Gavin's Song: A Last Rider's Trilogy (Road to Salvation Book 1)

by Jamie Begley

  The original members who circled Crash still couldn’t understand that the old Gavin was gone. They kept looking for traces of him, despite the truth they knew deep down. They were searching through a graveyard and didn’t even know it.

  Crash paled when he saw him. “Gavin …,” Crash started. “Broth—”

  Reaper struck his hand out, backhanding Crash across the cheek. “No brother could do to me what you did. I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy. I don’t have to tell you what they did—they sent you the videos. I would have died before I let someone I call brother suffer through what I did.”

  Crash started crying. “I didn’t know what to do—”

  Rage filled him at Crash’s excuse. Striking him again, Crash didn’t even try to avoid the fist that knocked him back a step.

  “I know what I would have done. I know what every brother in this circle would have done. I fucking know what Stud and Calder would have done, and they aren’t Last Riders!” Bearing down on him, Reaper was finally able to say the words that he’d been unable to say when Crash stared down at him from those basement steps. “You ate and slept in your nice, clean bed, while I slept in filth and had to piss in a bucket! You ate food on a plate, while I ate leftover slop. You fucked women who you wanted to fuck, while I was fucked by men and women who wanted to get their sick kicks out on me.” Slate might never have videoed him when Crash was present, but the brother had been sent the tapes, so Crash knew the extent of the torture he endured.

  “I’m sorry!” Crash cried harder at his condemnation.

  “If I could kill you a thousand times, it would never pay me back for what I went through.”

  “I know—”

  Reaper struck out again, hitting Crash and doubling him over. “Shut the fuck up!”

  Crash stiffened his spine until he stood straight again. “I did what I could. That’s why they kept you alive so long.”

  “Thanks for looking out for me.” Filled with scorn, Reaper moved closer to Crash, wrapping an arm around his neck before Crash could react. “I’m going to do what I wished someone had done for me the first month Memphis and you left me to rot in the Road Demons’ basement.” Reaper twisted Crash’s neck unnaturally until he heard the satisfying snap.

  Tossing away the man who he had once called brother, he saw the disappointment on all The Last Riders’ faces, each had been waiting for his turn.

  “You were supposed to save some for the rest of us,” Viper said as he bent down to take Crash’s pulse.

  Staring down at the dead body of a man wasn’t hard for him, because Reaper had been on the receiving end of Crash’s treachery. The others hadn’t. In fifteen or twenty years, would they regret taking part in Crash’s punishment? Either way, Reaper took the regret out of the equation and placed it right where it belonged. On him.

  The Reaper didn’t have a conscience, not anymore. By the time he was finished with everyone who had taken part in his captivity, it wouldn’t be the only blood on his hands.

  Turning off the elliptical, he stepped off it to pick up his work-out towel. Wiping the sweat off his face, he slid the towel down his neck to his chest.

  “You need some help with that?” Jewell asked, rising from the work-out bench.

  Reaper froze in place. Jewell had belonged to the club before his engagement to Taylor. Sexually, she had been up for anything back then, and she still was. Reaper watched her and the other brothers numerous times since he started living in the club.

  After a few months, most of the women had made sexual overtures on him, but he ignored them or left the room.

  “I’m good,” he said, heading toward the steps that would take him upstairs, planning to take a shower.

  “I can go slow, just to let you take the edge off, or just give you someone to talk to,” she said, coming around to block him from leaving when he stopped to listen to her. Taking each end of the towel, she lifted her eyes that were filled with compassion. “I can be anything you want,” she offered.

  He grabbed her wrists, pulling her hands away from him. He felt as if his skin were crawling, and she wasn’t even touching his flesh. “When I need something, I’ll let you know.”

  Stepping around her, he jogged up the steps. Coming into the kitchen, he saw Shade standing in front of the fridge with a glass at the ice dispenser.

  “What’s up?” he asked when Reaper would have left without saying anything.

  “Nothing. Going to take a shower,” he said curtly, aware that Jewell had come out of the basement behind him.

  Shade’s eyes flicked from his expression, then to Jewell’s unhappy one before he pressed the ice lever for more ice. “Jewell, do you have that report I asked you for?”

  Reaper used the opportunity to leave the kitchen as Jewell answered Shade’s question.

  Going through the living room and up the flight of steps, he rushed toward his bedroom, shutting and locking his door behind him as rivers of sweat ran down his back. Even with the door locked and bolted, he shoved the desk in front of it.

  “Fuck!” he groaned, bolting into the attached bathroom where he jerked his shorts off to get in the shower. Picking up the soap and sponge, he washed each inch of his body. It wasn’t her touch that he was washing away; it was the filth that clung to his skin no matter how much he tried to wash it away.

  Thirty minutes later, he stepped out of the shower.

  After dressing in a T-shirt and jeans, he moved the desk back, deciding to go downstairs to get something to eat. Slicking his damp hair back with his hands, he unlocked the door.

  The Last Riders were just beginning to line up at the counter where the food was laid out. Getting in line behind Lily and Beth, he grabbed a plate when they reached the counter. Willa and Stori were working to keep the food platters filled as soon as they emptied.

  “I heard that Penni and her friends were coming for a visit.” Smiling, Willa pushed the ketchup forward as Lily reached for it.

  “How’d you find out? They just told me about two minutes ago.”

  “Lucky just came through the line. He warned me that he’s getting another tattoo.”

  Uninterested, Reaper picked up two rolls and enough butter for four.

  “Colton always texts the men when he’s coming to set up appointments for them. The last time he ran out of time to do Lucky’s,” Willa explained, “he promised him he could go first this time.”

  Reaper took two hamburger patties, his interest piquing. “He any good?”

  Lily and Beth turned around, shocked that he had initiated a conversation with them. Then Lily raised the sleeve of her dress, showing him her tattoo.

  Whoever Colton was, he was better than good. He was an expert.

  “Who is he?” Stabbing a fork into a baked potato, he lifted it onto his plate.

  “Once a year, Penni comes for a visit, and her friends from Queen City tag along. Colton is a tattoo artist. He’s married to Vida, a friend of Penni’s. They’ve all become friends with Lily and Shade ever since they met them when they came to Queen City to visit Penni.”

  “You think he’d have time to give me one?”

  “I’ll have Shade text you his number; you can ask him yourself. Most of the guys keep him busy, but he might be able to do it while he’s here.”

  “Thanks.”

  Nodding, Lily turned back to Willa. “I bet you’re looking forward to seeing Ginny. Will she be staying with you? Shade and I are putting up Penni and Jackal, Sawyer and Kaden, and Vida and Colton.”

  “No, she wants to stay at the hotel in town. I couldn’t talk her into coming here.”

  Taking his plate, he left the women to sit at a small table for two in the corner, away from everyone else.

  Reaper was taking a drink of his milk when Lily and Beth sat at a table not far away. As he ate, he watched the sisters excitedly talk about their visitors.

  Buttering his roll, he saw Shade and Razer walk into the dining room. Razer took a seat next to his wife whi
le Shade bent down to kiss his on the cheek and said something in her ear before going around the table to take a seat at his table.

  “I sat here so I could eat alone.” Reaper unapologetically met Shade’s enigmatic gaze. “Go sit with your wife.”

  Shade picked up his hamburger. “We need to talk about Raff and Ink.” Taking a bite of his food, he watched for Reaper’s reaction. “The brothers watching them don’t think they’re going to meet up with Slate like we hoped. Viper wants to know what you want—to keep waiting or take them out. Could be a better use of manpower if we don’t have to keep them under surveillance anymore and extend the search for Slate.”

  Reaper casually buttered his other roll. “I’ll think it over and get back to Viper.”

  “You do that,” Shade said, taking another bite of his burger. “With Rider gone to visit his half-brothers with Jo, we have a situation with a friend of ours that we could use your input on how—”

  Reaper picked up his tray. “We done?”

  Shade put his elbows on the table and interlocked his fingers. “I guess so.”

  He knew that Shade was restraining himself from knocking his block off. All the brothers were handling him with kid gloves. He didn’t even care anymore, not if it meant they kept their distance and let him keep his.

  If Viper or Shade needed input on how to deal with a situation, they were better off asking someone else. Someone who wouldn’t let himself be used as a toy for every perverted motherfucker who had a computer.

  In his room, he changed into dark jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Taking his jacket, he went back downstairs and out the front door.

  Moon was the lookout, guarding the front door. Sitting on the bannister with one leg hooked over the railing, he raised his cigarette to his lips. “Where you headed?”

  “Out.”

  “No shit.”

  Reaper didn’t turn around at the sarcastic reply, going down the stairs to get on his bike. Revving the motor, he took off. Driving through town, he continued, reaching the turn-off for the road that led to Jamestown.

  Four hours later, he was coming out of a restaurant, seeing several text messages from Viper.

  Reaper put the phone back in his pocket, not even opening it to see what the messages said. He knew Viper wanted to know where he was.

  Reaper didn’t stop until the next morning, checking into a hotel room to catch a couple hours of sleep. Exhausted, he locked the door behind him, then barricaded the door before dropping his saddlebags on a chair and himself onto the bed. He had just closed his eyes when his phone rang.

  “What?” he snapped into the phone.

  “Where are you?” Viper sounded concerned.

  “I went for a ride. Do I fucking need your permission to do that?”

  “Depends which direction you’re heading. You wouldn’t happen to be where either Raff or Ink is?”

  “I’m about ten miles away from Raff.”

  “I wanted to be there—”

  “Afraid I can’t get the job done myself?”

  “No, I just wanted a piece of him, too.”

  “You ask Shade anytime he leaves to get a job done?”

  “No.”

  “Then leave me the fuck alone. I’ll be back in a couple of days. Raff is going to be quick and easy. I’ll let the brothers have a piece of Ink. I’ll be bringing him back with me.” Disconnecting the call, he flung the cell phone onto the mattress by his side.

  Putting his arm over his eyes, Reaper felt Viper’s pain as much as he tried to block it out. His brother and all The Last Riders kept trying to bridge the growing disconnect between them. They had wanted to make a move on Raff and Ink months ago, yet he had wanted to wait. The two men were too used to Slate calling their every move. He wanted his revenge on Ink and Raff, but he wanted Slate more. They would be easy to find, going back and forth to different hangouts. It was Slate who was proving elusive.

  Slate was the reason he couldn’t sleep. He was the reason for his nightmares. And the biggest reason of all—one that he hadn’t told Viper or any of The Last Riders—was that Slate knew he was coming for him, that he wouldn’t stop unless the earth no longer existed. The only way Slate was going to save his own life was to take himself out first. Reaper would use any means possible, even using any of The Last Riders, to draw him out.

  Calder had told him about the Silva Cartel when he had been in rehab, and how The Last Riders, Destructors, Blue Horseman, and the Predators had banded together to defeat the cartel. Now, coming out of having to deal with that, Reaper was determined to find Slate before The Last Riders would have to live with the threat of him striking out at them because of him. Gavin had failed; Reaper wouldn’t make the same mistake. This time when Slate or one of his half-baked minions came for him, he wouldn’t be a man. He would be the Reaper.

  Taking his soda and hot dog from the concession stand, Raff watched the ass of the woman ahead of him as he returned to the bench by the pool. Giving a sigh of regret when the sexy woman slipped into the pool, he sat down next to his cousin.

  “You bring me a hot dog?”

  Raff shoved half of it inside his mouth, biting it off. He gave the other half to his cousin.

  “I don’t want it after you put your mouth on it.” The eighteen-year-old gave a whistle as a hot mama walked by them, holding her toddler’s hand.

  “Damn.” Raff took a drink of his soda before eating the other half of his hot dog. “I’ve got to get me some pussy. You better come through tonight, because that bitch you brought home last night was useless. The only one who got laid was you,” he complained, finishing his drink while pulling the leg of his swimsuit down.

  A grey-haired bitch hanging onto the side of the pool gave him a disapproving frown.

  “Can you blame her? You’re ugly as fuck. You could have at least put on a clean shirt.”

  “I was going to be naked when I fucked her,” he joked, throwing his trash away.

  “You ready to go? I thought you wanted to lay low.”

  “Been laying low; that’s why I haven’t gotten laid. Nothing going to happen to me here. Besides, I heard the fucker I’ve been dodging is doing rehab in New Zealand.”

  “You must have fucked him up good.”

  “You know it … in more ways than one.” He laughed.

  Standing, he eyed a blonde with tits the size of boulders.

  “Going for a swim. You see any of those men that I showed you pictures of around, pretend you’re drowning.”

  “I’d have to be in the water for that. I told you I don’t swim. I just came here to have your back and watch ass.”

  “Just make fucking sure you’re watching my back and not watching ass when I’m swimming.”

  “Cuz, go swimming. I can do two things at once. Besides, there’s only like twenty dudes here. Any of them get near you, you’ll see them coming.”

  His cousin was right. Scanning the pool area, he didn’t see a man who resembled Gavin, nor did he see any of The Last Riders. Crash had given them pictures so they would be familiar with them.

  Sliding into the tepid water, Raff swam to the middle of the swimming pool toward Boulder Tits. He was showing off his swimming skills when he felt a jerk on his ankle pull him under the water.

  Fighting the downward motion of going under, Raff opened his mouth to scream and swallowed water instead. Dragged farther down, he started to fight, his arms and legs flaying under the water.

  His eyes flew open when he felt himself turned, his back pressing the bottom of the eleven-foot-deep pool. Water bubbles came out of his mouth when he saw who was drowning him.

  Gavin stared back at him, hatred glaring out of his eyes as he used his legs and chest to keep him pinned under the water.

  The bubbles came out slower and slower from his mouth as he lost oxygen. Raff felt his eyes bulge as his lungs tried to breathe. His last thought wasn’t about himself, but fucking Slate. He deserted them to go his own way. He deserved what was fucking
coming for him ….

  The whistle sounded as he got out of the water at the other end of the pool. He didn’t turn to see what had the lifeguards running and the onlookers scrambling out of the pool to see.

  Going to a longue chair, he picked up his towel to dry himself off before putting on his sunglasses. Shoving the towel into the black pool bag, he ignored the women who were lying on their chairs, watching him.

  “Looks like someone’s in trouble,” a perk brunette spoke up, trying to get his attention, her eyes tracing over each line of his body.

  He turned to look over his shoulder before training the lenses of his sunglasses back on the woman. “Yes, it does. It looks like the lifeguards have it under control. Afternoon, ladies.”

  Going through the turnstile, he saw an ambulance crew arrive. The lifesaving measures would be a wasted effort. He had kept Raff under water long enough. Raff hadn’t stood a chance of beating his record.

  Ink came out of the movie theater, taking out his phone. The text sent him rushing toward his cheap hotel room. He just had to make it one more day, and then his ex-wife would be there to take him to her sister’s house where he could hide out for a while.

  His hideouts were getting fewer and farther between. He had overstayed his welcome numerous times, and his buddies had quit answering his calls. Hell, they were running from the same person he was. In their dog-eat-dog world, only one was going to survive Reaper, and Ink was determined he was going to be that lucky one. He had applied for a job at an oil rig, and if it came through, he would be saved for six months.

  Opening the door, Ink went in, then locked it behind him.

  Turning the television and the lights on, he paced around the room, intermittently looking out the window. Nervous, he pulled a large chair in front of the door. Then, taking out his gun from behind his back, he lay on the bed with his back to the wall, waiting for Reaper to bust through the door. The hotel was in such a sketchy area that it would take the cops an hour to get there, if they even showed without a body lying in the street.