“What’s going on?” Beast yelled, and his heavy footsteps resonated with splashes as he ran Knight’s way through the wet grass surrounding the house.
Knight exhaled and wiped the splash of spit off his face with the front of his T-shirt. He couldn’t believe the sheer audacity of that fucker. It wasn’t a far-fetched conclusion that anyone who was a fan of a serial killer and dressed up as him couldn’t be right in the head, but crossing into the territory of a biker gang was a whole new level of stupid.
He looked over his shoulder and put the gun into its holster. “It was the fucking Count,” he told Beast, who was jogging toward him with a stern look on his face.
“What? Your Internet nemesis?”
Knight rolled his eyes, once again reminded how little even his best friend thought of his interest in history. “He spat in my face. The idiot has a death wish.”
Beast reached him, and the fast dash all the way from the clubhouse didn’t seem to have affected him much. He exhaled and looked between the trees with a small smile ghosting across his lips. “Ah. Did you tell him to say it was an unknown shooter when they get him into the hospital?”
The cogs in Knight’s head jammed and recoiled. “I didn’t actually shoot him. It was just to scare him off.”
Beast stared without a word, looking more sinister by the moment with the old asylum looming behind him and the moon rising in the sky while the sun was still up. “Some clown spits the VP of the Kings in the face and gets away with it?” he asked in the end.
Knight cleared his throat. “Come on. Did you see him? He looks like a skeleton dressed up as Liberace. He’s just a nutjob.”
Beast poked Knight’s chest. “He spat. In. Your. Face. We are not letting this go!” He pulled on Knight’s arm. “You’re VP, Knight. You’ve gotta take this stuff seriously. If people think they can come and invade our property, disrespect us, everything falls apart. Let’s chase down that fucker and teach him a lesson. We could have Hound track him. Just looking at that dog would make him shit his pants.”
Knight swallowed and followed Beast, uneasy about attacking someone so much weaker than him that he practically fell into the ditch following a push that didn’t even involve half of Knight’s strength. “He wasn’t here to snoop on us. He was here to see the graves. I mean, it was damn stupid, but I get that.”
Beast’s eyes turned into slits. “You’re not the president of the local genealogy society. You’re a biker. Sure, you’ve got a weird hobby. Fine. But you’ve got to see things for what they are. He’ll get bolder next time, see something he shouldn’t, and then we’ll have to really hurt him.”
They got to the trees and once the wild undergrowth and piles upon piles of shed leaves replaced grass, walking became much harder. The Count was nowhere to be seen either. Beast mumbled something about wishing he’d taken his dog, but Knight kept scanning the thick greenery for any signs of glittery fabric. He understood what Beast meant, but he was certain that for a coward like The Count, a scare would be deterrent enough. He would surely never even dream of coming back to their property.
“What did you fight about anyway?” Beast said in a calmer voice, but it was hard to tell his emotions sometimes, because the fire in which Beast had been burnt years ago had affected even his vocal cords.
“I told you he’s all over Fane. He actually called our clubhouse Fane’s property. He’s a fucking nutter,” Knight said, frowning when he spotted an indistinct white shape hanging off a tree ahead. It was only as they came closer that he recognized the white wig The Count always wore in his videos. “Look at this. I scared him so much he left this behind.”
Beast sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. At least it looked that he was slowly giving up on the search. “Why did you even talk to him for so long? I saw you from the window. You should’ve just told him to go.”
Knight raised his arms helplessly. “I wanted to, but then he started going on about having a connection with Fane and said some horrible stuff about Laurent—the historical Laurent, not yours—so I couldn’t just let that fly.”
“My Laurent is the historical Laurent. What did he say?” Beast’s body got tense again and The Count could consider himself lucky that he was gone.
Knight exhaled. “He has this theory that Fane was in love with Laurent, and Laurent just used him. I swear, I couldn’t make this shit up. The Count needs meds, not a bullet in his arm.”
Beast broke off a branch of a nearby tree in frustration and threw it to the ground. “I’m sick of this. We’ve found out so much about your ancestry in the last months. We’ve found out our clubhouse literally belongs to the devil. We even got all those exhumations you wanted done. But you still engage in this petty Internet bullshit. You’ve got to let it go, Knight. Someone will always have some theory, or write some dumb serial killer fanfiction. Is this… a rebound thing of sorts? You know, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Jordan, but maybe having a new girlfriend would take your mind off this stuff?”
Knight kicked some of the damp leaves, irritated that the same topic was coming back like a boomerang. “I don’t need to waste my time on another petty princess. Don’t you worry. I just need to sink deeper into this new role. You can count on me,” he said even though the pressure to act responsibly was mounting up around him like a giant wall about to crumble and fall on his head.
Beast looked back toward the clubhouse, as if checking for spies, and for a moment Knight felt as if transported in time, hidden in a dark forest, about to storm the nearby castle.
“I do count on you. With King dead, I need you to make this whole thing easier for me. I’m not that good with people. Mr. Magpie’s cooperating, so that’s good, but there’s only six of us now. Davy’s retired, his son doesn’t seem to be Kings of Hell material, and Jake still needs time to develop into a man and grow some balls. Anyone who’s to become a patched member now, would need to be informed about the responsibility our club has to some dark force we don’t even understand. Laurent is working hard with his reading and research, getting the hang of libraries, but it will take time. We can’t take this demon thing lightly.”
Knight licked his lips as they walked between the trees that suddenly felt as creepy as distant woods of horror movies. He’d only seen the monster’s towering presence—tall, black as tar, and with a set of huge horns—once, and it still haunted him whenever there were odd sounds around the clubhouse. “But the deal is to keep on partying and fucking so that he can feed off the energy. There’s no catch.”
Beast pushed his hands into his pockets, and his ink-covered face was illuminated by pale light when they walked out from between the trees. “I don’t want our club to fall apart over this. We are family. Much more so than I ever was with my father. And I’m saying this because I know this monster wants more. He can’t force us into anything or he would have done so already, but he will offer and tempt with things we don’t know the consequences of. He ‘feeds off energy’, but what does that even mean? That’s some anime shit. And even if that isn’t a giant smokescreen, then when will he have enough? How powerful will that thing be when it gets more? And what will it be able to do then? That’s what really matters, not some Internet asshole.”
Knight gathered the jacket around himself when the biting November cold finally got to him. “Yeah, you’re right. I know this. I will step up.”
Beast patted Knight on the back. “Thanks. And next time this clown intrudes on our territory, you will deal with him, right?”
“It’s a promise,” Knight said, squeezing his hand on The Count’s wig.
Chapter 4
Elliot could hear the loud music and drunken screaming from a mile away. Literally, because that was how far away he’d parked his car to keep a low profile. Just last month he’d been running away from the abandoned asylum. He’d been offended and shot at, yet here he was again, unable to resist the pull of William Fane’s home. Though he had to admit to himself that it was also his curiosity about Tr_Knight
that brought him here.
Sure, they’d fought, things had gotten out of hand, but there had also been intellectual passion—something Elliot lacked in most of his interactions with people. Wouldn’t it be worth taking a closer look at the differences in opinion?
During many of his lonely, cold nights at home, Elliot had imagined Tr_Knight hunting him down, breaking into his home, and taking revenge all night long. He’d even imagined that maybe Tr_Knight was so ferociously opposed to William Fane to hide his own homicidal tendencies. After all, that kind of attitude should wipe any suspicion off Tr_Knight himself, let him lay low about his killer instincts. Then again, if he truly wished to be invisible to the police, he shouldn’t have become a biker.
Elliot had never been a big fan of pain itself but whenever he came across a man as tall and handsome, oozing masculinity and power, he craved his attention so much he’d paint a target on his chest without a second thought.
And so, Elliot was here despite the threats.
Most biker parties were strictly for club members, their friends, families, hangarounds, but tonight, the asylum would be the venue of a concert, and was open to anyone who paid for a ticket.
Elliot made sure that his makeup was impeccable, took special care to iron his suit consisting of the stylized jacket, a silver waistcoat, and a white shirt with lace at the sleeve. He could only afford to own a single costume, so he made sure it looked its best.
The booming music thumped under his feet and inside his chest as he approached the building with the most expensive ticket he’d ever bought. He’d have to survive on the cheapest toast and coffee for the next two weeks, but desperate not to be outright banned from the premises, he decided to put his money where his heart was.
By the time he reached the improvised guest parking packed with all sorts of cars, he realized that the party was taking place far away from the oldest part of the structure, in a huge auditorium on the other end of the building owned by the motorcycle club. But he would not let that discourage him. The entire building was humongous, too vast for its security to be foolproof, and once he was inside, he would use the crowds and chaos to his advantage.
With the music booming so loudly the ground was shaking under Elliot’s feet, many guests were gathered outside, chatting or smoking, and out to be entertained. Gazes slid over Elliot like fat snails, becoming more intrusive by the second. He stood taller, ignoring the laughter that seemed universally at his expense. He had the right to be here just like anyone else. He’d paid for a ticket.
He’d considered coming over without his Count getup, but that idea terrified him even more than facing a crowd of menacing strangers in an outfit that provoked attention. As The Count, Elliot had confidence. He could ignore mocking stares and hold his head high. He could even ignore the November chill seeping through his thin clothes right into his bones.
The building was an imposing presence as he approached—grim and vast on the background of the sky dotted by stars. Elliot couldn’t wait to get in and explore its innards. Researchers and historians had penetrated the house for clues in the past, but none of them shared the kind of connection with William that Elliot had. They resented him for things they couldn’t understand, but Elliot didn’t, and he was positive that given the chance he would discover something everyone else missed, too focused on hard evidence to see the truth behind the legend.
On a more down-to-earth note, Elliot couldn’t wait to escape what seemed to be like the beginning of a drizzle. He’d applied a thick layer of his white foundation and set it with powder, but in his experience cheap cosmetics didn’t last long where moisture was involved, and so he sped up, practically jogging up the steps to the entrance where a pretty young woman stood with a stamp in hand. Her clothes—practically a bikini—were so revealing he couldn’t believe it was he who all those dumbasses targeted with their silly laughter and mockery.
One day, he would get himself a gun. And from then on, he would use it whenever people denied him the respect he deserved. He imagined all those faces, now red from drinking and laughter, getting pale with fear as they understood their flesh was about to be torn by bullets. He swallowed, sensing the phantom smell of blood and revenge.
“Wow, look at you, handsome!” the woman said, grinning widely. The bared flesh of her neckline was adorned with one of those name necklaces made of thin gold. Hers read ‘Nao’.
Elliot smiled and presented his ticket. “One should always make an effort.” He clenched his hand on his cane when a group passed behind him, one of the men carelessly pushing Elliot with his elbow as if the asshole somehow had more right to space.
Nao didn’t seem to notice and grabbed his hand to stamp it with green ink. “What’s with that costume? Are you wearing it on a dare?” she asked without a trace of malice.
The stamp on his hand felt like a seal of approval. He was in. “It’s an homage to the original owner of this grand house.” He smiled at the thought of the impression he’d surely have made on William Fane if only he could go back in time. If William met him, he wouldn’t have had to kill anymore. He’d have been understood, cherished, and appreciated for everything he was. And Elliot would have given himself to William completely.
Nao smiled. Elliot smiled back, and then she asked, “Who’s that?”
Elliot got caught off guard, staring at her for a moment. He could scold Nao for her ignorance, but he needed to finally walk through the door, without the risk of being denied entry for being rude. “William Fane. A true gentleman.”
“Oh, that guy,” Nao said with a grimace on her pretty face. “But didn’t he inherit the house? Knight always said he built nothing himself.”
Elliot fought the twitch in his eye. Knight. How could one man be a source of so much frustration and temptation all at once? “William Fane was far too busy with his other projects.” He smiled and nodded at her before the conversation could continue.
He exhaled in relief once he got through the door and into a large corridor where the music blasted much louder, and the air was thick with smoke and sweat. A few shaky yellow lightbulbs dotted the long corridor that undoubtedly led to the concert hall, and he hoped to hide in the vast number of people inside, but dressed as he was, Elliot still kept garnering attention.
Maybe he should have come incognito after all?
But then how would Knight know it’s you? His mind screamed, and he dismissed the comment with shame cramping up his stomach. So he’d noticed his nemesis was an attractive man. No big deal. It didn’t mean he wished for anything to actually happen.
The closer he was to the wide-open doors at the end of the corridor the thicker was the scent of a party: beer, liquor, the salty tang of sweat. Elliot breathed it in, walking toward the orange lights and the stage at the end of the long room that was as large as a school gymnasium and filled with so many people he couldn’t outright say how many were attending. The loud, aggressive music coming from the stage wasn’t helping Elliot focus, and neither did all the inquisitive stares from strangers. God, he needed a drink.
He didn’t have money to buy a drink from the bar at the side of the room, but when he noticed one unattended, he snuck closer and downed the bitter-tasting shot that was so strong it made his eyes go wider. He turned around quickly to flee the scene of his crime only to bump into a short young guy with long locks that made him look as if he’d stepped out of an episode of Versailles.
“Sorry,” Elliot mumbled when he looked down into the shocked face
“Was that my drink?” The man’s French accent made Elliot do a double take, but he quickly hid in the crowd and fled, set on making his way to the wide doors at the end of the room, on the left side of the stage. A lot of people went back and forth through those, which had to mean restrooms or other facilities were there, but what Elliot was interested in was more corridors, more rooms, passages that could lead him to the walls of William’s mansion.
With his breath becoming shallow from the sense of being w
atched, he leaned against the wall right next to a graffiti of a penis spurting cum toward an equally roughly drawn naked woman. He swallowed, leaning his head down when he spotted the towering presence that he’d seen several times around Brecon.
Beast, the new president of the Kings of Hell MC was a man to be reckoned with, and one some parents in the area scared their children with. With a chest wide as a wardrobe, burn scars and infernal tattoos covering all of his body, in the reddish lights above the stage he looked like a demon come from hell to ravage maidens.
The large speakers strategically attached to the walls blew heavy metal so loudly it felt as if the walls shook with each low sound. Elliot was hardly used to this kind of racket, but he withstood the desire to cover his ears and watched the huge crowd of people move in one rhythm, like a colony of wasps buzzing away their life in a drug-induced trance. Standing on a floor that was heavily littered with cigarette butts and bottles he feared for his historical replica shoes.
The air was so thick with smoke and the smell of all kinds of perfume mixing into a sweet odor he felt like it choked him, and inevitably Elliot loosened his neckcloth to breathe more freely. Leaning against the trembling wall, in the ever-changing lights he watched two women who wore barely anything twist around poles on either side of the stage. The scene was unreal, hypnotizing in its exorbitance, and so he watched in fascination as the leader of the band put a champagne bottle between his legs, only to uncork it and spray the alcoholic foam all over the front of the audience in a parody of ejaculation.
Elliot buckled his knees a bit to hide his tall form in the crowd. He stood out in his historical outfit, but with the lights above the stage changing feverishly, even he was able to melt into the masses. His heart beat to the rhythm of the melodic noise when the double doors became his sole focus. Step by step, he neared the gateway that could lead him to his goal, but out of fear that the exit was under some kind of surveillance, he simply hung out close to it and joined a large group of people as they poured out of the main room.
My Dark Knight (gay biker romance) (Kings of Hell MC Book 2) Page 3
