Total Carnage (RBMC, Lexington, KY #1)

Chapter 1 Vin

Vin

Ijolted awake, gasping for air like a drowning man breaking the surface. My lungs burned, every breath bringing a cloud of gritty dust that clung to my throat. What the fuck?

“Raven,” I said, but heavy and unnatural silence surrounded me.

No birds, no wind, just the faint sound of someone working nearby as I shifted on my ass.

My eyes struggled to focus in the dim light.

Rows of weathered headstones came into view.

A fucking cemetery. I woke up in a fucking cemetery surrounded by the dead.

"The hell am I doing here?" I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. My muscles screamed in protest as I tried to sit up like they'd forgotten how to work. It felt like a semi had hit me. Twice.

"Fuck me," I hissed, gritting my teeth against the pain. “Raven?” I said again, but no reply came. Why would there be a reply in a cemetery? I knew she wasn’t there. I knew she was dead.

I managed to get to my knees, my leather cut creaking like old bones.

It was covered in a thick layer of grayish dust that seemed to have worked its way into every crack and crevice.

The same shit coated my hands, caked under my fingernails.

My head spun as I fought to stand, legs trembling like a newborn colt's.

I stumbled, catching myself on a nearby headstone.

The rough granite scraped my palm, anchoring me to reality.

I read the inscription: Wallace Murphy. January 1, 1932 - January 1, 2019.

Devoted husband, father, and grandfather.

Forever missed. I read the dates again. Damn.

"Get it together, Reed," I muttered. "You've been through worse.

" But had I? Something about this felt wrong, beyond the obvious weirdness of waking up in a graveyard.

An icy finger of dread trailed down my spine as I took in my surroundings.

The stillness was oppressive, unnatural.

It was like the world was holding its breath, waiting for me to either scream or drop dead. “Fuck you, world.”

I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "Think, dammit. How'd you end up here? Fuck that, where’s Raven?” I yelled her name again, getting no reply. Because she was dead.

I closed my eyes and tried to think backward.

How did I get here? The last thing I remembered was looking up in the sky and…

And what? Nothing. My mind was blank, offering nothing but a dull ache behind my eyes.

Whatever had happened, it couldn't be good.

In my line of work, waking up confused in strange places usually meant serious trouble.

It meant that I had probably killed a man.

I stumbled forward, each step feeling like I was wading through molasses. My boots left clear prints in the dust coating the ground. How long had I been here?

"Alright, Vin," I said to myself, voice hoarse—from…disuse? "One foot in front of the other, asshole. Find a way out of this creepy-ass place and figure out what the hell is going on."

But deep in my gut, a nagging feeling told me I might not like the answers waiting for me beyond the cemetery gates. Just because we looked for answers didn’t mean we needed to find them. If I was looking for answers, it was because something was seriously fucked up.

The quiet shattered like glass as memories exploded behind my eyes: chaos, fire, the roar of bikes and the staccato of gunfire, planes overhead—military planes.

"Fuck!" I growled, doubling over as the images came at me. The Hell's Justice clubhouse engulfed in flames, the acrid stench of burning rubber and gasoline. My brothers scattered, some firing back, others lying too still on the ground. The thunderous boom of explosions rocking my chest.

I tasted blood, real or remembered, I couldn't tell. My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape. "This ain't right," I muttered, struggling to breathe. "We were... I was..."

Dead. The word hung unspoken, heavy as lead. I didn’t want to speak it—one of those answers I shouldn’t find.

I ran a trembling hand over my face, feeling the familiar scars, the rough stubble. All too real. Too alive.

"If this is the afterlife," I said with a bitter laugh, "then I seriously got screwed on the deal."

My mind raced, grasping for an explanation. A coma? Some elaborate setup? But the weight of time settled on me like a shroud of darkness. This wasn't just waking up after a bender gone wrong.

"Alright, Reed," I told myself. "You've seen some crazy shit, but this takes the cake. Figure it out. What's the last thing you remember?"

The firefight. Smoke thick enough to choke on. A final stand with my brothers. Dead brothers all around me. Raven. Raven was dead, I remembered. Killed before me and killed because of me. I glanced back at the ground and wanted hell to take me back. Take what rightfully belonged to it.

"No way I walked away from that," I muttered, my fists clenching. "So, how the hell am I standing here?"

The silence offered no answers, just the creeping certainty that whatever brought me back, it wasn't natural. And sure as shit, it wasn't free.

I steadied myself against an elaborate headstone, the cold granite grounding me as I scanned the cemetery.

Row after row of weathered markers stretched out, a sea of endings etched in stone.

The air felt heavy, like time had thickened and settled over this place.

My gaze caught on a familiar name. Then another.

My breath hitched as I read them aloud, my voice rough.

"Ace. Hammer. Skull."

My brothers. My family. The men I'd died alongside or thought I had. Their names stared back at me, a punch to the gut that nearly doubled me over. I swung a fist, connecting with only air.

"What the fuck is going on?" I growled, anger rising to combat the growing unease.

A flicker of movement caught my eye as a man in overalls approached hesitantly as if he were seeing a ghost. Hell, maybe he was.

The cemetery worker—a lanky guy with more hair than muscle—stopped a good ten feet away. His eyes were wide as saucers, darting between me and the graves I stood among.

"You... you're..." he stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

I squared my shoulders, falling into the stance that had made grown men piss themselves. "I'm Vin Reed," I said, my tone daring him to argue. "And I've got a hell of a lot of questions."

The worker's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. "But you're... I mean, I saw them put you in the ground myself."

A chill ran down my spine, but I kept my face impassive. "Looks like it didn't take," I said with a grim smile. "Now, you gonna tell me what's going on, or do I need to get persuasive?"

The guy's face went pale as milk. "I... I don't understand. It's been four years since the... the incident. We all thought you were dead."

Four years. The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest. My muscles tense, the veins bulging, leather creaking as I fought to keep my shit together.

"Four fucking years?" I said harshly, taking a step towards him. "You're telling me I've been six feet under for four goddamn years?"

He nodded, stumbling back. "Y-yes, sir. The explosion... everyone said there were no survivors. We buried you all right here."

My mind reeled. Four years gone. Four years of my life, my brothers' lives, just... erased. The rage inside me threatened to boil over, but I tamped it down. Anger wouldn't get me answers.

"What happened to the club?" I demanded, my voice low and dangerous. "Hell's Justice. What became of it?"

The worker's eyes darted around like he was looking for an escape route.

"It... it fell apart, sir. After the attack, there wasn't much left.

Some rival clubs moved in and took over the territory.

I think the other chapters folded out of fear the government might send a missile to their front door. "

My jaw clenched, and a muscle twitched in my cheek. Everything we'd built, fought for—gone, just like that. The weight of it all pressed down on me, threatening to crush what was left of my sanity. I was a biker without a club, without a brotherhood.

"Who?" I snarled. "Who took what was ours?"

The worker's eyes darted between me and the gravestones. "I-I don't know names, sir. Just... just rumors. Rough crowd, they say. Meaner than you guys ever were."

I snorted. Meaner than Hell's Justice? Fat fucking chance. But the way this guy was looking at me—like I was some kind of ghost come back to haunt him—unsettled me.

"What aren't you telling me?" I said, taking another step closer. The poor bastard looked ready to piss himself.

"It's just... you shouldn't be here," he stammered. "You were dead. We all saw... I mean, how is this even possible?"

How the fuck was I supposed to know? The last thing I remembered was fire, screaming, then... nothing. Now here I was, four years later, standing over my own goddamn grave.

My mind seemed to stutter, a tornado of questions tearing through me. How had I survived? Where had I been all this time? And more importantly, who the fuck had done this to us?

The need for answers burned in my gut, mixing with the rage and confusion until I felt like I might explode. But beneath it all, a cold, hard resolve was taking shape. I'd find out what happened. I'd make things right. And God help anyone who got in my way.

I turned away from the cemetery worker, his fear-filled eyes burning into my back as I strode towards the iron gates.

Each step felt like I was just learning to walk, my muscles screaming at me like an old lady, but I pushed through it.

Pain was an old friend, and right now, it was the only thing keeping me grounded in this fucked-up reality.

"Hey, wait!" the worker called out, his voice trembling. "You can't just leave like this. There are procedures, paperwork—"

I whipped around, fixing him with a glare that could've melted steel. "Paperwork? For what? Coming back from the fucking dead?"

He flinched, taking a step back. "I... I don't know. This isn't exactly covered in the employee handbook."

Despite everything, I felt a harsh laugh escape my throat. "Yeah, I bet it ain't." I softened my tone just a hair. "Look, pal. I appreciate you not shitting yourself when you saw me. But I've got some business to take care of."

As I turned back towards the gate, my eyes swept over the rows of headstones. My brothers. My family. Anger surged through me, hot and familiar. Whoever did this was gonna pay, and pay hard. Pay the Hell’s Justice way.

I pushed open the gate, the rusty hinges groaning in protest. The world beyond the cemetery looked different yet achingly familiar. Four years. Four fucking years of my life were gone in the blink of an eye.

"I'm coming for you bastards," I muttered under my breath, my fists balling, fingernails digging into skin, muscles ready to explode. "Whatever rock you're hiding under, I'll find you. And when I do, you'll wish I'd stayed dead."

The resolve in my chest hardened, turning to steel. I didn't know how I'd come back or why. But I knew one thing for damn sure—I was gonna use this second chance to rain hell on the fuckers who'd taken everything from me, including Raven.

I strode toward the parking lot, my boots crunching on gravel. The weight of my kutte felt different now, heavier with the ghosts of my fallen brothers. As I approached the parking lot, my eyes locked on a lone motorcycle gleaming in the fading sunlight. It wasn't mine, but it would do.

"Sorry, buddy," I muttered, swinging my leg over the seat. "Consider this a loan to the undead."

The bike roared to life beneath me, a familiar vibration that sent a jolt through my system. As I pulled out of the lot, the cemetery shrank in my rearview mirror, a reminder of what I'd lost and was fighting for.

The wind whipped against my face, carrying the scent of asphalt and freedom. My need for revenge raced faster than the speedometer. Where to start? Who to trust? The club was gone, and four years was a long time in our world. Alliances shifted like sand, and enemies multiplied like cockroaches.

"One step at a time, Reed," I told myself. "First, we find out who's still breathing."

The road stretched out before me, a black ribbon leading to uncertain horizons. But uncertainty had never stopped me before, and it sure as hell wasn't gonna stop me now. I twisted the throttle, the engine's roar drowning out the doubts in my head.

"Live hard, die free," I said, the old club motto tasting bittersweet on my tongue.

"Guess I'm doing both, huh?" The thought of her returned, and I felt my soul sink. “I fucking need you, Raven. You’d make sense of all this. You’d put your hand in mine, and we would lock eyes, and every fucked up thing in the world would disappear.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I rode on, a ghost on a stolen bike, chasing answers and vengeance. The night swallowed me whole, but I wasn't afraid of the dark. Not anymore. I was the darkness now, and I was coming for blood.