Monster: A Seven Sinners Novel

by A G Henderson

  Monster: A Seven Sinners Novel

  A.G. Henderson

  Disclaimer

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual places, events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All persons in this story are 18 or older.

  Contents

  Monster: A Seven Sinners Novel

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Author’s Note

  Connect with Me

  Blurb

  Peace is a lie, there is only violence.

  In my lungs. In my veins. In my soul.

  Until her.

  The scrappy temptress that fights like she also holds a beast inside her.

  She’s everything I’ve waited on.

  All that I need.

  Somehow, someway, Josie is the answer to my darker nature.

  Until I found out why, she’s mine.

  She’s going to fight me. She’s going to run.

  But I got my name for a reason, and this monster is ready to hunt.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Josie

  There was a quote about getting punched in the face.

  Or was it a saying?

  Did they call it a proverb?

  Hell, who were they supposed to be anyway?

  Because there was always a they. Some faceless group to pin the blame on. A society with no more substance than the shadows they claimed to occupy.

  Matter of fact, would I be considered part of the they? I had a secret, after all. Maybe not the best-kept one, but a secret nonetheless. I was part of a covert operation that helped me carry out my plans. God, that sounded so official in my head compared to reality.

  Wait.

  Where was I?

  Oh, right.

  Plans.

  That’s what I meant to make a point about.

  But I couldn’t be blamed too much for rambling. There was already another fist arcing through the air, heading straight towards my face, and my ears hadn't stopped ringing from the last one yet.

  Ignoring the jeers of the crowd around me, I dropped onto my ass in the sawdust to avoid the clumsy blow. The impact made my teeth rattle and blurred my vision. I didn’t have time to worry about being graceful as I kicked at the figure in front of me to create some distance.

  Luck was on my side for a change, smiling down on me through holes in the roof of the abandoned lumber mill. My foot connected with something solid and roaring cheers replaced most of the hurled insults.

  Pain and violence were always crowd favorites.

  I scrambled to my feet, hoping I wouldn't find another meaty fist in my face. Then I was up, blinking fast to clear my vision. Grinning a cocky, self-assured smile at the sight of the chunky Russian leaning on his knees before me, one hand clutched between his legs.

  “You little bitch,” Grisha hissed between his teeth, glaring up at me from beneath bushy, black brows that reminded me of overweight caterpillars. The real juicy, extra-ugly ones.

  I smiled wider at the insult, taking the time he was going to need to recover to get myself back in the game.

  Wasn’t like I was going to get upset at a bit of name-calling. I’d been on the receiving end of worse. Much worse.

  Some dude called me a cunt just this morning because I didn’t respond to his catcalls.

  Obviously, it was my fault that I didn't appreciate being hollered at by a gray-haired drunk who couldn't keep his balance long enough to point at me.

  Good thing for him I’d been in too much of a hurry to kick his ass.

  And let it be said, I wasn’t going to do the whole ass-kicking thing because my feelings were hurt. I didn’t do feelings. They were gross and I wanted no part of them. Even the thought of those soft emotions sent a shiver of disgust down my spine.

  Feelings were things I didn’t have time for. I realized three years ago that they would serve no purpose in the life I led, and cut them out with a rusty scalpel.

  So what if the wound ached every now and then?

  So what if the sight of couples walking hand in hand down the street made me want to tear them apart, sigh wistfully, and cry at the same time?

  I was a big girl.

  I would get over it.

  The same way Grisha would get over me kicking him in the nuts way too soon for my liking.

  Taking a deep breath, I started bouncing on the balls of my feet. Circling the makeshift ring created by the hundreds of people standing shoulder to shoulder. Despite my stature, and the tight pants that made my ass look fantastic, no one reached out or bothered me.

  There were perks to being the Queen Bitch, after all. My makeshift kingdom had been hastily slapped together, and I trusted literally no one that was part of it. But it was mine.

  And if there was one thing everyone standing around this circle understood, it was that I wasn't responsible for what happened to their limbs if they touched me.

  Slowly, the big man got his weight underneath him. A monumental task considering the huge rolls of fat around his midsection. He leveled me with a glare while I shook my hands out before curling them into fists again.

  Did he think he was intimidating anybody? In his stained, white tank-top, ill-fitting blue jeans, and an overwhelming amount of body hair, he looked more like a stereotypical plumber—exposed crack and all—than a fighter.

  But he was also an idiot.

  He actually believed he had a chance at winning this thing when he was facing the reigning champ.

  See? Complete idiot.

  The only reason he got a punch in earlier was because I wasn’t used to fighting pudgy assholes. Body blows were usually a guaranteed equalizer. The kidney shot I'd delivered would've ended most fights then and there.

  Not so much when lard acted as a substitute for body armor. But I knew better now, and I wasn’t the type of person that made the same mistakes twice.

  “You going to dance all night, whore?” he spat, thick accent apparent in every word. “Or are we going to fight?”

  The crowd pressed in, just like they were supposed to when a match went on too long. They hooted and hollered, screaming random things as the tension in the air thickened. The blood in my veins heated, warming me from top to bottom, and I ignored their cries.

  Well, most of them anyway.

  “Kick his ass, Josie!”

  “Get her! Teach that bitch a lesson!”

  “Fuck you, that was my soda!”

  I blinked, but then a chant started that stretched my grin twice as wide while Grisha’s face went red with fury.

  “Queen Bitch! Queen Bitch! Queen Bitch!”

  He couldn't stand it.

  I saw when anger overcame sense.

  When he lied to himself and started to believe he could really win this thing. />
  When he decided he was going to knock me from my throne and take the prize money.

  Like most idiots who had weight on their side but no skill to go along with it, he ducked his head and charged.

  Mistake.

  Any chance he might've had at not getting his ass whooped by a girl flew out the window.

  I waited out his lumbering steps, remaining motionless as he got closer and closer. The ground didn't quake beneath my feet, but it should've. With any luck, it would be like an earthquake struck in a moment.

  But while I waited for that moment to arrive, time slowed down.

  My pulse thumped in my ears, more powerful than any bass.

  My heart thundered and lurched, dashed against the rocks of adrenaline.

  My confidence surged bright and immaculate, except for a single, tiny seed of doubt that made me wonder if this would be it.

  If today was the day my kingdom collapsed, sealing me in the rubble of the mess I'd gotten involved in.

  If I was about to fail the person I owed everything to.

  Then Grisha was in my space, and I was moving. Dodging to the side, away from his grasping hands. Sending my elbow crashing into the side of his jaw.

  Ever seen someone on a treadmill when the power gets cut off? That was how Grisha’s body looked once my blow landed.

  His momentum kept him toppling forward, but the lights were out. His path carried him into the crowd and a few dramatic women screeched as they scrambled away from the falling man. Then he was face down in the sawdust, unmoving, and the crowd around me was surging forward, resuming the same chant from before.

  “Queen Bitch! Queen Bitch!”

  I let myself enjoy the praise for all of three seconds before I started pushing through them, heading towards the three figures situated around a table that sat on a raised platform.

  They all matched enough to make it look somewhat ridiculous. Dark hair. Darker eyes. Fingers steepled in front of their chins as they watched my approach.

  The crowd around me backed away, unwilling to put themselves at the center of their attention. Not me. Their attention was exactly what I wanted. Well, that and the money for the winnings sitting on the table between them.

  Bruno—yes, that was seriously his name—and Micah sneered at me. I threw my honey-blonde braid over one shoulder and gave each of them a winning smile.

  Micah was genuinely a friend, although the only way anyone might suspect as much would be if they noticed the slight tilt to his lips.

  I just liked pissing off Bruno.

  Then again, I liked pissing off most people so that wasn’t news.

  But it was the man situated in the middle that held my attention as I climbed onto the platform. Nikolai Kormac was a bit of a mystery. He had the face of a bulldog and the manners to match, yet there were rumors about the man I wasn’t able to discount.

  Rumors that concerned me despite the cocky strut I hit on the way towards them.

  Some said he was Russian special forces. Others that he had ties to the mafia. Most agreed that he was a killer one way or another.

  I believed it. Despite his henchman features, there was something intelligent lurking behind those lifeless brown eyes. In another city, in an entirely different state, he might have been the biggest badass in the land.

  Except this wasn't another state.

  This wasn't another city.

  This was Oakdale.

  Men like Nikolai and his crew would normally be top of the class. Here? They were just like me. Hiding in the shadows. Carrying out the things we needed to do under the cover of darkness and far, far across town from the resident monsters that called this place home.

  I stopped in front of them, gaze sliding across all three before landing on Nikolai. Placing a hand carelessly on my hip, I quirked a brow. “Well?” I nodded to the briefcase sitting on the table. “I know you get really touchy about anyone handling the leather, but I’m gonna need that money before I grow old and die.”

  There was a voice somewhere inside me that always tried to speak up when I mouthed off to dangerous people. Trying to warn me that—one day—my fists and wit and speed might not be enough to dig me out of the grave I tended to make with my mouth alone.

  Thankfully, I’d ignored that voice for so long it was barely a whisper.

  “One of these days,” Nikolai said, sitting up straight in his seat and looking me up and down. “That mouth of yours is going to get you killed, little girl.”

  “Save it for somebody who cares, Grandfather Time.”

  His eye twitched and I didn’t hold back my smirk. Needling him could pretty much go on my resume at this point. It was another of my favorite pastimes. And nothing got him going quite as easily as bringing up his age.

  I wasn’t completely sure why. He did have some gray coming in around his beard and hairline. The lines on his face were etched in like they were carved into stone. But he was holding together pretty well, I thought.

  For a guy that reminded me of a dog.

  His eyes narrowed, making those folds in his forehead stand out. When he leaned forward, I briefly pictured his head as a cliff face. The ridges were deep enough that a miniaturized rock climber could probably freehand their way to the top and cheer while they remained perched on his widow’s peak.

  Do I have a concussion?

  The thought was sudden, but not altogether unwarranted. Grisha’s fist might not have been well-trained, but it didn’t take a professional. This also wouldn't be my first.

  I was hoping concussions weren’t one of those things that got worse consecutively. Then again...I was fairly sure I remembered reading an article that they did.

  Oh well. Brain damage would only matter if I lived long enough to—

  Nikolai barked at me. Actually. Barked. And I tuned back into the fact he was speaking.

  “You going to take the fucking money or what? I’m already tired of looking at your ugly, scarred, puffy face.”

  I blinked, shoving the sting in my chest way, way down as I noted the briefcase open before me. The fat stacks of money that had been collected tonight were going to be all mine.

  Who cared if he thought I was ugly? Fighting was an ugly sport.

  My nose had been broken more than once. I had a cut along my eyebrow that didn’t blend very well, and another going across the lobe of one ear. That was without counting the jagged scar down the side of my face—seeing as how that hadn’t actually come from a fight.

  Fuck it.

  That was the cost of doing business as far as I was concerned. The scars beat starving in the street or begging at the soup kitchen any day of the week. Especially when the alternative for making some quick, hard-to-trace cash was selling myself.

  Times were bad, but Lord save me from them ever being that bad.

  Micah cleared his throat. “Good job out there tonight. I knew I was right to bet on you.”

  I gave him the raised eyebrow next while I counted the money and sealed it back up, tucking the briefcase into my side. “You always bet on me. That’s not news.”

  “Luck,” Bruno grunted, being his usual sour-puss self. Probably because he kept betting on other people when I kept winning.

  Sucks to lose, bitch.

  “Whatever.” My eyes swiveled around the room, taking note of those who were still here. A decent-sized crowd remained, but there usually was. The parties always started after the fights.

  I stayed for one early on before realizing it wasn’t my scene.

  Want to know what you get when you put a bunch of pill-popping, violence craving, adrenaline junkie type individuals in a closed room right after they got their blood pumping?

  Orgies. That’s what happened. I had no interest in being the hole in their fuck sandwich.

  Count me all the way out.

  “Is everything still on for next time?” I asked Nikolai, meeting his cold gaze without flinching.

  “Your opponent has been decided,” he said, steepling h
is fingers again.

  Would he flip his shit if I just randomly kicked them apart? Or would he not be able to think at all?

  The world swam out of focus for a moment and I started to tilt sideways on my feet. I sucked in a sharp breath and righted myself, squeezing my eyes shut tight. Definitely a concussion. Shit.

  There was never a good time in my life to be out of control. But being out of control and having another fight coming up in two days was significantly worse. “Who is it?” I asked, pretending like nothing was wrong.

  As-fucking-usual.

  “Some runaway Viper.” His lips curled in disgust. He hated cowards, and I couldn’t disagree with him there. “The Reaper is doing a bit of remodeling around her new city. Those that either can’t or won’t make the cut have been getting out of town before they wind up on her bad side.”

  Now that I was aware of the impairment happening in my brain, it felt like my thoughts were coming twice as slow. It took longer than it should have to piece together what he was saying.

  Sylvia—the Reaper in question—was a member of the Seven Sinners.

  The monsters I talked about before?

  That was them. Their motorcycle club wasn’t some kind of buddies on holiday type deal. They were one of the biggest criminal organizations across the Carolinas, with a reach that went even farther, and no one with any sense went against them.

  Recently, word had spread that Sylvia had ventured down to Charlotte and shoved her boot, along with lots of knives, up the asses of the local Cartel before turning her focus on the chapter that was supposed to be sworn to the Sinners.

  I offered the three men watching me expectantly a slow shrug. “Don’t care. Whoever he is, I’ll kick his ass.” Licking at the cut I’d just found on the inside of my cheek, I stepped close enough to Micah to check the time on his watch. “Anything else? I need to get out of here.”

  Nikolai didn’t move, but I could feel his attention bared like a blade. “And where is it you go, exactly, when you get done fleecing all of us for money?”

  Ignoring the deep-seated shiver in my soul of how wrong things could go if he ever learned anything about my life, I flashed another bright grin. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Leave us.” He waited for me to turn and hop down from their makeshift stage before he called out again, making me glance back over my shoulder. “Be careful that you’re not followed, girl. Don’t forget that if anyone ever exposes us, I will deal with them myself.”