Evil’s Price: Devil’s Outlaws MC: Book One

by Dark, Raven

  Evil’s Price

  Devil’s Outlaws MC: Book One

  Raven Dark

  Olivia Alexander

  Evil’s Price (Devil’s Outlaws: Book One)

  Copyright © 2020 Raven Dark and Olivia Alexander, all rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Please purchase only authorized editions of this book, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrightable materials.

  Cover by Raven Dark

  Images courtesy of Depositphotos

  Created with Vellum

  For Beva.

  You made this book possible.

  From Spider, and from me,

  thank you.

  This bad, bad boy is for you.

  Contents

  *Note To Readers*

  1. Desperate

  2. Stealing From the Devil

  3. The Monster’s Promise

  4. Heartless

  5. Waiting

  6. A Bad Day

  7. Lighting the Match

  8. No Place for Friends

  9. Last Chance

  10. Head Games

  11. Conqueror

  12. Freak

  13. In the Arms of Sin

  14. Trust

  15. Tense

  16. What An Old Man Knows

  17. Chasing Justice

  18. The Man Inside the Beast

  19. The Other Side of Darkness

  20. Connections

  21. The Monster’s Return

  22. Emma’s Tale

  23. The Order

  24. Entropy

  Connect with Raven Dark

  Connect with Olivia Alexander

  *Note To Readers*

  This book contains dark and violent themes which some readers may find objectionable. Spider is a deeply depraved, wholly twisted biker who represents everything sinful. He defends his club and does what he must in order to protect his MC brothers, but he also expects total control over his woman and takes what he wants. If you have triggers, please do not read this book. Those who are game, be ready for one hell of a ride.

  This is the Outlaws’ world.

  Welcome to hell.

  A woman is like a tea bag;

  you never know how strong she is until you put her in hot water.

  ~Author unknown

  1

  Desperate

  My stomach gives a familiar lurch the minute I arrive at the door to the club. The same mix of emotions I always feel every time I come here slash at me, embedding themselves deep.

  Regret.

  Guilt.

  Shame.

  I glance up. The two-story building looms, its dark walls hiding a world of secrets and sin. Red lights pierce the night with a lusty glow, surrounding the bawdy silhouette of a naked woman, the horns that adorn her head, and the establishment’s name.

  The Devil’s Den.

  Darkness shrouds the city, but the streets are still crowded. My cheeks heat; I hate the idea of anyone seeing me walk in here.

  I’ve been serving drinks at this place for a week, and still, apprehension eats at me as I push open the scarlet door.

  It doesn’t matter that I’m not a stripper. All my life, the pastors warned us that places like this destroy the soul. Any woman who enters a place like this is a whore. Worthless.

  No better than an animal.

  Evil.

  You do what you have to. If you don’t take care of yourself, no one else will.

  My best friend Sarah’s voice filters through my head, grounding me. Giving me strength. Reminding me that I have no choice but to be here.

  Lord, please keep her safe.

  I’ll find you again. Someday.

  As soon as I open the door, the music playing inside the club hits me with a wall of throbbing sound. The base assaults my ears, reverberating through me, the loud steady beat overwhelming my senses. The smell of booze, sweat and cheap perfume makes me cringe.

  Everything about this club reminds me of just how far from home I am.

  Home. No. The Colony was never home.

  I’m barely two steps inside the dimly lit front hall when Todd appears in front of me with his usual glower. The big bouncer stands too close, forcing me to step back.

  Figures. Why does it always have to be him on the door?

  From the first day I started here, Todd has given me the creeps. He leers at the girls every time they come in, as if he’s caressing them with his eyes. His breath smells of stale coffee.

  “You’re late.” He thrusts his beefy arm into my face, close enough that I can see the time on his watch. “It’s almost ten.”

  He’s right. I was supposed to start at nine. According to his watch, I’m fifty one minutes late, and this place is packed.

  “You’re in for it this time, little girl,” he adds gruffly. “Dee wants to see you.”

  Dread pricks at me at the mention of my boss. The worst-case scenario storms through my head. Dee will probably fire me. If she does, I’ll be thrust back onto the streets.

  Or forced to go back to the Colony.

  A cold sweat slithers across my skin. I am never going back there. I’ll take the streets first.

  I nod, but Todd doesn’t move, leaving me no choice but to squeeze past him through the crowd. I don’t want him touching me.

  In the main room, I look over at the bar. Monica, the bartender, catches my eye as she serves the customers crowded there. She cranes her neck and taps her watch, looking harassed.

  I give her a nod and start across the room toward the stairs that lead up to Dee’s office.

  The babble of customers creates a never-ending hum of white noise that feels like it’s always on the verge of drowning me. Low, purple-tinted lighting casts everything in dark shadows, making it difficult to see. I adjust my duffle bag on my shoulder and weave my way through dozens of tables scattered about the room.

  On the stage at the front, two of the girls gyrate and twirl around the brass poles, dressed in sequined thongs. As much as I admire the strength and grace of their movements, it’s impossible to enjoy watching them without guilt tugging at me. Neither wears a top, leaving their breasts bared to the men who whistle and make catcalls from the audience. The lewd calls coupled with so much naked flesh makes my insides squirm.

  Walking faster, I avert my eyes, but everything about this place is made for sex, or the sale of it. The lowered lighting is a blessing here. It half-hides the hungry leers from the men, the red and white strobe lights reducing the girls on the stage to slashes of flesh and grinding bodies.

  If I don’t look too closely, I can almost pretend it isn’t there. That I’m working at a coffee shop, a business that isn’t bathed in sin.

  Almost.

  Halfway across the room, I feel eyes pressing into my back. The hairs on my nape rise up. I throw a glance over my shoulder, half expecting to see Todd staring at me from the shadows, but he isn’t there.

  Of course he isn’t. He wouldn’t leave his post at the door.

  I peer around at the crowd. No one seems to be paying attention to me.

  I give myself a shake. They haven’t found me. Have to stop being so paranoid.

  And they haven’t found Sarah, either.

  They haven’t.

  At the side of the room, I turn down a hall, headed for the stairs at the end. A door to one of the private rooms opens and one of the girls steps out. Inside, I catch a glimpse of a man pulling up his pants and tucking in his shirt before she closes the door. She flashes me a smile.

  It’s
a dead-eyed, fake smile made of glass. The smile of a girl who’s been at this too long, who has let this place steal too much of her soul.

  I force myself to smile back and make my way past a few more private rooms. Moans drift out of one, followed by soft pleading. I walk faster, feeling like I’m crawling out of my skin. I shouldn’t be here.

  At the top of the steps, the pounding music from the lower floor is muted. My secondhand sneakers squeak on the floor, making me realize how much quieter it is up here. There are no libidinous stares, no groping hands, no scent of sweat and booze. This is Dee’s domain.

  “Steph?” My boss appears in the doorway to her office at the end of the hall. “Get your ass in here.”

  My stomach knots. She’s totally ticked.

  Okay, so here’s the thing. My boss is one of the nicest women I’ve met since I left the Colony six months ago. If not for her, I’d still be living on the streets with no job, no place to live, and no money.

  I’ve heard countless stories from the pastors about what happens to young women who stay on the streets too long. So many of them are forced to sell their bodies to survive, especially in a place like downtown Las Vegas.

  Dee didn’t just give me this job. She gave me everything. It’s not a stretch to say she saved my life. The least I can do is show up on time.

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m here.” I stop at the door as she turns and crosses the room to her desk. “I’ll just—”

  “It’s about time.” Dee tosses a folder on top of a pile. “We’re swamped here, and we’re short-staffed, girl.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. The bus was late—”

  “Get in here.”

  Unsure what to make of the order, I blink at her. There’s a brusqueness to her tone that suggests I’m in for it, but it’s hard to tell with Dee.

  Dee Masterson is the most interesting woman I’ve ever met. With chestnut brown hair streaked with hot pink and every last inch of her arms covered in tattoos, she’s the type of woman I would expect to be working the floor instead of owning the club. After spending my life around women who think showing your ankles is a sign of wickedness, she’s just such a breath of fresh air. Only now, facing her makes my stomach clench.

  She’s super nice, but I always get the feeling she’s not a woman that you want to tick off.

  I cross the room cautiously, and she smiles.

  “Just come here. I’m not gonna bite you.”

  I mentally kick myself. I hate showing weakness, and especially in front of her.

  “Ma’am, I’m sorry for being late and leaving you in a lurch. You have to write me up now, don’t you?”

  I’m groveling, I know, but I need this job.

  “Do you expect me not to?”

  My muscles tense. “No, ma’am.”

  Her brow wrinkles at my response, the same way it does every time I call her that.

  Standing in front of her, it strikes me how tall she is. She’s a head taller than my five-foot frame, but right now, she seems a lot taller. Maybe she’s wearing heels.

  Dee’s dark gaze goes to my hands. I’m wringing them. I clasp my hands behind my back.

  “Did you get your ID yet?” she asks.

  I shake my head, keeping my face neutral and forcing myself not to press her about writing me up.

  “I’ll need your Social Security number for my records. I’ll take you to get it tomorrow.”

  Oh, no. How am I supposed to get out of this one? Having to go into a government building where they’ll ask questions I can’t answer is bad enough. But there’s no way I can get out of her finding out I’m using a fake name or who I am if she’s with me.

  Since there’s no excuse I can give that would make sense, I decide to figure it out later. I’m about to thank her, but a noise from outside the office window catches my attention and I glance down at the street.

  There’s a van parked across the street from the next store over. The light from a street lamp turns the big vehicle’s paint bone white.

  My heart leaps into my throat.

  My father’s van.

  Except it can’t be.

  Vegas is over half a day away from the Colony. With its nightclubs, casinos and red light districts, downtown in Sin City is the last place anyone who knows me would think I’d live. This busy, crowded city is as far a cry from the rural, quiet country living I’m used to as it’s possible to get.

  There’s no way my dad or anyone from the Colony would find me here. Not to mention, there are a million white vans like that. Still, I can’t help imagining Dad—or worse, Pastor Seth—marching in here and dragging me off. Back to the life I risked everything to get out of.

  The thought of Seth’s hands on me makes me shudder. If he’s out there with my father…

  My breathing quickens.

  “Stephanie? Are you with us?”

  Dee’s voice filters through my brain, but I can’t take my eyes off that van.

  From here, with the glare of the street light on the windows, I can’t tell if there’s anyone sitting in it, much less if it’s someone from His Holy Peace. From this distance, I can’t see the license plate.

  A woman hurries across the street and gets into the van. She’s dressed in a miniskirt and flip-flops. I almost laugh with relief.

  Women aren’t allowed out of the Colony, and even if they were, none of them would be wearing anything like that unless they wanted to end up in isolation for a month.

  Or worse.

  “Steph,” Dee says loudly.

  I shake myself and focus on her, fidgeting. “Sorry. The ID. Thank you, ma’am.”

  Her gaze fixates on my hands, she glances outside where I was just looking, and then knits her brows at me. “You okay? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  I lick my lips. “I’m fine. I was just distracted.”

  Distracted? That’s an understatement.

  She watches me for a minute, and the calculation in her eyes makes me squirm. She’s trying to figure me out. Piecing my odd behavior together with everything else about me that doesn’t add up.

  The fact that I don’t have the kind of ID that most people on the outside can’t function without. The fact that I didn’t know the difference between a screwdriver and Bloody Mary before she hired me. The fact that I keep jumping at shadows. And that I was homeless when she found me.

  None of those things would likely raise red flags on their own, but every time I mess up like this, I can’t help feeling as if she can see all my secrets written across my forehead.

  I don’t belong here.

  I’m not one of you.

  I’m on the run.

  “Well, as long as you’re okay. All right, scoot. Get changed and give Monica a hand before she sends out a search party. I gotta go. Don’t want to show up late for Diesel’s birthday party.”

  The concern for me makes me smile as much as the name. That’s another cool thing about her. She knows guys with interesting names like Diesel and Arson and Scar. It’s neat.

  “Ma’am?”

  Dee takes her denim jacket, which has more patches on it than denim, off the back of her chair and swings it on. “Yeah, kid?”

  “Are you going to write me up?”

  “Nah. I need the bodies and you’re a good worker. But don’t be late again, all right?” She flicks her pink-streaked hair out from under the jacket’s collar and joins me at the door.

  Affection for her wells up and my throat tightens. She’s given me way too much. I’d hug her, but something tells me Dee is not a huggy person. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  She snorts. “Stop doing that. You’ll make me feel old. Call me Dee, or I will fire your ass.”

  I grin, all the fears and doubts of the evening slipping away. “Okay…Dee.”

  “Much better.” She pats her pockets. “Where the hell are my fucking keys? Oh, not again.”

  I’m struck by the sudden memory of something that happened a few days ago. Dee had left her keys in he
r car and had smashed the driver’s side window in with a baseball bat. No, this is really not a woman whose bad side you want to get on.

  “Ah. Here they are.” She pulls her keys out and shakes her head. “I swear, if my head wasn’t attached to my shoulders, I’d forget it. All right, I better get going. If I’m late, Snake’ll have my ass.”

  Snake is her husband. I can’t imagine what a guy with a name like that would look like. I’m picturing a man with a lizard face, and the image almost makes me laugh.

  Dee leaves, and a few minutes later, dressed in my uniform, I make my way out to the front room.

  I hate this uniform. The black skirt is so short it barely covers my backside. The crimson shirt with its plunging neckline is so thin you can see my nipples through it. The black heels, which Monica calls pumps, make me feel like I’m walking on stilts.

  Oh, and then there’s the choker collar around my neck. It’s a strip of leather with silver studs and a loop hanging off the front. I feel like I’m wearing a dog collar.

  Considering that the height of women’s fashion in the Colony was bare feet, bonnets and drab, shapeless dresses, I’m not exactly used to wearing clothes like this. If my parents saw me now, they’d disown me. If the elders saw me, I’d get five lashes across my back.

  I shiver.

  “Dee read you the riot act?” Monica asks when I reach the counter. She rushes around like a dervish, mixing customer’s drinks.

  “No, I still have a job. Thank heavens.” Waiting for my first orders of the night, I try to pull my skirt down. Especially when a man sitting on a stool next to me eyes me up and down with a smirk.