Valley (The Devil’s House MC: West Virginia #9)
Chapter One - Prologue
CHAPTER ONE
Prologue
PROLOGUE
“WHY CAN’T I come with you?” Kezia’s voice broke through the hum of my concentration as I polished my motorcycle. She sat cross-legged in the driveway, her dark eyes fixed on me. “It’s your birthday, Jarrod, and I thought we were going to do something together.”
“We were,” I replied, trying to sound genuinely disappointed. “But Dad sprang this on me last minute. I can’t exactly say no to him.”
Her shoulders slumped, sadness creeping into her gaze. “I just don’t see why I can’t come, but Kaven can.”
I sighed, wiping my hands on a rag before sitting beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You know how Dad is. He wants a guy’s night out, playing pool and shooting the shit with his kid. I promise we’ll do something special tomorrow night, just the two of us.”
She managed a small smile just as Kaven’s Harley rumbled up the driveway. She stood reluctantly. “Okay, but at least text me when you get back tonight.”
“I promise,” I said, kissing her cheek. Relief washed over me as Kaven dismounted his bike, saving me from more lies.
“Hey, little sis,” Kaven greeted, hugging Kezia. Their family’s easy affection always struck me. They hugged and said “I love you” like it was nothing, a big difference from the cold, drunk wasteland I called home.
“I guess I better head home,” Kezia said, starting down the sidewalk. “I promised Mama I’d help her clean the house since I don’t have plans anymore.”
“She mad at you for going out tonight?” Kaven asked, watching her walk away. “She seems upset.”
“Kezia’s not thrilled, but hey, man, we get to spend my seventeenth birthday at a clubhouse party!” I said, giving him a wide grin.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be wild,” Kaven agreed, though his tone turned serious. “But remember, you promised to stay away from other girls. She’s my sister, Jarrod, and I’ll beat your ass if you hurt her.”
“I love your sister,” I retorted defensively. “Now let’s roll.”
We mounted our bikes, the machines we’d spent two years working at the carwash to buy and rebuild, and roared down the road. Tonight, I wasn’t going to think about anything but getting wasted. My dad, Bones, was the Sergeant-at-Arms for The Devil’s House MC, and next year, Kaven and I would be prospecting for the club.
We parked our bikes out front and stepped inside, and threw a wave to my old man, who was already drunk, with a sweet butt on his lap. The party was already in full swing and before long, Kaven and I were feeling good. He wandered off with some blonde hang-around, leaving me free to do what I wanted without his watchful eye.
I downed more shots and caught the eye of Toddy, a notorious sweet butt in this club for her skills. The way she looked at me had my heart racing with anticipation.
God, the things I knew she could do.
She beckoned me with a flick of her wrist, and I followed her outside to a shadowed corner. She turned, her eyes gleaming. “What’ll it be this time?” she purred, running a hand down my chest.
“I’m in the mood for one of your tongue twisters,” I smirked, leaning against the wall and watching her drop to her knees. This was where I should’ve felt guilty, but the alcohol numbed any semblance of it. Not now and definitely not later as the night wore on, and I kept drinking, until I finally passed out face down on the floor with a smile on my face.
A SHARP KICK to my side jolted me awake with a grunt, the sudden pain piercing through the thick fog of my hangover. “Time to get moving, kid,” a gruff male voice cut through the haze of my sleep like a serrated knife. I cracked one eye open, squinting against the dim light seeping through the dirty windows, and immediately shut it again—my head was pounding like a drum, each beat sending waves of nausea rolling through me.
A minute later, another kick landed, harder this time, driving the air from my lungs. “Get moving. I gotta clean this mess up,” Pipe’s voice snapped, the impatience clear in his tone.
I forced myself to sit up, fighting off the dizziness that threatened to pull me back under. The room spun around me, a chaotic blur of empty bottles and crumpled clothes. “I’m going, Pipe, you can stop kicking me,” I muttered, my voice rough, throat raw from a night spent drowning in liquor.
“When your feet are moving, then you’re going,” he snapped back, no patience for my groggy state. “And take your friend with you.”
I glanced over to see Kaven slumped against the wall, his face pale and gaunt, looking like death warmed over. His groans filled the silence as he started coming around, the realization of where we were and what we had done slowly creeping into his eyes. “Here, drink this,” Pipe said, shoving a glass under my nose, the sharp smell of whatever concoction he’d brewed burning my nostrils.
I took it, recognizing one of his infamous hangover cures—potent and foul-tasting, but damn if it didn’t work. The liquid was thick, almost viscous, and it burned all the way down, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He handed another glass to Kaven, who eyed it with distaste before downing it in one gulp, his face contorting in disgust.
Pipe laughed heartily, a deep, rumbling sound that seemed out of place in the stillness of the early morning. “Burns like hell, but it’ll take care of that hangover.”
I shook my head, trying to clear the lingering fog as I staggered to my feet. The pounding in my head was easing up, but my stomach was still a queasy mess, threatening to revolt at any second. I stumbled over to Kaven as he managed to stand, his movements slow and unsteady, and together we made our way outside, the harsh morning sun hitting us like a slap in the face.
“Fuck,” Kaven muttered, squinting against the light, his hand shielding his eyes as we approached our motorcycles. The world outside was too bright, too loud, every sound amplified, grating against my already frayed nerves. “What time is it anyway?” he mumbled, fumbling for his phone with fingers that still shook from the night before.
“Shit!” His voice broke through the haze, sharp and panicked.
“What?” I asked, peering over his shoulder, a knot of dread forming in my stomach at the sight of his wide eyes and pale face.
“My family’s been calling me all night,” he said, his voice edged with panic, each word trembling on the verge of breaking. “Oh God! We gotta move.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, dread twisting in my gut as I saw the fear in his eyes, my own heart rate kicking into overdrive.
“Kezia never came home last night, and they can’t find her,” he shouted, the words like a punch to the gut as he straddled his bike, the panic in his voice slicing through me. “Did she call you?”
My heart plummeted into a dark abyss as I pulled out my phone and checked it, my fingers trembling. “No, nothing,” I whispered, the void in my stomach growing larger with each second.
We roared away from the clubhouse, the engines of our bikes screaming in protest as we sped into town, the world around us a blur of colors and shapes as we searched every place we thought she might be. The wind whipped against my face, sharp and biting, but I barely felt it, too consumed by the fear gnawing at my insides.
The police, family, and friends were already scouring the small city, searching desperately for any trace of her, their voices crackling over the radios in a frantic chorus. Each corner we turned, each street we raced down, was filled with growing dread, the sinking feeling that we were too late settling deep in my bones.
Kaven and I found ourselves in a quiet side street, lined with abandoned buildings where the homeless were known to take shelter. The area was eerily silent, the kind of silence that presses in on you, thick and suffocating. That’s when I saw it—a glint of sunlight reflecting off the glass beads Kezia loved so much. My breath caught in my throat, my heart pounding in my ears. “Over here,” I called to Kaven, my voice barely above a whisper as I bent down to pick up the hair tie she’d worn yesterday.
Kaven’s footsteps echoed behind me, heavy and deliberate, as we moved into the old warehouse, each step weighted with the fear of what we might find. The air inside was cold, stagnant, the kind of cold that seeps into your skin and chills you to the bone.
We didn’t have to go far before we saw it—her long dark hair spilling out from around a doorway, a stark contrast against the grime-covered floor. My breath hitched, and everything around me seemed to slow down, the world narrowing to that one moment, that one image that would be burned into my mind forever.
Kaven and I rushed forward, desperation driving us, but there she was, almost unrecognizable, her body twisted and broken, a cruel mockery of the vibrant girl she had been. “OH GOD NO!” Kaven cried out, his voice raw and ragged as he dropped to the ground beside her dead body, his hands shaking violently as he reached out to touch her, as if hoping she would somehow wake up, somehow still be alive.
But she wasn’t.
And I knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning of my nightmare.
I SAT IN the front row, staring at her closed casket, feeling numb. Shock and guilt consumed me, hollowing out any sense of self I had left. This was my fault. I was a piece of shit, and I’d never forgive myself. My eyes drifted to Kaven, his shoulders hunched, surrounded by his brothers, trying to console their mama, but she was a shattered mess. Their granddad stood by the casket, silent tears rolling down his face, each drop a dagger twisting in my chest.
Every breath I took felt like inhaling shards of glass, each one reminding me of the nights I’d spent lying, of the betrayals that now formed a wall between who I was and who I could have been. The whispers around the room blurred into a distant hum, the weight of my guilt pressing down on me until I could barely breathe.
One by one, family and an endless stream of friends approached the casket, whispering their goodbyes. Each time someone leaned over, I could see their shoulders tremble, their hands shake as they touched the wood, saying the words I was too much of a coward to utter.
But not me.
I was frozen, too ashamed to get any closer, too broken to say goodbye. My legs felt like they were made of lead, my body too heavy to move. My guilt had rooted me to that spot, forcing me to watch as everyone else found the courage I lacked.
In the corner, the undercover detective scanned the crowd, eyes sharp, still searching for her killer. The air around him was thick with tension, the kind that coils around your throat and squeezes until you’re desperate for relief. They believed the murderer might show up today at her funeral, like some twisted soul drawn back to the scene of their crime. No clues were found on her body. Whoever did this left her there, but the crime didn’t happen at that spot. That detail stuck with me, twisting in my mind like a cruel reminder of how little we actually knew.
I buried my face in my hands, the scent of the funeral home’s musty carpet filling my nostrils as I battled the haunting image of Kezia when we found her, imagining the pain she must have suffered. I could still see her face, twisted in agony, the light gone from her eyes, and it was all because of me.
It was suffocating.
I stumbled outside, desperate for air, and leaned against the side of the building, sliding down to the ground as tears rolled down my face. My fingers dug into the dirt, the rough ground biting into my skin as if trying to remind me that I was still here, still alive, while she was not.
Staring into the sky, I whispered, “I’m so fucking sorry, Kezia, so fucking sorry.” The words felt hollow, ringing into the void, knowing she was up there, watching, and she knew. I could almost feel her presence, a ghost in the wind that chilled me to the bone.
Kezia knew what I was doing while some sick fuck tortured her. She knew everything.
The cheating.
The lies.
The secrets I held deep in my heart for another girl.
Every memory of those nights replayed in my mind like a movie on a loop, the same scenes of betrayal and deceit over and over again. It felt like the guilt was eating me alive from the inside out, leaving nothing but a hollow shell where my soul used to be.