Dark Redemption_A Dark Saints MC Novel

by Jayne Blue

  Dark Redemption

  A Dark Saints MC Novel

  Jayne Blue

  Grand City Publishing

  Contents

  Text copyright ©2018

  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

  Hammer

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  Also By Jayne Blue

  Text copyright ©2018

  Jayne Blue All Rights Reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law or for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  1

  JJ Hollins

  * * *

  I walked out of Mountain View Unit prison and looked back at the door as it clanged shut. I was escorted over to the admin building, where I’d been checked in not so long ago.

  I was supposed to be in the facility for two years. But I was well short of that.

  There was no mountain in view of the prison. It was home to Yolanda Saldívar, the woman who murdered Selena. It was also home to female death row inmates.

  And me. Though, the word ‘home’ was a poor choice. I’d lived there but it wasn’t home. I was 23 years old and – to date – had never lived in a place that could truly be called home.

  As I walked alongside Aidy, a prison guard, I looked to the parking lot and saw what I guessed was the car that had been sent for me.

  It was all arranged. My mother had told me on the phone how I was getting out after only a few months.

  “You do this, it’s not a question: it’s the only job you’re going to get. My brother has done a lot for me – uh, you.”

  I knew Mom said it right the first time. I was payment for her debts to her brother. He’d bought a condo for her in Florida and paid her credit cards.

  “If it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be getting out. That public defender fucked you over. You’d be in for at least another nine months, maybe the full two years. As it is, three months and done, thanks to your Uncle’s lawyer. You do what he says.”

  “Which is what?”

  “It’s a bartending job. Which you already know how to do. Just don’t be an idiot and get caught with weed.”

  “Thanks, Mom, I miss you, too.”

  “Look, I don’t need your attitude. You were busted with a bag. I know you said you were getting it for some sick loser boyfriend but no one gives a shit. You’ve got a second chance and it’s thanks to your Uncle. He’s going to pick you up and you can ask him the details.”

  “No loving reunion with your only child?”

  “You take that ungrateful attitude to your Uncle and see how far it gets you. You think jobs are falling off trees for barmaids with felony records?”

  My Mom was mean, always had been, but in this case, she was right. I literally had zero options. I was a great bartender, but I was also damaged goods. What restaurant knowingly brings in a girl with a record? I never stole a dime in my life but still: if I were an owner, I wouldn’t risk me either.

  “‘Kay, good talk, Mom.”

  “Just do what your Uncle says.”

  She hung up. My mother was a toxic individual and I tried to be immune to it but it still stung to have her throw her acidic bullshit in my face.

  * * *

  Checking out of prison was just as surreal as checking in. You were monitored every step of the way, told where to go, how to stand.

  “Go there, they’ve got your belongings.” Aidy pointed to the counter.

  “Thanks, Aidy,” I had grown close to some people in this place. Inmates and guards. I’d also acquired enemies. Aidy was a good one. She’d helped me on my first day, made sure I had a cellmate that wasn’t a violent offender. And now, just when I was getting the hang of Mountain View, I was out.

  The clerk handed me a large plastic bag holding literally everything thing I owned. They’d also given me civilian clothing: a pair of khaki pants and a white button-down shirt from a big box store. The whole thing hung off me. I was so glad to see my favorite jeans and leather jacket in the bag.

  That leather jacket and good pair of jeans was the only emotional reunion I would get.

  “Joan Jett Hollins, you’re a free woman. Here’s one hundred dollars cash. You may use it to get a cab to the bus station. That’s what a lot of people do.”

  “Thanks, all set.”

  My sentence had been commuted thanks to my Uncle’s attorney, so I wasn’t going to have to report to a parole officer. As far as the State of Texas was concerned, I had paid my debt for buying pot and giving it to a dying friend. That one pound had taken more than a pound of flesh out of my life.

  As far as my mother and Uncle were concerned, though, my debt service was just beginning.

  I walked through the gates and into the hot late morning sun. I shielded my eyes to look around. I had only met my Uncle a few times. He wasn’t in my life other than when my Mom invoked his name as savior or threat.

  But I instinctively knew the car idling in the lot was for me. It was a black sedan, older, but shiny. It was straight out of the seventies really. I squared my shoulders and walked toward it.

  I bent down to look inside, and there he was, in the back seat. My Mom was always impressed that Uncle A.J. was the Prez of his MC. Apparently, the president had a driver.

  “Get in.” He glanced at me and I opened the door to the front.

  “No, back here. We have business.”

  I got in the large back seat. My Uncle nodded to the driver and we sped forward. I looked for a seatbelt, but there was none.

  “You’re working at a private place. I had to call in a lot of favors to get you this gig. Sent a resume on your behalf even. You’re fucking welcome.”

  “Bartending, right?”

  “Yep, for the Dark Saints at their clubhouse. They got an emergency opening.”

  I wondered if my Uncle or his Devil’s Hawks had caused that opening.

  “They’re stupid. They think they can’t be touched, they think they’re so fucking careful and I’m going to inject you right into their heart.”

  My Uncle wasn’t looking at me or looking out for me. I was there to serve his purpose. I knew that as sure as I knew I was going into a more dangerous place than prison.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Just be a cute piece of ass. Listen, get the drinks. I’ll text you on this phone, a burner. You’re not stupid; you know when shit’s important. The club Veep, E.Z. is also in my pocket, but I don’t fucking trust him. Keep an eye out. If he slips me information, I want to know why.”

  I wasn’t a spy. I wasn’t a cop. I was a 23-year old who could pour a mean drink and had shitty luck.

  “I – I don’t even know what to look for.”

  “You fuck this up, you better
believe we’ll pop you again and you’ll be back inside. Just watch and listen and answer when I call.”

  It was the confirmation of what I knew. My Uncle had made sure I owed him. Someone he knew had busted me to the cops for the pot. Uncle A.J. had me like a bug pinned to Styrofoam, and squirming would only make it worse.

  “I’m dropping you off here. I can’t be seen in Port Az right now, or with you. You do this right and we’ll get you a job in a nicer place. Do it wrong, well, I fucking told you, you’ll be back inside, or worse, the Saints will fucking kill you.”

  My Uncle tossed a wad of rolled up bills at me as I got out. I caught them and looked at him one last time.

  “Nice catch. Don’t fucking look like such a goddamn lost puppy. Once you dress the part, you don’t have to work that hard. They all think with their dicks. But hurry up, you’re first shift is tonight at seven.”

  That was all the reassurance I got my Uncle.

  This was the only family I had: a mother who’d sold me to an Uncle who was ready to sacrifice me for whatever bullshit power struggle he had going between The Devil’s Hawks and The Dark Saints. I meant nothing to any of them.

  I flipped through the wad of cash. There had to be at least two-grand in one hundred dollar bills. I caught the bus to downtown Port Az. If I were going to survive, I’d have to put on my armor. I had my black leather jacket, but that was all that looked even remotely right for what I needed to do. I had spent enough time in Port Az to know where to get leather, jeans, and a handful of tight t-shirts for this job.

  I also found a small apartment for rent, over the last store I visited, Bohemian Wraps City.

  “Here’s first and last month’s rent. I start a job tonight,” I told the owner. She was pretty and had a kindness about her.

  I couldn’t afford kindness in return though, even with the two-grand.

  “Great, usually it’s too small for people. It was bigger but the hubs split one place into three,” Lyric Wilde, my new landlord explained.

  “I just need in it, like now, today. I’m sort of in a jam.”

  “You know I should be doing credit checks and all that, but screw it. You’re the only one interested and I know people. You’re a sweetie under that biker chick rocker look. So, what’s your name again?”

  “JJ.”

  “Enjoy the apartment, JJ.”

  Lyric smiled, handed me the keys and then rushed off, called to handle something in her store. I wondered what it would be like to be so open, trusting, and in charge of your own life. I shook it off. I had to keep the tough I’d earned this year and wear it like the leather I’d just purchased.

  I went up to my new place, showered, and consulted the bus schedule. I needed to get moving.

  It was time to report to work at the Dark Saints MC. It was time to do what I could to figure out exactly what my Uncle wanted from them, and me.

  2

  Shep

  * * *

  I was keyed up. This was the meeting we were finally going to take down the poison that had seeped into Church.

  I was a Bullock by birth. The official trunk of my family tree was Bear Bullock, gruff head of the family and badass Prez. My mother Josie was a combat nurse who was just as tough. She had to be to keep Bear and me, her wild son, in line.

  But it wasn’t just about birth or blood. It was about the club for the Bullocks. It always had been.

  I learned at my father’s feet and around my mother’s table that the MC was the tightest family on the planet. Bear and, before him, the founders of the MC, one of which was my own grandpa, rest his soul, built more than a club. They built a bond so tight that it was strong enough to lift an entire town and help it survive when anything tried to tear it down.

  My Dad was the Prez of the MC. My Mom was a Mom to everyone who wore The Saint’s cut. There may only be one Bullock son but there were dozens of brothers thanks to The Dark Saints.

  There was also a fucking rat, a poison, and – in my opinion – an evil that needed to be exposed.

  I was risking my entire life in the club. I was risking being kicked out, I was risking the trust of my father, to get what I needed on E.Z. Watson. E.Z. was the Veep of the Dark Saints. I knew I had him trapped now.

  A small group of us had gone off book, away from official Church, and on our own to do this. That was the risk we ran. But I knew we had the evidence against E.Z. that would prove his disloyalty. And it was time to lay it on the altar at Church.

  We were at war with the Devil’s Hawks and it was a war that E.Z. wanted. Why? Well, that would probably come out today around the table at the meeting.

  I rode in from my place, which was a house on the edge compound that the MC owned. I parked my Harley out front.

  I could see Axle, Maddox, Bo, and now Deacon were already inside. Their bikes were parked in a line. The five of us had done this together. I wasn’t going to do this alone. That was always the lesson in the club: no one needed to go it alone. Though we were all stubborn enough to try it now and then.

  I walked into the bar and decided a fucking shot would be just what I needed. I wanted to be steady as a rock, even though I was nervous as hell about what I was going to do.

  A shot would put me on an even keel and smooth things out. The MC bar was for the club only. We didn’t advertise, we didn’t open it to the public. It was ours and we staffed it accordingly. If a member or friend of a member needed to shake off the road dust with something wet, the club bar was there. It was the one place that if you wore The Dark Saints patch you could kick back. Everywhere else there was expectations and obligations.

  Our meeting room was down the hall. It was big enough for over a dozen members to crowd around. Judging by the bikes outside and the emptiness of the rest of the club, most of The Saints were around the table already. That was okay. I would be the last one to walk into the full room. Maybe that would put E.Z. off his game, which was fine. I was going in there slowly, on my terms. Almost every face at the club was a face that I knew and trusted with my life. Except E.Z.’s.

  I stood at the bar and put a boot on the brass kick rail. I expected a familiar faces to get my drink but instead someone entirely new greeted me. And she was fucking hot as hell.

  “Hi, what can I get ya?” Her voice had a little rasp to it, and her body was banging, no question, but it was her face that had me stupid and searching for an answer to the most basic fucking question.

  “Who are you?” I supposed it sounded suspicious and hard. Since I was both those things, I couldn’t blame any woman from being a little put-off. But this little dark-haired lovely looked at me with her kohl-lined eyes and then smiled.

  “I’m JJ, started today.”

  “Shep Bullock.”

  “Shep, the question stands, what can pour for you?”

  Hot fucking damn, she smiled again. She was dressed like a rocker. No question, she probably had a wicked streak but her smile, her pretty face… she was a princess in leather.

  “I need a stiff belt, and then it’s into the meeting.”

  “Church, they call it?”

  “Yep.”

  “You a whiskey man?” she asked me, and I nodded.

  She turned around and grabbed a bottle with confidence. I noticed how cute her ass was in the leather pants she wore with a tight little t-shirt. The shirt had the words ‘Greta Van Fleet’ printed on it.

  “Who’s Greta Van Fleet?”

  “New band, like if Zeppelin’s grandkids formed a band.”

  She poured me a shot, smooth and fast.

  “So, what am I drinking?”

  “Balcone’s Rumble, seems like you are ready for one.”

  “Pretty and perceptive.”

  I threw back the drink. It was, of course, incredible. This chick knew shit. But my flirting needed to come to a stop. I had work to get to. Work that was long overdue.

  “You like?” She asked me, and I wanted to tell her that I liked everything about the new bartender.
>
  “It’s our drink from now on, Rumble.”

  She shook her head. “Sure, good luck with your actual rumble,” she said and got back to wiping glasses and bar tops.

  I winked at her and let the whiskey settle in. Then I turned.

  It was time for hell to be paid.

  Bear sat at the head of the table, tradition for the Prez. At his right hand sat Ezekiel “E.Z.” Watkins.

  Bear called the meeting to order with three loud bangs of his gavel. We’d been meeting a lot lately, as we were under attack from the Hawks and at full on war with the club trying to take our place in Port Azrael. Most of the members thought that this was another strategy meeting. We’d planned in secret, which I hated. It was time to bring the truth out into the open.

  “Shep, you asked for this meeting, what are you presenting?”

  “It’s no secret that E.Z. and I don’t get along. What I’m about to put on the table has nothing to do with personalities. It has to do with E.Z. betraying this club.”

  “What the fuck are you playing at?” E.Z. spat the words at me. I knew E.Z. had allies in the club. They weren’t going to like what I had to say.

  “That’s serious shit, Shep. You accuse betrayal and can’t prove it, you’re the one’s gonna lose your patch.” Bear was almost pleading with me to stop.

  “I understand,” I said.

  “I don’t want to take your patch, but I will.”

  This was my father and my Prez talking to me. I nodded to let him know I understood what would happen if I couldn’t prove my accusation.