Scar (Via Daemonia MC #14)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

FOUR WEEKS AGO

J ulian “Scar” Ragna held his hand out, palm up. Rain pelted the leather of his glove. April was touch and go in Mount Grove, Pennsylvania. One minute it was blue skies and fluffy, white clouds and the next it was bitter cold with gray, angry clouds. Nothing like the blazing heat of Texas where he’d grown up.

Scar didn’t have a preference between the two. He didn’t have a preference about much these days. The buzz inside his head was getting louder and louder to the point where he was finding it hard to concentrate. Like radio static turned up to a screeching, ear-piercing volume. It had gotten worse in the past year and he had no doubt that it was due to separating himself from his family in Mount Grove.

Scar and his sister had grown up at each other’s throats. In their defense, all they’d known in their formative years was their parents’ verbal fighting. Trinity and he were homeschooled and didn’t have an outlet except each other. Their cattle farm was failing, and when the bank had come to take the land, their father had tried to keep them away with his gun. The action had cost him his life and their mom her freedom. Their aunt was less than happy to be forced to take in two small children she hadn’t birthed. Rather than band together to survive, young Trinity and Julian had turned on each other.

The older he got, the more he wanted to be anywhere else in the world but Millview, Texas. The Army had seemed like the answer to all of his problems.

Scar had so many regrets in his life, but leaving Millview was not one of them. He’d reached out to Trinity over the years, wanting to make amends, but she made her refusal loud and clear.

On his first day of basic training, Julian had met another young man who became his brother. José Santiago. A giant of a man who’d joined up for the noblest of reasons: to provide for his family. Scar wondered what Mrs. Santiago and José’s little brother Carlos would say now if they knew they’d met Scar all those years ago.

There was no way they recognized him. Scar didn’t even recognize himself.

Through the open visor of his helmet, Scar stared down at the puddle forming in his open palm. It was mesmerizing in the fading light. Beautiful, even, but also morbidly symbolic in a way, like Scar was collecting the souls of those he’d lost over the years with each dewdrop that collected in his gloved hand.

Drip… Patriot.

Drip… Farmboy.

Drip… Lamb Chop.

Drip… St. Nick.

Drip… Cajun.

Drip… Sparkles.

Drip… Pain lanced inside him, the ringing louder than ever. It physically pierced his head, making it impossible for him to think the name that was next on his list.

Because it certainly wasn’t the last.

How many souls had he collected in return? Seven lives lost. Hundreds more taken.

Scar turned his wrist, emptying the puddle onto the asphalt at his feet. He shouldn’t be here. He’d been foolish to believe that he could be normal , that he could have normal . Scar would never be normal . Not after… He was darkness, a black stain on this small town he’d once called home.

When José had found him in that bar over eight years ago, it had seemed like it was destiny. Reunited with his brother at last. Perhaps he’d finally be able to put his past behind him.

José didn’t understand. None of them did.

Scar’s past wasn’t going anywhere. It was etched into his face for all to see.

The buzzing got louder as the rain got heavier. Parked in an unlit alley on Main Street, Scar straddled his motorcycle—a Harley-Davidson Heritage he’d procured after the previous, now deceased, owner tried to rape a waitress outside a diner. The all-grain leather pants and jacket he wore were not just to protect him from road debris. He’d known it was going to rain, even when the forecast showed only chances.

As his former club was now scrambling to exchange bikes for vehicles, Scar was waiting to ensure all of them got out of town before he left. It was ingrained in him. He’d failed to watch his brothers’ backs once before; he refused to let it happen again.

José thought Scar didn’t want to be in Mount Grove. What would he think if he knew just how badly Scar wished he could be? That he too was running around in the rain, helping to wrangle up kids and had a wonderful woman to curl up to at night?

Scar slammed the visor of his helmet down, a poor attempt to close himself off from that train of thought. Scar could barely stand the feel of the cool rain on his skin. He’d never be able to stand the delicate touch of a woman.

If there was one person within the club Scar thought might understand his plight, it had been Jumper. The former SEAL had been buried alive for over three days before rescue. His ordeal and post-traumatic stress had changed him on a debilitating scale, yet the club was gathering this night to celebrate the man’s upcoming nuptials.

Scar was glad for his former club brother. Jumper wasn’t past his trauma, but he was working through it and he had a beautiful, strong woman at his side to help him.

So many of the brothers did now. The club, once a bachelor’s paradise, was now teeming with club kids and ol’ ladies. Good women who could stand at their man’s side with pride. They were incredible additions to the club family.

But with each addition, it only drove home even harder that his brothers would all eventually have what Scar never could.

He’d overheard a doctor at the VA describe Scar as ‘ruined, not broken’. Jumper, for all his trauma and similarities to Scar, was broken. And broken could be mended. There might be blemishes and visible flaws, but broken could be fixed. Jasmine had become the resin that held Jumper together.

Scar wasn’t broken. He wasn’t damaged or awaiting repair. He was ruined. Like the vehicles at Grumpy’s garage that were nothing more than scrap metal, Scar would never be whole again. Too much of him was missing. He could never give himself to a woman to put back together because not all his puzzle pieces were in his box.

The reality, his reality, might make it impossible for him to ever be healed, but he’d do his damnedest to ensure all of his brothers received their happily ever after. They deserved that peace, that solace.

He would give them what he couldn’t have: a home.

Scar’s sensitive ears picked up on a sound. Though muffled by the heavy rain, it did not take him more than a second to register the gunfire for what it was. He heeled the kickstand up and shot off into the night.

* * *

It was the slate gray Bugatti Divo that had Scar pulling over. He’d passed one of the club’s SUVs on the road, coming away from the bridge. Though the rear windows were tinted, Scar caught sight of Frankie behind the wheel. She was a college friend of Sissy’s and had been hired on as a nanny to put some distance between herself and her ex.

Would she still be staying around Mount Grove if she knew her ex was now worm food for putting his hands on her?

Scar didn’t know, and it wasn’t his place to inform her. Eventually, she’d learn her ex was no longer looking for her and make her own decision about her future.

Mount Grove was a small town divided down the middle by a river filled with mountain water. The bridge that connected the two sides of town was directly up ahead, meaning Frankie had been coming from the north side and going in the opposite direction of the steakhouse where the wedding celebration was being held. The erratic speed with which she was driving also clued Scar in that something was wrong on the other side of the bridge.

But he pulled over before crossing it. The Divo was idling just before the incline of the bridge. Not only did Scar recognize the vehicle, but he had no doubt who was sitting behind the wheel. The continued gunfire echoed across the river and yet the expensive, over-the-top sportscar remained where it was on the small dirt shoulder.

Like the driver was watching .

Once out of the center of town, Main Street was surrounded by woods on both sides of the road for a few miles with only the bridge and river to impede the foliage.

Scar drove his bike off the road and directly into the brush. Tunnel vision was his best weapon against any enemy. When they were so focused on what was in front of them that they never saw him coming at them from behind.

Mud squelched around his tires and boots, but Scar paid it no mind as he pulled his helmet off his head. If his bike fell, it fell. Bikes could be replaced. Lives could not. Never again would Scar put some thing over the life of some one . Whoever was across the bridge was still alive because the gunfire continued. He had to believe whoever it was was holding their own.

Scar was going after the cowardly mastermind, because no one else would sit in their vehicle to watch but the man who orchestrated the chaos.

Rain touched the skin of his face like acid drops. But he pushed past the pain. Pain was temporary, a trick of the mind. Boots to the pavement, he’d just barely made it to the trunk of the sportscar when the engine suddenly revved and the driver gunned it.

Scar chased after it. He was fast, even uphill. He could not take the time to go back and get his bike. He’d make it across the bridge without it in the same time.

He’d expected the sportscar to head down the other side, but it came to a screeching halt at the crown of the bridge. It was angled in the single right lane with its bumper towards the metal guardrail and the headlights towards the double yellow lines splitting the roadway.

The driver was out of the vehicle. Scar didn’t notice things like what shoes he was wearing or what color his shirt was. Such details were insignificant and only delayed his mind. What he saw was the man’s stance, how his feet were placed on the asphalt, and the hand he had raised towards the woman in front of him.

Sophia Groveton. Scar was nearly to them when two cop cruisers came speeding up the incline. Despite their presence, he didn’t slow. If Sophia was running away from the descent of the bridge, that meant at the very least Pirate was down there and Scar did not hear any more gunshots. The rapid fire had told him the initial bullets were from machine guns, two at minimum. He did not know who else was below.

He didn’t know who was alive below.

The cops could handle Fletcher Montague. Scar needed to get to his brother. His destination had not changed.

He flew through the rain, his boots barely making contact with the ground below, he was running so fast.

The scream that pierced the air had his eyes flick to the scuffle at the front of the sportscar. In the beams of the headlights, Scar watched as Montague’s hand landed on the holstered weapon of a deputy.

His feet changed direction without a direct thought. He did not focus on the gun or the police. His eyes were only on Pirate’s woman. His tunnel vision now became his downfall.

He was a second too slow. The gun fired. His aim to tackle her changed.

Scar stepped in front of her.

Pain was just a state of mind. That was what he told himself every day of his existence. It was all in his head, the buzzing, the sensitivity, the dying echoes of those he failed to save…

This was not in his head. Agony rippled through his chest, spiraling out from a single point. Scar didn’t know what heartbreak felt like, had never loved someone so completely that their absence from his life had left a virtual hole in him. But he wondered now.

The night sky filled his vision, wetness hitting his face with direct precision like teardrops falling from the heavens. Something soft collided with his back as his feet were forced out from under him. He was falling.

His mind worked through the agony, as only a mind with a history of pain could. In a blink, he placed it all together. The bullet hitting him in the chest, him hitting Sophia, and both of them were toppling backwards over the guardrail. Towards the freezing, rushing water below.

He had less than a second to act.

Sophia would not survive that fall. Neither would Scar, but he was dead whether they went over the edge of the bridge or not. The placement of the bullet was too close to his heart. Even with the presence of the police, there would be nothing they could do for him.

But he could save Sophia. He had to save Sophia. Pirate deserved his happily ever after.

In open air, Scar felt for and found her hand. The bridge had a small lip after the guardrail. The fingers of his left hand gripped the edge. It was so slick that the leather of his glove was the only reason he was able to find traction and hold on. His own weight pulled at his shoulder, but as gravity pulled at Sophia dangling from his other hand, he felt his shoulder pop and tear. The pain radiating through his entire being doubled, but Scar only tightened his grip on her.

Sophia desperately screamed, “Pirate!”

Scar looked up to see his club brother’s face over the edge of the bridge. His eyes were wild with fear. As soon as he saw Scar and Sophia dangling precariously, he stepped over the guardrail to get to them. His movements were agonizingly slow, but they had to be or Pirate would tumble over the side too. Scar refused to count the seconds in his head as Pirate sank onto his knees. The lip was just barely wide enough for his biker boot. Wrapping one hand around the sharp edge of the rail, Pirate bent down low, stretching out his other hand.

Scar’s vision was starting to fade. The pain was so intense, his entire body felt like it was on fire. The buzz in his head was so loud now that he couldn’t hear anything but very distinct sounds, like Sophia’s gasps and the roar of the rushing water below. He saw Pirate’s hand inch towards his own and knew that for the mistake it was. Pirate would not be able to pull both of them up. Not at that angle, not on his own, and not in the rain.

Gritting his teeth, Scar pulled his right arm up. Gravity tried to pull her down, but Scar refused to let go. He would not drop her. His mouth clamped closed around the roar building up in his soul.

I will not talk…

The mantra overtook him. The echoes of his teammates, his fallen brothers, as they sang in the face of death lent Scar the strength he needed to lift Sophia higher.

I will not talk…

Finally, Sophia was raised high enough where Pirate could reach her. It was like she didn’t want to let go of Scar though. Precariously slow seconds ticked by before Pirate took her weight completely from Scar.

Blackness threatened. Scar blinked and the pain started to fade. He felt his fingertips slide from the concrete.

March along, sing our song, with the Army of the free…

Scar wasn’t afraid of death. That fear had been forcefully taken from him years ago. He’d lost seven brothers but he’d gained so many more. It would never be a fair trade. He saw all their faces. Not just those he loved but the ones he’d taken from this world. Perhaps tomorrow would be brighter without his darkness to snuff out the light.

Proud of all we have done…

A vise gripped his wrist. Scar swung forward, his marred face colliding with the slab of concrete that supported the bridge. He blinked, trying to clear the blackness enough to see through the rain pelting down on top of him.

Pirate was hanging half over the edge. Scar couldn’t see what was keeping him from going over completely. Something was holding him there, but that something tore. They dropped, both losing inches that put them ever closer to the rushing water far beneath Scar’s boots.

If Pirate continued to hold on, he would tumble down into the depths of the cold river too.

Scar would not lose another brother. Whatever was holding Pirate up would not last long. It was already slipping.

With the last of his strength, Scar reached up with his right hand. Pirate would survive. Pirate had to survive .

Scar’s vision jumped to that fucking cave. He saw tearful brown eyes staring back at him, far, far too young and forlorn. He heard the snap , saw the light fade from those tawny depths.

His fingers peeled Pirate’s off of his wrist.

Fighting till the battle’s won…

Scar saw the horror touch Pirate’s face as he realized what Scar was doing. If only he could make Pirate understand. There was no saving Scar and he refused to take Pirate down into the darkness with him.

Oblivion took him the same time gravity did. He barely felt the rush of the air or the harsh slap of water at his back. At long last, he could rest.

And the Army keeps rolling along…

At long last, Julian could finally sleep.