Protected by the Dead Demons (The Hellfire Riders #1)

1. Laina

1

LAINA

T he ropes bite into my wrists as I struggle to free myself; the clatter of marionette strings echo in the darkness.

I’m back in the dark, cold room, the faint scent of mildew and fear clings to the air like a suffocating fog. My hands are bound, and my wrists are raw from struggling. The Puppeteer’s voice snakes through the shadows, low and taunting. The strings of his marionette dolls clatter softly.

No matter how hard I fight and writhe against the ties on my wrist, I know that I’m trapped here, and—God help me, I know—what’s coming.

I flinch as a flickering candlelight reveals his face. The dark shadows contorting his features into something grotesque and terrifying.

“Stop squirming, Laina. You’re making it worse.”

“What the hell are you doing?” My voice cracks, trembling with panic and defiance. “Get away from me!”

Detective Reynolds clicks his tongue, a sound that sends a shiver down my spine. “Tsk, tsk. Always so dramatic. You don’t understand, do you? This is art. Perfection. And you …” he leans in, his breath hot against my cheek, “…you’re ruining the symmetry.”

“I’m not your fucking doll!” I snap, yanking against the ropes again. The bite of the restraints is sharp, but my fury is sharper.

“Not yet, darling. But you will be. Oh, you will be.”

“You’re insane.”

Reynolds tilts his head, studying me with unnerving intensity, his thin fingers twitching maniacally as if they’re already sculpting. He pushes his framed glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

He looks just as he did the first day I met him as Izzy’s boss. Neatly trimmed hair, crisp pants, and a perfectly pressed blue shirt rolled at the elbows to reveal well-shaped forearms.

He’s the lead detective on the police force.

He’s supposed to keep people safe. Catch bad guys and monsters. Instead, he is one. The worst of them.

He gives me a smile, the same one he uses to soothe people’s nerves, but now mine are racing, crawling out of my skin and sending me into panic mode. I don’t want to be here. I can’t be here.

I left when Izzy and the Hellfire Riders came to save me.

“Insane?” Reynolds repeats, “No, no, no. Insane would be letting imperfection walk around uncorrected. Insane would be not finishing what I started.”

He steps back, his gaze raking over me like a butcher inspecting a slab of meat. “Your shoulders… too tense. Your jaw, too sharp. But don’t worry, I’ll fix that.“

Reynolds approaches me, a gleam of sick anticipation in his eyes. He runs a finger along my jawline. I jerk away, bile rising in my throat at his touch.

“Why did you leave me, Laina?”

"Don't touch me, you sick bastard!"

He chuckles darkly. "We're well past that now, aren't we?" His hands slide down to my shoulders, kneading the tense muscles. "You need to relax.”

I clench my teeth, trying to twist away from his probing fingers, but the ropes keep me secured to the bed. Reynolds's grip tightens, his nails digging into my skin through the thin fabric of my shirt.

“You thought you could escape me, didn’t you? Thought I’d rot away in prison.” He climbs onto the mattress I’m on, positioning himself right between my legs. “You’re wrong, Laina. I never leave my work unfinished.”

He begins to undo the black leather belt looped around his waist.

“You'll never get away with this," I hiss through gritted teeth. "People will look for me. They'll find out what you've done."

"I doubt that very much, darling.

He leans closer still, his lips brushing against my ear. "No one is coming for you, Laina. They all think you've run away. Poor, troubled girl, finally snapped under the pressure." His fingers trail down my arms, tracing the braided lines of the ropes. "But we know better, don't we?"

Tears sting my eyes but I blink them back furiously, refusing to give him the satisfaction. "Fuck you," I snarl, "I'm not your plaything. “

"You see, I've been doing this a long time. Longer than you can possibly imagine. And in all that time, no one has ever found me. No one has ever even come close."

“That’s not true! You were arrested.”

“Then why am I here with you?”

“I--I don’t…”

His eyes lock onto mine, glittering with a mad intensity. "You're mine now, Laina. Mine to shape, to mold, to perfect."

Reynolds' words slither into my ears like venomous snakes, insidious and paralyzing. The weight of his body pressing down on me is suffocating, trapping me in this nightmare I can't seem to wake from.

"Get... off... me!" I grit out, writhing beneath him, desperate to break free. But he just laughs, a cruel, mocking sound that echoes off the damp walls.

His hands roam over my body, invasive and possessive. I feel his fingers digging into my hips, bruising the skin as he tears my underwear away. "Oh, Laina. I missed you.”

I want to scream, to fight, to claw his eyes out with my fingernails, but the ropes hold fast, biting into my flesh.

"Go to hell," I spit out, my voice shaking with rage and terror. "I'll never be yours. Never!"

He smiles again; a slow, twisted curl of his thin lips as he knees my legs open. "We'll see about that, won't we?"

I twist and buck, trying to throw him off, but he's too strong and too determined.

"Stop fighting it," Reynolds purrs, his breath hot against my neck. "You'll only make it worse for yourself."

"I'll never stop fighting you. I'll fight until my last breath."

He chuckles darkly, "Oh, I'm counting on it.

I feel the sick heat of his erection scorch through my center, tearing through every part of me as he lets out a loud, animalistic grunt. Over and over, shaking the frail stained mattress beneath me as he thrusts deeper.

His mouth finds my breasts, where he bites down hard, tugging at my skin.

His thick hand plants itself over my mouth. I try to scream, but my voice is trapped in my throat, a useless whisper swallowed by the blackness.

“See,” he groans. “You are my doll. For me to use as I please and fuck when I want.”

The intensity of his thrusts increases; harder and faster. His breaths come out in rapid pants.

“No matter how hard you run,” he growls. “I will always find you, Laina.”

The metal frame of the bed squeaks louder with the thrusting of his hips, turning into twisted squeals of laughter like a chuckle, before growing increasingly more unhinged. It’s coming from everywhere and nowhere, a sound that claws at my sanity. The marionettes continue to move, their lifeless eyes fixed on me; watching me, waiting for me to join them. Their wooden arms reaching out as though to drag me under.

Drag me beneath the weight of Reynolds.

I wake up gasping and clawing at the air. My chest heaves as if I’ve been running for miles. Sweat clings to my skin despite the cool morning air streaming through the open window. My hand automatically goes to my neck, and my fingers brush against the faint scar that never lets me forget.

It’s over. Has been for months. But my body still doesn’t believe it.

I sit up, push back the covers, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The wooden floor feels cool beneath my feet, grounding me. My eyes adjust to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the curtains, and I try to focus on the small details of the room; the stack of books on my nightstand, the chipped mug from Izzy beside it, the faint chirping of birds outside, and the ever constant hum of the monitors connected to my security cameras.

Normal things. Safe things. Things that shouldn’t feel like a luxury.

But they do.

I grab the mug and shuffle to the kitchen, filling it with the last of yesterday’s coffee before leaning against the counter.

“He’s in prison, Laina,” I repeat out loud, “you are safe.”

I take a sip of the coffee. The sharp bitterness jolts me awake further, a necessary evil. I glance at the clock on the wall and sigh. It’s still early, but I know I won’t be going back to sleep.

Reynold’s can’t get you. I remind myself.

My phone buzzes on the counter, and I hesitate before picking it up. It’s a text from Izzy.

Clubhouse tonight. You’re coming. No excuses.

I roll my eyes, a small smile tugging at my lips despite myself. Izzy’s relentless optimism has been a lifeline, even when I don’t feel like I deserve one.

“Alright, Izzy,” I mutter, typing back a quick reply: Fine. I yield.

Her response is immediate: I’ll swing by in about 30 with the guys.

I respond with a thumbs up to Izzy’s message and set the phone down, staring at it for a moment longer than necessary. Tonight will be good for me. It has to be.

I’ve been blowing her off for weeks, preferring the quiet of my apartment to the noise and mayhem of the Hellfire Riders. But I promised her last week I’d come out.

I can’t back out now.

The low rumble of motorcycles echoes through the quiet evening, growing louder by the second until it feels like the ground itself is trembling beneath my feet.

Yup. They’re almost here.

I lean against the railing of my apartment’s staircase, my arms crossed to ward off the chill in the air—or maybe just to keep myself from shaking.

I adjust my dress; deep, crimson red, smooth as silk, with thin straps and a neckline that dipped just low enough to feel daring without crossing the line into too much. It was a dress for someone bolder than I felt most days. Someone I used to be.

Bright headlights cut through the gloom; sharp and steady. One by one, the bikes pull up in perfect formation; sleek and powerful, their riders every bit as commanding as their machines. Izzy’s the first to hop off, her golden hair catching the last rays of the setting sun as she grins up at me.

As I walk toward the waiting bikes, Izzy’s voice rings out, playful and approving. “Wow, Laina! You’re a knockout.”

“Speak for yourself.

“You ready for a good time?”

“Sure thing.”

Behind her, Tank swings off his bike. He’s all broad shoulders, muscles, and that trademark smirk that’s as infuriating as it’s charming. “We’re not taking no for an answer, Laina.”

“I didn’t say no!”

“Good. I was going to be pissed if we rode all the way out here for nothing,” Vance chimes in, lighting a cigarette as he leans casually against his bike. His dark eyes gleam with mischief.

“I told Izzy we were going to have to drag you out,” Hawk adds, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. His gaze is steady and unreadable. “You’ve been hiding out long enough.”

“Look!” I say in protest, “I said I was coming and here I am. Just don’t expect me to be the life of the party.”

Izzy beams and loops her arm through mine as we come down the stairs. “That’s okay. We’ve got enough life for the both of us. Besides,” she adds with a sly grin, “you’re overdue for a little trouble.”

Tank holds out a helmet for me, his grin widening when I hesitate. “C’mon, Laina. We don’t bite.”

“Speak for yourself,” Vance mutters, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he flicks his cigarette to the ground.

“I’ll hold you to that,” I murmur.

Sliding onto the back of Tank’s bike, I grip his waist tighter than necessary as the engine roars to life. He glances back at me, his grin softer this time, reassuring. “You good?”

“Yeah,” I lie, my stomach flips wildly as the bike lurches forward. The wind whips past us, and the cold bites at my cheeks, but there’s something oddly freeing about it too. For a few fleeting moments, thoughts of Reynolds and the nightmare fade away, replaced by the hum of the engine and the steady rhythm of Tank’s breathing in front of me.

As we speed down the darkened streets, the city lights blurring around us, I close my eyes and let myself pretend—just for a little while—that the world isn’t so broken. That I’m not so broken. And that the people riding beside me are the kind of people who can put me back together.

The rumble of motorcycles fades as we pull up to the clubhouse, the warm yellow glow spilling through the windows feels like a beacon of hope. I swing off Tank’s bike, my legs still buzzing from the ride, and tug at the hem of my red dress—uselessly, I might add—while trying to steady my pounding heart and jagged breathing.

“Relax,” Izzy says softly, hopping off her bike like it’s nothing, “you look like you’re ready to bolt, and I worked too damn hard to get you out of the house.”

“I’m not bolting,” I mutter, though I can’t stop fidgeting with my jacket. “I just think this is a bad idea. Look at me. I don’t belong here.”

Tank’s gravelly voice cuts in, lazy and amused. “Belong is a strong word. But you’re here, so…” He shrugs and flashes me a grin, all dimples and mischief, as he strolls toward the clubhouse door.

Izzy loops her arm through mine, tugging me forward. “You look amazing. Just focus on having a good time.”

The clubhouse smells like leather, beer, and grease—a combination that should feel nauseating but somehow doesn’t. Izzy drags me inside, her fingers laced tightly through mine as though she’s worried I might bolt. She’s not wrong.

The first time I came here I had been trying to infiltrate the Hellfire Riders and pin the marionette murders on them. That’s when Reynolds found me. My hands curl into tight fists.

“Relax,” Izzy whispers again. “This is probably one of the safest places for you to be.”

I glance around, taking in the rough-hewn tables, scuffed floors, and a pool table surrounded by a group of bikers in animated conversation.

Izzy pulls me toward the bar, where Tank is leaning against the counter, chatting with Vance. Hawk stands nearby, his arms crossed, watching the room like a hawk—fitting, really.

“So, what are you ladies drinking tonight?” Tank asks as we approach.

“Two vodka sodas please,” Izzy says, tapping the bar top.

Hawk steps forward, his eyes landing on me like a physical weight. “You alright?”

I bristle at the question, hating the way it makes me feel so fragile. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” he says, though his tone is clipped. He turns his attention to Izzy. “We’ve got a situation.”

“What kind of situation?” she asks, her casual tone not quite masking the tension in her voice.

“The kind that involves the Dead Demons stirring shit up again after the… the incident,” Hawk replies, his eyes flicking to me for a brief second before looking away.

It’s subtle, but I catch it. “You don’t have to censor yourself around me, you know,” I say quietly.

Hawk’s jaw tightens and he shakes his head, “I’m not censoring.”

“Sure you’re not,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “Look, I get that everyone’s trying to tiptoe around me, but I’m not made of glass. If this has to do with Reynolds, just say it. I would rather know what’s going on than be left in the dark.”

The room falls uncomfortably silent. Tank shifts his weight, looking at Hawk, who doesn’t respond immediately. Finally, he says, “It’s not just about Reynolds. The Dead Demons have been getting bolder, and we need to deal with it.”

“Hawk, can this please wait until tomorrow morning or something? I just want to have a normal night with my bestie,” Izzy groans.

“Normal is overrated,” Vance says, taking a swig of his beer. “Trust me.”

I glare at him, but he just smirks.

Hawk chews on his bottom lip, staring at Izzy with darkened eyes, before giving a quick nod. I’m impressed, she really does run this place.

“Okay. Fine. Normal night it is.”

The music in the clubhouse thumps harder as the night wears on, vibrating through the floor and up into my chest. The faint hum of conversation mingles with the rattle of pool balls and the occasional burst of laughter. Izzy shoves a second drink into my hand, her grin bright and mischievous.

“This,” she says, raising her glass toward the dance floor, “is what you need, Laina.”

I glance at the small cleared space in the middle of the room, where a group of bikers and their girlfriends sway and grind to the music. The colored lights overhead pulse in time with the beat, casting a kaleidoscope of shadows over their movements. I shake my head.

“Not happening,” I mutter firmly, taking a sip of my vodka soda.

“Oh, come on,” she whines, grabbing my wrist. “You’re not getting out of this one. You promised me a good time.”

“Dragging me onto the dance floor isn’t going to make my night any better, Izzy.”

“You don’t know that. You might even have fun.”

Before I can protest again, she hauls me out of my chair and drags me to the dance floor. My drink sloshes dangerously close to the edge of the glass as I stumble after her. Tank whistles behind us, and Vance smirks as he leans against the bar.

“Careful, Laina,” Tank calls out, “Izzy’s got moves you can’t keep up with.”

Izzy shoots him an exasperated look over her shoulder. “Shut it, Tank, or you’re next.”

We hit the floor, and Izzy immediately lets loose, her arms swaying above her head as she moves to the beat. I try to follow her lead but feel every pair of eyes in the room on me. My hands hover awkwardly at my sides, and I take another sip of my drink, hoping the alcohol will loosen me up.

“You’ve got to relax,” Izzy yells over the music, grinning like she’s already won.

“I am relaxed!” I shout back, though it’s obvious I’m lying.

“Not like that, you’re not!”

I used to be the one dragging her into the middle of the club, ordering her to take another round of shots with me. I had always been the wild one and she was the one who kept me together. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago.

She twirls seductively, her blonde hair whipping around her shoulders, and I can’t help but laugh. Her joy is infectious, even if I feel like an awkward mess beside her. I start to sway a little more, letting the beat sink in.

Then, out of nowhere, a hand taps my shoulder.

I turn to see a tall biker with tanned skin and a shaved head. His grin is wide and charming, his teeth flashing in the dim light. He’s broad-shouldered, but not overly intimidating. His leather vest displays the name ‘Ace’ stitched onto a patch just above his heart.

“You mind if I cut in?” he asks, his voice smooth and easygoing.

Izzy immediately steps back, hands up like she’s surrendering. “All yours, Ace,” she says with a smile, “be gentle with her—it’s her first dance in ages.”

“I’ll be a gentleman,” he promises, winking at her before turning back to me. “If that’s okay with you?”

I hesitate, glancing toward Izzy, who’s grinning like a Cheshire cat. My instinct is to say no and retreat to the safety of the bar, but something about his easy smile and the alcohol in me, makes me nod. “Okay.”

Ace’s grin widens, and he holds out his hand. I place mine in his, and he gently pulls me closer, leaving just enough space between us to feel safe but not awkward. His hand rests lightly on my hips, and I let myself get lost in the rhythm of the music as we start to move together.

“You’re better at this than you think,” he says after a moment, his voice low enough that only I can hear.

“Thanks,” I reply, trying not to trip over my own feet. “But I’m pretty sure you’re doing all the work.”

“Nah. You’ve got natural rhythm. Just takes a little confidence.”

“Thanks.”

I start to feel more at ease against him, letting the music and lights wash over me, enjoying the warmth of his muscular body and the scent of smoke and whiskey on his skin.

But then his hands linger down my back, reaching lower. Suddenly, I’m aware of the closeness of his scent and skin. He could overtake me in a minute, snap me in two if he wanted.

I stiffen, immediately peeling myself away.

No. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I push him away, breaking through the crowd in a mist of panic and adrenaline.

“Where are you going?” Izzy calls after me.

“For some air,” I snap back, yanking the door open and stepping out into the cool night. The sound of the clubhouse fades behind me, replaced by the hum of crickets and the distant rumble of motorcycles.

I take a deep breath, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside me. I don’t want their pity or their protection. I just want to feel like myself again—whoever that is.

I lean against the railing, the cool breeze brushing against my skin as I try to keep my emotions in check. The door creaks open behind me, and Izzy steps out, her heels clicking softly against the wooden floorboards.

“You okay?”

I huff out a bitter laugh, turning to face her. “What do you think?”

Izzy tilts her head, studying me with that infuriating mix of concern and patience. “I think you’re overwhelmed. And I get it. But?—”

“I want to go home,” I say, cutting her off, My voice is sharper than I intended but I don’t care. I just want to get away from here.

Her eyes widen slightly, but she recovers quickly. “Laina-”

“I can’t stay here, Izzy. I feel like I’m suffocating. And you, Tank, Hawk, and Vance, you’re all just waiting for me to fall apart.”

“No one’s waiting for you to fall apart,” she says gently, taking a step closer. “We’re just trying to help. Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but it’s better than being alone all the time in your apartment with as much security as a prison. You’re ignoring your life and the people in it.”

“I’m not ignoring it,” I say, my voice rising. “I’m just… I can’t do this here, with all of them hovering and treating me like I’m about to break.”

“They’re not hovering and no one thinks you’re going to break?—”

“Yes, they do!” I exclaim, cutting her off again. “And so do you. I love you, Izzy, but I need space. I need to feel like I have control over something. Anything.”

She’s quiet for a moment, her brows knitting together in deep thought.

“Laina, no one here expects you to just get up and keep living like nothing happened after what you’ve been through. You survived a monster. I’m impressed and amazed by you every day. I just miss you sometimes and also can’t help but worry.”

“Well, you don’t need to worry, Izzy. I’m fine.”

“Are you though?” She gestures out at me, opening her hands wide. My gaze shoots down to the dirt.

“Sort of.”

Izzy lets out a long breath, running a hand through her hair. “God, you’re stubborn.”

“Look who’s talking,” I shoot back, a faint smile of my own breaking through.

She smiles back and starts heading to the backdoor, “Come on, Laina. Let’s get one of the guys to take you home.”

“Izzy, I’m sorry,” I call out.

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m the one who dragged you out here.”

“No,” I shake my head. “It’s that…You’re right. But I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I feel like a completely different person. I don’t even know myself.”

“Well, you will. You just need to take life day by day.”

“Will you let Ace know it was nice dancing with him?” I ask sheepishly. Izzy snorts through her nose, laughing slightly.

“Do you want his number?”

“No way in hell! I am not ready for that.”