1. NYX
“TODAY, City Hall revealed that the police are treating the death of Samuel Haune as a homicide. This is the seventh murder of a known sex offender in three years within the state.”
When the news came on the big screen TV in the bar, an immediate hush settled over the room.
Sixty bikers—most of them so drunk they were wobbling on their feet—made a fuck ton of noise, but the second Link switched on the news that had a “Breaking Story” banner running along the bottom of it, everyone shut the hell up. A miracle in itself, but nothing compared to what I left behind in the tiny town of Bridgeton, New Jersey.
One less fucked-up piece of shit walked the streets tonight.
Because of me.
Sure, Satan’s Sinners were involved too, and all the work that went down, all the logistics prior to the main event, weren’t organized by me, but the kill?
That was all mine.
“Mr. Haune was a known pedophile, whose release from prison triggered public outrage. He refused police protection, ignored advice against returning to his hometown, and had received several death threats since his release from incarceration.
“The Chief of Police confirmed the authorities are seeking a link between the murders, and are also conferring with other states for similar vigilante-style homicides. As it stands, detectives are looking for witnesses who might have been in the vicinity of the Johnson Reeves playground yesterday around 2 AM.
“A few people spoke with us today and recalled the gruesome sight of what they could only call a lynching?—”
As the story switched to videos of interviews with witnesses, the silence remained for a second before a bunch of hollers soared around the bar. I grinned at the noise, then let Rex, my Prez, grab me by the arm so he could pump our fists into the air as we celebrated our twenty-ninth slaughter. Twenty-two of which hadn’t been linked because they’d gone down all over the US, with only seven here in New Jersey.
Sure, we’d get arrested for our crimes if we were discovered, but I considered it a fate worth testing, and knowing what they did about my past? The Sinners did too.
We were an MC. A one-percenter club that was bad to the motherfucking bone, but we didn’t fuck with kids. Kids were sacrosanct within our ranks, and we protected them. Didn’t matter if they belonged to one of the brothers or not, we defended them when the legal system didn’t.
As the party started up again, Rex mumbled in my ear, “You need another tattoo.”
My smirk of satisfaction widened. “Sure as fuck do.” My back was a patchwork quilt of tattoos that were linked to the deaths of twenty-nine monsters who’d raped, abused, beaten, and/or killed children.
The first one represented my own monster. Well, mine and my sister’s. I’d survived that cunt, but she hadn’t.
And I’d made that fucker pay. Just as I made them all pay. The thought alone had me cracking my knuckles. Survivor’s guilt had morphed into a rage that would never be appeased, forged from a grief so strong that more than twenty years after her passing, I still mourned her as much as I had the day I’d found her swinging from the rod in her fucking closet.
“You’re going to run out of space soon,” Cruz pointed out from behind the bar. He was pouring beers as fast as my brothers were shoving their glasses at him, while Sin was ‘helping’ by handing out tequila shots, except for every two shots he poured, he took a guzzle from the bottle too. Not that I begrudged the fucker his poison—he’d been the one to help me string Haune up. He deserved a little respite.
“That’s a problem I can deal with,” I stated grimly, staring down into my shot glass. When Rex slapped me on the back, then gripped my shoulder, I asked him, “Did everything else go down alright last night?”
He cocked a brow. “Did I call church?”
I winced at the quiet reprimand. “No.”
“Well then, all’s good, man.” The handsome bastard’s grin twisted along his jaw. “Enjoy your success. You earned it, bro. That fucker…” He whistled. “Squealed like a pig.”
“I know.” Satisfaction sang through my veins. “Made him pay.”
“You make them all pay.” Rex cut me a look, and I knew, deep in his eyes, there was concern buried within those baby blues.
“I’m okay, man,” I assured him quietly, uneasy at the sight.
I knew he cared, but his concern, today at any rate, wasn’t necessary.
Of course, it wasn’t like you could switch that shit off and on. We weren’t kin, but we might as well have been. Rex loved me like we were family, and in a way, we were.
Rex, Steel, Link, Storm, Maverick, and I had all been raised on the compound at one point or another. We’d grown to be brothers, and it was only a twist of fate that saw us all sitting on the Sinners’ council, but that twist meant that every man in the MC, be they on the council or just a regular brother, had my back where this crusade of mine was concerned.
“You’re the opposite of okay, man,” Rex argued with a grumble as he eyed the deep amber of his beverage of choice—JD. Neat. No rocks. He could put away a bottle of that without feeling the pain the next day. “But you’re nowhere close to rabid, so I’m cool with that.”
Unable to stop my snicker, I slammed back some tequila and retorted, “You going to put me down if I go wild?”
“Depends on your definition of wild.” He arched a brow as he leaned forward, shoving his elbows on the peanut-strewn bar. As his gaze drifted over Cruz and Sin, I saw him take note of the stock in the bar, and had to shake my head at the sight.
The bastard seriously never stopped working.
Because concern wasn’t a one-way street, I questioned, “You going to fuck off and get fucked? I don’t know about you, but Cammie wants to suck my cock, don’t you, darlin’?” I hollered the last part so my bitch of choice knew to get her fine ass over here. With a flick of her long blonde hair, she leaped up off the sofa where she’d been chilling with a couple of the other whores, her tits jiggling as she did so.
Eying her, Rex snorted. “Since when did you mind having an audience?”
As the sweetbutt sauntered over to me, swinging her hips for all she was worth, I muttered, “Everyone knows Cammie is shy and timid.” Rex and I stared at one another before bursting out laughing, because describing Cammie as shy and timid was like saying a fourteen-year-old virgin boy didn’t have wet dreams… but for all her sins, she was, for all intents and purposes, mine.
I hadn’t claimed her, never would, but every brother in the MC knew I didn’t share my spoils. It was just how I worked, and because no one wanted to get on my bad side, they steered clear of the sweetbutt.
I was well aware Cammie thought that gave her Old Lady privileges, and used it to one-up the rest of the whores, but I didn’t really give a fuck. She wasn’t my woman, never would be, and if it made her feel better for her to think she was more than just a trio of holes, then I wasn’t enough of a dick to make her feel shitty about herself.
See, that was me. Being a good person.
Wasn’t I just a fucking angel?
Even though she was off limits, even from him, it didn’t stop Rex from appreciating the view, and it was definitely a good one.
She had the face of a saint and the body of a sinner—exactly how I liked my bitches, and Rex, entertained by the show she put on, grinned at me before he slapped me on the back and strode over to some other brother he needed to pester—dude was worse than a mother hen—and I let Cammie come to me.
She milked the moment, but with a pussy as tight as hers and tits that bounced with every thrust? I’d let her get away with it.
Leaning back against the top of the bar, I didn’t care that it was wet from spilled beer and tequila, didn’t give a damn that there were peanut shells on there either.
Honestly, I was already way past my own personal limit of alcohol. I never drank. Only on nights like tonight.
Nights where I celebrated.
It was why they called me Nyx.
I was a creature of the night, of the dark, and these moments, in the aftermath, were when I could let myself loose. When the demon inside me had been sated, I could take a few hours to enjoy the peace.
I knew for a fact Cammie had been avoiding me all evening. Knew it because my rep preceded me. It was why she’d stayed over with the others before I called her over, why now, she was nuzzling into me, cuddling me… she was trying to temper me.
Yeah, because that worked. When affection came from a bitch I didn’t really give a fuck about, from a woman who saw me as her bread and butter, it didn’t really mean anything, did it?
The night after a kill, the night after I made an evil cunt beg at my feet, I was pretty much a beast, which was why Rex had looked at me all concerned.
He knew what I was like.
He’d been checking on the sweetbutt’s behalf, making sure I wasn’t a danger to anyone. He’d meant it when he said he’d been checking that I wasn’t rabid.
I didn’t know if he’d ever be able to tell if I had turned. He knew me well, probably more than most, but that didn’t mean he knew everything.
A part of me was rabid, I just hid it deep.
That was what happened to a man’s soul after what had happened to me and my sister happened, and after so many kills.
Something like that changed you, made you see the darkness in people that others never noticed. Made it harder to trust and more difficult to have faith.
With Cammie trying to hug me, the desire to push her away reached a peak as my throat grew thick with thoughts of Carly, thoughts about how fucked up I was and how much I’d enjoyed making Haune suffer, and for a second, I didn’t just mourn my sister, I mourned the loss of me.
The promise that had been in me, in my future, all gone because of one person.
My personal demon began to stir once more, and because I couldn’t deal with it, not so soon after a kill, I reached back to grab the bottle from Sin’s hand, needing to drown out the ever present rage with the numbness only alcohol could diminish.
Not even coke or dope took it away, and I’d tried, several times, but only tequila did it. Only that gave me any rest when the monster was on edge.
Sin grumbled at losing his bottle, but he knew to back the fuck off. Not just because I was the club’s Enforcer, but because of why we were celebrating.
Our run had just netted us a cool three million bucks, but what we were truly partying over was Haune’s death.
Sin flipped me the bird before he cracked the lid on a new bottle, and as I poured some of the burning liquid into my mouth, Cammie shimmied against me.
She’d been all confidence as she’d strutted over to me, but in her eyes, I saw her caution. She knew she was playing with fire tonight, but although she was feeling wary, she wouldn’t say shit. She’d do whatever the fuck I wanted, whenever.
Another reason I liked her.
I looked deep into her eyes, then demanded, “Open your mouth.”
She obeyed. Instantly.
Everyone knew to obey me.
From the whores to the brothers, even most of the council did as I asked because they knew, where business was concerned, my brain was screwed on right—most of the time anyway.
I was good at hiding the real me, to the point where I’d reached a position of power when I should probably be locked up in some asylum or something.
With her mouth wide open, I poured more tequila into mine then leaned over and trickled the alcohol between her lips. They were painted a ruby red, and as liquid splashed onto them, they gleamed.
In a weird way, it reminded me of Carly’s favorite Disney movie—Snow White. The poison apple looked less shiny than Cammie’s lips though, lips that were about to be around my dick.
As she swallowed my offering, I challenged, “You been avoiding me, Cam?”
Her eyes flared wide, and she instantly shook her head, fear slithering into her bright green gaze, and I reached up, enjoying her fear and knowing I was sick because of it.
I wasn’t a monster, but I was a predator, and Cammie knew she was my prey. I wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t dream of it, but she didn’t have to know that, did she?
Aside from Maverick, who’d served overseas, I had the most kills, and I wore the proof of that on my spine. That gave me an edge that all the sweetbutts knew to be wary of.
Reaching up, I tapped her chin. “You lying to me, Cammie?”
A hand slammed onto my shoulder. “Don’t fuck with her, Nyx.”
I cast Steel a look, but smirked when he rolled his eyes at me. Apparently, he wasn’t up for dealing with my shit tonight.
“Cammie likes it, don’t you, babe?”
“Y-Yes, N-Nyx,” she stuttered, making me scowl.
“Well, that sounded convincing,” Steel commented dryly.
Huffing out a breath, I ordered, “Get on your knees, get your tits out, and suck my dick.”
“Thought you might want to take this somewhere private?”
The instant the words slipped from her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake. She kept pulling this shit. Trying to take things to another level, which was never going to fucking happen. She was a clubwhore. Nothing more, nothing less.
Without another word, without my even having to cock a brow, she slid to her knees and unfastened the bralette she wore. As her tits spilled free, I turned my attention to Steel who I knew was eying up Cammie.
She wasn’t mine, but every brother knew to back the fuck off her. I didn’t share. And I expected no one to watch if I pulled a move like this out in public.
“You want to watch the show or something?” I growled.
“You’re at the bar. Free country, ain’t it?”
My brow puckered at that, and a memory prodded into being thanks to those two words—free country. “Ain’t seen Mav around.”
“He’s in his room.”
“Was hoping he’d get some pussy tonight. He was as integral to tonight’s celebration as any of us.”
Steel shrugged. “You know he won’t come down.”
Yeah, I’d known, but Haune was one of the worst fuckers we’d targeted, and Mav, more than anyone, knew what the bastard had done.
We didn’t just slaughter these cunts without researching them. We made sure they deserved the punishment, and that involved Mav having to do some shit I’d never be able to thank him enough for.
See, if they came out of prison rehabilitated, we left them alone. Mav monitored some of them, had watches on the agencies that were keeping their eyes on the sex offenders’ list.
But the ones who were released and went straight back to their vile ways, we showed them the true definition of vile.
If anyone deserved a bottle of tequila and a blowjob tonight, it wasn’t me, it was Mav, but he, of course, was too fucked in the head from his own wounds to even enjoy the celebrations of one less sick fuck roaming the streets.
My mind veered off course when Cammie’s hand began to roll down my zipper, but just as she slipped her fingers inside my fly, headlights flashed into the window of the bar. I grabbed her hand, well aware that all the brothers were in here tonight, partying.
Which meant anyone who came to the gate wasn’t welcome.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
Shoving her hand away, I almost walked into Cammie in my haste to figure out what was going on, then realizing she was there, I grabbed her and set her on her feet.
She tottered around a bit, wobbling on the too high heels all the whores wore and couldn’t walk in, and I left her to Steel’s care. Not that he’d touch her, but entertaining these bitches was just as much of a drag as it was when fucking an ordinary woman.
The compound was right on the outskirts of West Orange, situated smack in the middle of a triangle that had three swanky country clubs at each point. We were the mother chapter of four other MC chapters around the States, and I knew the Originals—one of whom was Rex’s dad, Bear—had set up shop here simply to piss off the locals.
Close to Caldwell, we were in the middle of money. Money talked, but we had more than even the richest country clubber, and the sheriff and his deputies were all in our pockets. Regardless, we had to be vigilant.
We never stored drugs at the compound.
Ever.
That was our main source of income, that as well as a protection racket that defended some local storefronts from the fucking Bratva who were trying to elbow into our turf, and the transporting we did for a couple of Families in New York. So the money we earned was never kept here either.
I knew we were safe if the sheriff came armed with a search warrant, because one of the local rich fucks decided to get his panties in a twist over having scum too close to his eight-door garage loaded with classic cars, but just because there was no risk to us didn’t mean I appreciated the inconvenience, especially when they fucking destroyed everything during the raid. Tearing up our beds and other soft furnishings, dragging everything out front on the hunt for our hiding places…
Because, yup, apparently we looked so fucking stupid that we’d keep shit stored in our fucking sofa cushions.
Dumb fucks. And they said we were the rednecks because none of us had more than a high school diploma among us—yeah. Right.
For all we were close to the ritzy areas in town, we had about three acres, and the building was a purpose built clubhouse, complete with bedrooms for the council, some for the whores, and a few others for families who, for whatever reason, couldn’t afford to live off site. There were kitchens, living spaces, a dining area, and more offices than the local council probably had in their town hall.
Our MC was big business, and that was why it took a lot to protect our home. It was also why I was vigilant at all times, especially on nights like tonight where my family had gone to bat for me in a big way. I showed my appreciation by making sure that no one fucked with us.
It was my job, but it was my honor too. Nothing and no one meant more to me than these bastards, and I showed that by keeping them all safe.
As I pushed between brothers, who hadn’t realized our security might have been breached, I forcefully shoved my way through the crowd. Bros wanted to congratulate me, and I just smirked at them and slapped them on the back, because it was quicker than explaining why I was in a rush.
When I finally made it to the front door, out through the wood paneled hall, it opened wide, and Jaxson, the Prospect I’d put on the gate tonight, was there, ready to step in.
“Just coming for you, Boss.”
My road name was Nyx, but to the guys on security, they all called me Boss. I guessed it was a badge of honor. Only Rex had a different ‘label,’ and he was the fucking Prez.
“What’s going on? Who’s at the gates?”
Jaxson pulled a face as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. I’d known him since he was a kid. Had watched him grow up around the place. His dad, a loyal brother to the end, had died in a stupid bar brawl in a honky-tonk on Route 66 of all fucking places.
I’d been there when the bastard had bled out, and with his last, dying breath, he’d made me promise to watch over his kid.
Trouble was, watching over Jaxson meant trying to protect him from club life, and there was no way I could do that. Ironically enough, Hills wouldn’t have wanted me to keep his kid from club life either, so it was a pointless deathbed promise. But I figured a man who died a violent death was allowed to talk pointless shit in the vain hope that his son wouldn’t have a similar end.
Because I knew Jaxson well, I saw his discomfort. He was about eight or so months away from earning his patch, and he was good on security. Good enough that I’d be keeping him with me once he got his cut.
“Remember Lizzie Fontaine?”
The name had me narrowing my eyes as I released a whistle. “Fuck. Haven’t heard that name in a long time. Don’t let Dog hear you mention it. He’s still bitter as fuck?—”
“She’s dead,” Jaxson blurted out.
It took a lot to surprise me, but his declaration did. “She is? That’s a fucking shame.” Lizzie wasn’t the slut Dog painted her as. If anything, she’d been good people, and this fucked-up shitter of a world was a worse place for her not being in it. Although… “How do you know that?” I inquired warily.
Lizzie had left when Jaxson was around ten. No way he’d know something like that when he probably didn’t remember her all that well, so where this conversation was coming from, I didn’t know.
After looking over his shoulder at the path he’d just taken, he pulled a face that set me on edge. “Lizzie and Dog’s kids just pulled up at the gate. They want to come home.”
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