by Renee Rocco
Crow gives me a somber nod. “But you’re home now, and we’re going to kill that fuck for what he did to you.”
“Damn right, we are.”
He pulls a thumb drive from one of the drawers and drops it on the desk. “Did Jamie tell you about this?”
I stare at the small black piece of hardware. “Yes.”
“There’s enough intel on here to create a new order in Marion County.”
My gaze stays fixed on the drive. “Have you watched it?”
“Some.” Crow replaces it in his drawer. “There’s some seriously fucked up shit on there. Even I couldn’t stomach most of it.”
A knot forms in the pit of my stomach. “Am I on it?”
Crow glances away, and I have my answer.
I clench my jaw so tight, I’m shocked my molars aren’t dust. Shame and rage collide. Thunder cracks inside my skull. It wakes the monster, and it’s thirsty for blood as it screeches for freedom. “What’s the plan?”
“Up to you.”
I cock a brow. “You’re leaving this to me?”
“It wasn’t me who was held in that dungeon. You tell me how you want this handled.”
“Appreciate it, prez.” Crow is giving me mad respect, and I’m not about to squander the gift. “We’ll do this smart. Give the drive to our people, and let’s take these bastards out one by fucking one. But not Crane. I want him to watch his world crumble. I want him to know I’m coming for him. He’s never going to see the inside of a cell.”
“Understood.” Crow’s expression is pure evil because he knows exactly what I’m implying. Let the law handle his friends. We’ll take care of Crane. “With that settled, on to a more pleasant topic. Is the lovely addition to Mayhem permanent?”
I shrug. “Haven’t had the formal conversation, but yeah, why?”
He gives me a slow smile. “Just asking.”
Currently, Jamie’s out with Ava Murphy. Crow sent the little red-head to the house earlier this afternoon, armed with enough cash to buy half of Mayhem. Crow isn’t given to sentimentality, so this is his way of thanking her for saving my life.
He also doesn’t ask empty questions. “Spit it out, bro, because there’s a bottle of Jack with my name on it that needs drinking.”
“She saved your life.”
“I’m aware of the fact.”
Crow taps a finger on his desk. “Maybe it’s time to stop holding a grudge.”
“I’m not holding a fucking grudge.”
Crow’s laughter is so loud, I wouldn’t be surprised if they heard it in Scranton. “Bullshit. You’ve held a grudge against that girl for years. I would think she’s made up for breaking your poor little heart.”
I narrow my eyes on him and give him a snarl that would have scared the shit out of a lesser man. “You’re lucky you’re my president.”
He snorts. “How about you go fuck yourself.”
“How about you suck my dick.”
“No, thanks. If I want a kid’s meal, I’ll go to McDonald’s.”
“Asshole.”
Crow’s phone pings with a text. He answers it as he talks. “Woman risks her life for you, that’s a woman worth keeping.”
“She’s married to the man who held me captive.”
He sets his phone on the desk. “Because that matters.”
It doesn’t. Not to me, and not to Jamie. And if anyone else has a problem with it, they can take it up with me, and I’ll solve it for them real quick. But I’ve only been home for a few days. I’m not ready to make some grand declaration. I mean, shit, we’re still trying to figure out what the fuck. Let me at least make the woman a widow first.
But, I can at least give an inch because I’m stubborn, not stupid.
“Fine. It doesn’t,” I admit between clenched teeth.
He nods at the door. “If you’re going to claim her, do it before the barbecue.”
The barbecue isn’t something I’m looking forward to, but something that needs to happen. Not only will a gathering allow everyone to welcome me home proper, it’s a show of power. A way to tell the surrounding gangs I’m back, and that it’s business as usual. Not that anyone other than senior members know I was in captivity. But people know I was gone, and my being missing in action no doubt caused suspicion—especially since Crow tore shit up looking for me. One of our notorious get-togethers will put questions to rest and let people know the Unholy’s top enforcer is back.
“Noted.” Fucking around aside, I get serious. “Crow, I need to work.”
His brows shoot up. “After less than a week? Impressive. I’ve seen people take longer to recover from a cold. That’d be a no. Consider yourself on leave until I say otherwise.”
I square my shoulders, and a muscle tics in my jaw. Crow’s my president, and I must respect the rank, but I can’t dick around and do nothing. It’s not in my nature. And I need normal because if I don’t have an outlet for the rage simmering inside me, the monster will break free.
I pull off my hoodie and lift the T-shirt, ticking my scars off one by one. “See these? These are from cattle prods. Not fun, but tolerable compared to blowtorches, which, by the way, made this nice patch of puckered skin. These slices are from knives. All these little knicks are from snips. And these hole marks? Drills. Actual power tools. That sucked. Let’s see what else. Every bone in my body was broken at least once. All my nails were ripped off. Been flayed and had my skin, literally, peeled away. Yeah, that shit’s the bomb. My back’s been whipped so many times, I’ve lost feeling in some spots because of all the scar tissue. And then the guards pumped me with noz and started it all up again as soon as I was able to stomach more pain. Oh, and in between their little torture games? They locked me in a cage eight times. No, nine. Can’t forget the last one.”
I press my thumb and index finger together until they’re nearly touching. “I came this close to being beaten to death. Instead of dying like I was supposed to, I walked the fuck out rather than be dragged out in a body bag because I killed nine innocent men whose faces I see every time I close my goddamn eyes.” I lower my shirt. “So, I’m asking you, Crow, to please put me to work because if I don’t get back to normal, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
I didn’t intend to pop off like an asshole, but I won’t lie. Feels good to give voice to the frustration after being helpless for half a year. I can’t take one more day of it. It’s why I holding back with Jamie. Trust me, I want to finish what I started with her the other day, but with the monster raging, I don’t trust myself.
Crow steeples his hands below his chin as I pull on my hoodie. His expression may be unreadable, but he can’t hide what’s in his eyes. It’s not pity because, like me, Crow’s incapable of the emotion. But rage on my behalf, fills the space between us, until I’m drowning in it.
Then he gestures to the chair next to where I’m standing. “Sit.”
“Sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said all that.” My body complies with his command before my brain catches up with the action. “But I’m going insane. I have to get this aggression out before I hurt someone who doesn’t deserve to be hurt.”
Crow takes a deep breath, his gaze lingering on my covered chest. “You survived all that, and you’re standing here today, arguing with me to get back to work?”
“You would be, too, if all you had to do was sit around with a brain full of memories of that place haunting you.”
He rests his palms on his desk. “No, Wraith, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t because most people wouldn’t have survived that dungeon. You want to get back to work? Fine. It’s done.”
Thank God.
I resist the urge to run my fingers along the outline of my lips because I still freak the hell out when I think about Crane sewing my lips closed.
He leans back in the chair and scrolls through his phone. “I’m sending Malice and Jester on a job this Thursday. Perfect to get you back in the game. Axel’s been running his mouth. Routine beating. Flint gave the blessing.
”
The hell?
“Berserker prez gave the okay to fuck up one of his own?”
Crow sets down his phone with a shrug. “It’s Axel, so, yes.”
No one likes the guy, but still. For a president to hand over one of his men to a rival gang is harsh. Treasonous. If Crow did that to an Unholy, it’d cause a mutiny among the ranks. But whatever. Not my gang. Not my problem. All I care about is that it will allow me to get my hands bloody. “Thanks, man.”
“No worries. I’m just relived to have you home.”
I walk to the door, but I pause with my hand on the doorknob. “I want to hurt that sonofabitch.”
“We’re going to hurt him, Wraith,” Crow assures me. “I’m calling a meeting for next Monday. Upper members only.”
I give him a single nod, then leave to head back the way I came, down the endless corridor. Past the rows of bedrooms used for sex during parties and to crash when there’s trouble.
Sanctum is massive, the building large enough to accommodate every member and their families—not that many of us have those. When you live the lifestyle we do, there’s no room for wives and children. But here I am, thinking long term with Jamie because if anyone has earned a second chance, it’s us.
Nothing says normal like having my ass parked on the back of my Honda CRF450RWE.
Decked out in O’Neal gear, I whale on the throttle as I rip over the motocross track behind Sanctum. I extend my left leg for balance as I take the bermed corner. Ride up the first tabletop, then the step off. Fly around the flat corner. Glide over the rollers. Sail down the ski jump. Speed right into the double jump. Keep riding through the turns, bumps, valleys, and jumps, until my gloved fingers are practically fused with the grips.
By the time I’m ready to come off the track, I’m the last one riding, with Jester sitting on the edge of the track having a beer with Havoc. I roll up to them and pull off my helmet. Hang it from the clutch before tugging off my jersey. I tent the drenched wifebeater, but it sucks right back to me like a second skin.
“Sweat much?” Jester wrinkles his nose.
“Unlike you, I have six months to make up for,” I retort.
Jester throws up a hand, and when it comes down, he slaps his thigh. “Why do you have to go and say that shit?”
“To irritate you,” I drawl.
Havoc tosses me a beer and raises his in a toast. “Good to have you home, brother.”
“Thanks.” I crack open the can and tap his beer. “Good to be home.”
Havoc studies the scars on my face and arms, and his usual ornery expression turns deadly. Don’t blame him for staring, even if it is picking at my pride.
Havoc doesn’t say much—unlike his younger brother, Discord. That one is a wordy bastard. He’s always happy. Always smiling. I used to wonder if he joined the Unholy to follow in his big brother’s footsteps, but when Berserkers decided to get rowdy one night, Discord was the first to throw hands. He came out the bloodiest and smiling ear to ear.
Swear to Christ, it was the creepiest shit I’ve ever seen—and that’s factoring in my time in the dungeon.
“Word around Mayhem is that you came back with a stray.”
I cock a brow and drape my arms over the handlebar. “Jamie Ellis isn’t a stray. She’s Mayhem born. I brought her home.”
“Crazy how life works, huh? You and her being together again?” He takes a long pull of his beer. “Small fucking world.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Jester takes a drink.
Havoc sizes me up. “What happened, Wraith?”
Not only is Havoc a high-ranking enforcer, which makes him privy to sensitive intel, he’s also one of my closest friends. One of the Four Horsemen of Mayhem—as some folks call him, Jester, Malice, and me. And once I start talking, I tell him everything. It bleeds out of me like an open wound.
They, in turn, fill me in on everything I missed while I was in captivity. How the Unholy blamed the Berserkers for my disappearance, and were thisclose to an all-out war with the rival gang.
But shit’s getting too dramatic out here. I came here to forget Gomorrah.
I grab my helmet and pull it down over my head. “I’m heading in. Coming?”
I don’t wait for an answer. They know where to find me.
After a quick ride across the yard, I park my bike in the garage. I pit-stop at my Ford Raptor, where I drop my helmet and gloves and change from my gear to jeans and a hoodie right in the yard.
Sanctum’s quiet, with only a few Unholy in the main room. Crow’s still shuttered in his office, but Rotten, the vice president, and Voodoo, the sergeant at arms, are here. Missed these old miserable bastards, who became father figures to me after my old man was murdered.
Along with the handful of Unholy are hang-arounds. Women who, literally, hang around Sanctum and make themselves available to any Unholy in need of a warm body to stick his dick in. Shit, I got to know a few myself over the years. No need to make use of them when the one woman I want is finally here where she belongs.
The devil on my shoulder is telling me that Jamie and I do not have a commitment. She left me once, and there’s no guarantee she won’t leave again. I have every reason to grab one of the hang-arounds and go animal on her because I earned the right to feel good after months of pain.
But the angel on the other shoulder is screaming at me not to ruin what I’ve got waiting for me at home. Especially when Rissa comes sauntering over, her curvy body encased in tight black jeans and red crop top. The ballsy bitch presses her cherry-Chapstick lips to mine like she has a right to kiss me. Her perfume reminds me of the women who raped me in the Coliseum, and I choke back a gag.
“Oh my God, Wraith, I’ve been so worried.”
“I’m fine,” I grit out between clenched teeth as I shove her away.
Bull. Shit.
I’m anything but fine, and if I don’t put distance between her perfume and my nose, I’m going to punch a goddamn hole in something—and hopefully, it won’t be a person’s face.
“No one told me anything.” She looks me over and sees the scars. Shit, here we go. “What happened to you? Where were you? My God, your face. What’s around your mouth?”
Needle holes are what’s around my mouth.
I need liquor. A lot of liquor.
Rissa reaches for me, but I slap her away. “Don’t touch me.”
Before my time in Gomorrah, Rissa hadn’t been in Mayhem long enough to have earned the Unholy’s trust. She’s fun to party with, and I heard she’s a great lay, but it begins and ends there. Unless things changed while I was gone.
“That’s not nothing,” she insists.
Jester comes up beside me. “Good idea if you leave it alone, Ris.”
Rissa turns to Jester. “I’m concerned. I mean, we were almost a thing. Right, Wraith?”
“Wrong.” I dodged a bullet with her. I found out she was with a Berserker an hour before trying to hook up with me. “I’m here to drink, Rissa. So, you go do you, and I’m gonna go do me.” Her expression drops, and it looks like she’s going to protest, but I lean in close and give her a lethal glare. “This is me telling you to keep your pussy on the other side of the room. Understood?”
She catches her bottom lip between her teeth before answering. “Sure, Wraith, I missed you, that’s all.”
“We all missed him, sweetheart,” Jester says. “Now, run along and go play with someone else.”
Nothing more unappealing than a grown-ass woman who pouts. But here she is, pouting like a fucking two-year-old. Because after everything I’ve been through, I need drama. But she scurries away, and I walk to the bar where Jester and I join Rotten and Voodoo. Eventually, Havoc comes in, and with him is Discord. Word spreads fast, and within half an hour, Sanctum is packed with Unholy. Even Crow ventures out of his office. The mini welcome home party is exactly what I need to numb my brain.
But I can’t drink away thoughts of Jamie. There’s not enough liquor in all of Mayhe
m to dull the ache of wanting her. And it seems the more shots I do, the more I crave her. Every part of her—even her darkness.
I know Jamie’s hiding something. I see the secret buried in her eyes. It’s there every time she looks at me. In the guarded way she stares at me when she thinks I’m not watching. I will find out what she’s keeping from me. She may be headstrong, but I’m relentless. And as the day goes on and I get drunker, I grow more determined to chip away at that wall she lives behind and finally strip her raw because fair is fair.
Jamie saw my ugly.
Now I’m going to see hers.
14
Jamie
“No.”
I lower the pale-yellow dress. “No, what?”
My companion, a beautiful and petite redhead, is a whirlwind of boundless energy. She tilts her head to the side, her wild curls framing a heart-shaped face. When she scrunches her nose and points to the dress, she punctuates her disapproval with a shake of her head. Again. This is the billionth time she’s done that today. “Just no.”
I haul the dress up my body and turn to face the full-length mirror. Mayhem doesn’t have many clothing shops, and the style I’m comfortable wearing are slim pickings at best. “It’s pretty.”
“It is,” she agrees, batting her lashes, her ice-blue eyes wide and innocent. “If you’re ninety.”
“I’m buying it.”
“Fine.” Ava crosses her arms over her perky boobs. “But you’re not wearing it to the barbecue.”
Again, I lower the dress. “Why does it matter if I wear something a bit buttoned up?”
Ava marches over to me, and I lean away when she clamps her hands around my upper arms and gives me a sound shake. In the two hours we’ve been in each other’s company, she’s proved she has no regard for personal space. She’s genuinely affectionate, and for some unfathomable reason, I’m not off-put by her constant touching.
It’s actually charming, the way she grabs for my hand whenever she sees something “super cute” or something she thinks will look “awesome” on my “incredible bod.” My automatic response would be to recoil. Instead, I go with it, and I’ve had more fun with her than I’ve had since…God, what…? Ever?
