THE DEVIL’S BRIDE
Page 1
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
THE DEVIL’S BRIDE: Hell Brothers MC copyright 2017 by April Lust. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
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Contents
THE DEVIL’S BRIDE: Hell Brothers MC
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
MASON’S BABY: Storm’s Angels MC
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
REVENGE BABY: Blacktop Chaos MC
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
More by April Lust
MASON’S BABY: Storm’s Angels MC
REVENGE BABY: Blacktop Chaos MC
PAYBACK BABY: Venom Brothers MC
ZED’S BRIDE: Iron Angels MC
BAD BOY’S BRIDE: The Emerald Saints MC
OWNED: Satan’s Kin MC
BEAST: Renegade Reapers MC
BRANDED: Wild Aces MC
MAX: The Sin Reapers MC
TAKE ME DEEPER: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (The Predators MC)
TAKE ME FASTER: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (Hellriders MC)
TAKE ME HARDER: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (The Lions MC)
HIS BABY: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
DEFILED: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (Wicked Bones MC)
CORRUPTED: A Dark Bad Boy Romance (The Angel’s Keepers MC)
WRECKED: The Beasts MC
His Broken Angel: Inferno Hunters MC
His Perfect Angel: Shadow Reapers MC
His Precious Angel: Steel Gods MC
His Little Angel: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance
SINNER’S PASSION: A Dark Bad Boy Romance
SINNER’S TOUCH: A Dark Bad Boy Romance
SINNER’S KISS: A Dark Bad Boy Romance
SINNER’S LUST: A Dark Bad Boy Romance
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THE DEVIL’S BRIDE: Hell Brothers MC
By April Lust
My city. My club. My rules. And she’ll be MY bride… whether she likes it or not.
She needed my protection.
Guess what, sweetheart?
It’s gonna cost you everything.
She came to me, bleeding and scared.
They tried to hurt her.
But if they pull that stunt again, I’ll bury every last one of those sons of b**ches.
Because she belongs to me now.
That’s the deal we struck.
She gives me her body.
I’ll give her safety.
I don’t care if she thinks I’m Satan.
Hell, she might be right.
But by the time I’m done, she’ll be the devil’s bride.
Chapter 1
The Crabtree was, as usual, a mess. The air was filled with smoke so thick visibility was restricted to about thirty-five feet. Not that it mattered—the room was only half-lit to begin with. The corners were a shrouded mystery of debauchery. The floor was packed with people surrounding the scattered pool tables, money changing hands every few seconds.
In the middle of the hazy room was a large wooden table. Over a dozen people sat around it, all engaged in their own conversations, yet seemingly oriented towards an imposing man sitting at the center. Every person sitting at the table had a patch sewn somewhere on their leather clothing: flaming skulls chasing each other over a Welcome mat that sat at the entrance to the gates of Hell. Underneath it said The Hell Brothers.
The man at the center of the table was resting his arm on a motorcycle helmet that had The Hell Brothers patch drawn on the front with Leader stamped across the top. He was handsome, in a hard way, with tattoos and scars haphazardly strewn across his body and a crooked smile that said he knew a thing or two about a thing or two. He turned to his left and looked at the gorgeous, olive-skinned woman sitting next to him.
The man opened his mouth, leaning forward to shout above the din, his auburn hair falling into his eyes, when the front door burst open, sending a cool draft of air across the room that parted the thick clouds of smoke clinging to the ceiling.
“Ace!” A very tall, very heavy-set man stood in the entrance, gasping for air as he leaned his huge belly against the doorframe. His long blond hair was falling from its ponytail, matting against his sweaty face.
The man at the table sat up, suddenly alert. “What is it, Smalls?” he demanded.
Smalls did his best to explain what happened between huge gulps of air. “Jackson…selling out back…Alexei showed up…”
Ace held up his hand. He didn’t need to hear any more to know what happened. “Thanks, Smalls. Take a breather, okay?” He needed Smalls with him out there, not passed out from exhaustion.
The Crabtree had once upon a time been considered off limits, a home base of sorts, where none of the gangs were allowed to conduct business, or settle old scores. It was a cease-fire zone where leaders could meet peaceably.
Then the Russian mob had moved in, taking the corner market on almost every territory with their foreign products and far-reaching fingers. Their leader, Alexei, was merciless, and his second-in-command, Yury, delighted in inflicting pain. They had no order, no code to keep them in line, which meant eventually they would burn themselves out. Ace just hoped the Russians wouldn’t take everyone else out along with them.
Ace stood up and looked at the people sitting before him. “Riley and Diego,” he said, pointing at an incredibly good-looking black man with a goatee,
and a short, stocky Hispanic man who was wearing sunglasses even though he was indoors. Without any hesitation, they both immediately stood and followed Ace to the door.
Smalls stepped back, holding the door open for the three men. He let the door swing shut on the smoky room, where the remaining patrons anxiously returned to their conversations, pretending they hadn’t overheard what had just transpired.
Still panting a little, Smalls led the men around to the back of the bar, where five men stood in a pyramid formation, the man at the front holding another man by the back of his neck with one hand, and pointing a gun at his side with the other. The one holding the gun was massive, well over six feet tall with ice-blond hair.
“Jackson,” Ace whispered to himself, recognizing the much smaller man being held at gunpoint. “What’s going on here?” he asked the group, his breath puffing small clouds in the cold night air.
“I just found your boy selling on our territory, that’s what’s going on,” the man with the gun, Alexei, said.
“The Crabtree isn’t supposed to be anyone’s territory, Alexei. You know that,” Ace said patiently. “And if it were going to be anyone’s territory, it would be The Hell Brothers.”
Alexei sneered at him. “You know all of downtown Chicago belongs to the Russians. Don’t make me give you a reminder,” he threatened, stabbing the gun into Jackson’s side, causing him to grunt with pain.
Ace sighed, annoyed. The Russians had their hands in a lot of cookie jars—trafficking, witness intimidation, hits—but their drug game was weak. They cut their coke with caffeine pills and their ecstasy was always laced. Alexei was too proud to admit it, but anyone who wanted good product came to The Hell Brothers.
“You should be happy The Hell Brothers keeps to themselves and doesn’t infringe on your other areas of business.” Ace countered Alexei’s threat with his own.
“What are you trying to say?” Alexei asked.
“I’m saying you’re a shitty businessman, Alexei,” Ace said disgustedly. Goosebumps raced up and down his bare arms. “If you did good business, you wouldn’t need to resort to busting low-level gang members who are breaking meaningless rules.”
Alexei looked at Ace like he was crazy. Who the fuck did this man think he was? Alexei raised his gun, cocking it as he pressed it to Jackson’s head. Jackson whimpered, staring at Ace, pleading with his eyes for him to do something.
“I’m going to kill this man if you don’t swear to me right now, in front of your own men, that you will stay out of Russian territory,” Alexei said flatly.
“Didn’t I just say he was a nobody?” Ace said, chuckling. He pushed his shaggy auburn hair back with one hand. “I don’t care about him.”
“Please…” Jackson sobbed, “Ace, help me—”
Jackson’s voice was cut off by a loud gunshot and he fell from Alexei’s grip, crumpling to the gritty asphalt of the wet back alley. He let out a high-pitched scream that settled into a low wail and he sat up, gripping his leg where Ace had shot him.
Ace lowered his gun and put it in the back of his waistband. “See?” he said. “Go ahead and shoot the dumb bastard for all I care.”
The men flanking Alexei shifted, muttering to each other under their breath. Alexei looked at Ace, snarling. He pointed his gun down at Jackson and fired, shooting him in the opposite leg. Jackson screamed and then immediately passed out.
“Don’t let me catch you interfering in our business again, Ace,” Alexei growled, his Russian accent finally making a subtle appearance. He turned and left, his men following him without a backwards glance.
Ace didn’t move until they had rounded the corner. Once they were out of sight, Ace whipped around to face his own men and began barking out orders.
“Riley, go tell Blake to call an ambulance. Tell them to prep for multiple gunshot wounds.” Riley took off at once at a run, his long legs silently carrying him back to the bar. “Diego, find Lianna and tell her to bring her kit around back.”
The shorter man nodded, his sunglasses gone. “On it, boss,” he said, quickly following Riley’s path, his feet slapping against the ground in his haste.
“Smalls, help me,” Ace said, pulling a bandana from his back pocket. Smalls’ hands shook as he removed the dark red bandana from around his head and passed it to Ace, who tied the two pieces of fabric together and wrapped them around Jackson’s leg, applying pressure to the wound.
Jackson woke slowly, groaning in pain. “Wh-why’d you shoot me, Ace? Why’d you do it?” he asked, taking shallow breaths.
“Because if I hadn’t shot you in the leg, Alexei would have shot you in the head,” Ace answered angrily. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing selling behind here, anyway?” he asked, tightening the tourniquet.
“Not so tight!” Jackson squealed. “Some college kids were down here looking for coke, enough for a party,” he explained. “What was I supposed to say to them? ‘Meet me five miles from here and it’s a deal’?”
Ace sighed, but didn’t loosen the makeshift bandage. If he did, Jackson might bleed out. “How much did you get?” he asked out of curiosity.
“A grand,” Jackson said, his eyelids beginning to flutter. Ace heard rapidly approaching footsteps.
Lianna had arrived with her medical kit. She had spent a couple of years as an EMT before joining The Hell Brothers, and was their resident doctor for sticky situations when the hospital wasn’t an option.
“Hang in there, Jackson,” Ace said, stepping back to give Lianna access. An ambulance wailed in the distance. Ace had a feeling it was only the first of many he would be hearing. Things with the Russians had been tenser than ever. It wouldn’t be long before something happened that forced the two gangs to settle the matter between them once and for all.
***
The thin wail of an Enrique Iglesias song echoed from the depths of Fiona’s purse. She stopped in the middle of lobby of the office she worked at and dug through the contents of her bag until she found her phone.
She pulled it out and looked at the screen. It was her best friend, Melanie. Fiona pressed the green button and answered. “Hey, Melanie. I’m just leaving the office now.”
It had been a miserable day at work for Fiona, again. She had come into her new job with the title Administrative Assistant, fully expecting to spend the first couple of months doing all of the bitch work, but last week marked six months, and she was still just the gofer girl.
She wasn’t even the gofer girl for the PR department either, which was where she eventually hoped to work. No, she was the designated bitch for the whole office. Step right up, everybody, and give Fiona an errand to do. Out of coffee? Fiona would get it. Need those papers sent out? Fiona would do it. How about your asshole wiped?
“Fiona?” Melanie said in her ear. “I’m really sorry you had a bad day, but remember to breathe, okay?”
Fiona realized she had been standing the parking lot next to her car, ranting for the last five minutes solid. “Sorry, Melanie,” she muttered, smoothing her thick brown hair. “I could just really use a vacation.”
“Couldn’t we all,” Melanie replied, drily. “Wanna have a girls’ night soon? Maybe we can have a staycation this weekend,” she suggested.
“That sounds exactly like what the doctor ordered,” Fiona agreed, her blue eyes lighting up at the idea of homemade hair masks and a bottomless glass of merlot, though Melanie was probably envisioning a nightclub and enough vodka to put down a horse.
Melanie Lang had always been Fiona’s wild friend. She was incredibly beautiful, tall and lithe, a model’s figure, with long, straight black hair that hung to her waist. In college, it had been Melanie who had given Fiona her first beer, encouraged her to try her first one-night stand, and once upon a time—and perhaps once or twice since—had given Fiona her first experience with pot. Melanie was daring, promiscuous, and she took risks Fiona would never even consider. She was, in short, everything Fiona wasn’t.
Fiona’s phone buzzed,
bringing her back to Earth.
“Hey, can I call you back?” Fiona asked. “Niko is calling.”
“I wonder what he needs,” Melanie said cynically.
As Fiona’s younger brother, there was nothing Fiona wouldn’t do for Niko, and she knew the opposite was true, too, no matter what other people said.
“He’s better now,” Fiona insisted. “He got off probation five months ago and he hasn’t been in trouble since.”
Fiona and Niko’s childhood had been less than happy, with Fiona doing her best to shield Niko from the worst of it. Their father was a drunk, to the point that their mother had eventually abandoned him, leaving Fiona to pick up the pieces of their family at age fourteen. Niko had only been eight at the time, and now, eleven years later, he was still dealing with the aftermath in a variety of ways.
When he was younger, it was just schoolyard fights. Someone would say something about their mother running off, or their father’s consistent unemployment, and it would set Niko off. As he got older, though, Niko began to turn to drugs, usually coke, but any kind of upper would do. Anything so he could feel good for once.
Fiona felt sorry for him. He had been too young to remember when their family had been happy. She still had memories from before things got bad. Niko had no happy times to fall back on when he was struggling with life. But three months ago, Niko said his friend Paul had gotten him a job, and that things were finally looking up.