Destroying Beauty (Hell Hounds Motorcycle Club): Vegas Titans Series

by Loren, Celia

  By Celia Loren

  A Hearts Collective Production

  Copyright © 2014 Hearts Collective

  All rights reserved. This document may not be reproduced in any way without the expressed written consent of the author. The ideas, characters, and situations presented in this story are strictly fictional, and any unintentional likeness to real people or real situations is completely coincidental.

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  DESTROYING BEAUTY

  Hell Hounds Motorcycle Club

  A Vegas Titans Novel

  By Celia Loren

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Holt

  I stare up through the trees to the night sky. Western white pine, looks like. The moon finds a hole in the clouds and silvery light streams down for a moment onto the clearing.

  A black shape moves above me. Jo. She's inches away but for some reason I can barely hear her, though I think she’s crying. Despair crashes over me.

  Jo, I failed you.

  My body starts to shake and I'm helpless to stop it. A taste of iron overwhelms my mouth. I dimly realize that's a bad sign. The bullet must have struck an organ and now I'm bleeding internally. I feel Jo's hands fumbling over my torso, trying to help me, trying to bring me back. I try to speak, to tell her to run, but I can’t.

  I know that I'm dying, and I can accept that. But I would give anything to be able to save her.

  Chapter One

  Jo

  One month earlier

  “Jo! You still there?”

  “Yup! Yes, I’m still here,” I reply, almost dropping my phone as I snap to attention. Elise is my best friend, but she can really talk my ear off sometimes.

  “You sure you don’t want to come out tonight?” she asks for the millionth time.

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I’m just not in the mood.”

  “You’re never in the mood,” she says, and I can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

  “I know,” I reply with a sigh. No argument against the truth. “Next week, though, I promise.”

  “Sure, sure. Call you tomorrow. Love you,” she singsongs.

  “Love you, too,” I say, hanging up and tossing the phone on the couch next to me.

  It’s not that there’s anything super exciting going on in my apartment. To the contrary, it's completely boring and drab in here. The color scheme I went with was whatever was on sale at Target. But I’m just tired of going to the same old places with Elise. Same type of guys, same tired lines. I’d rather spend the night in and not have to put heels on.

  I stretch out on the couch and turn on the TV. I can’t afford cable, so my options are pretty limited. I think back fondly on my old big-screen with all the additional channels and smile wistfully. Then I remember the asshole that came with the TV and my smile disappears.

  My ex-husband Steve was the star of the football team in high school and his parents were wealthy and willing to turn a blind eye to his house parties. He was popular, to say the least. I felt lucky that a guy like him wanted to date me, and even luckier when he wanted to marry me. Fast-forward to one year in, and I find out he’d been cheating on me with a receptionist at the tech company where he worked.

  His parents hired a divorce attorney/shark who managed to fix it so I got to keep nothing but my used car, and here I am in my tiny one-bedroom staring at my grainy basic cable. But at least I’m not worried anymore that he might give me herpes. Silver lining.

  My stomach starts to rumble and I swing my legs onto the stained carpet and walk into the kitchen that’s separated from the living room by a narrow counter. I open the fridge and lean down to peer inside. Slim pickings: an apple, some string cheese, and milk. And the freezer? Empty too. I don’t bother checking the cabinets; I know there’s nothing there. Ate the last of the cereal this morning. Pull it together, Jo, I chastise myself.

  I walk into my bedroom and pull on jeans and a t-shirt from the restaurant where I work now. It’s not so much that I’m depressed—because believe me, that self-diagnosis has crossed my mind—it’s just that I feel like I’ve seen it all before. I’m twenty-five, and I’ve already been married and divorced. In fact, if anything, I feel restless.

  It’s a restlessness that a walk to the gas station on the corner won’t cure, but that’s the best place to get a late-night snack, so off I go. I lock my apartment door behind me and head down the dimly lit stairwell and into the parking lot. The gas station is only a block away, and it's a nice night. We're just moving into spring, and there's just the slightest chill in the air. I stare up at the sky as I amble. That’s one good thing about living in a small town in Nevada—you can always see the stars.

  The bell on the gas station door jingles as I push it open.

  “Where’s Dewey?” I ask the greasy-haired stranger behind the counter. Yeah, I’m a gas station regular. I’m that cool.

  “Sick,” the guy replies without looking up at me. I murmur sympathetically as I make my way back to the frozen food section in the rear of the store. The door jingles again and I look behind me just in time to see a heavily tattooed Hispanic guy walk in behind me. He glances at me and I smile reflexively. He doesn’t smile back.

  I turn the corner of the aisle and crouch down to look over my options on the bottom shelf. Should I try the pepperoni tonight? I’m always a little distrustful of frozen meats for some reason. Maybe I should just stick to the four cheese. The bell on the door rings again as my hand rests indecisively on the door of the freezer.

  “What the fuck you doing here?”

  My head snaps toward the front of the store at the sound of raised voices.

  “Me and my brothers will go wherever the fuck we want!”

  “You don’t fucking talk to me like that, you little bitch! You have no idea who the fuck I am!”

 
; "You're a pussy, that's what you are. You think I'm scared of you?"

  “Guys,” I hear the clerk say warningly, but he doesn’t seem to have much conviction behind it.

  I hear a grunt and a yell and then the sound of a couple punches being thrown and a display toppling over.

  "Hey, that's it, I'm calling the cops so you guys better—" the clerk begins.

  "Don't you fucking touch that phone, motherfucker."

  The next thing I know, there’s silence, broken only by heavy breathing and a wet clicking sound. What the fuck is going on up there?

  I slowly take my hand down from the door of the freezer and tiptoe over to the edge of the aisle, still in a crouched-down position. I peer slowly around the Pringles stacked in front of me and have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. The Hispanic guy has his hands up in the air and there’s a gun pointed at him. The guy holding it must be the one who came in last, and I can’t see his face without peering any further around, and I’m not about to do that. All I see is his pale white hand wrapped around the gun. He holds it steady, pointed at the man’s chest.

  I reach slowly toward my back pocket as I hear the clerk begin to cry and the gunman shout at him. I pat my jeans frantically. Fuck. I forgot my phone. Maybe the clerk has a panic button back there and the police are on their way. I feel sweat trickle down the side of my face as I stay still, my thighs beginning to ache in this awkward position.

  Now the Hispanic guy is talking to the faceless one. “Look, man, just calm down. I walk out of here, no one has to know about this. It’ll be better for both of—"

  The back of his head explodes as a gunshot rings out. Blood and brain matter splatter across the glass door behind him as his body crumples to the ground. The clerk screams shrilly and I pull back behind the chips as a second shot rings out, accompanied by a thud. The clerk. I press both hands against my mouth to keep from making noise as tears stream down my face.

  "Fuck!" I hear the man swear and I'm sure I'm about to see him walk around the other end of the row and that will be it. He'll kill me for sure. "Need your help on something," he says, and I don't understand until I realize he must be talking into a phone. "Two people, gas station on Laurel. Gun can't be traced." Who the hell is this guy? A professional? "Well, why the fuck we been paying you, then? 'Cuz you sure as shit didn't afford that new car on a cop's salary!"

  A hum begins to fill my ears and I blink to keep the darkness from taking over my vision. He's talking to a cop. He's talking to a cop. This can't be real. This can't be happening.

  "Well, you just do your fucking job," he yells into the phone, and I hear him snap it shut. There's a long, interminable pause, then I hear him shuffling around up front—maybe stealing? My heartbeat is loud, far too loud in my chest. He’s going to hear it. He’s going to hear my heartbeat and kill me. Footsteps, coming toward me. He’s peering down each aisle, checking to make sure no one is there. I hear the clicking noise again—is it coming from him? I curl up even smaller. If he doesn't turn down the aisle, if he just looks from the front, he won't be able to see me. I make myself so small and will myself to disappear. More footsteps.

  The bell on the door rings.

  I uncurl my body slightly and take my hands away from my mouth. Is he gone? I wait. No sounds. Don't wait too long—he might come back.

  I peer around the aisle and almost scream at the sight of all the blood. I take a deep breath and scurry over to the window. I can just see a pair of taillights disappearing around the far corner. I stand up and look around. I feel like my head is floating above my body.

  The floor is covered in blood in front of me and it's still spilling outward. The puddle is bright red like a tomato, not rust-colored like I thought blood would be. I stare at the Hispanic man's face. His eyes are open. They’re brown, like mine. There is blood covering the wall behind the counter, but the clerk's body fell behind it and I can't see him. It. His body. Not a 'him' anymore. The only other dead person I've ever seen was my grandmother, but she passed peacefully in the hospital while I was holding her hand.

  I shake my head as a wave of dizziness hits me. Think. Get moving. The man's body is blocking the way to the door so I flatten myself against the window to move past him. When I reach the door, I throw it open. I take one step outside and start running. Running like the gunman is chasing me. I run all the way back to my building. My hands shake as I unlock the front door and run up the stairs. I drop my keys as I try to unlock my apartment door and I start sobbing again. I finally manage to get the keys in the lock and collapse against the other side of the door as I lock it behind me. I slide down onto the floor and pull up my t-shirt to cover my face as I cry. How long was I out of my apartment? Twenty minutes?

  Finally my cries change to dry sobs and I take a deep breath to try to calm myself down. A surge of nausea bursts up from my stomach and I hurry to the bathroom, for once thankful that my apartment is so small. I manage to pull my hair out of my face just before I retch into the toilet. I stand up and turn on the water in the sink and spoon it into my mouth to get the taste out. I look up into the mirror. I look different. Terrible and different. And I feel dirty.

  I turn the water on in the shower then walk into the kitchen and pull a trash bag out from under the sink. I take off my old sneakers and toss them in, then peel off the rest of my clothes and throw them in, even my bra and underwear. I twist the top of the bag and knot it then place it by the front door and walk back naked into the bathroom. The water is scalding hot and I step into it. My skin turns pink as it washes over me.

  I fold my arms over my breasts and stare at the water as it pools there. I need to think clearly for a moment. I need to force myself to think clearly.

  No one saw me. Just the clerk and the Hispanic man and they are dead. The gunman didn't see me. The gunman was talking to a cop. Can't go to the cops. What if I talk to the wrong cop? I am the only witness. I am the only witness to a double murder. Keep quiet. Be normal. No one has to know. No one will know.

  That’s what I’ll do. I’ll stay shut up about it. If there is one thing I know about myself, it is that I am good at keeping secrets.

  Chapter Two

  Holt

  Brette groans as I thrust inside her, her fingernails reaching and clawing the wall in front of her as her cries build. I snake my hand around her hip and flick her clit back and forth, driving her over the edge. I feel her clench around my dick as she screams, and I slow down for a moment.

  "Oh, fuck…" she murmurs, tucking her red hair behind her ears, then looking back at me over her shoulder. "Shit…are you still hard?"

  "Yep," I grunt with a smile.

  "Damn, Holt," she breathes, licking her lips as she looks down at my cock.

  I slide my hand over her ass, palming it and giving it a firm squeeze. "Why don't you put that pretty mouth to work?"

  I pull out of her and toss the condom into the trash in the corner. We're in one of the upstairs rooms in the clubhouse that's made for just this purpose. I take a seat in an old wooden chair in the corner and spread my legs. The music thumps from the party downstairs as Brette smiles and walks over to me. Her tits barely move as she walks. They're huge, but fake and a little too high and hard for my taste. But she's still one of the hottest sweet butts that the Hell Hounds have. We fuck a couple times a week, sometimes more, sometimes less. She never gets clingy or jealous like some of the others, which I appreciate almost as much as her tight pussy.

  She kneels in front of me and I lean back in the chair and interlock my hands behind my head. I'm naked but for my cut. Keep it on, she always begs. She takes me into her mouth and I close my eyes as she sucks hard. Even though Brette's going for broke, I have to keep my mind from wandering. All these girls have started to run together for me. I've done it all, always looking for the crazier fuck, the more flexible girl, and I've never found what I've been searching for.

  Brette starts massaging my balls with one hand and trailing her mouth on my dick with th
e other. I feel a rush of warmth to my crotch and clench my teeth.

  "Holt!" I hear a banging on the door. Brette pauses.

  "Keep going," I tell her, and she resumes. "Hang the fuck on!" I yell to the shithead interrupting me.

  I groan as I come in Brette's mouth, and open my eyes to watch her licking her lips. She kisses my tip softly before rising and I stand up after her, grabbing my pants and pulling them on.

  "What?" I ask, pulling the door open. Dip, one of the prospects, stands outside, arms crossed. His eyes widen at the sight of Brette's sizable breasts behind me.

  "Um, sorry. Emergency meeting in the cave right now. Bark called it," he replies nervously. I nod and he walks away. I turn back into the room and quickly take off my cut to slip my t-shirt back on and then pull the cut back on over it.

  "No cuddling?" Brette says jokingly, putting her hand on her hip.

  "Sorry, babe," I say with a grin, pulling on my boots. Bark is the president of Hell Hounds MC, so if he calls a meeting, you better fucking hurry.