Grave (Royal Devils MC Chicago Book 1)

by Erin Trejo

  Grave

  Royal Devils MC Chicago

  Erin Trejo

  Copyright © 2020 by erin

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  COVER INFORMATION

  Cover Model: Alec Robinson with Iron and Ink Fitness Apparel

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter One

  “I don’t know, brother,” Psycho says as he scratches at the back of his neck. I don’t need his agreement on this.

  “You don’t need to know, Psycho. Just need to know it’s gonna happen,” I tell him as I check the ammo in my gun. When I’m satisfied that I’m good, I shove the gun into the back of my jeans. Freak looks between us, not really saying a whole lot which I expected from him. Preacher, on the other hand, he has a lot to say.

  “I’m not sayin’ this is a bad thing but why do you need to do it so soon? I thought we were plannin’ this shit out?” he asks, looking right at me. I let out a long breath before grabbing my beer and taking a long pull.

  “Plans change, yeah?”

  “Fuck that, Grave! He’s the fuckin’ prez, but even more, he’s your dad. You sure you want it to go down like this? I have no problem steppin’ up and you know it.” I smirk at Preacher, knowing damn well he’d like the chance to put a bullet in my dad’s head. Most of the guys in this club would. Hell, even other chapters would love a shot at this motherfucker, but there are rules that have to be followed which leaves it to me.

  “I have no problem steppin’ up either, Preacher. This is my place, man. I know what I’m doin’. Let’s just get this shit over with and I’ll deal with what comes next.” The guys all look at me and nod their heads as the bastard himself walks into the room.

  “You bitches havin’ a meetin’?” He chuckles, looking around the room. Too bad he doesn’t realize the meeting is about him.

  “No, Prez. Just gettin’ ready for the run,” Psycho tells him.

  “Better be,” he huffs and walks back out of the room. Cash, our president, my father. The piece of shit bastard who only cares about how much money he has in his pocket and if he has the purest white powder filling his nose. We’ve always butted heads, even when I was a kid. Now that I’m a man and a part of this club, which wasn’t an easy feat in itself, he hates me more. The way I look at it? If he hates me, then he should fear me. He doesn’t know the kind of monster he created. My life has been a series of beatings, starvation, you name it, I endured it. Cash always said it was to make me stronger. He succeeded. I’m one of the strongest this club has, and they all know it.

  “Fuck!” I growl, tossing my bottle into the trash and heading out the back door. Stepping into the cold air, I inhale. Chicago has been my home since I was born. My mom wasn’t born here, but my dad was. She came to live here in the Windy City when she was ten. That’s when she first met my dad.

  “I don’t know about all this, Grave.” I look over my shoulder to see my best friend, Psycho. We grew up in this club together.

  “Why not?”

  “He’s got the older brothers on his side, Grave. Us younger ones would follow you to the end of time and you know that, but the others? I don’t see them turnin’ a blind eye, brother.” He’s right and I know he is, but that isn’t going to stop me from moving forward.

  “I get it, but once I’m voted in, fuck what they think, yeah? They can choose to drop their colors if that’s what they want,” I tell him as I pull a joint from behind my ear and light it up.

  “I hear ya, but that don’t mean they will.”

  “Thought you were on my side here?” I snap a little louder than I needed to.

  “Fuck you, Grave! I am and you know that. I’m just afraid of the blowback. Cash has been here for a long fuckin’ time. Some of these bastards still think the way he runs this club is the right way. They won’t back down, that’s all I’m sayin’!” Dragging my hand through my hair, I blow smoke into the night air, watching as it rolls with the wind.

  “I know that, and I agree. There’s gonna be blowback, but I want to minimize that as much as I can.” Psycho walks closer, resting his hand on my shoulder before looking me in the eye.

  “I get it, brother, and I got your back. Whatever it is you choose,” he says reassuringly. I nod my head and pass him the joint just as I hear gunshots ringing through the night. Psycho and I share a look before moving. We both turn, grabbing our guns as we rush in the back door and down the hall. Guys are yelling, shots are being fired. What the hell is going on here? As soon as we round the corner into the main room, I take a quick look around. A few guys are down, but even more are firing toward the door. I move, dropping behind a flipped table for a little shelter.

  “Preacher?” I call out, trying to gauge the situation.

  “I’m good! Watch your ass!” We all continue to fire, seeing a few of the enemies go down. I don’t understand what’s happening right now. This is our clubhouse! Granted, it’s a shithole that needs to be torn down, but it’s still ours. This is the one place that I grew up. I didn’t have a home like most kids, I had this.

  “Freak!” I hear Preacher calling for one of our brothers.

  “I’m good!” I take a deep breath before standing and glancing around. It feels like everything moves in slow motion. The bullets fly, but I can’t hear a damn thing. One bullet rips through my side as I spin around to fire at whoever it was that shot me. Our eyes lock and just as I’m about to pull the trigger, he fires first. Each bullet hits me, knocking the air from my lungs. Pain radiates through my body as I slowly fall to the floor. The last person I see… is him.

  Chapter Two

  I blink rapidly and glance around at my surroundings. I’m in a fucking hospital. Dropping my head back onto the pillow, I sigh. I can’t believe this shit is happening.

  “You’re awake.” I look up when a nurse walks in smiling.

  “Unfortunately. What the hell happened?”

  “You were shot five times. Had surgery to repair some minor issues. Overall, you are lucky to be alive. You actually weren’t alive for a bit, but the doctor got you back,” she says, checking some kind of bag hanging above me.

  “What is that?”

  “Antibiotics, pain medicine and fluids. We don’t want you to become dehydrated,” she adds. I look up at her as she does her job. She’s cute. Not the kind of girl I’d typically fuck with but she’s not bad to look at.

  “When can I get outta here?”

  “You’re going to be here at least a few days. It’s going to take a while for these to heal. The doctor patched up the ones that went through and got the one out that didn’t. Just relax and l
et the medicine work.”

  “Has anyone been here?” I need to know if that bastard came by here to see if I was dead or not.

  “No. We tried to find some contact information, but we didn’t find your wallet. We still have you down as John Doe so now that you’re awake, we can get the paperwork all filled out and contact your family.” My family. Fuck my family. They are nothing to me now. Nothing! I can’t believe it. When I saw him standing there, the look on his face, the hatred in his eyes, I felt betrayed. Like he knew what I was planning, and he wanted to end it before I started it, but who would have told him? None of my brothers that were closest to me would do it. I trust them with my life. So why aren’t they here?

  “Sir?” I must have been lost in my own little world for a second.

  “Sorry. What did you say?” Confusion is a bitch.

  “I said what’s your name?” She smiles sweetly.

  “James. James Hawthorne.” Lies. I wouldn’t tell these motherfuckers my real name if my goddamn life depended on it.

  “Well, Mr. Hawthorne, if you have family I can contact for you, just jot down the number.” She smiles, passing me a pen and a small pad of paper. I shake my head but take it as I let my head fall back onto the pillow. “That’s the pain medicine. Try to rest.” She leaves the room as I replay what happened in my head. Those guys weren’t any of us. They weren’t Royal Devils, yet he was. My fucking dad, our president! That son of a bitch is going to pay for this. He’s going to pay for what he’s done. Even as the medicine slowly tries to pull me under, I fight to stay awake. I push the button, getting the nurse back in here.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Did they find my phone?”

  “Yes, would you like it? I think I might have a charger that will fit,” she says sweetly. God, she is making me sick to my stomach with all that nice shit. I nod my head and watch as she leaves once more. She returns not long after with my phone and a charger. She plugs it all in and passes it to me as I think it over. Preacher scrambled it a long time ago, so no one can get my location. I smile back at the little nurse as she leaves the room once more. I turn the phone on and quickly scan my messages. Not a damn thing from any of them. What the hell? What the fuck is happening? I dial the one person who doesn’t hold any loyalty to anyone.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hey, Mystic.”

  “Grave? Shit, brother, been a while. How’ve you been?”

  “Not good. You heard anything about the Chicago Devils lately?”

  “No, just their clubhouse got shot up by a rival.” Fuck! I take a breath and try to calm every emotion ripping away at my insides.

  “You didn’t hear shit from me, yeah?”

  “What the fuck is goin’ on, Grave?” he asks, sounding concerned.

  “Not sure yet. You never heard from me. I’ll get back to you later.” I hang up on him and quickly dial Prince down in Florida.

  “What?”

  “Someone’s pissy.”

  “Who the fuck is this?”

  “It’s Grave.”

  “Grave? Jesus, I ain’t talked to anyone in the Chicago Devils in years. What’s goin’ on?” Here we are. It’s time to put my trust in one of my brothers who isn’t a part of my chapter.

  “There’s a situation. I need to know what you think of Cash, the prez out here.” This isn’t the ideal way of doing things, but at the same time, this isn’t the ideal situation either. That son of a bitch put five bullets in me. He left me for dead. He watched me, his own son, as I laid there and bled out. He fucking killed me. I died! Prince snorts into the line and I know this is going to get good.

  “Can’t stand the motherfucker. He’s shady as fuck. I know many who want his ass out of the club, but they have nothin’ to go on to do it. Fuck, he’s a piece of shit as far as I’m concerned and the faster someone handles his ass the better but from what we hear, he has no blood family.” Now it’s my turn to snort.

  “Yeah, he does. Me.”

  “No shit? I didn’t know you were his kid, Grave. Fuck, brother.”

  “Yeah. I don’t go around announcin’ that shit either. There’s a situation right now.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The motherfucker killed me,” I say as I grit my teeth. Prince laughs.

  “You’re talkin’ man.”

  “Yeah, they brought my ass back. They say the clubhouse was raided by rivals, but I watched that piece of shit pull the trigger. He stood over me, watchin’ me bleed out before he called for the guys to move.”

  “What do you need from me?” The anger in his tone matches my own. I didn’t call him for help. I called him for assurance. I need to know that I can, by our laws, kill that motherfucker and face no blowback.

  “Approval,” I say, closing my eyes and praying he gives it. If I want to kill a prez, I need another prez’ okay to do it. That’s just how our chapter is.

  “You’re goin’ after him,” he says, not even as a question.

  “He put five bullets in me. He watched me die in front of his eyes. Yeah, I’m gonna kill him.”

  Chapter Three

  The hospital was a nice reprieve. It was a chance to take a break and let my body and mind heal. I tried to focus on getting better and not the need to rip my dad’s head off. I left the hospital a few weeks ago, and I’ve been staying in a shithole hotel since then. I wasn’t going back to the clubhouse. There’s no way I could right now. My cell rings as I take a bite of my chicken.

  “Yeah?”

  “You gotta chew in my ear?”

  “You gotta call when I’m eatin’?” He laughs.

  “Got somethin’ for you,” he adds.

  “Thought you weren’t gettin’ in this shit, Mystic? I don’t need them findin’ me,” I remind him.

  “Fuck off. Ain’t no one findin’ shit. You wanna hear what I got or not?” I smirk, although he can’t see it.

  “Sure.”

  “Grayson ‘Grave’ Christianson is dead. Died of gunshot wounds a few weeks ago.” I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I let that sink in.

  “How? There isn’t a body,” I ask.

  “No shit. Apparently, it’s a closed funeral. You were technically cremated.”

  “I don’t fuckin’ get it,” I mumble more to myself than to him.

  “Me either. Just thought I’d let you know.”

  “Thanks, brother.” The line goes dead as I drop back against the couch. I can’t believe that son of a bitch did that. He told them I was dead? Did Psycho believe him? Preacher? Freak? Fuck! I shove off the couch and storm from the room and down the hall. I walked. I walked away to heal and find myself before going after him. I’m not even in Illinois anymore. I crossed over into Wisconsin so he wouldn’t be looking for me. Lying low in this shithole of a motel is where I’ve been for weeks. I refuse to go back there and fight him until I’m at my strongest, and that means more healing to do. The wounds have closed, the aches mainly gone, but I lost a lot of muscle when I was down. I’ve been trying to get back into shape, even more so lately, but this just kicked my ass into overdrive. I’ll make him pay for what he did to me. I’ll make them all pay if they had a hand in it.

  I take a deep breath as soon as I step outside and start jogging. I have to get my stamina up. I have to get back to the place I was in order to fight him. That’s the only thing playing through my head as I force myself harder and faster. I jog past the homeless, the junkies of this shit town. I ignore them all. Nothing else is on my radar but his blood until I hear those familiar booms rip through the night sky. Images of him standing over me, smirking, flash behind my eyes.

  “Watch it!” someone screams, honking as I feel the metal of the car slam into my leg. I move out of the way and flip them off when I hear another shot. Glancing over, I see a man turning and running with a purse in his hands. I quickly jog over and see her. Crimson red covers her shirt and her head, a puddle slowly pooling around her. It’s like looking in a goddamn mirror. Pulling my
phone out, I call nine-one-one and kneel down next to her. Don’t fucking ask me why either. I should be minding my own business. I shouldn’t be attracting attention, yet here I am waiting on the goddamn police to show up. I pull my shirt off and press it over the wound bleeding the most.

  “Just hold on,” I whisper, although I don’t know why I care. I shouldn’t care. No one was there for me. No one reassured me, but yet here I am trying to keep her alive. Her eyes flutter, but they never fully open. I suppose that’s a good sign. The police show up first, followed by the paramedics. They all toss a million questions my way. Something tugs at my insides as they load her into the back of the ambulance.

  “She’s my wife! I’m goin’ with her!” The cop nods his head and ushers me into the back of the ambulance. What the fuck am I doing? They keep working on her even after the ambulance starts to move. I’ve never been on this side before. I was always the one doing the shooting, the killing. I was never on the saving end, and it’s a little strange for me.

  As we pull up to the hospital, the paramedics all work together to take her in. It doesn’t take long before I’m ushered to a waiting room. The eerie feeling I get chokes me. No one was here waiting for me. No one sat in a goddamn waiting room waiting to see if I was dead or alive. The anger associated with that slowly works its way to the surface and my hands clench.

  “Are you the victim’s husband?” A cop stands in front of me, looking smug as he takes in my visible scars.