Hell's Fury: RBMC Tonopah, NV

by Nikki Landis

Wraith snickered. “You do look a little funny missing one nipple.”

  Rael’s eyes gleamed as he anticipated using the knife again.

  “Tell me what you know,” I ordered, lip curling up into a snarl. I was already bored. This shit took too damn long.

  “The Russian! He’s the one who demanded our help.”

  “What Russian?”

  “Resi, uh, Resnikov.”

  “What else?”

  “They said to make sure the girl in the hospital got what she deserved.”

  Rushing forward, I let my Reaper free and lowered my head, getting right into Jester’s face. “You will tell me every single detail you can remember or I will reach inside your chest, yank your beating heart free, and feast on your flesh while you’re still alive.”

  Jester began freaking out and I heard something dripping inside the table, trickling down the wood and into the drain. The odor of ammonia filled the air and I knew this asshole just pissed his pants.

  “Haven’t lost your touch, have you?”

  My head snapped up and I found the dark crimson gaze of the only creature in this world who held more power than I did.

  Lucifer fucking Morningstar.

  I WAS DONE.

  The booze and drugs. The endless whores who left my bed. Waking up with no memory of what I said or did because I chased the next high.

  None of those things made a difference or helped.

  My nightmares and flashbacks still persisted.

  I kept trying to find a way to soothe the angry beast within and nothing worked. I was lost since I left Afghanistan. An empty shell of the man who enlisted a decade earlier. Plagued by guilt, loss, and the scars that ravaged my body, I was unable to move forward. Caught in some vicious limbo I saw no way out other than taking my own life.

  Seemed logical. Easy.

  Never gave it much thought as I swung one leg over my Harley and started the engine. I was on Hwy 95 and riding down the middle of the road fifteen minutes later, waiting for the first car to head my way.

  Maybe I thought the way Jax Teller chose his own fate and ending was a little too poetic on the last episode of Sons of Anarchy. Didn’t give a shit.

  I needed to leave this pain and rage behind and I saw no other solution.

  The headlights of an approaching vehicle lit up the road and I welcomed the release and freedom the end would bring. My head lifted and I watched as the driver of the semi-trailer truck slammed on his brakes. The cab slid forward with the weight of the load he carried and I knew the collision was unavoidable.

  A smile teased the corners of my lips and I leaned my head back, releasing my grip as I embraced freedom. The bike swerved beneath me and I lost control, allowing the inevitable crash to happen. My eyes closed and I welcomed the darkness.

  It would all be over soon.

  Except, it wasn’t.

  I woke up about a half mile from Hwy 95 in the desert, propped up against the prickliest cactus I’d ever had the displeasure of finding. Tumbleweed rolled by my feet and flipped in the Nevada breeze as I squinted in the approaching light of dawn.

  “You sure are a stupid son-of-a-bitch,” a deep voice observed as I scrambled to my feet, staring into the face of a man I never met. His features were carved from sold, smooth marble and the color of ivory. Onyx eyes rimmed in scarlet shimmered with humor but it was the perfect bow of his upper lip curling into a smile that proved his amusement. “I have my work cut out with you.”

  Blinking, I opened my mouth to speak when he disappeared. Didn’t see him again until I met Grim and decided to patch in with the Royal Bastards. I could say with confidence that he intended to keep me dangling until that night. When I signed his contract and accepted the Reaper, I figured I had nothing to worry about. But the past was vicious and that night on Hwy 95 wasn’t the last time I rode off and planned to end it all.

  The devil didn’t appreciate the fact that I didn’t want to live.

  Grim found me the last time and I knew Lucifer would never allow my death. The entire club was pissed that I attempted to break the contract I signed. I promised they would never find me bleeding to death on the side of the highway again, especially after the same fate already claimed Keys, the previous president.

  I was stuck with this life and the version of hell I was forced to endure. Sure, I’d been given the use of my Reaper but it still didn’t change the fact that Lucifer held all the good cards in a game of poker where the winner claimed all.

  BLINKING, I REALIZED I was staring into the face of the bastard that started everything. The one who presented a contract I couldn’t resist. The same smug bastard that never let me forget I owed him and would never be free.

  Lucifer winked. “You always were a little different than the rest. Didn’t need to wait for the Devil’s Ride to know you would become one of my Reapers.”

  For some reason the devil liked to fuck with me. Didn’t have a clue why. Far as I knew he never visited anyone but the pres. Grim had his own reasons for keeping that info to himself but I’d caught that slick bastard Lucifer popping in from time to time.

  Maybe I wasn’t the only one who noticed. Hell, he probably got off on fucking with every member of the club. Wouldn’t surprise me any. He knew every secret, hidden desire, and regret we all carried. Liked to keep it dangling over your head too if you had any notions about getting out of his contract.

  I should know. I’d asked more than once.

  Fucker had been busting my balls about it ever since.

  He knew how much I hated it when he showed up like this, taunting me, and getting off on the interaction like it gave him some kind of sick pleasure.

  “A deal is a deal, Patriot.”

  I knew that. Right as I opened my mouth to tell him to fuck off, he disappeared.

  “Motherfucker.”

  At least that deal included a special clause. I had my own unique twist. My Reaper sensed fears and the terror that was unleashed as I reaped a soul fed him like the choicest steak in the fanciest restaurant.

  I’d probably be lost now without my secret hunting sprees.

  Truth was, I was an addict who kept trading one vice for another, desperate to escape sobriety and the painful truth that awaited in my fucked-up reality. I probably never would have stopped running from my nightmares and guilt.

  But I had one friend who never failed to remind me that we are only a product of the life we have lived and experiences that shaped who we were.

  The Bishop.

  “Mimi!”

  My sister’s cry of joy and surprise was a sucker punch to the gut. Even after everything that I’d told her about my life over the last few years, we still had a long way to go to repair our strained relationship. Three weeks ago, I admitted the worst of my experiences with Alexi, crying until I fell asleep out of mental and emotional exhaustion.

  Nylah was shocked to hear the extent of the rape, trafficking, and cruelty I suffered. She couldn’t fathom that kind of life or the horror of being used with such apathy. To know that every single moment you were alive was because someone else allowed it.

  Some small part of me wished I was still in a coma.

  I didn’t want to be sitting up in a hospital bed with sunshine streaming through my windows and everyone smiling, thrilled to walk through their everyday lives and enjoy each breath that left their lungs.

  What would she think if I told her that I never wanted to wake up? That staying in the hidden chambers of my mind was far easier and less traumatizing than waking up and facing the reality of my failures, mistakes, and stupid choices.

  Nylah was the perfect sister. The nurse. The blonde bombshell. The good girl.

  I was the drug-addicted, whoring, wild party girl that got exactly what she deserved.

  We couldn’t be more different.

  Nylah was leaning back after giving me a hug when the door opened. Patriot walked in and shut it with a loud click, sauntering his way forward with the prowl and grace I was becoming
accustomed to every time he entered a room. He didn’t hesitate to walk up to the side of the bed and lower his head, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he bent at the waist to reach me from his towering height.

  His guarded features hid everything he was feeling but the relief in his eyes.

  “You’re awake.” Wasn’t hard to tell that he was pleased. “Glad to see you’re sitting up and looking well.”

  Looking well?

  “Uh, sure.”

  He snorted. “Lookin’ good to me, sunshine.”

  Sunshine.

  The nickname he gave me when we first met. Still didn’t get his reasoning even after he explained why on multiple occasions. Maybe it was hard for me to imagine anyone thinking I was anything but empty, filthy darkness. A void of nothingness left behind after the very core of who I was had been ripped away.

  At the lowest moment of my life, I met my savior. I just didn’t know it at the time.

  THE GROUND WAS COLD and rough, scraping against the exposed skin of my body and baring me to the perusal of every pair of eyes that glanced my way. Chills erupted along the surface, and I shivered, not quite understanding where I was or how I arrived.

  My sluggish mind was slow to comprehend what was happening. All I noticed were the eyes of the man who held me in his arms, cradling my weak body against his chest as he lifted, ensuring I was secure in his strong embrace. That would have been alarming if I was coherent enough to put two rational thoughts together in my head. The stranger’s eyes betrayed emotions I couldn’t afford to indulge or consider ––compassion, concern, confusion, and even rage. What a weird combination battling for top position in eyes that I could sink into and never want to leave.

  It was the color that took me by surprise the most. A stunning dark blue like the deepest fathoms of the ocean framed by dark lashes any girl would envy. Such striking mirrors of his thoughts and soul. They bled through into the blue, and I’d never been able to read someone so openly as this stranger who stared back with equal intensity.

  The connection was instantaneous, and I sighed, breaking the invisible link to lay my head on his shoulder.

  “Do you worst,” I whispered hoarsely, “I’ve got nothing left.”

  There was a light squeeze as my eyes closed, and I welcomed the nothing back with open arms.

  Time held no meaning when I awakened again. There was no concept of how many hours or days lapsed when I spotted the stranger and his hypnotic eyes. Both of us remained quiet as we sized one another up, determining our reaction. My arm was throbbing, agonizingly hot beneath the soiled bandage, and the pain that radiated from the burns was so intense that tears filled my eyes, and I had to blink them back.

  Show no weakness, Mimi.

  He must have read the indecision on my face because he lifted his hands. “Hey! It’s okay,” he replied calmly.

  Nothing was familiar. I was resting in a room filled with dark mahogany furniture, including the massive bed where I huddled in the middle, close to the headboard. I spotted a bathroom to the left and a walk-in closet directly across. The door was to the right. I always made sure I knew where an exit was as soon as I was taken somewhere new. My life depended on learning details most people found insignificant.

  “Hey, sunshine. Don’t worry. You’re safe. I promise.”

  I didn’t get a good look at the rest of him before I passed out. It was late and dark. My cluttered, poisoned brain was clouded when we met under such strained and unbelievable circumstances. Dumped and left for dead, I would never have survived without his intervention.

  The biker was so tall his head almost brushed the ceiling with a thick, heavy build which proved he worked out often. A bandana wrapped around his head printed with an American flag, thick dark hair peeking over the top. By his right eye was a jagged scar in addition to the tattoos creeping up his neck that ended just under his jawline. A black t-shirt stretched over taut muscles as his arms flexed and revealed more black ink reaching to his wrists.

  I was five-five and small-boned. Patriot was as tall as a California redwood as he towered over me, twice as wide in the chest and in those sculpted, rounded shoulders. His face was handsome in that classic, old Hollywood heartthrob way my mother used to drool over with actors like Rock Hudson or Marlon Brando ––chiseled angles, five o’clock shadow along his jawline, and a cocky, confident smile. Not to mention a sexy swagger that could literally melt panties.

  His tanned skin was kissed from the Nevada summer sun. A leather vest stretched over his broad chest, leaving plenty of bronze, bulging muscle beneath, but the most impressive part was the arms as thick as my thighs as he bent over me, staring into my eyes with those hypnotic blue orbs.

  I had a thing for arms.

  Some girls liked a guy’s ass or his abs. I didn’t object to any of it, but a sexy pair of arms did me in.

  I could get lost in a man like him. Happily surrounded by strength and immovable steel, I would never want to leave his embrace.

  Too bad it was all too late for that now.

  “ARE YOU TIRED, MIMI?”

  My sister’s voice brought me back into the present.

  “A little.” I wasn’t. Just woke up from a damn coma, but I didn’t feel like talking. Words were pointless. Wincing, I shot a glance at the window and sunny day that threatened to bring up more memories.

  “I think I’ll close those blinds,” Patriot announced, walking over and shutting them completely.

  I offered a small smile of thanks at his observational skills as I sank back against the pillows, relaxing for the first time since my eyes snapped open an hour ago.

  “I’ll stay as long as you want,” Nylah announced, leaning back in her chair, and stifling a yawn.

  “Did you just get off work?”

  She shrugged, but I caught the truth in her weary expression that she tried to hide.

  Looking at Patriot, I narrowed my eyes. “Send Rael a text and tell him to pick up my sister. She needs to sleep.”

  “I can do that right here,” she argued.

  “No, you can’t. Hospitals suck to sleep in. You know that. Go home with your man. I’ll be fine.”

  “Yeah, she will. I’ve got Shadow here with me. We aren’t leaving her side, Nylah.”

  My sister shot Patriot an exasperated look as there was a knock on the door. Rael peeked in, and I had to wonder how he got here so fast, but then I remembered he must know her schedule and what time her shift ended. His freaky face was still a bit of a shock. Who walked around with horror-themed makeup on their face every day like it was Halloween?

  Despite that, I liked the rough biker and his twisted sense of humor. He seemed to care about my sister genuinely. His dark eyes lit up whenever she was around.

  “Naomi, good to see you’re up and no longer lookin’ like a corpse.”

  I flipped him off. “Can’t say the same for you, devil man.”

  He chuckled and went straight to my sister, pulling her up and into his arms as he planted a kiss on Nylah’s lips. “Lookin’ a little tired, my hellcat. You work too much.”

  She slapped at his arm but smiled. “Not that you’re gonna let me sleep.”

  A wicked grin spread across his macabre features. “I will eventually.”

  Patriot smirked.

  “I just woke up. Don’t make me puke.”

  Nylah giggled as Rael gripped her ass with both hands and squeezed. “Let’s go.” She yawned again, her eyes betraying far more fatigue than I liked. “I’m dead on my feet.”

  “Knew it,” I muttered, shaking my head as they headed toward the door. “Get out of here.”

  “I’ll text you later, Mimi.”

  Waving her off, I forced myself to smile and nod. “Sure thing, sis.”

  Once they were gone, I noticed Patriot staring at me with his arms crossed over his chest, bulging muscle flexing as he frowned. Something had his dander up.

  “What?”

  “You need to stop pretending.”

&
nbsp; “Pretending what?” I asked, dropping my gaze to my blanket.

  “This charade. Not buying it, sunshine. You don’t have to be that way with me.”

  Sure, he took a bullet for me, and I could still see the occasional stiff movement that proved the wound hadn’t finished healing yet. I really should thank him for saving my life, but it didn’t seem like the right time.

  “I know.”

  “Then don’t.”

  Sighing, I tilted my head back.

  “You forget I see you, Mimi.”

  He did. I wouldn’t argue the point.

  Patriot saw right through me since the moment my drug-addicted ass ended up half-naked in his lap. The thought of being so openly exposed was terrifying and comforting at the same time.

  “WHO ARE YOU?”

  “Name’s Patriot.” At my look of confusion, he managed a small smile. “I’m a Marine. Was a medic while I was in. Not so much in title as in experience and skill. Been a few years now.” He shrugged. “Figured I was the best one to help take care of you.”

  “Where am I?”

  “The Crossroads, our compound.” He picked up a leather vest from a nearby chair and showed me the emblem on the back. “I’m a Royal Bastard. We’re an MC.”

  “Motorcycles?”

  “That’s right, sunshine.” He sat down on the bed and gestured to my arm. “Mind if I take a look? Heard you had a bad burn.”

  My whole body stiffened with the reminder. I pulled away from the biker and tugged one of the blankets around my body tighter. “Where’s Alexi?”

  “Who?”

  Suddenly frightened and panicked, I contemplated running for the door. “The Russian who hurt me.”

  Patriot’s lip lifted in a snarl. “So that’s his name.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded, afraid to go into too much detail about his identity. “He’s going to kill me for good this time.”

  “No way.” Patriot pointed to the door. “I’ll take you down to the basement if you want to see him tied up, but it’s not gonna be pretty. My pres and Rael are kicking his ass. He’ll wish he never met you.”

  “Rael? He’s here?” That was the biker who saved my life. I never got a chance to thank him.