Hell's Ink

by Nicole Reed

  Hold hopped onto his motorcycle and headed straight to his house. He’d a couple of hours until he needed to meet with the club. It was barely enough time to plot what was going down tonight. Shit needed to be handled.

  When he arrived home, he took out his phone and checked his text. He sent one to Mikey, telling him to meet him here in about an hour. They needed to work out their issues before tonight happened. Hold wasn’t sure what he could say to smooth over the shit about Shyla, but things needed to be said. And Mike needed to know how much Hold cared about her. If he and Shyla had a chance, things were going to get serious.

  He unlocked the front door before stepping through the dark threshold and turned to shut it. A gun dug itself into the hollow of his neck from behind. Hold’s heart seized in his chest. Fuck!

  “I only want to talk, you bastard,” a male voice hissed in Hold’s ear. “No funny business.”

  Whoever it was shoved him hard against the closed door. The gun gouging his throat didn’t budge an inch. At this angle, if Hold did try anything the bitch behind him would have a clear shot and he didn’t know how many more were with this guy. He did realize if they were going to kill him, he’d already be dead. For now, he’d do what they said, waiting for his shot to take them down.

  The guy searched him, removing his Glock and the knife sewn into the leg of his jeans. “Do you have any more weapons on you?”

  Hold shook his head. He knew this voice, but couldn’t place it. A little more refined than the guys the club ran with. Definitely not one of the Russian crew—too American. The gun was removed from its resting spot against Hold’s neck.

  “Turn around,” the voice ordered.

  He slowly turned, wanting whoever it was behind him to know that he didn’t feel threatened in the least—on the outside. On the inside was a whole other matter. And when he saw who it was, his anger ratcheted another notch.

  “You,” Hold spat. “What the fuck do you want?”

  Luke Carrity—the ATF fucker that Hels left town with, choosing Carrity over him—stood aiming his gun at Hold’s chest. Could this day get any more fucked-up? And to think, the night was still young.

  “Like I said, I only need to talk to you,” Luke replied, but his body stance noted otherwise. He appeared ready to throw down, wearing all black attire, his face mean mugging, and chest bowed out. Not to mention the piece aimed at Hold’s heart.

  “Talk. I got shit to do,” Hold answered, crossing his arms against his chest.

  “Call Dmitry Boyarov’s dogs off,” Luke’s finger rested on the trigger, pointed straight at Hold.

  “What are you talkin’ about?” he asked, confused at Luke’s words.

  “You heard me. You owe it to her. Get the goddamn contract lifted and let her go for good.”

  “Wait,” Hold said, dropping his arms to his sides. “I don’t have a clue what you mean, man. Contract?”

  “Hit!” Luke yelled. “Don’t play me, Hold. The Hell’s Highwaymen have an open contract with the Russians for Hels’ life. There are too many leaks in my department to trust anyone. I need you to get it removed. Now!”

  Holy shit! Ward ordered a hit on Hels from the Russians? What the fuck?

  “She said you wouldn’t know anything about it but I don’t believe it for a second. Your daddy and Dmitry are big buddies and so are you and Lev. Like fathers, like sons.”

  Hold knew two things: Luke wasn’t going to shoot him and now Hold had confirmation that Ward had fucked them all with his sick vendetta against a girl for her mother’s sins. He walked away from the door.

  “What are you doing? Stay where you are,” Luke ordered, his aim traveling with Hold.

  “You ain’t goin’ to shoot me. And if you do, it might be a reprieve from my life,” he said, sitting down on his couch. “I didn’t order or know about any hit. And I really don’t give a fuck if you believe me or not. She’s your responsibility to keep safe. Hels chose you.”

  “You know how deep Boyarov’s connections are. You’re not stupid. She’s not safe with anyone until that contract is closed,” Luke said, lowering his gun. “She deserves to live a normal life.”

  “With you, huh?” Hold almost choked on his own question.

  “Yeah, with me. You think she wants to come back to this hellhole? To the people who beat the shit out of her? To the one guy who said he loved her, but scarred her back for life?” Luke shot across the room, gripping a handful of Hold’s t-shirt in his fist.

  Hold knew Luke was going to throw a punch and he let him. His words sounded tormented even to Hold’s ears, hurting for someone he cared about, wanting to destroy the person who hurt his loved one.

  “That’s for Hels, you bastard!” Luke yelled. His fist continuously buried itself in Hold’s jaw. “Try beating on someone your own size!”

  Luke swung one last time and stepped back, eyes blazing and chest heaving. Hold lifted his head to glare at the asshole in front of him. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, catching the blood dribbling from his lip.

  “I took those punches for Hels. The next swing will be all for you and I’m tellin’ you now, there’ll be retaliation,” Hold murmured, with every hope that Luke would swing again.

  He watched Luke shake out his right hand in front of him, bloody knuckles spraying drops of red across the room. And just like that, he surprised Hold with a left-hand jab, his fist connecting squarely with Hold’s jaw.

  Hold launched himself off the couch, catching Luke in his midsection. They landed on his coffee table. The wood couldn’t hold the brawling men and imploded beneath them. Neither noticed as each swung brutally at his opponent, colliding with flesh and bone more often than not.

  It felt good to let loose on an enemy. Hold’s mind blanked out, letting each of the men’s grunts further his own bloodthirst. His body took control in solving whatever it needed to with liquid pain and broken bones. He felt his own shift at certain points, the ache almost a sweet release.

  The fight seemed to go on until finally they both sat on the floor, panting against opposite walls. Hold glanced around to see his living room entirely demolished. Luke looked like shit with both of his eyes already showing signs of blackening. Hold knew his appearance more than likely matched the bastard.

  “She loves you,” Luke whispered, glaring down at the floor. “Maybe not how you needed her to, but even after what you did, she still loves you. And I hate you for it because you don’t deserve it.”

  His words pierced Hold’s heart. It deeply hurt to hear Luke say Hels still loved him, but he knew they’d always love each other. And the damn jackass was right: it might not have been how Hold needed her to, but he couldn’t change that any more than he could change how Ward felt.

  “I didn’t know ‘bout the hit. Ward’s got some drama going back to her ma evidently eatin’ at him to do somethin’ ‘bout Hels,” he said, glancing over at Luke. “Lev couldn’t pull a contract that his daddy ordered and Dmitry don’t listen to shit I have to say.”

  “Make Ward pull it. He’s your father,” Luke said, standing up to try and fix his tattered shirt.

  “Yeah, that sounds easy except that I’ve got a better chance at Dmitry not slitting my throat than my supposed old man,” Hold said, following it with a bitter laugh.

  “Shit,” Luke uttered.

  “Yeah, that ‘bout sums up my life right now.” He stood, feeling every dull ache and split skin.

  “I don’t give a damn, Dawson. Without her, I have nothing to lose. Get the contract off Hels one way or another, or so help me God, I’ll bring down the Hell’s Highwaymen Motorcycle Club.” Luke wiped at the cut dripping red from his forehead. “I’ve made that threat once before and the only reason I didn’t follow through was because Hels begged me not to. Nothing or no one will save you next time.”

  “Don’t threaten me,” Hold said, walking over to stand before Luke, unafraid to go another round.

  “Trust me. No more threats, only promises. And to sho
w you how serious I am, that I value her more than the badge I carry, the badge I can’t put down until she’s safe, you need to listen up. They know about the gun shipment going down—the Russians have some serious snitch problems. If you need to be in a position to remove Hels’ hit yourself, set it up and make it happen.” Luke turned his back on Hold to walk out the door.

  “Tell her I’m sorry,” he quietly said, stalling Luke. “If you think she needs to know, tell her that Sam wasn’t her father. She has no ties to the Hell’s Highwaymen, blood or otherwise. I’ll do what I can.”

  Luke nodded before he left. Hold couldn’t believe what’d just happened. He was easily able to piece everything together. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what the other man had insinuated. The question was, did he have the balls to set up his own family or was this intel a sting staged by Luke?

  The sound of a motorcycle outside of his house had Hold glancing around for his weapons. He found them sitting on a chair. Hold flipped the lights on. It made the room’s destroyed appearance even worse. Everything was either smashed to shit or broken beyond repair. His home décor matched his life.

  “Damn, brother. Ward stop by?” Mikey asked, peeking his head and gun around the door.

  “No. There’d be bullet holes,” Hold said, dropping down on what was left of his couch.

  “What the hell happened? You look like dog shit.” Mike side-swapped the mess to join him. “I swear you get your ass kicked on a daily basis these days.”

  “Do you trust me, Mikey? No bullshit, straight up: do you trust me?” he asked, glancing over at his friend.

  “I hate you, but I trust you. Figure out that fucked-up logic.” Mike answered, laying his gun on his knee.

  “What were you going to tell me earlier? What did you find out?” he asked.

  Mikey sighed before shaking his head. “More shit you don’t want to hear, but I need to tell ya. Ward ordered a hit on Hels from the Russians. I overheard Lev giving Sandman an update for Ward, tellin’ him their contract killer had been close twice and was honin’ in on where she was hidin’.”

  “What else?” Hold said, already knowing that information now. He should’ve listened to Mike sooner.

  “You don’t seem too surprised by that revelation?”

  “It’s been a long-ass day. What else?” he asked, needing to know everything that Mikey did.

  “Lev brought vodka that’s the shit and liquored Sandman up pretty good. He got to runnin’ his mouth and made a comment to me about you,” Mikey said, unable to look Hold in the eyes.

  “What kind of comment?”

  “The kind which is some bullshit. He said Ward wasn’t your daddy.”

  “And what if he ain’t? You still believe in me to run the Hell’s Highwaymen? You and me, like it’s supposed to be,” Hold asked, staring at his oldest friend.

  “What’s going on, Hold?” Mikey asked, ignoring Hold’s question.

  “Right now I can’t tell you, but I need your help. If anyone asks, we settled our differences. You did this to me.”

  “So someone else gets the joy of beatin’ your punk ass and I only get the glory. Story of my life,” Mikey joked, but he couldn’t hide his anger from Hold. “I’m not sure who you are anymore, Hold.”

  Hold shook his head and a bitter laugh filled the silence. “I’m the motherfucker who’s goin’ to take Ward down.”

  “I can’t argue with that,” Mikey said, giving his own sarcastic laugh.

  “I’m counting on it. Let’s go see who else is in,” Hold said, standing to glance one last time at the mess. He didn’t wait for Mike’s reply. It was time to face his future.

  The television played some hit show in the background, but she didn’t hear or see it. Shyla sat stoically on her aunt’s loveseat, her mind too busy with the thoughts whipping around her head. The last twenty-four hours played havoc with her heart, body, and soul. She endlessly chewed her fingernail.

  Diamond said something from the kitchen as she prepared dinner, her every word lost in the worry eating Shyla alive. Where was Hold? Did he need her? What was happening?

  Had it only been an hour since she washed him from her body? She’d been bombarded with the consequences of their lovemaking as she showered. Not once in her life, since she’d become sexually active, had she forgotten to use a condom. Not once. Her ex had been a junkie who’d shot smack up his arm, and in all the time they were together, she’d never let her guard down to expose herself.

  One freaking time with Hold and what does she do? Forgets to use protection. And the craziest thing was, it didn’t even seem like the biggest worry. Hold didn’t have to tell her that the Hell’s Highwaymen future teetered on a thin ledge… he didn’t have to voice the words that his life was held precariously in the club’s hands. It was an unspoken fact in the connection they shared.

  “Sweetie, why don’t you go blow-dry your wet hair. You’ll catch a cold,” Aunt Diamond said, coming to sit next to her. She reached over and tucked a stray strand behind Shyla’s ear.

  “What’s happening?” she whispered, needing to know Hold would be okay. One look around the room proved things weren’t good. Guns were positioned at pivotal spots should the wrong person come knocking on her aunt’s door. Shyla brought her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms tightly around them.

  “This is club life. You roll with the punches,” Aunt D said, petting Shyla’s arm. “And wait to see which way the wind blows.”

  “Is there nothing we can do? I can’t sit here, knowing I may never see him again,” she said, turning her face to lay it against her knee, watching her aunt grimace.

  “Do you love Hold?” Aunt D plainly asked.

  “I don’t know.” Shyla paused, intimately knowing the answer, but scared to voice it aloud. “Maybe. It’s all happening so fast… but I feel as if I’ve known him my entire life.”

  “Ah, baby doll. The webs we weave and the spiders we feed,” her aunt said, shaking her head.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked, lifting her head at the peculiar statement.

  “You’re caught up in this life. It’s exactly what I didn’t want for you. It’ll eat at you, what you’ll have to do to be with a man like Hold Dawson. You’ll sacrifice yourself over and over, until there’s nothin’ left to give,” Diamond said, staring at her. “I wish you’d never come.”

  Her aunt’s words infuriated her and fractured her already broken spirit. “Well, I don’t have to stay here,” Shyla said, standing to slide her flip-flops onto her bare feet as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry you feel that way. I’ve loved getting to know the only family I have left in this world.”

  “Oh, Shyla, I didn’t mean it like that. Please listen to me.”

  Aunt Diamond pleaded from behind as Shyla furiously marched to the guest room to retrieve her bag. Shyla felt like she’d become very close to her aunt. They’d begun to build a bond that filled areas left empty by the loved ones who’d exited her life too early. Now it all irrevocably crumbled to her feet. Sometimes you can’t take back the words you carelessly utter. She stuffed everything back in her overnight bag, ignoring the hurt and heartache.

  “Sugar, I’m so thankful to have had the chance to get to know you. You knew where I stood about you gettin’ involved with Hold,” Aunt D said, reaching for the bedpost like a lifeline. “If somethin’ happens to you, it’ll be my fault.”

  “No, it won’t—I’m a grown woman. I didn’t plan on having feelings for Hold, but I’ve never felt like this for a guy in my entire life,” she said, throwing her makeup in the bag before glancing up to see Diamond.

  Her aunt’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears. “Do you have any idea what’s goin’g down right now as we speak? Ward wants to continue to run this club into the ground with runnin’ guns and burnin’ meth—illegal shit that could eventually send all of our men to the slammer. Hold, Badger, Hound, and half the club don’t want it. They want to keep the MC afloat with legitimate busin
ess in Harmony,” Diamond explained. “Live out our lives in peace.”

  “So why don’t they start their own club? Let Ward do what he wants with the men who choose to stay and follow him?” Shyla asked, throwing her hands in the air. It seemed like the logical answer.

  Diamond laughed bitterly. “If only it was that easy. There can’t be two clubs. Ward needs the men and businesses they own and run to launder the dirty money he has comin’ in. It’s a never-ending cycle. Every part and piece works to better the Hell’s Highwaymen MC. You lose one, you lose it all.”

  “What’s going to happen?”

  “What do you think?” her aunt asked, before saying into the silence, “War. Men are goin’ to die. Possibly our men.”

  “No,” Shyla whispered, a gnawing panic churning in her stomach. “No. I have to go find him.”

  She started for the bedroom door, but Diamond stopped her, gripping her wrist almost painfully. Shyla gasped and stared at her aunt.

  “You want the man? Then you have to deal with the life. This is it. Waiting and not knowing shit,” Diamond said, letting go of her niece’s arm. “Think long and hard, Shyla. I’ll help you financially to leave, get an apartment in another town—for as long as I can.”

  “Hold needs me.” Shyla’s hand trembled. “I… I can’t leave him. I don’t want to.”

  “Then we wait for our men,” Aunt Diamond said, this time reaching out her hand to gently clasp with Shyla’s in a desperate solidarity.

  She intertwined her fingers with Diamond’s. Her aunt nodded at her, resigned to the fact that she couldn’t change her niece’s mind. Choices had been made, both in love: one cemented with time and age, and the other new and open to possibilities… but neither made in haste by the two strong women.

  Hold pulled his bike next to the motorcycles lining the outside of the brightly lit clubhouse. He removed his helmet and noticed several members gathering in groups before entering the building. The dark, cloudless sky overhead loomed like a bad omen and a prickling at the back of Hold’s neck seemed like a foretelling of events to come. Mikey parked his ride next to his, cutting the engine.