The Riot (Hell's Disciples MC Book 5)

by Jaci J

  I might not be able to kill The Raiders and Ryders tonight, but I can sure as hell fuck up the worthless piece of shit that touched my girl.

  “Get up,” I tell her, grabbing onto her elbow. This ain’t how we do shit around here.

  “Jesus, Rock.” She doesn’t move from her stool when she jerks her arm away from me. The cup stays protectively clutched in her hand as she frowns up at me. I’m clearly ruining her little pity party.

  “Get up now,” I demand, my voice getting louder, fighting to be heard over the obnoxious beat of the music. I don’t have time for her shit either. She can cry on the back of my bike later, after I handle business.

  She’s staring at me, trying to figure out what I’m gonna do. There’s an alcohol glaze in those gray eyes and a sway to her movements, but she’s not too fucked up to figure out I mean business.

  “Let it go,” she says quietly, waving me off. Let it go? She must be fucking high if she thinks I’m just gonna let it go.

  “That’s never gonna happen.” Ellison knows this. “That man put his hands on you, so you get to put yours on him. Only fair.” In my world, every action has a reaction, and that reaction is usually painful and violent.

  “Two wrongs don’t make a right,” Ellison argues, but it’s in vain. I’m already here.

  “The fuck it don’t. It’s wrong until I’m right.” And I’m always right.

  Pulling her up and onto her glitter heeled feet, I crouch down to her level, eye to eye, making sure she’s gettin’ me. Running a thumb under her eyes, I wipe off some of her make-up and tell her, “We’ll handle this shit, ‘n we’ll do it my way.”

  “Rock. This shit happens. The assholes here don’t respect us. That’s what happens when you shake your ass and tits for money.” That’s a cute excuse, but that shit doesn’t fly with me.

  “I don’t give a flyin’ fuck if you were butt ass naked with your pussy in his face. That doesn’t give him the right to touch you, or get mean when you tell him no. No always means no, and even more so when it’s comin’ from your pretty little mouth, so get the fuck up.”

  Ellison hesitates, her eyes darting between the door out back and me. She knows if she runs I’ll chase her cute little ass down. She’s not making it twenty feet in those stupid fucking heels. “You hear me? Let’s go.” If she doesn’t handle this, it’ll eat at her. Ellison deals with enough shit. “Don’t let it rule you, El.”

  “Rock—”

  “Don’t, babe.” Not now. Not when I’m an inch from snapping.

  “Okay,” she agrees. Thank fuck.

  “Come on. You’ve got this.” She nods and she squares her shoulders.

  That’s my girl.

  “You like it when he touched you?”

  “No,” she spits out hatefully. Yeah, I didn’t think so. That’s why she has to deal with it.

  At sixteen, one of her mom’s dudes touched her and continued pushing his luck with her until she broke down and told me, but that shit still ate at her. It ate at her until I let her handle him herself. Once she was done, I dealt with him, and now he’s buried in Buck’s backyard. She’s been good since. El’s gotta do this shit for her. It’s the only way.

  “You gonna take shit from that asshole?” I ask. Taking a hard pull from her cup, she shakes her head and polishing off her drink.

  “Fuck no,” she growls, tossing her cup down on the floor. Yeah, that’s right.

  Watching her get worked up works me up. I’m a sick fuck. I’ve never wanted to fuck her more than I do right now. Vengeance looks goddamn good on her. It always has.

  Taking her hand, I pull her towards the door. She wraps her fingers securely around mine. If she needs more encouragement, I’ll give it to her. She needs a hand, I’ll be happy as a pig in shit to lend it.

  “Here, you’ll need this.” I hand her the moneymaker I snatched from behind the bar.

  “A bat?”

  “You want the nine mil instead?” I joke…well, half joke, because I’m down for whatever the fuck she wants. Bats, bullets, bombs, whatever gets the job done.

  ***

  Outside in the gravel lot behind the bar, Buck and Tyler have our friend pinned against a dumpster. He’s wearing a T-shirt with the Raiders insignia scrawled across the front. Fuck, this is gonna make this so much sweeter. The motherfucker must be a hang around, or it could be good timing. If you’re brave enough to rep a club, you better be ready to bleed for them too.

  T jerks his chin up at me, telling me he’s seen the dude’s T-shirt, while Lennon leans against the bumper of an old ass Chevy, watching her man, Buck.

  See? That’s where the Disciples in Washington and us down here differ. We don’t shield our women. They’re right here in the thick of it with us. You want in this life, then you better be down for the good, the bad, and the ugly, because that ugly can be fucking gruesome.

  “You sure about this?” the guy asks, his face a shade of pale.

  “The fuck you mean? This shit too much for you?” There’s something off with this bitch, like a few missing brain cells.

  “I mean we’re in a parkin’ lot. Anyone could walk by.”

  “Let ‘em. I handle business wherever I gotta handle it.” I don’t give a fuck where that may be. I do what I gotta do. “Free entertainment.”

  I’ve never been the guy to take the high road. Things aren’t forgotten or swept under the rug. I hold grudges; life long, soul crushing grudges. You get no second chances or sorry’s with me.

  “Go ahead.” Nudging Ellison towards the guy, she takes a step, but shoots me a disgruntled glare over her shoulder when she teeters in the gravel. She hates being told what to do, even if she agrees, but I’m not forcing her to do something she doesn’t want to do. Ellison wants it. She needs it. She’s just as vengeful as me. Hers is just hidden under smeared lipstick and glittered heels.

  “You’re sick,” she mumbles. I’ve got my issues, but this isn’t about me tonight, it’s about her.

  “And you’re fuckin’ hot holdin’ that bat.”

  “Crazy bastard,” she mutters back. Shaking it off, I watch her shoulders rise with a deep breath, the bat in her hand steady and level.

  “You sure ‘bout her doin’ this, brother?” Buck asks me. Never been surer. He’s only asking because he gives a fuck about El, but I swear to fuck, if one more person questions me, I’m gonna lose it. I know my girl.

  “Yeah,” I answer. I’m ready to watch the show. “Let her do her thing.” She’s got this shit.

  This wouldn’t be happening if she were any other woman. The ramifications of hurting another human being rattles people to their core and fucks with their heads. Intentionally causing someone harm isn’t easy, especially when they’re begging for their life, but Ellison is tough, tougher than most men. I have no fucking doubt she’ll sleep easy and peacefully tonight.

  We come from bad shit, her and I. A screwed-up mom, school bullies, a drunk dad, and a rough neighborhood bred a tough as nails girl. She has a backbone made of steel and a heart made for only me. She knows I would never lead her astray. There isn’t a damn thing on this planet I wouldn’t do for her, and she knows it.

  I watch her slip off her shoes and bounce on the balls of her feet. She’s ready, and I’m so goddamn proud of her.

  She walks up to the man, the bat swinging loosely by her side. There’s a methodic purposeful swing to her step, and I know she’s looking forward to this. The man whips his head back and forth, looking for fuck knows what. There’s nowhere to run. “F-fuck. You’re okay. I—I didn’t hurt ya,” he growls, nodding at her bruises.

  “You didn’t? You choked me because I wouldn’t hit my knees for you,” she says, cocking her head. “You slapped me because I defended myself. Do you have a daughter?” The dude doesn’t answer. He only sneers at her, blood trickling from his nose. He’s angry, but there’s fear in his eyes. One hurt woman is much more dangerous than five pissed off men. Never underestimate a wounded woman, especially when yo
u’re the one who made her that way.

  “Answer her!” I shout as I pull out my gun. Why must the gun get them talking? Always the damn gun.

  “You can’t do this!” he yells back, jerking his arms. “They’ll get you. You’ll get what you deserve.”

  Exchanging a look with Buck, I know he’s caught that little tidbit of information too. They, as in the Raiders and Ryders, but I don’t share that with El. I’ll let her handle what she needs to handle, then we’ll deal with what’s left over of him.

  “I can do whatever the fuck I want. In this town, we are the motherfuckin’ law. Now answer her!” I aim right between his beady bloodshot eyes.

  “Y-yes.”

  Ellison shakes her head sadly. “Would you like one of my guys to do this,” she says, touching her cheek, “to your daughter? Want the big guy here to tear into her? Leave her bleeding and scared?” El doesn’t wait for an answer. Bringing the bat up, she swings wide, slamming it right into the dude’s side.

  “Ahhhh,” he cries as he tries to bend over. He’s unsuccessful with Buck and Tyler holding his arms. “S-Stop,” he coughs and sputters.

  “Fuck you,” El grumbles, clearly not concerned about his pain. One more swift swing to the gut and the guy’s already giving in. Pussy.

  “You sure you don’t need shoes, babe?” I ask as she dances around in the gravel.

  “No.” She’s holding the bat, ready to take another swing. I guess she’s not worried about her feet, so I let her do her thing.

  That’s my girl.

  Ellison

  One punch to the face from Rocky and the man is out cold. He slumps, wilting to the gravel at Rocky’s feet. In a bloody pile of wasted flesh, he groans before there’s silence, and a triumphant smile lights up Rocky’s face.

  “That was fun.” Of course Rock ended it. He just can’t help himself when violence is involved. He had to have a taste.

  Turning to me, Rock smiles over his shoulder. “That’s how this shit is done,” he declares. He got tired of waiting on me.

  Impatient asshole.

  “Did you want me to punch him?” I ask. Watching him shake out his hand, he rubs at it with his left hand and frowns at me.

  “Fuck no.”

  “Then why are you gloating?” Cocky bastard. “Fucking showboater,” I mutter under my breath. I wasn’t going to hit the man with my own damn hand. I’d rather not break any bones.

  “Did it because it turns you on,” he jests, a devilish twinkle in his deranged green eyes.

  “Sure, buddy.” Whatever. Rock’s sickness knows no bounds.

  Wiping his bloody knuckles on his jeans, Rock kicks the guy, eliciting a muffled moan from the sad heap on the ground. “Hmmm,” Rock hums, inspecting his handiwork. “Want me to kill him for ya, babe?”

  “I think we’re good.” There are no dead bodies under my belt, and I’d like to keep it that way.

  “You sure? You know I’d fuckin’ kill him for ya.”

  That’s so sweet. “I think I’m gonna have to take a pass, but thanks.”

  Rock makes me crazy, and it’s not the good crazy either. It’s the desperate, wild, uncontrollable kind of crazy. Homicidal. Suicidal. Manic.

  But I love him.

  Handing him back the bat, he smiles at me, showing his deceivingly sweet dimples and all. He’s so handsome, and he’s so completely insane.

  “You feel better?” Rock asks, tossing an arm over my shoulder, tugging me into his side. I fit perfectly, like a missing piece.

  Do I feel better? I take a quick inventory. I have a bit of a headache, my cheek stings, and my throat is achy, but I feel good after I got my hits in.

  Tomorrow he might be walking funny and pissing blood, but he’s still breathing. He’s lucky that Rock was ready to be done and get me home, or the guy might be six feet under in Buck’s yard by now.

  “I’m good.”

  “Good. Let’s go.”

  “Where we going?”

  “On the back of my bike is where you’re goin’.”

  ***

  Sitting outside under the old rusted tin carport down at the Y, I watch the snow fall. It started about thirty minutes ago.

  Sometimes, I wonder if this place is as special to the guys as it is to me. No right-minded, sane person would find this place appealing, but I’ve never claimed to be either. An old broken-down motel and bar in the middle of nowhere is anything but extravagant. Outside eyes see broken windows, cracked foundation, chipped paint, and years of abuse. Me? I see memories. I see a safe place. I see a surrogate family, a home away from home.

  Propping my legs up on the stump in front of me, I heat my feet by the big metal barrel. The fire cracks and pops, sending burning embers into the pristine white snow.

  Lifting my cup to my lips, I let the Sprite and Vodka slide over my tongue, setting my taste buds on fire. Sighing, I sink further into my seat, content to just sit and drink while watching the flames flicker against the night sky.

  The back door meets the siding with a smack, interrupting my peace.

  “How you doin’ girl?” Tyler asks, sliding into the old chipped and sun-faded Adirondack chair next me.

  “I’m surviving. You good?” I ask, rolling my head to the side to look at him. Tyler is a handsome guy, with light hair and light eyes. Funnier than he is sensible, Tyler is always a good time.

  “Meh,” he shrugs. I should ask. Friends ask friends to air their issues, but I learned a long time ago not to ask questions around here. If someone wants you to know, they’ll share.

  A comfortable quiet settles between us for a few minutes, both of us drinking our drinks and staring into the fire. Tyler and I have always had a good thing. We’re cool.

  “How do ya do it?”

  “Do what?” That question fields a wide range of possible answers. “You’re gonna have to narrow it down for me.”

  “Keep shit so casual with Rock?” Ah.

  “It’s just the way it is.”

  I don’t even know what we are. We’re so much more than we’re not, and that makes absolutely no fucking sense to anyone but us.

  I broke down years ago and let Rock have it. I told him I wanted more, but he wasn’t ready then. I have no illusions that he would be now. At the time he was young, dumb, and a serious panty chaser. He wasn’t interested. I didn’t get it then, but I get it now.

  Now here we are, years later, and the roles are reversed. I’m not ready. I’m too lost, too unsure, and too fucking selfish. I’m also scared.

  “You know that stupid fucker thinks you hang the moon.” No, yet somehow, I do know.

  “Why are you getting so deep on me?”

  “No reason. Just wonderin’ how you do it. Most chicks can’t do that shit.”

  “I’m not most chicks.”

  “That’s true.”

  I don’t have any expectations. “The way Rock and I are isn’t for everyone.”

  “It’s cool as fuck. Most guy’s dream situation.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “It ain’t for me though. Couldn’t share ya.”

  “It is what it is.”

  “You two are stubborn as fuck.”

  “Uh, thanks.” I think.

  I don’t love that things are this way between us. I want more, but I’m too scared to make that leap. Stuck in some comfortable rut, I know it won’t always be this way. Someday, sooner than I’m comfortable with, something will change. Rock will meet someone, or get sick of dealing with me. It’s only a matter of time.

  “But I love him, even if he is stubborn.”

  “I have no fuckin’ clue why.” Tyler laughs.

  ***

  My cup is empty, and a few of the guys have filled the seats next me to say hi, but now it’s me and the fire. I’m ready to head home.

  Rock trudges across the lot in my direction, his boots beating through the snow covered gravel. He pulls me from my chair and takes my seat, setting me back on his lap.

  “The fuc
k ya doin’ out here, baby doll?” he asks, his voice quiet against my shoulder.

  “Relaxing.”

  “It’s late as fuck, babe. You ‘bout ready?” Rock doesn’t ask me where I’m staying tonight, which is going to be home, alone.

  “Yeah.”

  “You work tomorrow?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “I’ll be there after, yeah?”

  “Cool.”

  Four

  Fist Persuasion

  Rock

  Cold hard concrete at my back, I recline against the steps, letting my elbows rest against the top stoop. Dropping my head back, I take a much needed break.

  I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be with El, picking her up from work, but work shit comes first.

  “You gonna be okay, man?” Tyler asks, sitting down next to me.

  “Yeah.” My hands fuckin’ hurt, and could use a good scrub, but I’ll live.

  Cracking my knuckles, the skin on my hands tighten, the blood already dried on my skin. Fuck, I need a sink. Pulling out my knife, I get to cleaning the dried blood from under my nails, since I’m not getting access to water any time soon.

  “He crack yet?” I ask T, done with this shit. I went straight Jack the Ripper on the guy, but he’s still hanging on for dear life.

  “Fuck no.” The fucker’s staying tight-lipped, which only makes my blood pressure jump. After the beat down he received in the parking lot, you’d think he wasn’t looking for a violent repeat tonight. No, instead I’m here wasting my time. The fucker is keeping me away from my girl, and that doesn’t make me happy.

  I try to calm the fuck down. Focusing on something other than my anger, I close my eyes and take a few long, deep breaths, letting my heart rate come back down to earth. I can hear the heavy snow falling from the trees, onto the tin roof above, and the wind howling against the walls. Deep in winter, the weather is unpredictable. The sun can be shining one minute, then six inches of rain and snow will fall within seconds the next. Today it chose to snow.