I shook my head, kicked him away, and got off. “We're in this together now, Phoenix. I go where you go.” Phoenix looked a little shocked. Like he didn't know I had that much strength in me. There was a lot he didn't know about me.
Byron and Phoenix shook his hands and Byron completely ignored me. Byron got the first word out. “The same thing that happened to you, Phoenix...happened to us. Mexicans hit us hard but we were able to take out a few. We had a fucking deal with those motherfuckers.”
“Fuck,” Phoenix whispered. “How many you got left?”
“More than enough,” Byron replied, scratching his leather cut. His knuckles were bloody and ripped apart. I was glad I wasn't on the receiving ends of those fists. “I know your MC took a heavy hit but we need to band together.”
Phoenix nodded. “The Mexicans will try again to finish us both off. We need to strike them now.”
Byron's mouth stretched into an evil grin. “I got some intel from a cop that owed us one. Mexicans are holed up in a wetback restaurant, celebrating today's accomplishments.”
Phoenix slammed his fist into his open palm. “Thats it! We hit them while they're taking a breath. The streets will be flooded with Mexican blood.”
Byron still paid no attention to me. I kind of liked the feel of being a ghost. Byron was finally done with me. I was out of his grasp and didn't have to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, wondering when he was going to come and take me back.
“That won't be easy.” Byron sighed. “The entire Death Merchants MC will be there and it's going to be hard to surprise them.”
Phoenix paced back and forth, his boots kicking up dust. “We're going to need men.”
“And guns,” Byron added.
“I can supply the guns. We have warehouses full.”
“The Fires of Hell took a big hit but we still have enough men to take on The Death Merchants.”
Watching these two, you wouldn't know that they were hated enemies just a day ago. Byron used to speak about the day when Sacks County would finally be Fires of Hell owned.
The Mexicans were a non-factor and the Devil's Hellions were all that mattered. Cutting them to pieces is what Byron lived for.
Now there was a new enemy.
“Are we forming a truce?” Phoenix asked.
Byron's mouth twitched. He hated the idea of working with the Devil's Hellions. But there was no other way. “Black or White blood will no longer be spilled until the Mexicans are eradicated.”
Phoenix produced his giant knife from his back pocket. He placed the sharp blade in his palm and sliced. I winced as I watched blood trickle from his hand. Byron produced an even bigger knife—almost a machete—and cut his own hand.
The two men slapped their red-stained hands together, the blood dripping onto the ground between them. They grit their teeth, squeezing each other's hand as hard as they could. Even as allies, they were still hated enemies.
Byron walked back towards his bike and snapped his helmet on. “Meet back here at eight. Bring all the guns you can muster. We'll ride out to the restaurant and hit em' when they're neck deep in alcohol.”
Phoenix nodded and Byron rode off, leaving a cloud of dirt behind him. I was dead to my brother and it felt freeing. I could finally be my own person.
Phoenix took my hand and led me back to his motorcycle. The red on the bike shined in the sunlight. I stopped in my tracks and dropped his hand. “Don't you think this attack might be too dangerous, Phoenix? Can you even trust, Byron?” I asked. “There's barely anyone left of the Devil's Hellions MC and you're going to throw them in front of a Mexican firing squad.”
Phoenix turned away from me and faced the overpass. “The Death Merchants need to pay for what they did. They need to pay for Blaze, Cash, E-Z, and all the others they slaughtered. Even if I was the only one left, I'd still go after them until every single one of them was dead. Tank and Tater would say the exact same thing. I don't want to trust Byron but I have no other choice.”
Phoenix turned around with tears in his eyes. This tough biker of mine was full of heart. How could I not fall for a man that would go to the ends of the earth to avenge the ones he loved?
Chapter Eighteen
Phoenix
Tater and I rode next to each other on our bikes while Tank drove the black truck behind us filled to the brim with every gun that Devil's Hellions MC owned. I forced Patrick to stay back at the clubhouse until I got back.
He pounded my chest with both fists, screaming at me about why he deserved to go.
All it took was for me to say, “I wouldn't be able to focus one-hundred percent if I knew you were in danger. I could get us all killed.” Patrick stepped down and let me go. I hated to leave him behind but it was the only way to know that he was safe.
This raid on the Mexican restaurant was our last ditch effort. If we couldn't take out a substantial portion of The Death Merchants, there wouldn't be enough of us left to defend against a counterattack.
The thought of betrayal by the Fires of Hell lingered in the back of my mind. Byron would barely have to lift a finger to destroy what's left of the Devil's Hellions MC. We'd finally be out of his way and he'd have our entire gun supply. The only thing I could count on was our blood pact. Hopefully Byron felt the same way as I did about honor.
We came to the overpass to discover a decimated army of Blacks on bikes. There had to be only ten of them. I hated to think of how many members they lost when the Mexicans hit them. The Devil's Hellions MC knew their Phoenix.
Tank opened the back of the truck to reveal piles of assault rifles, handguns, and machine guns. Byron laughed hard, his white teeth glaring at me. “Who would have thought the Devil's Hellions MC had this much firepower. You could take on a small country with all this.” Byron took out a M4A-1 rifle and cocked it. “Let's get to work.”
Tater and I helped pass out guns to all the Blacks. There were still a ton left after each Fires of Hell member took as much as they wanted. I knew the Devil's Hellions MC would never see those guns again. We were giving the Blacks everything they needed to rule Sacks County. Once the Mexicans were finally gone, we'd have an even bigger war with the Fires of Hell.
Tank rode with me and Tater's fat ass was right next to us as we followed behind the large sea of Black. All I could think about was not getting in one last fuck with Patrick before marching off to my death. I should have been focusing on surviving but the thought of my hard cock piercing Patrick's eager ass was distracting. If only I could have made him moan my name one last time while coming inside him.
Tank put a fist into my side and I snapped back to reality. We were entering the far east of Sacks County. The Blacks owned this side but in recent years a big Mexican population had moved in. Little shops and restaurants lined the streets and not one Black was to be found. If we weren't careful, this virus could infect the entire county.
The Fires of Hell turned down a dark alleyway with old beat-up cars parked on both sides. We followed and parked when we were out of sight of the main street. Tank pulled his shotgun from a holster on my bike. Tater was busy cleaning his pistol. The night air was cool but adrenaline and my leather cut kept me warm.
Byron signaled me over and hunched down. “Okay Phoenix, the restaurant is a block from here. We hit it from the front, spraying the windows, and then get the hell out of there.”
Byron's plan was a classic Fires of Hell move—hit it hard and run away. In the past few years, we had fallen to their guerrilla-style tactics. Byron's MC didn't care about finishing jobs, just creating as much chaos as possible. His plan with the Mexicans wouldn't guarantee us success.
“Why don't you guys hit the front and my guys hit the back?”
Byron shook his head. “Behind the Mexican restaurant in the alley is a bank. They have cameras covering the entire thing. You might as well deliver yourself to the cops with a bow taped to your chest.”
“We won't be able to kill them all. They'll escape into the alley t
o fight another day. What if we guard both exits of the alley. Fire on them as they try to get out.”
Byron sighed. “We don't have enough to cover all the exits. Besides, the Mexicans own that bank and could hold up in there if they wanted. I want minimal casualties. I know you'll agree that we both can't afford to lose anymore men.”
Byron was completely right. If Tater or Tank died, the Devil's Hellions MC would be done for. There's no way we could rebuild with only two members. It was essential that we all survived.
The group of us drove our motorcycles down the street in a line. We stopped in front of a little restaurant called Los Hermanos. Two large windows looked into the restaurant from the street. The entire Death Merchant MC was in there celebrating with beers and women. They had no idea what was about to hit them.
The line of Blacks and Whites drew their guns and pointed at the restaurant. The first shot went off, hitting the big pane of glass and shattering it. The rest of us opened fire, bullets raining down on the Mexicans. A few of them were quick enough to return fire. Blood sprayed the walls of the restaurant. Tank's shotgun burned in my ear with every shot.
One of Byron's men got hit in the head and fell off his bike, his gun clattering on the pavement.
I looked back at the restaurant and aimed carefully, hitting one of the Mexicans in the head—brain matter exploded behind him, covering one of the cheap whores. Her screams of horror brought a smile to my face.
Another Fires of Hell member got hit in the shoulder and sped away. Byron yelled and we stopped firing. The restaurant was completely annihilated but there were still Mexicans alive to fire back at us.
I wanted them dead. No, worse then dead, I wanted them to be tortured slowly for a thousand years. But if we stayed there any longer, more men would die.
Our bike engines thundered as we escaped into the night. The Devil's Hellions MC came out of the battle unscathed. The Fires of Hell lost one guy and another injured. The Death Merchants lost the most. We must have killed at least twenty of them.
I'd find out later that we got their President and Vice-President. A complete success. The Death Merchants would have a hard time coordinating revenge. And even if they did attack, they'd have to take out all the Fires of Hell first.
Chapter Nineteen
Patrick
Sitting in the empty clubhouse, waiting for Phoenix to come back was eating away at my nerves. I paced around the bar and pool tables, my fingers locked together.
What if Phoenix was killed? Or seriously injured?
I imagined him being brought in, his arms around the shoulders of Tank and Tater. They fling his bullet-ridden body onto one of the pool tables, blood pooling into puddles and pouring into the pockets of the table.
I shook the nightmare away and went to the bar for a drink. I picked up a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and poured a glass. I noticed something funny on the glass and looked closer to find a smudge of blood.
Phoenix tried to shield me from seeing the massacre that happened here but I had seen enough. The corpses littered the floor, their dead eyes staring up at me. Just like Cash back in the basement. Was he still down there? Dead and lifeless. I didn't dare go down there to check. I couldn't face that monster again.
I left the blood-smudged glass on the counter and took the bottle of Jack instead. I sat down on one of the bar stools and spun around. The first few tastes scorched the insides of my throat on the way down. As the alcohol warmed me up, the burning sensation subsided.
I wondered how why I was still here. I could leave at any point. Phoenix nor Byron owned me. I could go back to school. Have friends again. Become normal.
I thought about calling Heather to tell her that I was all right. But I had no idea what to even tell her. My story sounded ludicrous. I wasn't even sure I believed it.
What I did believe was that my heart was connected to Phoenix's. I barely knew the man but he had a power about him. It wasn't just all physical attraction either. I would have left the first chance I got if it was only about the sex.
Phoenix was the first real man I'd ever met. Someone that I could spend the rest of my life with.
But did I really want to live the outlaw life? This nerve-wracking feeling I was experiencing right now would only be just a taste. I could be living every day in fear that we would be killed by any one of the Devil's Hellions' enemies.
The bar rumbled as I heard motorcycles parking outside. Please be okay, Phoenix. Please be okay. I closed my eyes and chanted over and over again. I couldn't get the image of a almost-dead Phoenix laying on the pool table.
The door opened and in came Phoenix, Tater, and Tank. All alive with not even a scratch. I bounded off the bar stool and jumped into Phoenix's arms, smacking my lips against his. Phoenix was exhausted. I could see it in his eyes.
“How did it go?” I asked, sitting back down at the bar. Tater and Tank came around and poured themselves drinks.
Phoenix took a sip from my whiskey bottle. “We hit them hard. Byron lost a man but we took out the majority of The Death Merchants MC.”
Tank lifted his glass. “To our fallen brothers. May you rest easy now that you're avenged.”
Phoenix almost broke down in tears. He'd been through so much lately. Lost so many friends. Phoenix lifted the bottle and clinked it against Tank's glass. Tater silently drank in the corner. Even with the success they just had, the men knew that their MC would never be the same. Sacks County would never be the same.
“What now?” I asked Phoenix.
“We rebuild the Devil's Hellions MC.”
Chapter Twenty
Phoenix
The clubhouse was returned to it's former glory. Patrick did his part in cleaning the entire place until it was spotless. The dead were buried and remembered. Cash was a casualty of the Mexicans and Tank and Tater could never know what really happened to him.
The three of us sat around the meeting table that Tater had finally finished carving. A large devil was cut into the wood. The words Devil's Hellions MC were burned into the table. I looked up at the freshly framed photos of the recently deceased. Blaze's eyes stared back at me.
The first time I met him, I was a freshman in high school. He was so big and confident. I thought he had to be a senior because he looked so mature but he was the same age as me.
When I found out he was into motorcycles, I tried to learn as much about them as possible just so we would have something in common. I wanted to be just like him. He was our leader and the founder of the Devil's Hellions MC.
The seat at the head of the table was empty. We didn't dare go near it. “First thing we need to do is elect a new president,” I choked out.
Tater spoke up, “There's only one man that can lead us now.” Tank nodded in agreement, grinning at me like a son of a bitch.
I sighed and buried my head in my hands. I never wanted to be president. Blaze was always our leader. How could I ever fill his shoes? I stood up from my seat and was almost tempted to run for the door. I took the chair at the head of the table and sat down.
The view looked spectacular. I grabbed the wooden gavel that Blaze had held so many times before. The end was nicked and raw from being hammered down so much. Blaze made a lot of important decisions in this room. Not all of them I agreed with. But the MC wouldn't have gotten this far without him.
I slammed down the gavel. “I bring this meeting to order. All those in favor of Phoenix as the new President of the Devil's Hellions MC say aye.”
Tank and Tater began slowly pounding the table and then picking up speed until the booming was deafening. The Devil's Hellions MC had a new Prez.
I couldn't fully commit to President until I had taken care of one more thing.
Patrick sat at the bar, nursing an entire whiskey bottle. He had been through so much since the kidnapping. And he had stood by me. He was still here after everything I did to him.
But I couldn't let my heart govern this club. I needed to be focused one-hundred perc
ent. I couldn't let a guy cloud my mind. Everything was on the line and I wouldn't sacrifice my club for a tight ass.
I admired him as he fiddled around on the bar stool. I could take him for a spin one last time—come inside him until my balls were bone dry. I'd love to feel those lips around my throbbing cock, sucking on me so hard. My jeans tightened at just the thought of having Patrick. But I couldn't anymore.
I had to be mature and responsible now. It was funny because I never would have considered Blaze “mature” or “responsible.” But he must have been to take the club this far.
I sat down at the bar next to Patrick and took a long drag on the bottle of Jack Daniels. I was going to need a lot of liquid courage. The alcohol warmed me on the way down, my head already feeling the buzz. Another couple swigs and I was looking as red as Patrick.
Royal Blood Complete Series Box Set Page 60
