The Devil’s Hour (31 Days of Trick or Treat: Biker and Mobster)

Prologue

Four Years Before

Bear

Abig, meaty fist came hurtling toward me, smashing across my jaw, and my head flew to the side as blood flew from my mouth.

Pain radiated from the other side of my face as something hit my cheek, then more pain as knuckles smashed into my temple.

“Had enough yet, you pervert?” a deep, rasping voice demanded.

I opened my eyes, hocked up a mouthful of blood, and spat it at Cash Stone’s face.

He took a step back to avoid the missile of phlem before throwing another jab at my already broken nose.

My head snapped back, and I let out a groan as I felt my brain rattle against the inside of my skull. Blood pounded through my veins, and my heart hammered with adrenaline as Cash’s knuckles crunched my skin and bone.

My excitement flared every time the sweet pain bloomed, and my balls tingled from the dark, sadistic expression slashed across my nemesis's face.

Sick?

Yep.

Though I’d been turned on by sicker shit over the years.

Golden eyes bored into mine, and I found myself mesmerized by the need for retribution blazing behind them. Assholes wanting to murder me were just a normal day at the office.

I’d been dodging blades and bullets since the grand old age of nine, when my dad walked in on me stabbing the family dog to death.

Pop kicked my ass that day, and I acquired a thick, angry scar across my cheekbone that my eyes had drifted to every day since, whenever I looked at myself in a mirror.

As grotesque as it was, over the years it became a reminder that life was a cunt, and the only person who’d ever look out for me was me, ‘cause it was clear that not even my mom and pop gave a shit.

I mean, what kind of father pulled a blade on his own son?

Duh.

Mine of course.

My cunt mother didn’t give a fuck either, but since when did club whores care about anyone or anything except their dealers and when they were getting their next fix.

I made sure Mommy dearest suffered for her lack of care, though, because I stabbed her in her sleep four years later and told Dad I had to do it ‘cause the bitch attacked me first.

I heard her agonized screams sometimes at night when I was alone in the dark, usually followed by the memory of my pained pleas.

It was self-defense, Dad, I promise. Please don’t hurt me.

Lol.

Ironically, I got my ass kicked harder for killing the dog than I did my mother, but then women were also easy come, easy kill for me, and after that day, I realized it was the same for my dad too. Still, whores were only good for whoring anyway, so what was there to be mad about?

The next bitch I killed was in a private snuff scene when I was eighteen. I strangled her to death while four of the boys fucked her bloody. Never really bothered with women after that, at least not until April came along.

Now that bitch was something else. Me and the boys could dry fuck every hole she had for hours, and she’d still beg for more. Shame she turned into such a goddamned liability.

Luckily, she gave me a daughter I could sell on, so at least she made me a hundred thou and gave me hours of bloody enjoyment when I cut the brat out of her while she was still alive and conscious.

I’d never heard screams like it before or since. It got me hotter than a solar flare. In fact, the memory of her tortured, mutilated body made my cock twitch even now, which was probably odd considering I was currently in the process of being tortured to death.

I opened my eyes just in time to see a sledgehammer coming toward me again. Okay, so it was really a big, meaty fist, but it felt like a sledgehammer when it connected with the force of one.

Knuckles hit my jaw, my head snapped violently to the side, and then I saw stars.

“Who else was involved?” Cash Stone snarled at me from his chair, where he sat opposite. “There’s no way you and Henderson were the brains behind the trafficking operation. It’s not as if either of you have got much in the way of smarts. I’ve seen better-organized frat parties.”

I spat the blood from my mouth, not at all shocked to see a tooth fly out with it.

The prick currently beating on me may have been a joke of a biker, but he was a big, burly fucker, and he punched with the force of a Mack truck.

I didn’t recognize him. He wore a Speed Demons’ cut and the SAA patch, but it was marked Virginia instead of Wyoming.

Weirdly, it wasn’t this big, long-haired cunt who bothered me, nor was it Cash the fuckwit VP.

The brother who gave me chills was the quiet one they called Breaker, who had voids for eyes and sat staring at me blankly.

See, there was something about him that wasn’t right, and the reason I knew he was fucked in the head was because I was the same way.

No feelings.

No emotions.

Just dead inside.

Men like me and Breaker were the dangerous ones because we had no conscience.

Nothing we did kept us awake at night because we didn’t care about the pain and torture we inflicted on people.

Shame I didn’t meet him before ‘cause if I could’ve got him on my side, we could have wreaked beautiful havoc together.

Too late now, though.

There was no way out of this.

I was bruised, bloody, beaten, and broken.

Dead man walking.

Though it had been a wild-assed ride.

Mayor Henderson was probably six feet under already, or at least was about to be, so couldn’t they just stop with all the questions and get the fuck on with it? They’d won; it was game over for me, so why all the fucking dramatics?

“Just kill me already,” I croaked. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, how the fuck did you win this war when you can’t even pull the trigger?”

“Been pullin’ triggers all day, Bear,” Cash bit back. “We’ve had a merry ol’ time slittin’ throats and shootin’ out the brains of your scummy brothers. Reckon you’re the last Burning Sinner left, so we thought we’d play with you for a while, see what it’ll take to make you talk.”

I grinned huge at him, well aware that the few teeth I had left in my mouth were covered in blood.

“Ain’t talkin’ about shit, and in case you didn’t notice, I get off on the pain.

” I rounded my hips from the chair, circling them, drawing their attention to the bulge between my legs.

“See that big ol’ hard-on you’ve given me.

You boys are sexy as fuck, but still not as sexy as that ol’ lady of yours, Cashy boy.

” My bloody grin widened at the memory. “She was a skinny bitch, but she smelled good. Loved feeling her itty-bitty titties up. I smelled the fear on her and got hard as a fuckin’ steel pipe.

Wish I’d taken her that day instead of that other cunt.

I could’ve cut your kid out of your ol’ lady’s belly and sold the little bastard on, just like I did April’s squawkin’ brat. ”

I caught a movement from the corner of my eye, along with a glint of metal, and an animalistic shriek left my throat as the excruciating burn in my cock made my eyes roll in the back of my head.

Somebody grabbed my hair, and a voice rumbled in my ear.

“No passing out now, cunt bag. Want you to stay awake for when I chop your cock off. I’m gonna cut you into pieces and store your parts in one’a my special little jars. ”

The sound of laughter filled the dimly lit basement room.

“Chop a cock, chop a cock, chop a cock,” the mad fucker chanted close to my ear. “Glad it’s hard; makes it easier for me to sever.”

The crazy assed cadence of his voice drilled straight through my skull and vibrated down my spine, but it did nothing to take away the agonizing pain from between my legs. My eyes lowered, and I balked at the sight of the huge knife sticking out of my groin.

Then I howled in pain.

Fuck.

The fuckers circled me so close I could hear their breaths.

My shocked stare caught on Breaker’s blank, void eyes, and I recognized the deep, rotten hunger in them.

He reminded me of a rabid dog about to rip into its kill, and I recognized it because I felt the same desperate need.

There wasn’t a trace of mercy in his expression, and I knew then that I was going to Hell.

I began to suck in breaths to try and block out the agonizing burn. Then I almost passed out again as someone grabbed the back of my hair and forced my head back.

“You like pain, huh?” Cash rasped.

Despite the knife embedded in my dick, I barked a laugh.

“Diablo,” Cash said, his tone almost bored. “Do it.”

I let out another shriek as the pain in my groin intensified, then I felt a rush of warmth covering me. I glanced down, hoping to fuck I hadn’t pissed myself. Giving these cunts the satisfaction of that would be worse than dying, but it wasn’t piss, it was blood.

“Oopsies,” the big fucker Cash just called Diablo crowed. “Clumsy me nicked an artery. Whoever wants to be the one to kill the ugly cunt better get shakin’. It’s not like he’s got much blood left in him.”

“You take his dick, and I’ll cut as throat at the same time,” Breaker's flat voice muttered.

Diablo chuckled. “A man after my own heart.”

“I wanna kill him,” Cash protested.

“You can,” Breaker assented. “I’ll pull his eyes open so the last thing he sees is your face as he gasps for air through the big slit I’ll slice across his windpipe. Then just before he slips into Hell, you can shoot him in the head, and you can do it smiling.”

I mean, it was extreme, but strangely, I liked their style. It was pretty much the same shit I would’ve done if the boot was on the other foot. Still, I couldn’t let the bastards have the last word now, could I?

“I’ll haunt every one of you,” I spat. “You’ll never sleep easy again. I curse every one of you motherfuckers, and I curse your kids and your kids’ kids. I curse you to eternity.”

“Is he still talking?” Breaker muttered, his blank eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“’Fraid so,” Cash drawled. “We'd better do somethin’ about that.”