Hot as Hades (Four Horsemen MC Book 2)

by Rayne, Cynthia

  Duke had given up on being normal years ago. But still.

  He couldn’t help but notice her. Her pain called to him on so many levels and she fascinated the fuck out of him, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on exactly why.

  While he could appreciate her beauty, he usually went for older women, with loads of sexual experience and very little inhibitions. Rose had long blond hair which fell to the middle of her back and curled around her pretty face. She had wide-spaced warm brown eyes, framed by pale lashes and even paler skin.

  She’d been thin as a lamppost when he took her out of the cage, but she’d started to fill out again, her hips and breasts rounding out thanks to Voodoo’s cooking. Not that you could see her new curves. Tonight, she wore an oversized pair of jeans and a long-sleeved Dallas Cowboys shirt she kept tugging at, trying to force the sleeves below her fingertips.

  That caught his attention. Something about the gesture bothered him.

  Abruptly, her companions finished their food and Rose hugged her sister and Cowboy goodbye. After they left, she sat alone at the table. For a moment, she stared at the tabletop, absently moving the salt and pepper packets around in their tiny blue dish. Then shook her head, as though trying to focus. Finally, she lurched to her feet, grabbed her bag and headed out the rear of the diner.

  Duke forced his attention back to the hand cut fries on his plate, slathering one with ketchup before bringing it to his mouth. He shot a glance at Shepherd, another of his MC brothers, who currently devoured a bacon cheeseburger. They sat at a table together against the wall.

  Voodoo stuffed the burgers with bacon, onion, and cheese and they were tasty, though not his usual fare. Voo nearly always insisted on cooking, mostly because he couldn’t stand to eat inferior food. None of them argued about it. After all, how could they compete with an honest to God chef?

  “What the fuck are you starin’ so hard at?” Shep asked.

  “None of your business.” He was in a decidedly shitty mood, as per usual.

  The blond biker grinned. “Haven’t you figured it out by now? Everything is my business, brother.” He tapped his VP patch, like it was the biker equivalent of the ‘S’ on Superman’s chest.

  Shepherd could be a real nosy bastard. He had no qualms about crawling through your private life, so Duke rarely offered up much in the way of personal info. He liked his private life to stay exactly that, private.

  “The hellion I’m currently fucking,” he lied. He nodded to the busty brunette he currently had on tap. Fuck if he could remember her name though. The hellion preened when his eyes rested on her, thrusting out her chest and fluffing her hair. He’d mentally dubbed her Chesty, due to her ample assets. She had a kinky streak he enjoyed exploring, and she didn’t demand much of his time outside of bed. It suited his needs just fine.

  The VP followed the direction of his gaze and rolled his eyes. “Jesus Christ.”

  “You got a problem with me getting my dick wet?”

  The other man angled his head to the side. “Pussy is a fine distraction, brother, but it ain’t a cure. In fact, it’s been known to cause more problems than it solves.”

  He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest. “A cure for what? Last time I checked, I ain’t got an affliction.”

  The VP snorted. “We both know you’re talkin’ out your ass now.”

  “Don’t even try to fix him, Shep. He was a psycho long before he went to prison,” Ryker put in.

  Duke glanced at Ryker and his old lady, Elizabeth, who sat at the table next to theirs. As per usual, he never missed an opportunity to run his big fat mouth. Ryker bugged the shit out of him. He reminded Duke of one of those kid’s toys, a Ken doll – all looks and no substance. And his initial critical opinion dove to new lows every second he spent with the asshole.

  “Why don’t you go back to your date and shut the fuck up?” Judging by his full plate and the empty shot glasses, Ryker had drunk enough Jack tonight to stun a heavy metal guitarist and on an empty stomach, no less.

  “Ryker, let’s just have a nice evening,” Elizabeth said, placing a hand on his arm.

  “We will,” he answered, “as soon as I take care of some business.” He leaned forward in his chair, a smirk on his face. “Speaking of girlfriends, you look awful cozy over there with Shep.”

  The VP muttered a curse.

  Duke raised a brow. ‘What the fuck are you babbling about?”

  “Oh, come on! You’re the one who’s supposed to be a brainiac. It’s a fucking joke.” He widened his eyes. “Get it? You’re all intense, practically eye-fucking him.”

  “Lay off the booze, brother, and eat your food,” Shep said tiredly, not sparing Ryker a glance.

  “Come on, you should eat something,” Elizabeth coaxed. “Voodoo outdid himself tonight. These burgers are amazing.”

  Ryker stood up and advanced on Duke.

  “Get the fuck away from me, man,” Duke muttered, gripping the edge of the table.

  Ken Doll laughed. “And here I thought you got used to men being close. You know, bending over for the soap in the big house. Five years is a long time brother.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll sit down. Now,” he warned, in a cold, quiet voice.

  “Why don’t you make me!?” Ryker snarled.

  That’s it.

  Duke shot up out of his chair and socked Ryker in the jaw, causing the other man’s head to rock back. Shepherd tried to push himself between them, but Duke nailed Ryker with a blow to the gut. Then, Ryker clipped Shepherd’s jaw before he backhanded Duke, sending him reeling into another table.

  “Break it up!” Shepherd growled. He bellowed at the prospects, “get your asses over here and run interference!”

  They dashed over, but Duke ignored the commotion and circled Ryker, keeping his fists up. He’d been itching for an excuse to start some shit with him ever since he got paroled.

  “Both of you knock it off!” Captain bellowed, jumping out of his seat and striding over.

  Undaunted, Duke grabbed the back of Ryker’s head and slammed the bridge of his nose into a nearby table, causing blood to spatter and drip down to the floor.

  “Oh fuck!” Shep growled.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Duke saw Elizabeth withdrew the Taser Daisy had encouraged her to buy and launch herself at him with a war cry worthy of a banshee. Fetch blocked her attack, but quickly fell shuddering to the floor in a haze of electrified pain.

  Ryker tackled Duke to the ground and they rolled over and over, eventually crashing into tables and chairs. A couple of prospects physically pried Ryker off of him, and held him at bay. Pretty Boy held onto Elizabeth to keep her from pouncing again, the Taser lay harmlessly on the ground at her feet.

  Captain arrived on the scene and when Duke got up to have another go at Ryker, the prez stepped in between them. “What the fuck is wrong with both of you?”

  Duke jerked a thumb at Ryker. “He called me a fucking fag.”

  “No, I implied you like a dick in your ass,” Ryker retorted. “I didn’t say you were gay.”

  “Both of you shut the hell up!” Captain shouted. “You’re giving me a headache. If you want to beat the shit out of each other, be my guest, but don’t break club property and don’t do in front of the old ladies,” he said gesturing to the women in the room. “Now get out of my sight and cool off.”

  “This doesn’t concern you, old man,” Ryker drawled.

  “What did you say to me, boy?” Captain roared, closing the distance between himself and Ryker. They stood inches apart and neither one of them spoke.

  Everyone got real quiet –no glassware clinking, or chairs squeaking, not even the scrape of cutlery on plates. No one mouthed off to Captain. Well, no one but Eddie.

  “Nothing,” Ryker said, looking away.

  “That’s what I thought,” Captain barked. “I don’t want to see either of you the rest of the night. Meet me at Perdition tomorrow morning, and tru
st me. There’s going to be hell to pay, boys.”

  Duke scowled at Ryker, who just smirked at him. Ken Doll whispered something to Elizabeth that Duke couldn’t hear, but he’d bet his boots it was an apology. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, but eventually, her eyes softened. He gingerly kissed her forehead and then she dabbed at his bruised and bloody face with a napkin, before she placed her arm around him and escorted Ryker from the restaurant.

  Fucking Ryker. He had too easy.

  Duke hesitated at the edge of the room, long enough to draw some unwanted attention. Chesty got to her feet, but he shook his head. He sure as shit didn’t want to talk to her. She had a tight pussy, but not much going on above the shoulders.

  He felt like pounding his fists into the walls, but that would only earn him a beat down from Captain. So, he wandered out to the parking lot behind the diner to walk off some of this toxic shit. At this rate, he’d have to hoof it to China.

  After fifteen minutes of pacing back and forth, he stilled when he heard the scrape of the metal door behind him.

  “What the hell crawled up your ass tonight?” the VP asked, apparently cutting right to the chase.

  He turned away, folding his arms over his chest. “Don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about. I’m fine.”

  Shepherd didn’t comment, just pulled out a smoke and sparked it up in that spooky, almost supernatural, way-too-patient way of his.

  “It’s nothing,” Duke insisted.

  The VP lifted one brow, clearly not buying his bullshit.

  Duke clenched his hands. “I’m not some cocksucking queer, for the motherfuckin’ record,” he growled, the words exploding from his throat, before he could jam them back down.

  Fuck. So much for my private life.

  Shepherd leaned against the brick wall, barely beyond the floodlights overhead, and it swathed his face in shadows. After a long moment, he spoke quietly, “I know you aren’t queer, brother.”

  Even though Duke had spent five fucking years in the pen, he hadn’t resorted to dick. He’d slapped the snot out of the first lady boy who had the nerve to swish his way and he’d picked a fight with the biggest mother fucker on his cell block, so he didn’t risk being anybody’s fucking prison wife either.

  “Damn straight. I fucking love pussy. If Ryker thinks—”

  Shep made a noise in his throat, cutting off the tirade. “Since when do you give a shit what Ryker thinks? He got a rise out of you because he’s pissed about Captain. The prez is making a move on Eddie and he can’t do a damn thing about it. So, he wanted to let off some steam and you took the bait.”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I really do hate that fucker.”

  “You don’t say?” Shep said, deadpan.

  “Kiss my ass.”

  “No offense, but you ain’t my type.” Shep blew a couple of smoke rings.

  “You’re so fucking funny.”

  “You’ve got no idea, brother,” the VP drawled. “But come on, I ain’t gettin’ any younger here. What set you off tonight? You and Ryker usually annoy each other, but you seem more on edge than usual.”

  “Nothing to tell,” Duke said firmly, ending the conversation. Ryker had unwittingly blundered into dangerous territory and it had gotten the best of Duke. He didn’t plan on letting it happen again.

  Shepherd puffed a sigh. “Fine. Have it your way. You got it together now?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered.

  The VP finally stepped back into the light and Duke thought, for just a moment, how weary his brother appeared. How worn.

  “What about you?” he asked, noting the deep, dark circles beneath his Shep’s eyes. He obviously hadn’t had a good night’s rest in weeks. “You look like shit.”

  “Yeah, I feel like shit right now.” He laughed, without much humor.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “No, no one can help me. Not with this.”

  Duke studied Shep carefully. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

  Maybe the role of VP weighed on him? He basically took on all of their problems, settling beefs between the brothers, scrutinizing new members and old ladies. It had to be a fuckin’ thankless job. Bikers weren’t exactly known for their good choices.

  “Night, brother,” Shep said and with a nod, and he ambled back inside.

  Duke stared at the closed door for a moment and made a mental note to check on him later, maybe offer to take on some extra responsibilities. As he was about to walk back inside, a bottle clattering to the ground caught his attention. It came from the far side of the parking lot.

  When he investigated, he found Rose seated on a set of concrete stairs near the loading dock. She had a cigarette in her mouth and tried in vain to get a pink disposable lighter to work. Near her feet, an empty beer bottle rolled back and forth on the uneven pavement.

  When she saw him, she swallowed, eyes skittering away. Duke knew from experience she only wanted to avoid his ass. He had witnessed one of her most vulnerable moments. She’d been helpless, dressed as a fuck toy. To deal with scary shit, you had to shove it down and not think on it. Hard to do when the man who’d witnessed your degradation stood in front of you.

  But, he couldn’t walk away. Not just yet.

  Duke sat down and plucked the cigarette from her mouth. She gasped in protest as he placed it in his own, but made no move to snatch it away from him. With a grin, he produced his Horsemen Zippo, etched with the club logo, and lit the cigarette with a flourish. Then, handed it back to her. She offered him the tiniest of smiles, before placing her lips on the cigarette exactly where his had been moments ago. And as fucking crazy as it sounded, that pleased him.

  “Thanks.” She inhaled deeply and then coughed a bit. Clearly, she wasn’t a smoker. She staggered to her feet, grabbed her bag, and the empty bottle.

  Duke seized her leg and she flinched. Immediately, he released his hold and she rubbed the spot as though she’d been burned. “Sit down.”

  Her eyes flashed, a bit of spirit showing. It cheered him. He didn’t want to think of her as broken, maybe because he’d been the one to free her. Though she’d sustained quite a bit of damage. Any fool could see it.

  “Why?”

  He didn’t say a word, merely waited to be obeyed.

  Rose stood there, staring at him and he could see the emotions drift across her pretty face— annoyance, resentment, and then finally resignation.

  She plunked back down, though she put a couple feet between their bodies and heaved a disgusted sigh. “What do you want?”

  “I want to ask you a couple of questions.” Shep didn’t have the market cornered on being a nosy bastard. He normally hated to get involved, but someone had to.

  She smiled, the fake one she used on Cowboy and Daisy all the time. “I’m fine.”

  “I didn’t ask, but we both know that’s a lie.”

  Her big brown eyes got impossibly wider.

  “I know you aren’t fine. What’s going on?” he said.

  “Nothing.”

  “I ain’t lettin’ it go, so you might as well save us both the time and level with me.”

  Rose stared straight ahead, as though mesmerized by the asphalt. “It’s nothing, really. I’m coping, that’s all.” She gestured to the cigarette and discarded bottle.

  “How did you get the beer?”

  “I, uh—”

  “Stole it?” he offered.

  “Borrowed it.”

  “That implies you were going to give it back.” He sighed. “You’re what? Twenty?”

  “Nineteen,” she answered.

  Fuck. That’s young. Duke would be thirty-nine next January, which made him an old man compared to her. Talk about a knee to the balls.

  Wait. Why the fuck did he care what age the girl was?

  “You know, the club could help you with that.”

  “With drinking?” she said, brow furrowing.

  “No, with documentation. Ryker
is in charge of ordering booze for Perdition and Hades. He accounts for every little fucking beer. Trust me. Sooner or later, the lunkhead will figure it out.” He made a face. “If you had a fake ID, you get your own booze without anyone bein’ the wiser. I could have one made for you.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Um, okay. Thanks.”

  Duke watched as the metal door leading inside swung open and Chesty came trotting out, evidently impatient to be fucked. She lit a smoke, staring at him from across the lot. She knew better than to approach without permission though. Good girl.

  “I’ll get the ID to you tomorrow,” he said to Rose. “But you have to promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Drink somethin’ with a bit more kick than beer. Like Jack or Jim. Self-medicating only works if you put your back into it.”

  She cocked her head. “You mean you aren’t going to tell my sister?”

  “Why would I? Ain’t her business.”

  She nodded, standing once more and he jumped to his feet. Before she could walk away, he clutched her sleeve, yanking it up her arm before she could stop him. He needed to check something.

  “Hey!” she cried, swatting at his arm with her other hand.

  Ignoring her, he examined her skin. As he’d suspected, she had a series of red lines crisscrossing her pale forearm. She’d been cutting herself.

  Most people assumed cutting was a suicidal gesture, but Duke knew better. Cutting had more to do with coping than anything else. Sometimes, focusing on the insignificant physical pain instead of the unbearable emotional kind could be a relief – essentially the world’s worst way to cope with excruciating shit. He noted she’d avoided the veins in her arms and the cuts were shallow, so she hadn’t done any serious harm.

  “Let me go!” she howled.

  He ignored her and instead carefully traced one of the lines. The skin had turned an angry-looking red, and felt hot to the touch. “These are getting infected. If you’re going to keep cutting, you need to take better care of yourself.”