Blood & Bones: Deacon (Blood Fury MC Book 4)

by Jeanne St. James

“Fuck,” Deacon muttered again. “Stay put. We’re rollin’ up now.”

  Reese glanced out the windshield to see he was pulling into the front lot of Dutch’s Garage.

  Before he even rolled the truck to a stop, he ordered, “Stay in the fuckin’ truck with the doors locked ‘til I see what’s goin’ on first. I’ll get you once it’s safe.”

  She only stared at him. He was crazy if he thought she was just going sit in the truck while her sister was inside.

  But she kept her mouth shut.

  He sighed as he parked the truck, shut it down and hopped out. “Stay here,” he ordered again. “And lock the doors.”

  He slammed the driver’s side door shut and jogged into one of the open garage bays. Reese’s gaze sliced through the lot and spotted Judge’s bike parked in front of the office. There were other cars, trucks and bikes in the lot, too. She had no idea if any of them were Billy’s or just customers.

  Her heart was pounding so hard she could hear the thump in her ears. She stared at the front window of the office, hoping to see her sister, but she couldn’t see anything.

  In her worry, she’d forgotten her sister was on the line. “Reilly?”

  When she didn’t get a response, she glanced down to the cell phone gripped in her fingers. The call had ended. She quickly tried to get her back on the line, but it went directly to voicemail.

  She didn’t like that. Not at all.

  She also hated not knowing what the hell was going on.

  Movement caught her eye and a plain black van with dark tinted windows sped through the parking lot and an open gate. The chain-link fence started at the right side of the garage and disappeared around back.

  The yard Reilly mentioned. Most garages had a fenced yard at the back of their businesses to secure vehicles and store junk cars for parts. Dutch’s Garage didn’t seem to be any different.

  She had no idea who was in the black van, though. Could it be someone working with Billy? Could this be some sort of ambush? Were they there to kidnap her sister?

  She needed to warn Deacon and Judge.

  Reese shoved open the passenger door and jumped from the truck. She ran through the open bay door, not caring she was barefoot. She didn’t stop until she got to the office, only to find the door open and the office empty.

  Fuck!

  “Reilly!” she yelled.

  Again, no response.

  “Deacon!”

  Fuck this!

  She searched the garage for a way out back and saw a steel door. She rushed over, yanked it open, and spotted everyone outside.

  Even Reilly.

  Who was told to stay in the fucking office!

  Deacon, Judge, Whip, Rook, Dutch, Cage, Shade and Rev stood in a circle.

  She could barely see him, but Billy Warren was on his knees in the dirt with his hands cuffed behind his back. Reilly kept trying to push through the biker barrier without luck. The guys blocked her every time.

  She did this while holding a blood-stained towel to the side of her head. The sight of that stole Reese’s breath.

  “Reilly!” she shouted, causing all heads to spin her way.

  Deacon’s expression instantly showed his displeasure. “Told you to stay in the fuckin’ truck!”

  Judge scowled and shook his head.

  With a few smirks and more head shakes, the rest of them went back to staring at the man on the ground.

  She rushed to her sister, pulling the towel away from her head. “Are you sure you don’t need an ambulance?”

  “No, it’s just a surface wound.”

  Reese tried not to panic. She knew head wounds bled a lot, making them seem worse than they were, but still...

  Billy had a damn bat. Her eyes sliced from Reilly’s head to the man on the ground, who wasn’t saying a word.

  “No ambulances here. You wanna take her to the hospital, take Deke’s truck,” Judge ordered. “Whip, go close the gate for now. Rev, shut the garage doors and lock them. We don’t want anyone else wanderin’ back here.”

  The last was directed at her.

  Fuck him. This had to do with her sister, not his. She had every right to know and be involved with what was going on.

  She turned to Deacon, shooting off questions like a machine gun. “Why is he just sitting there? Are you planning on taking him into custody? Delivering him to Bianchi? What if he gets out and does this again? Will my sister never be safe?”

  Nobody was doing anything and something had to be done.

  Fuck this shit.

  She held out her hand. “Give me your gun.”

  Muttered curses rose from every one of his brothers standing in that circle, some louder than others.

  Deacon stared at the woman holding out her hand like she expected him to just hand over his Ruger so she could plug a .40 into the fucker’s head.

  Not on his fucking watch.

  She wasn’t thinking clearly, that was for damn sure. Her reaction was emotional, not practical.

  Killing Warren could destroy her life. Even removing any chance she’d get caught for it, she would have to live with that decision forever.

  He wasn’t putting that on her.

  Warren laughed and spat a wad of blood onto the dirt next to him. He was still bleeding from his mouth and nose from the fight he’d had with Rook.

  Rook was a little banged up, too. He had a smear of blood under his nose and some blood splatter on his shirt and cut. The knuckles on his right hand were also torn up.

  “Like you’d let that cunt kill me. I’m worth too much alive.”

  Deacon’s gaze slid back to the piece of shit on his knees. He clenched his jaws to keep from giving the fucker a boot to the face. But then, that wouldn’t be a fair fight.

  Just like when Warren beat up women.

  A muscle popped in his jaw when he ground his teeth.

  “You ain’t worth shit,” Judge said before Deacon could.

  “Wrong. I’m worth something to that one standing there.” Warren jerked his chin toward Deacon. “The one with the girly braid and nose ring like the bitch he is. Bet his boyfriend leads him around with a leash hooked to that nose ring, then uses the braid like a handle while giving it to him up the ass.”

  Like Deacon hadn’t heard that one before.

  “Got a lot to say for someone on his knees, asshole,” Rook said, wiping some of the blood from the corner of his own mouth with the back of his hand.

  “You only got the upper hand once the boy joined you.”

  The “boy” must be Whip.

  “Otherwise, that cunt bitch and you would both be dead.” He glanced around the circle. “Which one of you is she giving it up to now? Or is it all of you? I wouldn’t doubt she likes a good gang bang. She was a little whore who was good with her mouth. She asked me to smack her around because she liked it. Begged for it.”

  A frustrated scream and a whole slew of curses came from behind Deacon and Reilly rushed the circle, trying to break through. Rev caught her by the waist and held her back.

  Rook stepped in front of Warren and spat a bloody hocker on his face. As it slid down the man’s cheek, Warren lunged forward, trying to head butt Rook in the groin. He jumped back out of reach just in time.

  Warren lost his balance and fell forward onto his face in the dirt.

  Cage reached down, grabbed him by the back of the hair and yanked him back up to his knees.

  “Yo!” Dutch hollered and snagged Warren’s bat from Reese’s hands. “Christ! This ain’t the major leagues, woman.”

  Where the fuck had she found that?

  “Hang on to her,” Deacon told him.

  The old man grabbed Reese around the waist and held tight, just like Rev did with her sister.

  “Just let me—”

  “No,” Deacon barked, cutting her off. “Stay out of it.”

  “Deacon!”

  “No. If you can’t keep your shit together, I’ll have them drag you out of here. You were supposed to st
ay in the fuckin’ truck.” He turned and jabbed a finger at Reilly. “And you were supposed to stay in the fuckin’ office. Neither of you fuckin’ listen.”

  Warren laughed. “This is why you got to teach them a fucking lesson. Teach them obedience. It’s what they want. In the end, they thank you for it. Haven’t learned that yet? Oh that’s right, you don’t fuck women, they probably peg you instead.”

  “What the hell did I ever see in you?” Reilly rage whispered, her face red and her hair wild as she struggled to escape Rev’s arms.

  “My big dick. You liked it in your mouth and in your fucking ass.”

  She was snarling while clawing at Rev’s arms, her fingernails digging deep enough to draw blood, but the younger brother kept a tight hold on her. “I hope you get fucked up the ass in prison, asshole!”

  Warren blew her a kiss. “I’ll just find you again when I get out, baby. I look forward to getting a piece of that tight ass again. And next time you might remember the lesson I taught you about sharing what’s yours with your man.”

  “You gotta go to prison first to get out,” Deacon reminded him.

  Warren laughed. “What are you going to do? Huh, pretty boy? Kick my ass while my hands are tied behind my back? Do you need that advantage?”

  “Take them inside.” His order was low and quiet, but it was heard.

  “Deacon!” Reese yelled as Dutch battled to get her into the garage.

  Reilly had stopped struggling but Rev kept a tight grip on her anyway, most likely expecting her to make a break for it, as he maneuvered her inside behind Dutch and Reese.

  “Close the door. Keep them in there.”

  The steel door slammed shut, cutting off Reese’s loud demands and complaints.

  Without looking at Whip, Deacon said, “Go stand in front of it. Make sure no one comes out.”

  Whip moved to guard the door without a word.

  Deacon lifted his gaze, which had been locked with Warren’s, to Judge. “Uncuff him.”

  His cousin stared at him for a few long seconds. Then his lips pressed into a thin line and he pulled a cuff key from the little front pocket of his cut before moving behind Warren.

  Warren’s eyes narrowed on Deacon and he smirked.

  Deacon planned on wiping that smirk off his fucking face.

  But he wanted to give the asshole a fair chance. Unlike Warren did with Reilly after stealing all her money and beating the fuck out of her. Unlike Warren did with Reese in the parking lot that night.

  “Get up,” Deacon growled. Pictures of Reilly’s injuries flashed through his mind. Snapshots of Reese’s face with the bruises and cuts tugged at his memory.

  All that pain and damage due to the one so-called “man” in front of him. The one who would’ve snuffed out Reilly’s life with a baseball bat without blinking an eye.

  With not a care. Not a regret.

  To Warren, Reilly had been only pussy and a free ride. He used and abused her.

  “Get him up,” Deacon shouted when Warren didn’t stand fast enough.

  As Cage and Judge reached for Warren, the fucker surged to his feet, stepping away from Deacon’s two brothers and taking one step closer toward him.

  “How’s this going to be fair? It’s still five to one,” Warren said, glancing around the circle. He wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth.

  “You worried about fair?” Deacon asked him. “You think knockin’ around a twenty-four-year-old girl was fair? Ambushin’ my woman in a dark parkin’ lot was fair? Didn’t think you gave a shit about fair.”

  “Let me do it,” Shade murmured next to him. His request was soft but chilling.

  “Fuck no. He’s mine.”

  Shade would slice Warren’s throat in under a second flat and it would be over way too easily. That wasn’t what this was about.

  Deacon’s job was to take Warren alive and in one piece to Bianchi. Collect his scratch for delivering the piece of shit.

  But he no longer gave a fuck about this job. It was no longer about money.

  Fuck no.

  It hadn’t been about the money for a while now.

  “He got anything else on him?” he asked no one in particular.

  “No,” Whip called out from near the door. “Took a pocket knife off him but besides the bat, that was it. He didn’t expect much of a fight from a woman.”

  Right. He didn’t expect to go face to face with a brotherhood.

  Deacon reached into his cut and pulled his Ruger from his holster. Without taking his eyes off Warren, he held it out grip-first to Shade, who took it.

  Now it was fair.

  Warren widened his stance and raised his fists.

  Deacon smiled and left his hands down by his sides. “I’ll give you the first shot. A fuckin’ freebie.”

  Warren’s eyes narrowed, distrust plain as day in his face.

  Rightly so.

  The man took a wide swing and Deacon ducked, feeling the wind from Warren’s arm over his head. As Deacon popped back up, so did his steel-toed boot, with a solid shot dead center between Warren’s legs.

  All the breath rushed out of Warren and, as he bent over due to his nuts being relocated, Deacon grabbed his head and kneed him in the face.

  Warren went from bending forward to grab his junk to flying backward from the impact of Deacon’s knee, his arms flailing and blood exploding from the fucker’s broken nose.

  Warren landed hard on his ass in the dirt, stunned but still conscious.

  Good. Deacon had a few things to say.

  “Sorry about that. Forgot about makin’ this a fair fight.” Deacon dove forward, using his chest to knock Warren completely onto his back. He straddled the motherfucker’s waist, settling all his weight on Warren’s gut.

  “Wanna apologize for the shit you did to those women? We can pass along the message.”

  Warren blinked up at him in a daze, the blood coming from his mouth no longer a trickle but now a steady stream. His nose looked bent out of place, dark blood pooling in each nostril.

  Deacon hoped he choked on all that blood.

  “You still look better than Reilly did when you put her in the hospital. And I don’t think that’s fair, either. Do you?”

  Warren tried to spit some of the blood out of his mouth but with Deacon crushing his stomach, he couldn’t pull in a big enough breath to do so. Instead, he gurgled.

  Deacon turned his head, giving Warren his ear. “Didn’t hear that. Was that a fuckin’ apology?”

  Warren shoved weakly at Deacon’s chest.

  “What?” Deacon leaned closer. “Didn’t quite catch that, either.”

  “I’ll... fucking... kill those... cunts... right after... I... kill you.” Each word came out on a wet wheeze.

  Deacon sat up and smiled. “Yeah, fuckin’ doubt that.”

  With a sudden burst of desperate energy, Warren surged up and began swinging wildly. One fist made contact with Deacon’s temple, making his brain wobble from the strike.

  Warren bucked underneath him, trying to knock off Deacon’s weight, and he almost succeeded.

  It was time to end this bullshit.

  It was time to use the method Warren used on women to “teach them obedience.”

  He curled his fingers into fists and held up his right one. “This one’s for Reese.” He lifted his left. “This one’s for Reilly.”

  He put all his weight behind the right hook as it made contact with Warren’s cheek. As if in slow motion, Warren’s head snapped violently to the right. Deacon waited for it to rebound before striking it with his left.

  Then he let the training kick in that Slade had showed him when the Dirty Angels MC member came up to Manning Grove. The boxer had taught them all how to use the punching bags and MMA equipment set up in a shed at the farm. He’d been asked to help Sig and Trip find a way to work out their tempers. Everyone else who was interested got the chance to work with him, too.

  Deacon couldn’t walk into a ring without getting his as
s kicked by even an amateur fighter with proper training, but he’d learned enough techniques in the week Slade spent with them to know how to throw an effective punch.

  Or two.

  Or five.

  Even ten.

  So many his knuckles became numb. They bled. His lungs strained. His breathing sounded like a ticked-off bull in his own ears.

  A red haze covered his vision as he thought about Warren hurting Reese. Hurting Reilly.

  Hurting other women and getting away with it.

  Deacon lost count of how many strikes he doled out with each fist. He only knew his right one swung more often. Because that fist belonged to Reese.

  Warren had touched her. Hurt her. Might have done even worse if Bambi, thank fuck, hadn’t chased him off.

  So, yeah, his right fist struck a little harder and more often. Until his hand was completely numb from the pain.

  Even before the haze in his eyes and the ringing in his ears cleared, he was pulled off the lifeless body beneath him.

  Only months ago, he had watched Sig lose his shit up on that mountain. He now understood how the rage had consumed him and how the club’s VP had been driven to use it against Vernon Shirley, his woman’s rapist and kidnapper.

  Deacon understood it all now. The same rage filled him all the way to his core.

  Sig had made sure Shirley would never hurt Autumn again. It wasn’t only punishment, it was prevention.

  Just like Deacon was preventing Warren from ever taking advantage of, or hurting, anyone again.

  Not Reilly. Not Reese. No one.

  Never again.

  Warren was done.

  But Deacon wasn’t done.

  Not yet.

  Chapter Twenty

  A black bandana appeared before him and he wrapped it around his split and bleeding knuckles. He wouldn’t be surprised if he had a couple of broken bones in his right hand.

  But right now, Deacon didn’t give a fuck. He wasn’t feeling the pain, only fury still surged through his veins.

  “Load him up.” His voice wasn’t recognizable, the words sounding foreign and from a distance.

  But he knew what had to happen from there and they had no time to waste.

  Turning to Shade, he held out his left palm. The quiet man returned his Ruger without hesitation.