Chapter 7 Vin
Vin
Igunned the Harley's throttle, plowing through the thick, humid air of the Louisiana swamp.
The deep green of the moss-draped cypress trees closed in on either side as if the very bayou itself was trying to keep its secrets hidden.
I didn't care. I was on a mission, and nothing, not even the eerie, otherworldly feel of these backwoods, would stop me.
My mind wandered back to the night I'd hooked up with Raven Stansfield at the club. I could still taste her, like whiskey and fire, on my tongue. Christ, she'd been wild, matching me moan for moan, drink for drink. I'd brought her to a private room, and there, away from prying eyes, we let loose.
The memory of her body, arched beneath me, her dark eyes glazed with lust, sent a shiver down my spine.
I'd gone down on her first, my tongue lapping at her wet heat, savoring her cries of pleasure.
She'd been so damn tight, so fucking responsive. The taste of her as she came was something I’d never forgotten, one of the things that always sent me back for more.
I took pride in that—pleasing a woman, sending her over the edge, making sure she got hers.
Then she'd taken her turn, crawling on her knees, her high heels digging into my thighs as she took my hard cock in her mouth.
I grunted, my grip tightening on the handlebars as I forced myself back to the present.
The last thing I needed was to lay my bike down, thinking about the way Raven had milked my dick with her talented mouth.
Then it returned, my dick hard against the leather seat.
Not all of me was dead. Our frenzied coupling had continued, moving from the table to the floor, then up against the wall in a fevered dance of lust and need.
In the end, I'd taken her hard, pounding into her tight ass, my final moan muffled by her skilled hand over my mouth.
I shook my head, clearing my thoughts as I spotted the ramshackle shack Jameson had described.
Mama Céleste's place. A shiver of unease crept up my spine, but I quickly shoved it down.
I owed MCs and Raven everything, and if that meant facing down whatever dark magic the old woman possessed, so be it.
I cut the engine and dismounted, my boots sinking into the squishy earth as I approached the cabin. The shack loomed before me, a weathered sentinel in the heart of the bayou. Candlelight flickered through grimy windows, casting eerie shadows across the moss-draped porch.
I felt an unease as I approached, boots squelching in the damp earth. This was it—my shot at answers, at finding Raven. The thought of her twisted my gut with equal parts longing and dread. "Alright, Mama Céleste," I whispered, "let's see what kind of hoodoo bullshit you're peddling."
Before I could knock, the door creaked open. A tall figure emerged, radiating an aura of ancient power that made the hairs on my neck stand up. Mama Céleste fixed me with amber eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness.
"Vincent Reed," she intoned, her voice low and melodious. "The dead man who walks."
I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to take a step back. "That's me. Heard you might have some answers about my... situation."
She studied me silently, her gaze seeming to pierce right through to my soul. After what felt like an eternity, she gave a slight nod. I was afraid of no man, but Mama Celeste was not a man.
"Enter," Mama Céleste said, "but know this—the truths you seek may not bring the comfort you desire."
I steeled myself, squaring my shoulders.
"Lady, comfort ain't exactly been my strong suit lately.
I'll take whatever you've got." As I crossed the threshold, I couldn't shake the feeling I was walking into something far bigger—and darker—than I'd bargained for.
I stepped into the shack, and the air hit me like a wall—thick, heavy, and loaded with scents that made my head swim.
Herbs, incense, and something musty I couldn't place.
Fuck me, it was like walking into the world's most pungent headshop.
"Jesus," I said, blinking as my eyes adjusted to the dim interior. "You ever heard of ventilation, Mama C?"
She didn't answer, just glided past me, her braids clicking softly.
The candlelight threw dancing shadows across the cluttered space.
Everywhere I looked, there was some creepy shit—bones, feathers, bottles filled with God-knows-what.
A shrunken head grinned at me from a shelf, and I couldn't shake the feeling its eyes were following me.
"Nice decor," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Real cozy."
Mama Céleste turned, fixing me with that unnerving stare. "The spirits do not care for your comfort, Vincent Reed."
"Yeah, well," I shrugged, "the feeling's mutual."
She moved to a small table in the center of the room, her movements fluid and deliberate. As she began arranging objects—herbs, candles, some kind of powder—I felt a chill run across my forearms. I was a big motherfucker and this one had turned me into a child.
"Sit," she commanded, gesturing to a rickety chair.
I lowered myself onto it, the wood creaking ominously. "So, uh, how does this work? You gonna read my palm or something?"
Mama Céleste's lips quirked in what might have been amusement. "Non, child. We speak to those beyond the veil."
She began to chant, her voice low and rhythmic.
The words were a mix of English and what I guessed was Creole French, flowing together in a hypnotic cadence.
Despite myself, I felt drawn in, my skepticism fighting with desperate hope.
As the chanting continued, the candles flickered wildly.
A cold breeze seemed to sweep through the room, though the windows were shut tight.
I gripped the arms of the chair, my knuckles white.
I looked for hidden wires or a fan. Nothing.
"What the fuck," I whispered, watching as shadows danced and twisted on the walls.
Part of me wanted to bolt, to get the hell out of this witch's den and never look back.
But the other part, the part that had driven me across states and into this godforsaken swamp, kept me rooted to the spot.
I'd come too far to back out now. Whatever Mama Céleste was conjuring, whatever answers lay on the other side of this ritual, I had to see it through. For Raven. For myself.
As the chanting reached a fever pitch, I closed my eyes and braced for whatever was coming next. Then the chanting stopped abruptly, and my eyes snapped open. Mama Céleste was staring at me, her amber eyes glowing in the candlelight.
"You've crossed the threshold, Vin Reed," she said, her voice deeper than before. "Death has tasted you and spit you back out."
That was reassuring. I leaned forward, heart pounding. "What the hell does that mean?"
She smiled, all teeth and mystery. "It means the spirits have marked you, chéri. You dance between worlds now, neither fully here nor there."
"Cut the cryptic bullshit," I growled. "Just tell me what I need to know. What the fuck am i supposed to do?"
Mama Céleste tsked. "Patience, boy. The answers you seek aren't simple. Your resurrection... it's tied to forces older than time. The loa have plans for you."
I ran a hand through my hair, frustration building. "Loa? What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Spirits, child. Powerful beings. They've given you a second chance but at a price."
Before I could ask what price, her eyes rolled back, and she spoke in a voice that wasn't her own. "The Raven flies north, to bluegrass and bourbon. She waits for you, bound by blood and shadow."
My heart leaped into my throat. "Raven? She's alive? Where?"
"Kentucky," Mama Céleste breathed, her eyes slowly focusing again. "Your path leads there, but tread carefully. The road ahead is treacherous, paved with bones and betrayal."
I stood, my mind reeling. Raven was alive. In Kentucky. It was more than I'd dared to hope for, but the weight of Mama Céleste's words left me uneasy. "What else?" I demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"
Mama Céleste's amber eyes locked onto mine, her gaze piercing through my soul. "Death, chéri. It will shadow your every step, hungry for what it lost. The price of your return is a dance with the reaper, always one heartbeat away from his cold embrace."
My gut clenched, a chill racing down my spine. "You're saying I'm marked for death? Fuck that. I've already died once, I'm not keen on repeating the experience."
She shrugged, her bangles jangling. "The choice isn't yours to make. You breathe because the spirits will it, but they are fickle masters. Your life hangs by a thread, mon fils."
I paced the small room, my boots scuffing the worn floorboards.
Hope and fear fought inside me, making my head spin.
Raven was alive, waiting for me. But this death sentence.
.. it complicated everything. "So what, I'm just supposed to accept that I could drop dead at any moment?
" I growled, frustration and anger bubbling up.
Mama Céleste's laugh was like that of a child. "Accept it? Non. Fight it, chéri. Your strength, your will—that’s what keeps you tethered to this world."
I stopped pacing, meeting her gaze. "And Raven? Stansfield? What about them?"
"Your destiny is intertwined with theirs. The path ahead is dark, but not without hope."
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "Thank you, Mama Céleste. I don't understand half of this mystical bullshit, but... you've given me a direction. A purpose."
She nodded a hint of warmth in her otherwise enigmatic expression. "You carry a heavy burden, Vin Reed. But remember, even in the darkest night, stars can guide your way."
I snorted, but there was no real heat in it. "Poetic. I'll stick to my GPS, thanks."
As I turned to leave, Mama Céleste's bony fingers gripped my arm with surprising strength.
Her amber eyes bore into mine, a mix of concern and steel in her gaze.
"Listen well, mon brave," she said, her voice low and urgent.
"The road ahead is treacherous. Death may shadow you, but it ain't the only danger lurking. "
I tensed, waiting for her to continue. She always had to be so damn cryptic.
"Your past, it follows like a hungry gator," she murmured. "Be wary of old ghosts wearing new faces. Trust your instincts, but guard your heart."
I couldn't help but chuckle darkly. "Darlin', my heart's been guarded since the day I patched in. It's my trigger finger you gotta worry about."
Mama Céleste's lips twitched in what might have been a smile. "Bravado won't save you from what's coming. Remember, in the world between worlds, nothing is as it seems."
"Right," I said, shaking my head. "Any other fortune cookie wisdom before I hit the road?"
Her expression softened, just a fraction. "Be careful, child. The spirits have plans for you, but even they can't protect you from everything. Beware of the carnage."
I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. Damn witch was getting to me. "Thanks, Mama. I'll... keep that in mind."
As I stepped out of the shack, the humid night air hit me like a wall.
The weight of everything I'd learned pressed down on my shoulders, heavier than any kutte I'd ever worn.
But fuck it, I'd carried heavier loads before.
I strode to my bike, each step purposeful.
The chrome gleamed in the moonlight, a familiar comfort.
I swung my leg over, feeling the machine come alive beneath me as I fired up the engine.
The roar of the motor drowned out the whispers of doubt in my head. Kentucky was calling, and with it, Raven and all the answers I needed. Death might be nipping at my heels, but I'd be damned if I'd let it catch me before I finished what I started.
I gave one last look at the weathered shack, Mama Céleste's silhouette visible in the doorway. Then I kicked the bike into gear and tore off into the night, the bayou swallowing me whole as I raced towards my destiny.
The swamp closed in around me, ancient cypress trees looming like silent sentinels.
My thoughts raced faster than my bike, a jumbled mess of hope and fear.
"Fuck," I said, swerving to avoid a fallen branch.
"Kentucky. Why'd it have to be Kentucky?
" Although I was already heading that way to kill Stansfield for what he’d done, Raven being alive, possibly with him, complicated things.
The anticipation of seeing Raven again set my blood on fire.
I could almost feel her soft skin under my hands, taste her on my lips.
But with every mile, the dread grew stronger, a cold pit in my stomach.
"Death shadowing my footsteps," I growled, twisting the throttle harder. "Bring it on, you son of a bitch."
The bike roared in response, echoing through the bayou. I thought about Stansfield, that smug bastard who thought he could play God. My hands tightened on the grips. "I'm coming for you, asshole. And this time, I'm not the one who’s going to meet his maker."
The trees thinned out, giving way to an open road. I leaned into the curves, letting the familiar rhythm calm my nerves. Whatever waited for me in Kentucky—Raven, Stansfield, or Death himself—I’d face it head-on.
As the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, I disappeared into it, leaving the bayou and its mysteries behind.
The road stretched out before me, a dark ribbon leading to an uncertain future.
But I was ready. Come hell or high water, I'd find the truth.
And God help anyone who tried to stop me.