Fabio's Remorse (Hell Raiders MC Book 5)

by Aden Lowe

  I struggled to pull free, but only managed to tighten the plastic things more around my wrists, until they cut into my skin and drew blood. My hands had long since gone numb, and I figured that was a good thing. My legs were useless, taped together and then to the footboard of the bed, so I couldn't even find a way to kick loose the headboard and get my hands free. All in all, I figured I was lucky. Bruises and scrapes healed. He would leave as soon as he found what he wanted, and I would be okay.

  By the time the sky outside my window started growing light, exhaustion pulled at me, and I must have fallen asleep. I woke to my pants being jerked off me. My legs were free, at least, but things had gone from bad to worse. I drew a breath to scream, but a fist slammed against the side of my head. There were two of them.

  What they did to me was nothing like what Caleb and I did together. They left me broken, bleeding, like a wounded animal. And they came back. Again and again. I had no idea how much time passed before they finally left for good. I cried until I couldn't cry any more. I would die here, like this, and Caleb would know what happened.

  The truth would hurt him more than my death. After a long time, I managed to turn enough to get one hand free. I had to make sure Caleb never found out what they took from us, and I would do it. Eventually, I stumbled to the shower. Then I passed out.

  I woke up, same as always, sobbing and drenched in sweat, wracked with pain. I sat up in bed, trying to catch my breath.

  Always alert, Sam and Hudson stood by my bed, waiting to see where the threat might come from, or if their human was just crazy again. As soon as I could, I got up and went to the shower. After all this time, I already knew sleep wasn't going to happen again, and the only way I could get the memory of their touch off me was to scald it off.

  The water went cold far too soon, and I had to force myself to turn it off and get dressed. For the next hour, I double and triple checked every door and window, making sure no one could get in. It was stupid. I already knew everything was locked, and I knew Sam and Hudson would let me knew if anything seemed out of the ordinary. But I still had to check.

  Thirst forced me to pause long enough to make tea. Coffee went off my beverage list that night. The mere smell of it made me ill now. I sat at the table to drink my tea, checking the loads in the gun I kept in my pocket. One after the other, I checked all the others stashed around the house.

  A few years ago, if anyone said I would not only own guns, but use them, I would have said they were nuts. Right up until those criminals stole everything that mattered from me, I hated guns and violence. I never intended to become a victim again, though, so I had to make sure. Knowing how to defend myself with deadly force was the only way to prevent someone else from hurting me. I saw first-hand exactly how effective begging and pleading and tears were with a criminal.

  The sun peeked over the horizon as I finished putting my rifle up. Sam and Hudson stood, wagging gently, next to the door and waited patiently for their morning walk. With my pistol tucked into the waist of my jeans, I went out with them. They never needed leashes, and always stayed within a few feet of me.

  Most people around, family included, probably thought I'd lost my mind when I broke things off with Caleb. Of course, I couldn't tell anyone why. All I could do was try to get on with my existence and maybe hang onto my sanity. The nightmares and fear drove me out of the little home Caleb and I planned to share when he returned. I cancelled the lease and bought an old farmhouse at the edge of town. It needed a lot of work, so I had that to keep my mind off the things that scared me.

  I took my dad up on his offer to teach me to shoot a gun. He always insisted a woman should be able to defend herself, and I always refused to believe violence could reach me. Luckily, he never asked questions, just nodded and took me to target practice. Afterward, he seemed pleased when I bought a gun of my own.

  But I quickly learned bullets weren't enough to keep the nightmares at bay, and loneliness became my only companion at home. So when a colleague mentioned her Rottweiler had puppies, I decided to get one. She convinced me I needed two, so Sam and Hudson came home with me a few weeks later. For a long time, I spent every spare moment with their training. We still worked to keep them sharp and focused.

  The only real bright spot in my existence was work. The special needs kids in my class made it worthwhile to wake up every morning. Without them, I might have given up. In the classroom, I actually felt safe. It became the only place I could actually let my guard down a little. The moment the bell rang and the kids left, I had to leave my haven.

  Today was Saturday, and the weekend yawned before me like some kind of pit of damnation. I constantly teetered on the edge, barely holding on, between crushing loneliness and the fear that prevented me from going anywhere unless I absolutely couldn't avoid it. It often made me wish I could actually sleep a little. That, at least, would fill some of the time.

  The dogs sniffed around the yard, checking the scents left by the night and doing their business. Inside, the phone rang, and I stepped inside to grab it. "Hello?" I instantly realized my error. I never answered without checking caller ID.

  "Well, hey there, Teach. I stopped by your old place looking for you the other night."

  My face went numb and my heartbeat thudded in my ears. "Who is this?"

  "Aw, I'm hurt you don't remember. Sure, ol' Tony was there that night, too, but I was first. That rattle your memory?" He laughed.

  I hung up and threw the phone, hard, then vomited, right there on the porch. What did he want now? He'd already taken everything from me.

  8

  Fabio

  Samurai woke me up, licking my face and making a soft sound deep in his throat. I lay still and tried to listen, but no sounds reached me this far from where most of the partiers had crashed. The fires had burned down and the lights in the buildings were off, leaving everything in quiet darkness.

  About the time I decided the dog had enjoyed a few too many beers, and probably a toke or two, from his new friends, I heard it. A low swishing sound, like maybe someone walking through the longish grass, came from near the front of my truck, over toward the bonfire. Probably a hungover biker looking for a place to take a piss.

  Either way, I needed to piss, too, so I might as well check it out at the same time. As quietly as possible, I rolled out of my blankets and out from under the truck. Samurai crawled from under the truck, too, and gave a quick wag, then started in the direction the sounds had gone.

  No shock there. The fucker had a broad vocabulary, ranging from low rumbles, to grunts, to soft whines, but in all the months he'd been with me, I couldn't recall ever hearing an actual bark from him, not like other dogs. He made low chuffs and short barks in reply to things I said sometimes, but to just bark for the hell of it, he never did. He didn't need to bark to tell me something worried him, and I better follow. So I did.

  The faint glow of coals from the big bonfire made the figure stand out in sharp relief as he crossed between me and the remnants. Stealthy movements through a bunch of sleeping bikers rang no warning bells, but the big hunting knife clutched in his hand sure did.

  "Hey, man, you need something?"

  Startled, the man turned toward me for a second, then bolted.

  I had no intention of giving chase, but Samurai evidently thought otherwise. The big dog launched himself at the fleeing man and, in seconds, caught up. He leaped, hitting the man about hip level, then latched on with those heavy jaws. The man screamed and tried to fight, but Samurai had him.

  By the time I reached him, the man submitted and just lay still. Two other men approached, guns in hand. "What's goin' on?"

  "Bastard was tiptoeing around with a big-ass knife out. When I asked if he needed something, he ran. Samurai brought him down."

  The second man, whom I recognized as one of the Hell Raiders, dragged the sneaky bastard to his feet. "Come on, motherfucker, let's see who you are." With one fist between the man's shoulders, and the other full of hair, p
ulling the man's head back at a near impossible angle, he shoved him toward the clubhouse.

  Unsure what I should do, I followed along with Samurai at my side. When we reached the porch, someone came out, roused by the fuss, and turned on the light. The men stood in silence, staring at the intruder.

  "What the fuck you doin' here, Stones?" Badger glared at the stranger.

  "You know why I'm here, motherfucker. One of yours killed one of ours in lockup. Blood for blood."

  Badger laughed in his face. "What, you thought Beaner would just stand there and let some punk-ass thug shank him? Guess ya'll found out different, huh?" He nodded to the men holding the man he called Stones. "Take this idiot to the shed and lock his ass up. Kellen can deal with him in the morning."

  The men dragged Stones roughly away, not being too careful about where their fists and elbows landed. I turned to head back to my bedroll.

  "Hey, Fabio, hol' up, man." Badger caught up to me. "Raiders owe you another one, man. Most bastards in your shoes would have stood back and let shit happen. Appreciate you having the balls to step in."

  I shook my head a little. "If it hadn't been for Samurai waking me up, I would never have had the chance. Just a matter of luck."

  "Don't matter. You did us a solid. We pay our debts." The slap he delivered to my shoulder nearly knocked me off balance. "Hang around a while. We'll help you get that piece of shit bike you're hauling around fixed up a little."

  "Might take you up on that. Drifting around, there's not much of a chance to work on it. For now, though, I'm heading back to bed to sleep off the rest of the beer."

  He laughed. "I heard that. Gonna go do the same."

  It took a long time to get back to sleep once I crawled back under my truck. Samurai seemed to sense my restlessness, and laid with his head up, ears twitching as he listened for anything unusual. After a while, I finally drifted off.

  Gunfire sounded all around us as we advanced through the Al Queada stronghold. Several of my men had fallen, but others got them out. I had a feeling they were the lucky ones. A small door lay just ahead, secured with a chain and padlock. Weapons storage? I signaled Jameson for a quick IED sweep. When he declared it clear, Walters moved up and cut the lock off.

  As soon as the chain fell, I kicked the door in. An overwhelming stench turned my stomach.

  "I'm American!" a low voice rasped from inside the dark room.

  My night vision goggles showed several occupants of the small room, but only one moved. He hung from chains against the wall, but lifted his head a little as I came in. "Who else is here?"

  "My patrol. Think they're dead."

  Mother. Fuck. I got on my comm unit and spoke to command, filling the Captain in, and giving him our location. "Alright, we got you. You're going to be okay now. I got medics coming." I turned back to the other men who'd entered behind me. "Jameson, get a little light in here. Walters, see what you can do about getting him down without doing more damage."

  The nightmares revealed by the flashlight were just too much. The man who had spoken, Sergeant Peters, had been beaten until no one would have recognized him. One of his men, still barely clinging to life, had both feet amputated. Another, already dead, looked like someone had tried to skin him alive. The fourth, also dead, bore severe burns over his face and body, and his eyes were gone.

  We got Peters down and managed not to let him know how badly his men had suffered. Finally, the medics arrived with stretchers, and we escorted them out to safety. Just as we reached the cleared area, the man with no feet began to thrash around on his stretcher and scream. Probably reliving the hell those bastards put him through.

  The screams echoed in my ears as I woke, sweating and gasping for air. Samurai nuzzled his head into my hand, maybe trying to comfort me. That fucking mission was only one of the many that haunted my dreams. At least it had a happy ending. Peters had survived.

  No fucking way I was going back to sleep. I rolled out from under the truck and grabbed my pack. A pair of shorts and running shoes later, I set off down the muddy lane at a jog. The eastern sky grew lighter by the second and birds set up a hell of a racket in the trees. Maybe a good long run would clear my head.

  Samurai loped along at my side, acting like he could go forever. I knew from experience he could go longer than me. We cleared the lane, and once we reached the road, I stretched out my stride to cover ground. The morning quiet provided the perfect atmosphere for a good hard run. After three miles or so, I turned back, ready to figure out breakfast.

  By the time I made it back to my truck, and Samurai gamboled off on a new doggy adventure with Blue, a few people in the camp stirred. Groans of pain and retching seemed to come along with every movement. Looked like they'd all overindulged last night. Hopefully somebody had a plan for breakfast that didn't include camp food or fast food, because I was thoroughly sick of both.

  I poked around enough outside the house to find an old-fashioned hand operated water pump. After a good drink, I rinsed the sweat off and climbed back into my jeans and boots. When I found my way back around to the front, tantalizing aromas came from inside. I let my stomach lead the way and followed the smells of coffee and bacon into the clubhouse.

  The place looked nothing like what I expected a crash pad for a bunch of bikers to look like. Someone had taken real care with the place, installing nice wood floors and good furniture. It was even pretty clean, and I quickly saw the wisdom of having the parties outside. If that was mine, I wouldn't want beer and cigarette ashes all over it, either.

  "Oh, hey, come here." A dark-haired woman glared at me, spatula in hand, from what I assumed was the kitchen. "Well, hurry up, goddamn it. Ain't got all fucking day."

  I got the lead out and followed directions. In the kitchen, I found three other women sizing me up. "What'd you need?"

  One, a red-head with streaks of gray in her long hair, screwed up her face and looked me over. "You're new here. What's your name, son?"

  Shit. "I'm just visiting. Won't be here long."

  She grinned and elbowed one of the other women. "You hear that, D? Boy think he got a choice." The others laughed. "Lemme tell you a li'l somethin'. If you got asphalt in your blood, you might as well not fight it. Losin' battle, right there."

  "You girls leave ol' Fabio alone. Boy's got shit to think about." Badger came in behind me. "Jus' follow orders and do not engage, boy. These bitches will eat you alive." The fact he used a low whisper for the last part was not lost on me.

  "Fabio, huh? Which one of you bastards saddled the poor child with a name like that?" The woman the redhead had called D lowered her brows.

  It looked like the perfect chance to take the heat off myself. I grabbed Badger by the shoulder. "Sorry, fucker, but I'm so throwing your ass under the bus." I dragged him forward a little. "This one right here did that."

  "Aw, shit, kid, what'd you tell 'em for?" He edged for the door.

  "Well, I ain't taking the blame for that name." I dragged him back into the kitchen to face the music.

  "Badger! What'd you do that for? You know who Fabio is, right?" The dark-haired woman who had first summoned me joined in. "He's that guy who was on all those romance book covers a long time ago. Why would you stick someone with a name like that?"

  "And don't forget the butter commercials!"

  The women started chattering about books and butter, so I quickly started to shuffle for the door. Badger noticed and grabbed my arm. "No you don't, Fabio. The girls have work for you, or they wouldn't have called you in here."

  "Oh, here! Take this out to the big table in there, then come back and get more." The dark-haired woman thrust a huge, hot platter of scrambled eggs into my hands.

  By the time I dropped the plate on the table, my fingers were definitely singed. Still, I went back for more, as ordered. I had the distinct feeling crossing those women would be a bad move on my part.

  9

  Fabio

  Breakfast turned into a noisy, rowdy affair, with
bikers and guests drifting in long enough to eat, then moving out of the way for the next bunch. From what I could see, everyone was welcomed, though some of the bikers talked shit to each other. I helped myself to eggs, biscuits that looked homemade, bacon, and hash-browns.

  I could handle that kind of breakfast every day of the week. It reminded me of home, and the meals mom used to make. No time to get bogged down in what should have been, so I shoved the memories away and ate quickly. I had some thinking to do. Everybody here seemed to take it as a foregone conclusion that I would stay, and I needed to figure out if that's what I wanted.

  The whole atmosphere around the club house felt comfortable to me, similar to the kind of camaraderie I'd grown accustomed to in the Army. No doubt, all that could change in the blink of an eye, but I'd missed that feeling of belonging. Maybe I would stay a little longer than it took to get my bike going. It might be nice to have a place to call home, even if only temporarily.

  And it would have to be temporary. Staying in one place for any length of time meant giving in, and I couldn't do that. No matter how much time passed, I refused to accept losing Justine. One day I would wake up and the nightmare would be over. But for now, a break might be nice.

  After everyone ate, I got drafted into helping clean up. The women who cooked breakfast, whom I learned were ol' ladies, apparently had the last say on nearly everything related to meals, parties, or the house. And they were not shy about giving orders. Before I knew it, I had my hands in soapy water up to my elbows, washing pans.

  I finally made it back outside with some leftover eggs and a couple strips of bacon for Samurai. It looked like a lot of the non-members had left while the ol' ladies bossed me and a half dozen other guys around. Someone got the bonfire started back up, and several people were already hitting the beer again.