Broken: A Devil's Spawn MC Novel

by Natasha Thomas

  “Why?” It was such a simple yet complicated question at the same time.

  His voice was low and frightened when he replied, but I didn’t feel an ounce of compassion for him.

  “Wh-why what?”

  Wrong fucking answer. Picking up the crowbar, I made my way over to him. Slowly, mechanically I walked until I was only a foot away towering over him.

  “Not a difficult question to answer motherfucker. Why are you here?” It wasn’t a question he would be able to answer correctly. I knew it. And I wanted him to get it wrong.

  “I-I-I don’t understand.” His voice wavered, and my eyes zoned in on his left knee. Swinging with more than enough force to shatter the bastard three times over, the crowbar connected with his knee followed by a high pitched scream.

  “I’ll fucking ask again, why are you fucking here?”

  For the next couple of minutes I asked, and he couldn’t answer. Well, not to my satisfaction anyway. So over and over again I brought the crowbar down on his legs. Legs I didn’t think would ever heal, not that he was going to be breathing after I was finished with him, but the sick contentment that filled me at each of his screams was enough. Until it wasn’t.

  I had somewhat of an epiphany while I was breaking the bones of both his thighs, his kneecaps, his femurs, and crushing the more fragile bones of his feet. Answers didn’t mean shit anymore. These two had years to come to their senses and stop abusing Rob and I, but in the whole time we’d be with them, not once had they shown any mercy, so why was I now. Why was I going easy on the pedophile that made my life hell?

  What happened next was nothing shy of a massacre. I ripped his shoes off and removed the toes on each foot with a set of crimped nose pliers. I pulled his front for teeth out with the same. The angle grinder I mentioned was used to cut through his belt, his pants, and then it removed his limp dick from his body with ease. It was almost too easy. The blood, the gore, the screams of terror, and his pleas for me to stop were doing nothing to sate the blood lust I found myself drowning in.

  I knew my time was nearly up with this asshole. He wouldn’t last much longer bleeding like he was anyway. His shirt was hanging open, the slashes I’d made with my K-Bar minutes earlier steadily oozing blood down his chest. There wasn’t an inch of him not covered in the thick, sticky substance, and I knew my brothers were going to have a hell of a time cleaning this shit up. I’d owe them one that’s for sure.

  Scratching the two day old growth covering my face I sneered at the asshole who was barely conscious and breathing shallowly.

  “Word to the wise; kids are fucking precious asshole. As men we’re put on this earth to protect them, teach them, and cherish them. Even if they aren’t your own, and you’re given the gift of having one come into your care you do all that and more. You make sure they’re safe, loved, cared for motherfucker. You don’t abuse them. You don’t violate them. You don’t break their spirits. And you sure as fuck don’t share them around like they’re fucking toys to be pulled out and played with by sick fucks like you.”

  “I thought I needed you to beg for mercy like we did you. I figured it’d be nice to hear you say you shouldn’t have done it, that you were sorry. You know what I just decided?” When he didn’t answer I used the same crowbar I’d used to break him to lift his head until his glassy, unfocused eyes were locked in on me and barked, “Do you!”

  With a barely there shake of his head, he wilted in front of my eyes, collapsing as far as his restraints would let him.

  “I decided I could give the first fuck why you did it. Why you turned up here after so fucking long. I couldn’t care less if you’re fucking sorry. And I don’t give a shit how hard you beg. You aren’t leaving this room breathing, so it don’t matter much what comes out of your disgusting mouth before I give you the end you’ve been sorely deserving of.”

  The scrape of the door across the floor has my head snapping away from my prisoner and honing in on the men entering.

  “Jesus fucking Christ. Did you make enough of a fucking mess?” Pipe asks, eyes wide surveying the damage. Shrugging I don’t bother with a reply. I don’t think I did nearly enough damage to the fucker, but whatever. “It’s a crying fucking shame prospects aren’t allowed down here to clean this shit up. Means one of us boys are gonna have to do it, and I can tell you it sure as hell isn’t gonna be me.”

  Bracing myself against the wall, Reaper pulls out his piece from the shoulder holster beneath his cut offering it to me.

  “You want the honors? You’re call brother, but I think this fuckers going into shock. He’s not gonna feel a whole hell of a lot more even if you did want to keep at it.”

  They’d given me an extra ten minutes with him and for that I was grateful. The extra time wasn’t just so I could take out my frustrations on him, it was to torture the bitch in the room next door that would’ve heard every single scream. Every single plea. And every last bone shattering crunch. But did I want to kill him? It didn’t make much of a difference now, the damage was done. He wasn’t going to be walking away from what I’d done to him even if I didn’t put a bullet between his eyes. In my mind the bastard had already expired, so Reaper could have at it.

  “Just do it.”

  Raising his arm, Reaper pointed and the echo of the bullet was heard ringing through the small cell long seconds later. As was the terrified wail that came from next door.

  Looking over what was the man who’d inflicted so much pain, so much brutality on my young body, I spat on his corpse taking great pleasure in see the chucks of brain matter and gore sliding down the wall behind him. He was reduced to a pile of useless parts. Broken and damaged beyond all repair. There’d be no resurrection for him or his wife when we were done with her. There’d be no one to mourn their passing. They were as they should’ve been years ago; put down like the rabid dogs they are.

  She didn’t get off much better. The thing is when dealing with a woman it’s not about the amount of pain you inflict, it’s about the promise of it. I would’ve loved to turn her over to a club like Satan’s Sons, a club that didn’t have principles when it came to women. No matter what she’d done, I couldn’t bring myself to surrender her to a club that would use her as holes to get off in. A piece of meat to treat how they want, and force to perform on command. That didn’t mean I didn’t let her think that’s what we were going to do with her though.

  It took a bit longer with her. Psychological shit isn’t my forte, but Reaper, and Tank with his military experience are old hat at that stuff, so they didn’t mind fucking with her head for a while, getting the information I, we needed.

  Apparently they’d come in to town hoping to blackmail me into paying them for the photos they’d taken. She told them they searched for Rob for months, but could never get a solid bead on him, hence them seeking me out. Her husband lost his lucrative career as a fashion photographer when he was caught trying to feel up an underage model backstage at a shoot. The models parents pressed charges, but as a Class C felony he walked away with a fine, twenty hours community service, and the knowledge he was now blackballed by every modelling agency statewide.

  With no savings due to their extravagant lifestyle, the bank foreclosing on their house, and no one willing to employ him, they decided blackmailing a biker was their only alternative to living on the streets, something they weren’t prepared to do. Wrong move, but I’ll give them this; they had to have balls to try it in the first place. Not to mention they conveniently brought themselves to my doorstep so I wouldn’t have hunt their asses down one day. So I’m counting this as a win-win.

  The bitch didn’t suffer as badly in the end as I would’ve liked, but she didn’t get off lightly either. She lost a few fingers on each hand, matching teeth to her husband, and had a few uncomfortable moments with a bucket of water and a car battery, but at the end of the day, we’re all men with women now, and none of us could bring ourselves to draw this out longer than sending her a message.

  I left
the room before Reaper ended her too. It’s got to take a toll on the man, the shit he does for the club, but he’s never flinched when he’s been asked to take care of business like this. The deciding factor for me to step back seeing the sick smile creep across her face at the sight of me entering the room. She might not have been smiling later, but the way her predatory gaze tracked me around the room was fucking unnerving. I didn’t want me being the last thing she saw, and I sure as hell didn’t want to give her the opportunity to spill a bunch of bullshit that was meaningless and designed to fuck with my head. I was stronger than that. I wasn’t that weak, helpless little kid anymore that would beg anyone for anything, especially not her

  The weak, helpless kid I was back then is long gone. I wouldn’t beg anyone for anything, especially not her. Her begging, well that’s a different story. The bitch was not so far removed from everyone else we’ve had down here. They all follow a pattern. They’re all so predictable. First comes anger. They throw some insults, refuse to cooperate, are defiant, and try to act tough. When they realize that shit won’t work they try negotiation and bartering. Offering to give us money, information, contacts, whatever they think we want in return for sparing their life.

  The fact is, when they make it down here, to the bowels of the clubhouse, they aren’t coming out. We don’t bring people down here to interrogate them, or work them over. Coming down here is a one-way ticket straight to the pits of hell where every last one of them deserve to end up.

  Third comes the pleading. Begging, beseeching, and praying to God (not that he’s ever listening), we’ll have mercy, put them out of their misery. We’ve seen it all. Crying, screaming, wailing, groveling, and imploring us to do the right thing. If they only listened to what they were asking us for they wouldn’t be here in the first place. Lastly, the one that’s still hardest for me to watch, is the resignation.

  Eventually when they’ve gone through the motions, tired themselves out, or are close to going into shock it becomes plain to see they’ve accepted their fate. Their eyes glaze over, shoulders hunch in on themselves, heads bow, and the fight leaves them like the fire they were carrying inside was just extinguished. It’s still creepy as fucking hell to see someone full of fight, determination, and resolve crumble. It’s the part of the job I hate the most. I won’t say witnessing the violence, torture, beatings, whatever’s necessary to get what we need doesn’t bother me, because it does. I’m not inhuman. I don’t like having to do this shit, but it’s part of the job. We don’t do it often. We don’t do it regularly. But when it we do, it takes all of us a few days to move past it.

  Upstairs we’re all sitting around having a beer and a much needed smoke when Reaper asks,

  “So what are we gonna do with the other one?”

  We all know who he’s talking about. Candice. Sighing and running my fingers through my hair, which I note could do with a wash, I’m the first to answer.

  “Don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough for today. Either put a bullet in her head, or hold her and take care of it later, I don’t give a shit. What I want is to have a fucking shower, see if I can con my woman into making me something to eat, then climb into bed and sleep for a week. But that’s just me,” I say ending on a shrug.

  “Can’t keep her here, that’s just asking for trouble.” Tank mutters. “She’s got people here in town, someone’ll be looking for her soon enough. It also doesn’t help she’s affiliated with the club working for Chasers and all.”

  “People go missing all the time, brother,” Cage replies looking at Tank. “And her parents have gotta know there wasn’t something quite right with her. I mean, you can’t hide all that crazy 24/7, it’s gotta come out some time.”

  I don’t disagree, but that doesn’t mean her parents aren’t going to want to know where there daughter’s taken off to. Candice hasn’t ever left Blackwater to my knowledge. The likelihood of her just picking up and leaving is slim to none, which means people are going to start asking questions sooner or later. And that’s the last thing we need. Cops sniffing around the clubhouse, our businesses, and our families. Not that they’ll find anything, but it’s a pain in the ass when they come calling nonetheless.

  The club’s careful, call us paranoid like that. We don’t store, hold, or stock shit here, or anywhere our names are connected. We’ve got permits for every weapon, concealed and not. And the club’s got all the proper licenses to operate the businesses we own. The cops have got no reason to suspect us, and they have no grounds to get a search warrant. Candice’s disappearance will be written up as just another unsolved crime, but that could all change if we keep her here too long.

  Pipe yawns, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I’m too old for this shit, boys. Dagger took care of the bitch’s car, Cage called her parents asking if they’d seen her when she didn’t show up for work today, and no one saw her when we brought her in. As far as I’m concerned we’re all clear.”

  “There’s no point holding her either. From what Lexi told us her plan revolved around the babies, nothing else. Now she’s out of the picture I don’t see any blowback if we just take her out.” Priest doesn’t look all that convinced, but Jones grins smugly at him adding, “Look, I like this as much as you do. Two women in one day, shit, two women period, but it doesn’t change the facts, brother. The bitch is straight up fucking insane. The other one was worse. Both of them inflicted harm on our family. I for one could give a fuck if she was born with tits and a pussy, she needs to be taken to ground.”

  “Dagger, Shifty, take care of that shit. When it’s done, take her up to Wise Mans Gap. Usual Place,” Priest drawls.

  “What about the other two?” Shifty enquires.

  Grunting, Priest runs his hand down his beard making a disgusted sound.

  “Them too. I don’t much give a shit how you get them up there. Whole, in pieces, wrapped up like Christmas presents, I don’t give a fuck, just get it done.” Turning to his left he addresses Liam and Noah next. “Not a nice job, but you two are on clean up. Whatever mess these two idiots make,” he says gesturing to Shifty and dagger, “you take care of. I want it done by morning on the off chance the cops show up wanting a word.” Ensuing nods travel around the room at his command.

  Slowly, one-by-one, all my brothers stand to leave. Back slaps, handshakes, and catch you laters follow leaving Reaper and I as the two men left behind. Rising to his feet, Reaper holds out a big, scarred hand.

  “Today wasn’t a good day for you, brother. I’m not getting the feeling the next few are gonna be much better, reliving this shit and all. But what’s done is done, you did what you needed to do, so you’ll get through this. Just give it time, yeah?”

  Clasping his hand in mine, I give him a tight nod.

  “Yeah, brother. Time,” I say sarcastically. They might say time heals all wounds, but I’m not sure that covers the wounds I just inflicted on those two assholes.

  “You’d be surprised what a good woman can do to ease that for you, Glock. She’s my niece, so I don’t want to go into specifics with you, but she’s got a hell of a lot of sweet to take care of all that sour. Let her be there for you the way you’d be there for her. It’s all you can do, brother.”

  At that, I took his advice and went home to my woman, silently praying he was right.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  Alexis

  “Somewhere in the world a woman gives birth to a child every minute.

  We need to find this woman and stop her.”

  - Rotten eCard

  If anyone tells you giving birth is a beautiful experience, punch them in the face and call them a dirty, rotten liar. Labor is not beautiful, it’s more like Gods way of punishing you for all your sins past, present, and future. And delivering a baby is not the most spiritual thing you’ll ever do, unless you count needing to drink spirits in order to get through it that is. No, giving birth is more like a being a passenger on a train wreck you can’t get off.

 
Looking back on that day now, with my two gorgeous baby boys lying in my arms, I can see why people may romanticize it, but the way I see it, it’s more akin to an endurance competition like the X-Games than anything else.

  Jagger and Deacon were as impatient to come into the world as they are now at feeding times. My water broke at four in the morning, and if I wasn’t suffering from horrendous contracts almost immediately it would have been hilarious watching Thomas frantically trying to get himself, me, and everything we needed to take with us ready to go. He fell at least three times trying to get his pants on, and picked up his bike keys instead of the ones for his truck. He forgot his shoes and shirt, driving off down the street before remembering that it was probably important the pregnant woman actually be in the truck rather than standing on the porch.

  Everything that happened after Thomas turned around, jumped out of his truck, deposited me inside, and delivered me to the hospital was just as comedic. Unless you’re me, and trying to push out not one but two watermelons in a room full of people trying to clamber for a look at my hoo-ha, and giving me advice I’d prefer they shove up their asses that is.