The Riot (Hell's Disciples MC Book 5) (11 page)

“If you wanna die tonight,” Rock sneers.

“Yeah, I’m cool with it. I’d die happy. Someone hand me a gun.”

Boys.

***

“How you feelin’, baby doll?” Rock asks with his rough hand gripping my hip, holding me down.

“High as a goddamn kite,” I groan, my head lulling to the side.

His deep chuckle fills the silence, his lips brushing against my thigh when he laughs. Dragging his wet tongue over my skin, I shiver. “I like you high, baby.”  

“Because I’m easy?” His teeth sink in and my body clenches in response.

Rock teases me within an inch of my life, licking and sucking. Pulling my panties to the side, he buries his face between my legs.

He doesn’t talk and he doesn’t praise. He’s too damned focused, his mouth too full. He’s making a mess, rubbing his face in my pussy, going at it like he’s starving.

My eyes roll and my legs shake.

Rock spends time loving me the way he knows how, with his body.

***

Lying on the bed of room four, I roll over onto my back, grabbing the pillow from above. With the puke green polyester rubbing roughly against my skin, I tuck it under my head.

A slight spin to the room, I suck my knees up to my chest and curl up, hoping to stop it. Why did I drink that horrible shit in the mason jar?

There’s silence until the rumble of engines in the distance fills the quiet of the room, and I know my time with Rock is up.

“Babe.” The rough callouses of Rocks hand runs down my shoulder and arm. Leaning into my back, he kisses my shoulder, his lips lingering. “I gotta go.”

“Are you coming back?”

“Always.” 

Let it Burn

Rock

I can’t remember the last time this room was so goddamn full. The walls are lined, and every chair is filled. It’s true. Family is for-fucking-ever. May not be by blood, but the Disciples are a family where it counts.

Sitting in my seat, I recline and glance around at my brothers, and thank fuck every day that Buck and me met T all those years ago in school. He introduced our asses to his dad, who prospected us when it was time, patched us in, and the rest is history. There’s a few places I might be if I weren’t here, wearing this Disciples cut. I’d probably be locked up or dead, none of which I’m even remotely interested in.

Sure, living this life might get me both at some point, but at least it will have been for a reason. Being part of this club gives me purpose. Might not always be sunshine and flowers, but it’s real, and it’s fucking honest.

The boys from Washington rode down in the middle of the night, offering help wherever we’ll need it. Brothers from down South and up North towards the border are here too. It’s a goddamn family reunion.

“Yo.” Tank claims the seat next to me. “How the fuck ya been?”

“Good. You?”

“Lil hasn’t killed me yet,” he laughs. “Figure that’s pretty fuckin’ good.” That’s something to celebrate. That girl is fucking nuts. Crazy where it counts. “How’s your old lady?”

“Passed the fuck out down the hall. Takin’ up the entire bed.” I don’t correct him. What’s the point? Everyone knows the deal.

“Jesus…
women
,” he mutters, shaking his head.

Yeah,
women
.

El isn’t my old lady, not even close, but what the fuck does it matter? She’s as close as any woman has ever got to the title with me, and she’s the only one that’ll ever get there.
If
she’ll have me.

Thinking about El being my old lady reminds me of the first time that property patch crossed my mind all those years ago.

Last thing I wanted to do was haul my ass out of bed and drive into town, but what the fuck was I gonna do? Tell Ellison no when she called me, voice soft and sad over the phone, asking for my help?

Swinging into the driveway, the light from my bike shines on Ellison, sitting on the little concrete stoop out front of her place. Kickstand down, I cut the engine and swing a leg over my bike. El doesn’t even look up as I make my way to her.

“Baby doll?” I call. “What’s up?” I don’t have a fucking clue why she needed me. She asked if I could come to her place, and I agreed before she hung up.

“You ignorin’ me already?” She’s either drunk off her ass, or…

Her red rimmed eyes look up at me as her bottom lip trembles. Who am I killing tonight.

“What the fuck happened?”

“Had a shitty night,” she mutters bitterly, rubbing at her eyes. Dressed in a tiny skirt and thigh high boots, she looks party ready, and then it hits me—she had a date tonight.

I keep trying to convince her she’s too young for that shit. She needs to focus on school and her girls. All I know is that those little pricks at her school aren’t thinking about anything other than fucking her, but then again, I’m no better. I’ve been thinking about fucking El for a few months now. Feel fucking guilty about it, but it doesn’t change the fact that I want her.

“It wasn’t a good date.” I might be a sick fuck for wanting to get El into my bed, but at least I wouldn’t leave her crying on her porch. 

I’m not known for my calm demeanor, or having a level head. I jump to the worst possible conclusions, and then I usually lose my shit before I even know what the fuck is really going on.

“Appreciate it if you start tellin’ me what the fuck’s goin’ on before I start flippin’ the fuck out.”

She laughs. It starts out a little hysterical, than fades to a sad, soft giggle. I’m beyond confused. “Babe?” Is she drunk? I’ve yet to meet a drunken El.

“Mom took my car to the liquor store, so I was late,” she starts, and right there is my first fucking flag. I sure the fuck don’t know much about dating, but I’m pretty goddamn sure the asshole should have picked her up, opened her door, pulled out her chair, and walked her to her door at the end of the date. “He’s into punctuality, I guess. Gave me hell for showing up late, made me feel like shit for it. The food was bad, and the conversation worse. When I went to leave, my car wouldn’t start. I left the lights on,” she laughs a hollow laugh, although by the frown on her face, I’m guessing it’s really not funny. “Shit luck, right?”

“Yeah,” I agree, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

“Got a jump from some guy in the parking lot.” Another fucking flag. “He hit on me the whole time. I get home and realize Mom took my house key off to get in after she took my car. I’m locked out.”

“Let’s get you inside then.” I’ll break the motherfucking door down if I have to.

Standing on the sidewalk, looking at her sitting on her stoop looking sad, it really hits me, and it hits me hard. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her, and it’s a scary thought. Subconsciously, I’ve always known it, but all this shit we’ve been through drives it home. I’ll always be here for her.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Always.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.” Truest words I’ve even spoken.

“Yo, you high or somethin’?” Tank asks, elbow checking my side, jerking me back to the present.

“Jesus, asshole. You’ve got some bony ass elbows.” Christ, I think he cracked a rib.

We catch up and swap war stories while we wait for the room to finish filling up with the rest of the club members.

Dan comes in, and everyone shuts the fuck up. It’s time to get down to some serious business.

“They’re lookin’ to get on top,” Dan starts.

“So it’s power play?” Tank questions.

“Seems to be.” Dan chomps on the end of his cigar like a pissed off dog. “They’re lookin’ to take over our Canadian and Cali connections.”

“Why?” Rampage asks. Because they’re too fucking stupid for their own goddamn good, that’s why.

Good connections get you a top spot in this world. Along with those connections comes respect and support from smaller clubs looking to siphon off your respect and wealth. If you’re too small to survive on your own, then you latch onto any motherfucker willing to toss you a little support. Instead of the Raiders and Ryders latching, they’re running for top spot. They’re either too stupid or too new to know that we don’t bend or break when it comes to our connections, because without them, this club wouldn’t be shit.

“More connections earn ‘em more money. More money means more power,” Dan informs us.

“They have to know we’ll come for ‘em though. We don’t stand for that shit. We won’t just let our connections go without a fight,” I add.

“Have a feelin’ that’s what they’re aiming for.”

Their goal is to remove us from the equation. They want to take us out as a whole, or cut us off at the knees.

Lou was their move—an ill placed threat. The Raiders thought they’d take one of us out and the rest would crumble. If anything, it only made us hungrier for revenge.

“How we gonna play this then?”

“We start makin’ serious plans.”

***

Riding out, we make it to the Raiders clubhouse as the sun is falling behind the Pacific. It’s a small shithole of a place on the outskirts of a town, an hour from us.

A five-feet fence shields the dilapidated house with as many pieces of wood around it as it has missing. There’s a bunch of broken down vehicles and rusted out bike parts strewn all over the damn place, and mounds of garbage littering the sky-high grass.

In a wood area at the end of street, we watch, looking for signs of life. But it’s looking like they left town and forget to wipe the place before they split.

“You think we’re good,” Tank asks. “The place looks clear.”

“Sure.” If not, we’ll deal. I’m going in regardless. I didn’t come out here for nothing.

Walking up to the place, I cringe, thankful as hell our place isn’t this fucked up. The windows are boarded up, and an old rusted padlock secures the front door. Our club might be old, and it might need updates, but it’s not nearly as fucking nasty as this place is.

“They sell crack outta here?” Gin asks, laughing at the house lamp wired to a car battery on the front porch. An old couch, minus the cushions, sits next to it.

“Yeah, among other things,” Buck grunts back. Drugs, pussy, stolen goods, whatever they could get their hands on has passed through these walls.

Around the side of the house, I find a door wide open, the screen door hanging from a single hinge. Jesus, these fuckers lived like refugees.

Pulling my piece, I step in, gun first. Poncho’s at my back with a Maglite over my shoulder.

It looks like they left in a hurry. The place is trashed. Used, reused, and abused furniture sits everywhere. The floors are littered with garbage and paper, and all kinds of other shit. Fucking slobs.

Going from room to room, we turn the already destroyed place upside down. Inside the last room at the end of a small hallway, I find some shit that makes my fucking blood boil. In a box are some pictures of our club, our bikes, us, and our girls. There are pictures of Ellison, Lennon, Sam. These motherfuckers have been tailing us for a while.

“You see this shit?” I holler, waving around a fistful of proof these dead fucks had planned on fucking with us at Buck. “See it?”

“Fuck. Knew they were lookin’ to take over, but damn. That shit takes time, manpower, and patience, none of which I thought the assholes had.”

Grabbing as much shit as I can, I shove it at Poncho and tell him, “Stick this shit in your saddlebag. Take Ben and do a sweep of the town.” I wanna know if these assholes are still in town, or if they’ve gotten smart and split.

“Okay.”

Outside, I wait for Tyler.

“Gettin’ rid of the evidence?” he asks.

“Yep.”

Wadding up a few handfuls of old newspaper, I light one and toss it carefully inside, followed by two more. Reaching back inside, I hold my lighter to an old curtain hanging haphazardly from a small window by the side door. The flammable material catches quickly. The little balls of paper burn slowly, but it doesn’t take long for the other shit on the floor to catch right along with them. A few minutes pass, and a good portion of the small kitchen starts to burn.

Ten minutes later, the place is engulfed in flames.

It feels fucking good to watch that shit burn.

“You done?” T asks, laughing.

“Not yet.” I wanna watch it burn. I want to see the ashes.

“This place is isolated, but not that damn isolated, brother. Might wanna hit the road before someone notices the place is smokin’, and they call the five-o.” He might be right.

“Fuck. Okay,” I concede. I wanna get back to Ellison anyway, make sure she’s still breathing and not causing too much hell.

Ellison

“You’re scaring people.” I give Rock a look, but per usual, it doesn’t make a hell of a difference. He only stares back at me, not caring.

Setting down my handful of empties, I see he’s still taking up prime real estate at my bar top with his arms folded in front of him, a beer wrapped in his scarred tattooed hand. There are patrons loitering near the bar, close enough to get a drink, but not close enough to lose a limb if Rocky snaps and loses his shit.

He showed up a few hours ago, pissed off and smelling like smoke. He took a seat right in front of me and hasn’t left since. I learned years ago not to ask questions. When I do, and he actually answers, it’s usually not something I want to hear, so I stopped bothering.

“Good.” Rock twists his neck and looks over his shoulder at the customers giving him and his brother a wide birth. “If they get too close, I’m killin’ ‘em.”

“You can’t just kill people,” I tell him while putting a liner in the trashcan. “I’d get shit-canned for sure if you get blood all over this place.” Cracking a Red Bull
,
I flip it upside down and into the glass, watching Rock chuckle and shake his head. “Plus, I’m counting on their tips, so
don’t
kill anyone.”

“The fuck I can’t kill ‘em.”

“You’re insane.”

“Right back at ya, baby doll.” 

“You
make me this way.” I hand a man with an outstretched hand his drink. My friendship with Rock made me this way, but what’s his excuse? I know his mom didn’t drop him as a child.

“And I fuckin’ like you just the way you are.”

“Crazy?” Only Rocky would like a crazy chick.

“Goddamn right. I like ya wild ‘n crazy, baby.”

“You would.”

Restricted lockdown sounded doable at first. I figured I could handle having Rock around a little more, but now I’m rethinking how easy I thought it would be with him breathing down my neck, all up in my personal space.

Rock and Rampage have made themselves comfortable. I’d like to say I hate having Rock around constantly, but that would be a lie. Sure he’s irritating, pigheaded, and rude, but he’s nice to look at. Rampage certainly isn’t hard on the eyes either.