago.
I see movement through the window. “Arabelle.”
