Premo: Siberian MC book one

by Joy Blood

  “But—”

  He shakes his head when I try to speak.

  “All good. Nate’s here to pick you up. Just outside,” he assures me, stunning me into silence. I still can’t say a word when my belongings—not that I had much—are returned to me and I’m ushered out the door. The bright light of the day blinds me for a split second, then my eyes quickly adjust to see Nate standing next to his bike, waiting for me with O and Wick. They all are lined up one right next to each other, looking more menacing than ever, but the closer I get, the safer I feel. These men, even with their hard features and cold stares, would never hurt me.

  “Come on, babe. Got a short ride to make.” He winks and hands over the helmet I have grown to know as mine, along with the biker who hands it to me. The past men in my life have done nothing but hurt me and let me down. This one in front of me is my future. Deep within my bones, he would never do either. “Do everything I say, baby, and all this will be over as soon as possible.” I want to ask him what’s going on, but decide to just listen and climb onto the back of his bike, wrapping my arms around his hard body.

  The rumble of Nate’s bike, along with the other two, has my body buzzing with adrenaline. It doesn’t take long for the three of us to leave town behind us and start out onto the open road. Before I know it, we are slowing onto a side road labeled “rest stop” with a big, white closed sign slapped over the words. The short road winds up a hill slightly, until we reach a small building already occupied by four more bikes. The men riding them, I recognize, but they aren’t Siberians.

  We come to a stop right next to the other bikers, and the engines are cut, leaving a ringing in my ears from the sudden quiet. “Good to see you, boys,” Wick says, getting off his bike first to shake one of the men’s hands.

  “You too…though it looks like we got company already.” The man flicks his chin toward the blacked-out SUV’s driving up the way we came. I tense behind Nate, who is as cool as a damn cucumber. What is going on?

  “Stay behind me, baby.” Nate shifts off his bike to face the newcomers along with O, Wick, and the other bikers with Hell’s Riders patches on their vests.

  “I believe you have something that belongs to me.” That chilling voice that used to drop me to my knees and cower speaks out, stepping from the closest SUV. There are three total, each filled with his protection detail most likely.

  “Not sure what you’re talking about,” Nate says, eyeing up Rodrick, who looks all too at ease. Always the confident and arrogant man who craves power and feeds off fear.

  “My fiancé, my little Ally Cat you have whoring around your club. Hand her over and I will forget this ever happened. You can go on with life being criminals.” Rodrick waves his hands while he talks, one of the things I hated the most about him.

  “I’m not yours. I never will be,” I snap, finding my inner strength that had been buried for the past few miserable years of my life, until Nate dug it up, dusted it off, and polished it up. Made it new, shiny, and whole again.

  “Looks like she has some claws. I thought I had them clipped. No matter, I’ll just have to do it again.” Rodrick’s laughter is drowned out by the distant rumble of bikes coming closer and closer. Rodrick looks around, almost panicked, when the other SUVs in his entourage don’t produce the men most likely inside. Instead, hands start hitting the windows, along with cries that slowly die out after the bikes coming closer are parked.

  “What the hell is this?” Rodrick yells out. “Get me the hell out of here!” he shouts to the men who rode with him and are now are standing behind him. They don’t get far, though. As if the vehicle has a mind of its own, it starts up and drives forward, crashing into one of the other vehicles with a sickening crunch. I do as Nate said and keep behind him as he draws his weapon like the others do.

  “You’re a piece of shit, Judge!” Nate shouts as Rodrick tries to run away with his men. He doesn’t get far. The men who pulled up with their bikes start up the small, natural slope of the terrain, guns trained right on Rodrick and the three of his men still breathing. They, too, have their guns drawn, gathering around Rodrick as if they can still protect him.

  “End of the line, asshole. Shit stops here,” Nate calls out, stepping closer.

  “I don’t think so,” Rodrick yells, his confidence back, looking behind him to the joining bikers I now fully see. My heart sinks in my chest when I realize who’s leading them. “You know, before setting out to try to take someone down, I would make sure every one of my men are on my side. Because yours, Mr. President, are not.”

  Rodrick lets out his terrifying chuckle—the same one he would use each time he made me whimper for him to stop. Three men, along with one who has been terrorizing my mind, come closer, turning their guns on their own people. “Get me out of this, Hank, and you’ll get what we agreed on,” Rodrick tells Hank, who shoots me a wide grin, then aims his gun directly in the middle of Nate’s chest. Instantly, I’m ready to go around Nate and put myself in the line of fire, but he feels me move behind him and pushes me back even farther.

  “Stay put, V. I got this. Trust me, baby, yeah?” he says, not once breaking his stance, staring down the traitors of his club. “What you promised him, huh? And what was that, Hank? Money? Drugs? Women? Or was it maybe my seat at the table?” Nate doesn’t waver, still standing strong in front of me, protecting me from these men who have both hurt me in some way. Unlike everyone else, his gun isn’t drawn, it’s still tucked in the back of his jeans. My eyes dart from the heavy piece of metal back to where Hank is coming closer and closer.

  “You know, I have been bustin’ my ass for this club and getting shit in return,” Hank complains as he advances on Nate. “Then you go and get all sober. Yeah, whoopty fuckin’ doo. Doesn’t mean the club needs to suffer for it. Bullshit, Premo. Its fuckin’ bullshit. Days before you, the club was flush with green. We ran all of it. Sold all of it. Now, what the fuck do we do? Protection detail for some rich asshole in Seattle? Like I said, bull-fucking-shit.” The men are all quiet as Hank goes on his rant, staring him down, but still not moving.

  “That all you got to say, Hank?”

  “Fuck no. You know damn well that ain’t all. She fuckin’ knows it too. Don’t you, sweetness?” Hank leers at me from around Nate, who blocks my way with his arm now, as if he’s trying to shield me from Hank’s predatory gaze. “You know, lookin’ at you now, I’m pissed I never sampled the goods, but you were skin and bone when I found you. Didn’t appeal to me. Now though…shit, I’m gonna have fun with you.”

  “Touch her, motherfucker, and—”

  “And what, Pres? Seems to me I’m the one with the gun in your face. So, to me, and all the motherfuckers around here, I have the upper hand.”

  Nate lets out a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Might be. So, what’s your next play? Put a bullet in me? In all of us? Get the rest of the club on your side?” Laughter booms from Nate, making Hank’s jaw visibly twitch. “Let’s take a quick vote, boys. All in favor of Hank here being the new President, say aye.” Silence, even from the men seemingly on Hank’s side. “Looks like they don’t want you, Hank. Maybe you should—”

  The loud bang echoing through the air cuts off all words falling from Nate’s lips. The air fills with the smell of gunpowder and smoke. In the next few seconds, my body is being pushed to the ground, along with Nate’s, who lands with a thud in the dirt. More gunfire ensues, but all I can hear are my own screams.

  “Nate! Nate! Please. Oh God, don’t be dead!” I yell so damn loud, it probably rivals the gunfire. It doesn’t matter. Nate has been shot, and I can’t do a damn thing about it. My hands fumble around his body, pulling him toward me, but I can’t get anywhere near the front of him. I keep, keep pulling, reaching out into darkness, until my hands grip onto nothing and everything ceases to exist.

  Fifty-Six

  Vera’s hands trying to reach out and grab me suddenly stop enough to make me panic, but I don’t have the chance to go to her because
gunshots are ringing out from all directions. My feet get back to flat on the ground, and I scan the area, my eyes zeroing in on the asshole I’m here for. Rodrick, the prick piece of shit judge, is huddled like a bitch under the SUV Reek crashed remotely with his high-tech equipment. Who the fuck knew a person could hack into someone’s vehicle? This high-tech shit nowadays can get a person into some serious shit, just like Judge Rod here. “Premo! You fucking bitch!” Hank yells as I pass him by, his hand holding a bloody stump for a trigger finger.

  “You went into a gunfight with some faulty ammo, looks like this is your fault, not mine.” I laugh as I turn back to my target, who is up and trying to run while all my brothers, along with the Riders, hold down our Siberian traitors and Roderick’s hired guns. They pay Rod no mind as he takes off down the slope and away from the rest stop. Fucker is going to make me run. I take off after him, chuckling as he stumbles over his feet onto a flat part of the mossy grass.

  “Ain’t so badass without your goons, are ya? Maybe if I were a woman, you’d feel man enough to face me?” I call out, getting closer and closer with each step. Unlike him, my boots help with the terrain, while the slick bottom loafers he is likely wearing impedes his escape.

  The buzz on the freeway is growing closer. I want to reach him before then, but it’s no such luck. The grass and bushes give way to pebbles, then asphalt. Rodrick runs out into the highway, stopping right in the middle to turn to look at me. “You can keep the bitch!” he calls out. “Just let me go.”

  “I will be keeping her. But letting you go ain’t an option. You done her fucking wrong, Judge. I can’t allow that. Not even if you agreed never to come near her again.”

  “Please. I have money. Lots of it—”

  “Don’t want that shit either. Gonna need your blood, Rod. All of it. For her.” I step onto the heat of the road. I’m right on the white line when I catch the blare of a horn. Once, twice, then a third time, before the sickening crunch of metal and bone collide. The spray of blood paints the now vacant spot where Rodrick was standing, along with thick black tire marks from the semi-truck trying to slow down in time. “Son. Of. A. Bitch.” I stand astonished at what I just witnessed. Like something out of an action film. Rodrick was there, then just like that—poof! Gone. More like smack, he was gone.

  Damn it.

  I don’t wait for the driver to get out and come over to me. I take off back up the slope to where I left Vera. She’s now wrapped in a blanket from my saddlebag, being held by O, who quickly hands her over.

  “She passed out. No marks on her. Might have been from the shock of it all.” I take her into my arms, stroking alongside her face with my palm.

  “Where’s the judge?” Wick asks from behind me.

  “All over the fucking road,” I say, and shit if it ain’t the truth.

  “What?” he asks, making me turn to face him. He’s got Hank on his knees still bleeding with his hands tied behind his back. The prick is still talking shit, not that I’ll listen to a word of it anymore.

  “Fucking truck came out of nowhere and laid him out.” I shake my head. “Most fucked up thing I ever seen. Get that prick over to the clubhouse. Got a few more things to find out before we ash ’em. Those pricks too.” I nod toward a couple of our own men who showed up with Hank. “Round up the dead and bring them to Peete’s. Pay him double.” Wick nods and heads off, O following behind.

  “Well, can’t say it’s been a party, but it was nice to help with someone else’s rat problem for a change,” Rock, the president of the Hell’s Riders MC, says, reaching out his hand for me to shake.

  I shift Vera in my arms slightly and clasp onto Rock’s hand. “Much appreciated, Rock. All of you are welcome to stay. Clubhouse is all set up for ya.” Rico, Jake, and Gin come up to Rock’s side, shaking my hand too.

  “We’re gonna head back. Thanks for the invitation, though.” I nod, knowing damn well they all want to get home to their families. I’m beginning to recognize the feeling all too well.

  “Understand. You need us, give a holler. We’ll be there. Damn proud to call you our allies.” I reach out and shake Rock’s hand once again, and he nods in agreement. They all leave for their bikes, except Reek, who stays behind, looking me over while I hold Vera in my arms. She weighs nothing and moves every so often, pulling herself tighter to me.

  “I’ll let them know all’s well here. When shit is settled down, I’ll bring Boyd.”

  I nod my thanks. “You’re a good man, Reek. Damn proud you’re the other man raising my boy.”

  “Hell of a kid. Gets that from his parents.”

  “Thanks, Reek.” He nods and walks to his bike, where his brothers have already started theirs up. Before long, they are gone, tiny specks in the distance.

  “Nate.” Vera’s soft lips mutter my name.

  “Yeah, baby. I’m here.” She lets out a moan and moves her head back and forth, breathing me in as she does. It brings a smile to my face that she needs the smell of me for comfort. Her eyes flutter open, connecting with mine. “Good to see those beautiful blue eyes again, baby.”

  “You got shot,” she says, trying to pull from my arms. I let her feet down first, getting her stable on them before letting her fully stand.

  “No, baby. His bullets were compromised. When he fired, he blew off his damn fingers.” I had O give Hank a box of faulty bullets.

  “Rodrick?”

  “Gone.” I don’t give her the details. She might see the blood spatter on me, but if she does, she doesn’t pay it any mind.

  “Gone?”

  “Dead, baby. He’s never going to hurt you again. Neither is Hank. We’ll see to that.”

  Fifty-Seven

  “Tholdd ya alrethdy, assthole.” Hank’s mouth slurs out barely audible words. Blood pours from his lips mixed with saliva that strings all the way down to his knees as he slumps over as far as his tied arms will allow. The metal chair that has been many a men’s last place they ever sat now holds one of our own.

  “What’d he say?” I ask, stepping farther into the claustrophobic basement. The never-ending stench of death swirls in the damp air.

  “Not much more. Him and the judge go way back, though. Been plotting to get you out and him in. Take over the club and bring it back into the drug trade. The connection with him and Vera was completely coincidental. So he says.” Wick shrugs and swings his fist out to connect with Hank’s jaw. His head snaps to the side, but that’s the only movement. No sound comes from Hank. He already has one foot in the grave.

  “Pull his head up,” I tell O, who’s standing behind Hank. His heavy palm reaches out and roughly grabs hold of Hank’s dirty, bloody hair, yanking it back, ripping a hiss from Hank’s battered mouth.

  “Why go after her? Why not just leave her the hell alone?” I ask, getting down face-to-face with the man.

  “Bitch thaw me.” He pauses and makes eye contact as best he can, given the swelling.

  “Saw you where? At the trailer?”

  He nods. “Couldnth hav’er…blabbin’.”

  “So ya what? Tracked her down and tried to kill her?”

  “Na. Justh happen…ta run inta her at a…dealer’s.” His breaths are getting harder to take. I still want more answers.

  “You stay breathing, you son of a bitch. I ain’t done with you,” I promise, catching the busted teeth all along the top of his jaw. No wonder I can barely understand him.

  “Think I might have punctured a lung, Pres. Sorry. Breaking his ribs was a little too satisfying.” Wick comes to my side, showing me the brass knuckles I hadn’t noticed on his fist when I came in.

  “Gag him and bag him. Want him still breathing when the flame is lit.” If Hank hears my instructions, he doesn’t let on. He knows damn well he isn’t getting out of this one alive. He also knows what we do with our bodies.

  “Got it, Pres. How’s Vera?” Wick asks, following behind me as I head toward the basement door, ready to get home to my woman.

  “Slee
ping in my bed alone,” I snap, getting a nod in understanding in return.

  “Peete already knows to expect us. We grabbed up the bodies at the rest stop and have ’em in the van. Left the judge’s men there with the windows down. They should be waking up by now. Cops were showing up right as we headed out. Haven’t heard yet what they are making of the scene, but there ain’t no trace of us there. Looks like a botched kidnapping, with the judge being splattered all over the highway.”

  “Good. I’ll meet you there.”

  As much as I want to go back to the apartment and crawl into bed with Vera, I need to see this through. Several years ago, we acquired ourselves a handy way to rid ourselves of unwanted bodies. Peete Keenen, owner of the funeral home and the only mortician in town, had an incinerator installed into his building, with the help of a hefty Siberian donation. This gave us full undisclosed access to the facility, which, on nights like tonight, we find ourselves in need of.

  When I pull up to the white steel building, a van is out front, along with a blacked-out town car. Seattle plates. I already know who it is before he steps out of the vehicle. “I take it you solved the mystery of the blown shipment.” It isn’t a question. Maddox brings himself from the backseat of the vehicle and steps toward me. Even with his age, the man still pulls off that silver fox thing women seem to love. Maybe that’s why his current wife is twenty something. Then again, he is one rich bastard.

  “We did. One of our own, it turns out, and some shit fucking judge in California,” I explain.

  “Rodrick Stevens,” he says, making my brows raise. “That prick has been after my supply line for years, trying to bust through it. Weak, though. Never had the smarts to pull it off. Went quiet for a while. I figured he had either died or called it quits. Is he dead?”