Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2)

by Nikki Pink

  I took a deep breath and let it go. I shouldn’t get worked up like that. It was just a song.

  Our song.

  I shook my head and took another deep breath. The room now seemed eerily silent.

  Whoosh-thunk. I was startled as two perfectly browned pieces of bread skipped up into the air with early morning joy before dropping back down into the toaster. I grinned again, feeling better.

  Breakfast was ready. I took another deep breath and set to work buttering. It was all going to be okay. It was just a stupid song.

  The house I was renting wasn’t much to look at, but it was mine. Mine alone. I wasn’t forced to share with a stranger; the small inheritance that would allow me to pay the rent for a year, maybe two, meant I wouldn’t have to get a roommate. At least not yet.

  The place was sorely lacking in internal furnishings; I had only arrived in town a couple of weeks previously and had not yet gotten around to hitting up Walmart for all of the essentials. Still, I had a bed, a fishing chair for my living room (the cheapest chair I could find), an elderly laptop computer, a fry pan, a toaster, a pack of disposable plastic plates and cutlery, and a real glass to drink beer from. It was enough for now.

  Anyway, who the hell knew how long I would be staying? Maybe Farmington wouldn’t work out for me and I’d have to leave. That’s why I had negotiated to pay month to month, and only needed to give a couple of weeks notice to leave.

  A few minutes later I walked down my driveway to the mailbox. The morning air was refreshing, and made my pounding head feel somewhat better. I popped the last corner of toast into my mouth, and wiped blackcurrant jam from my lips and sucked it off the end of my forefinger.

  Huh, that’s odd. His motorcycle was still in my driveway. Maybe Red hadn’t left after all, maybe he’d just wandered off looking to buy us some coffee or breakfast or something.

  A smile crept across my lips as I entertained thoughts of him coming back and us losing the rest of the morning in bed. Maybe I’d jump him when he returned. A happy shiver ran down my spine. I hadn’t been planning on spending any more time with him, but another few hours wouldn’t hurt. What do you call a one-night-stand when it turns into one-night-and-another-day? Maybe a fling? A fling seemed a bit longer than just a day though, I mused.

  There was something in the mailbox. Being new to the area, I wasn’t expecting much more than junk mail, but instead there was a small package. Uhoh.

  I pulled it out and held it in my hand, my head beginning to swim. It was a brown manila padded envelope, and on the front a name was scrawled in black marker that had begun to run out of ink. Karen Levinson. Me.

  I swallowed the last of my toast and it scratched as it went down. My throat had gone bone dry. My head shot around, up and down the street, but no one was there. A bird tweeted, its friendly chirp incongruous as the morning air turned menacing.

  Holding the package tightly against my chest I hurried back inside, slamming the door hard and making sure it was locked behind me. I was shaking as I leaned against the door, afraid to open the package, but knowing that I must. I knew exactly who it was from, and what it meant.

  It didn’t matter that I had run all the way across the country after being released from prison before setting up a new home in this small, distant, shithole of a town.

  He had found me.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bottle

  How do you work this thing?

  Hello?

  Is this thing on?

  Shit.

  It’s on.

  Here we go.

  Today is April something, and this is the audio journal of me, Jamie “Bottle” Smith.

  I always wanted a journal, but could never be bothered with all that writing shit. But an audio journal, like this? Too easy.

  I had a journal as a kid once, used to write it in Spanish so my folks couldn’t understand it, but could never keep it up. Who’s got time to write shit with a pen every day? Not me, apparently. It feels like I must have kept that one for a couple of months, but I bet it was only a couple of weeks. If that. Maybe I’ll try and dig it out some day.

  Anyway, I found this recorder when we were clearing up after all the bullshit the other month. I’m going to give keeping an audio journal a go, for a while anyway. We’ll see how long I can keep going. Maybe it’ll get passed on to my kids one day or something. Fuck, if that’s the case, I better stop swearing. Shit.

  So today’s going to be a big day. Jase and Lonnie are going off with a whole big crew to do security with that rock band, and I’ll be in charge while they’re gone. Going to be running a couple of the prospects ragged, see how they do.

  Speaking of which, what’s the time?

  Oh shit, I gotta get going, must’ve spent longer fucking around with this machine than I thought. I need to be there to give the prospects shit when they arrive.

  How do I stop this thing? Is it thi—

  CHAPTER SIX

  Karen

  I pulled the USB memory stick out of the envelope and held it up to the light squinting inside to see if there was a note or anything else inside. Nothing. I frowned at the tiny electronic device as it moved in my hand. I blinked, but it wasn’t my eyes. It was my hands. They were shaking. So of course the tiny electronic device was too. I swallowed nervously before heading to the tiny living room and my computer.

  I sat down in the cheap blue fishing chair that was the only piece of furniture in this otherwise bare room. The bright sunlight pouring in served only to highlight how dilapidated and un-lived-in it looked.

  The computer groaned as it spun to life, agonizingly slow. My mind bounced back and forth as I waited, thinking of him, and what he did before, then back to now, the menacing present. My eyes kept flitting around the room, checking the corners and the doorway and I was grateful I had no couch or curtains for someone to hide behind.

  When the desktop was finally visible and the hourglass had disappeared I plugged in the memory stick, dreading what I would find. Why hadn’t he just come here and kidnapped me instead, I wondered.

  Maybe he wanted to toy with me first.

  There was a single file on the drive, a video. I felt cold sweat trickle slowly down my back as I double clicked it. The computer whirred and churned, stuttering before the video finally appeared filling the screen.

  Oh shit.

  It was a silent video of me, in my room. There I was, oblivious, climbing into bed in the extra-large t-shirt I’d been using as pajamas.

  The screen went black and then the video cut to another scene, and then there I was again, the following day. And then again. And again - this time I recognized it as having being filmed two days ago because I had still been wearing jeans when I’d clambered on top of the bed; I’d only meant to take a rest for a minute, but the two beers I had drunk led to me passing out for the night fully clothed.

  The video flickered again... oh shit.

  It was last night.

  It was me and Red, and this time I was not climbing into bed to sleep. This was longer, a short series of clips of us in all our passionate glory, and it seemed to have been filmed from just feet away.

  There we were, Red and me, fucking in black and white. It was a short montage. Me stripping. Him biting my neck. Me licking his chest. Him behind me as I drove myself backward into him. Me riding him with the fingers of both our hands interlocked, the whole bed shaking as beads of sweat dropped from hard nipples onto the harder chest below me.

  Then the film cut, and it was no longer Red and me, now it was just Red. He was dressed again, in his denim and leather, and he was sitting in a chair with tape over his mouth. His eyes were open wide and he was just shaking his head.

  Then Red was gone and words flashed across the screen.

  HOW

  COULD

  YOU?

  You Were Everything to Me.

  The video ended and the screen turned black. I blew out a long stream of breath from between pursed lips. Stay calm Ka
ren, stay calm.

  If there was one thing I knew for certain, it’s that I definitely wouldn’t want to be in Red’s shoes right now. My ex was nasty when he was mad. Very nasty.

  Shit. I dropped the computer down on the floor next to me and sprung to my feet. I had to get out of there, I had to get away. He’d been in my house, he’d been right here.

  A terrifying thought crossed my mind. What if he was in here now? I had to get out of there and get some help. I couldn’t deal with this situation on my own. No way.

  Grabbing my keys from the kitchen counter, my eyes flew around the room, watching every way at once to make sure I wasn’t being sneaked up on, to make sure he wasn’t about to get me.

  I flew out the front door slamming it shut behind me, spinning around to make sure no one was there. To my car, fast, next to the Harley Davidson motorcycle that was still parked waiting for its owner to return. If he ever would.

  I yanked the door shut behind me as I dove in, locking it quickly. I breathed hard and fast. Shit. Another panicked thought crossed my mind and I span my head around to check the back seats.

  Nothing. He wasn’t there, thank God. I took a deep breath and scanned the doors, making sure they were all locked. They were.

  I took another deep breath and gripped the steering wheel tightly, safe for the moment. I let my head rest against the wheel as I breathed in and out, calming myself. I felt sweat trickling down my body and realized I was roasting in there. The sun was well up now and the inside of the car was rapidly becoming an oven.

  I cracked the window, but not enough to let a hand through, not today. I started the complaining vehicle with a twist of the key and then I made a stupid decision.

  I drove to the cops.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Bottle

  Jamie “Bottle” Smith parked his motorcycle outside the clubhouse and headed inside with a large brown paper bag under his arm.

  “Morning,” said a man with shoulder length blond hair, standing at the counter with his right arm wrapped around the waist of a young lady sitting on the counter. It was Jase, the new President of the Sons of Mayhem. He had been unanimously elected after the previous president, Bigfella, had been locked up for a bullshit crime. Unfortunately he wouldn’t be getting out any time soon.

  The corners of Jase’s mouth creased upward and there was a twinkle in his eye as he spied what was under Bottle’s arm. “Got something for us?”

  “Sure do.” Bottle gave them a friendly grin as he walked over to the couple.

  “Nice!” said Nicole, Jase’s ole lady, as she hopped down and gave Bottle a peck on the cheek. “Let me see.”

  “Have at it, guys.” Bottle handed the bag over to Nicole, who took it with a smile and opened it with Jase.

  “Aren’t you going to have any?” Jase asked.

  “Nah, I had a couple before. I knew they would get snatched up as soon as I came inside.”

  Bottle gave a tight-lipped grin as Jase smacked him on the shoulder. “Cheers, brother.”

  Nicole’s voice came out muffled. “Thanks.” Her mouth was already half full of a sugared jelly from Jester’s Donuts, Farmington’s newest unhealthy breakfast outlet.

  “What time you leaving?” Bottle asked, raising his eyebrows at Jase.

  “Just as soon as Lonnie gets here. Should be any minute now.” He paused, as if reconsidering. “Well, and as soon as we’ve done some real damage to these donuts, anyway.”

  Bottle laughed, and smacked his president on the shoulder.

  Jase’s face turned serious for a moment. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay? I could let Lonnie go it alone, and stay behind, if you want.”

  A faint surge of resentment ran through Bottle as he wondered whether Jase really trusted him to keep the club going while he was away. It was only going to be for a couple of weeks, what hell could go wrong?

  And anyway, it was thanks to Bottle’s plan, which put most of the local drug trade under their control, that the club was now not only out of financial straits, but actually cash flow positive and with a growing stash in their safe.

  “No problem. We’ll be fine. You guys have fun.”

  Jase nodded. “I know you’ll be fine, I just don’t want you to think that we’re leaving you in the lurch, while we go off and have fun with the rock stars.”

  Bottle shook his head and grinned. “You know I don’t like Limeys anyway. You have fun with the British guitar monkeys, Prez.”

  Jase let out another laugh. Bottle was going to be left in charge of the club, as acting vice president, while Jase and Lonnie coordinated security for a series of shows a British rock band was doing across the Southwest.

  While the club and its associated security company didn’t have enough regular guys to run security for the tour, they had spent the previous couple of weeks recruiting a ragtag group of bouncers, security guards, former football players and a few bikers from the Ragers, a club in nearby Armingdale they were becoming increasingly friendly with.

  Jase and Lonnie had had a falling out over Lonnie’s rough treatment of Nicole a couple of months earlier with the whole traitorous debacle which had unfolded almost destroying the club, but now, thank God, they were back on speaking terms, and would be working closely together as Lonnie was the connection to the rock band, having grown up with the lead singer in England.

  Since Jase’s promotion to president the club had not yet selected a new vice president. It was likely they would choose one soon though, and it would almost certainly be Bottle. That is, of course, unless he fucked everything up while Jase was away.

  “While we’re gone, I want you to take a real good look at those two prospects.”

  Bottle nodded. “Twist and Red, right?”

  “You know it, brother. Our numbers are way down, and we’re going to need to bring a few up soon. They’ve both been prospects over a year. Test them a bit, will you? Make sure they’re the good kind of fuck-up. I’ve got half a dozen with me, but they need a few more months of prospect hell before we can bring ‘em up. Your two are up next, so give ‘em a final once over.”

  Bottle laughed. “Sure thing. I told ‘em to be here early today.”

  Nicole pulled a face. “Red is an asshole.”

  Jase and Bottle laughed. “Yep,” they both said.

  Jase turned to Nicole. “He may be an asshole, but he’s done his time as a hang about and as a prospect, and even you have to admit, he is a bit less of an asshole than he was before.”

  Nicole just raised her eyebrows and shoved the rest of the donut she was holding into her mouth.

  Outside the sound of an engine signaled the arrival of Lonnie.

  “It sounds like her Royal Highness’s finest is here. We better get going.”

  “Safe travels, Boss, Sweetness.”

  The president and his ole lady laughed. They exchanged hugs with Bottle, and Nicole gave him a warm kiss on the cheek before they headed out.

  Bottle watched them go and reached for the bag of donuts. He’d changed his mind and decided to have one more before the prospects arrived.

  “Jesters? Sweet!” From out back another girl had rapidly appeared, half skipping and half running across the room. Bottle paused to admire her a moment. She was wearing skin tight jeans that had been slashed in a dozen places giving peeks of tanned calves and thighs and somehow seeming more revealing than if she’d just been wearing a miniskirt. Above the waist a tight, midriff bearing t-shirt revealed a flat stomach and breasts that strained to break free.

  Before he knew it, Lucy was reaching into the paper bag, and a moment later her slender fingers flew back out clutching a chocolate ring donut. “Thanks, Bottle! Gotta run.”

  Bottle turned to watch her leave, her tight jean-clad ass seeming to taunt him as it waggled away toward the door. Did she know she did that? Of course she did. “Later, Juicy!”

  She waved a hand in the air without turning around as she disappeared out the door to join Nicole and Jase.
>
  Bottle picked up the paper bag. “Dammit!” Bottle screwed up the empty paper bag and tossed it back onto the counter. He couldn’t believe they’d just finished off eight donuts.

  The roar of motorcycle engines outside was briefly drowned out by the sound of an air horn. Bottle shook his head to himself. The air horn was going overboard, wasn’t it? Jase had attached it to his motorcycle after a run-in with a pickup truck driver who had claimed not to hear or see his motorcycle before almost running him off the road. No one would ever claim they didn’t hear him coming again.

  Bottle glared at Twist, the young prospect wilting under his gaze. “Where the fuck is Red?”

  “I told you, I don’t know. He disappeared with some girl last night. I dropped by his place on the way here, but his bike wasn’t even in the driveway. I thought he would be here already.”

  “Well, until he shows up you’re going to be doing his share as well.”

  Twist gave a nod of acceptance. Until he made full member he was a grunt.

  “And you can start with the bathrooms.”

  The greasy haired twenty-year-old blew air out of his lips in a silent sigh.

  “Problem?” Bottle asked, raising his eyebrows at the younger man.

  Twist stood up. “No problem, boss.”

  Bottle watched as the young man clad in a Metallica T-shirt walked away, his posture slightly slumped.

  It was uncharacteristically quiet in the clubhouse. Jase and Lonnie had taken a lot of the hangabouts and prospects with them, leaving the place feeling almost deserted. It was still early of course, but still. A few months earlier Bigfella would have been there, as he always was, and no doubt there would have been one or two party girls around from the night before hanging on his every word.

  It was just too damn quiet. Bottle shook his head softly and checked the time on his cell phone. Where the fuck was Red?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Karen

  I sat across from the Sheriff regretting ever having come here. Not just here, the Sheriff’s office, but here the whole town of Farmington. My plan to head out here, so far away from the corn-belt where I was from, seemed increasingly like a mistake. This was one fucked up place. And who the hell put this idiot in charge of local policing?