Chapter 1 Hawk
Four years ago—
“Hey, you good to ride, brother?”
“Shit. I’m dry as the fucking desert. I slept most of it off after Mara and Molly wore me out.”
A loud guffaw followed my words as Rael slapped me on the back. “Shit, Hawk. You’re welcome at the Crossroads anytime.”
“Only if the twins keep me company again,” I joked. Sort of. Those two blondes sucked me off and rode my dick until they drained me. Goddamn.
“Don’t be a stranger. You need anything, man, hit me up.”
“I will. See ya around, brother.”
I swung my leg over my bike, dropping onto the seat.
I craved a smoke, but I needed to get on the road. Rook wanted me to return as soon as I finished up in Tonopah.
The ride to Henderson would take a few hours, and I was itchin’ to get back to The Roost. Not that the GBMC hadn’t shown me a good time.
Shit. The Graven Bastards MC threw a hell of a party, and the rager was still going strong.
Loud rock music blared from speakers inside the clubhouse, and the skunky smell of weed and cigarettes blended with sweat, leather, and whiskey.
Damn tempting to stay another night. My cock twitched just thinkin’ about it.
“Come back and kick it anytime, Hawk. We’ll have a drink, smoke, whatever. Take your mind off shit for a bit.”
That meant more than I could put into words. “Hell yeah.”
The longstanding friendship between our clubs, specifically my pres Rook and Rael’s pres Grim, had been close for years, birthed from mutual respect.
Rook met Grim twenty years ago when he was a new member of the GBMC, and Rook became our pres, taking the reins from his father, Jackdaw.
They formed a friendship that grew into a fierce brotherhood.
The Crossroads welcomed our club like its own.
A home away from home. Loyalty like that was a beautiful thing and it meant everything after the childhood I had.
My fist bumped the air as I rode outside the gates, merging onto Hwy 95.
Moonlight shimmered on the asphalt surface as the miles disappeared beneath my tires, peeking behind wisps of fluffy gray clouds.
The kind of moon that lit up the road surrounded by millions of twinkling stars. Best star gazing in Nevada.
Caw...caw.
My chin lifted, and I spotted the crow. His inky wings blotted the moon as he glided on a current of wind. He was never far behind me, watching, waiting, vigilant. Nothing was as loyal as the crow.
I had been riding for over two hours when I tensed, catching something on the road ahead. I felt weight drop on my left shoulder. A soft caw echoed close to my ear.
“I see it,” I assured him, sensing his unease.
Alerted to possible danger, I knew I could reach my gun within a few seconds if the need arose.
Never went anywhere without a weapon, usually with my hunting knife too.
Felt naked without them and that included the cut I earned with every drop of sweat, busted knuckle, and bruised ego along the way.
People said the military broke you down, stripped you to the core, and then built you up again, teaching you to rely on your fellow soldiers, and push the boundaries of your physical limitations.
Shit. They never prospected for a 1%er motorcycle club then.
Child’s play compared to what life as an outlaw entailed.
Made me the man riding on this lonely stretch of Hwy 95 and heading through the dangerous desert without fear of man or beast. I’d seen hell in ways most folks didn’t even have the courage to form nightmares about.
My headlights spotted an object on the highway. As I grew closer, I realized someone weaved unsteadily on their feet, crossing in and out of the median, stumbling once before regaining stability.
The crow flapped his wings. His round body bounced in agitation. He opened his beak and squawked as I rolled the throttle, squeezing in the clutch and downshifted, slowing my momentum to a crawl.
Caw...caw.
“I know. I see her.”
Trying not to spook the woman on the road, I slowly pulled up next to her, blinking as I took in her appearance. A small muscle in my jaw ticked.
Shit from my past threatened to overtake my mind, knocking on that damn door I kept closed since my teen years.
Not fucking today. I shoved it away, concerned for the girl who fought for every inch of road she traveled.
The devil was the king of sinners and he sure enjoyed dragging others into the pit with him. I could see the handiwork of the motherfucker who bought into the devil’s lies.
Tight jeans hugged the girl’s ass and long legs, but that didn’t snag my attention. It was her appearance. The athletic shoes on her feet were splattered with a dark substance. I’d been in enough fistfights to recognize drying blood.
As my gaze slid over the torn tee shirt she wore, stretched out at the neckline like someone had bunched the material in a fist, I clenched my teeth. And then I spotted bloodstains and several holes. Fuck.
A scrape on her bottom lip had split the skin open, revealing a gash next to a huge purple bruise on her jaw.
Her left eye had swollen almost completely shut, surrounded by angry skin mottled red and purple.
Her long brown hair ended in tangles, sticking up in odd places.
Several scratches and additional bruising covered her bare arms.
I didn’t doubt she’d been to hell and back again. She’d danced with the devil and lost.
One arm wrapped around her waist as she winced, shuffling her feet along the dirty asphalt. She didn’t stop walking, staring straight ahead, focused on some unknown destination.
“Hey, honey,” I greeted her, trying not to yell above the rumble of my engine.
Her head turned as she blinked, noticing me for the first time. I couldn’t begin to imagine the demons she fought, choking on a sob she fought and failed to subdue. She almost collapsed before her body swayed, too overcome by trauma to function much longer.
She opened her mouth to speak, the truth hungering for exposure, but she didn’t say a word.
The defeated expression on her face hit me hard, but it was the haunting sadness in her brown eyes that forced me to act.
She carried a lifetime of sorrow on her shoulders and couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.
Years of being torn down had taken a toll and stolen her smile.
No woman should endure and suffer as she did, broken and beaten by a man entrusted to protect and love her instead of using her as a punching bag.
I never could condone violence against women. Had my reasons why but it didn’t change the facts.
The piece of shit that did this to her was gonna bleed for hurting her, and it fed the monster inside me to know that I would be the one setting him straight.
“Where is he?” The gruff tone of my voice must have spooked her because she startled, moving a strand of her hair out of her eyes with a shaky hand.
“Home.”
“You’ll show me.” I didn’t ask. Didn’t need to know specifics. I sure as hell wasn’t going to accept anything other than doling out a little of his own medicine to this asshole. “Hop on.”
She blinked a few times before slowly climbing on behind me, holding onto the leather material of my cut like a lifeline.
No, I didn’t think ridin’ on a Harley scared her, not after what she’d been through.
It was probably adrenaline, shock, and pain from her injuries combined to wreak havoc on her body and emotions.
Over the next few minutes, she gave directions, leading me to a tan-colored double-wide mobile home in Indian Springs.
A pickup truck was parked in the driveway with truck nuts.
The plastic dangling scrotum was affixed to the bumper, sending a clear message.
I snorted, not the least bit surprised this fucker suffered from small dick syndrome.
The bike slowly came to a stop as I rolled in front of the house. She didn’t say a word, lifting her hand to point at the front door. Chipped green paint greeted me as I cut off the engine of my Harley and stood, placing the keys in her hand.
“If shit goes south, make sure my bike gets to the Devil’s Murder MC. Rook will know what to do.”
Her mouth popped open before she nodded. “Where do I find them?”
“You ever heard of Bull’s Saloon?” I couldn’t send her to the clubhouse. The location of The Roost wasn’t public knowledge.
She blinked. “Yeah, I think so. The biker bar outside Vegas?”
“That’s the one. Talk to Lucky Lou.”
As I slipped on my brass knuckles, I ticked my chin in her direction. “Wait here. Stay with my bike.”
She drew in a ragged breath, wincing from a wound I probably couldn’t see. Beneath the bruises and scratches, she hid a slew of injuries and numerous scars. Years of abuse I couldn’t begin to erase, even if I did prevent any further violence.
“Okay.”
I didn’t ask her any questions. There wasn’t a need. The motherfucker that did this to her would learn not to place his hands on a woman in anger because I was breakin’ every last one of his fingers to make sure that lesson hit home.
The front lawn was a bit overgrown as I walked toward the door, pounding my fist over the surface once I reached it. No one answered, and there wasn’t a sound to prove anyone was home. I knew better.
Annoyed, I lifted my foot and kicked it in, watching with satisfaction as the wood splintered and the frame cracked. I stomped over the threshold with one purpose my sole focus—retribution—a reckoning.
The devil’s reject was comin’ to exact a little justice.
If only I could have done that for my mom.
“What the fuck!?”
I didn’t pause as the man on the living room couch stumbled to his feet, knocking over a couple of beer bottles as they crashed to the floor and shattered into dozens of tiny pieces.
He didn’t notice the glass slicing into his feet as he slurred, threatening me for entering his house.
I snarled when I noticed the blood on his swollen knuckles.