Grave (Royal Devils MC Chicago Book 1)

by Erin Trejo

  “Your phone. Let me use it,” she says, raising an eyebrow. I pull it back out of my pocket and pass it to her. She dials a number, bringing the phone to her ear as I watch.

  “Seven, four, four, three.” I tilt my head to the side, but Silla just sticks her tongue out at me. “I need any hit lists that went viral in the last week.” She waits for a long second as if she’s listening to what they’re saying on the other end of the line. When she finally pulls the phone from her ear and passes it back, she shrugs.

  “You’re probably right. It might be your dad.”

  “You got that from a phone call?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s it like, the hitman hotline?” I ask with a smile on my face.

  “Every hit that comes through isn’t just from my dad’s organization. Sometimes we’re hired out for other jobs,” she tells me.

  “You gave a number.”

  “Wasn’t mine. It’s a friend’s. They can trace the number back to the hitman.” I chuckle under my breath.

  “There’s a goddamn hotline. Who the fuck would have known?” Shaking my head, I grab one of the helmets, passing it to her as I pull the other one on. I need to get home.

  Chapter Nine

  I pull the garage door closed, when I hear the side door open. It takes seconds and there’s a gun pointed at my head, but Silla was quick to pull too. She has my spare aimed at the person behind me.

  “That wouldn’t be smart,” she says with a smile.

  “I’m not a smart man,” he says.

  “Preacher?”

  “Grave? What the fuck?” I turn to come face-to-face with one of my best friends. He looks me up and down before pulling me into a hug.

  “Goddamn, man. We thought you were dead. Shit, you were dead. I fuckin’ checked before Cash made us all leave.” I knew it was my dad. Sick bastard never has liked me or the fact I challenge him at every turn. He needs to be smarter.

  “He left me for dead, brother. I was dead. Hospital brought my ass back,” I tell him as he pulls back. He looks over my shoulder at Silla who still has the gun aimed at Preacher.

  “You can put that away, darlin’.” She nods and slips the gun into the back of her jeans.

  “What the hell is goin’ on?” I ask Preacher but he looks just as clueless.

  “I don’t know. Cash is goin’ all kinds of fucked. Psycho is off his meds. Shit’s bad, Grave. I mean really bad.” I can tell just by looking at him, he’s telling the truth.

  “And my mom? What the hell is goin’ on with that?”

  “Fuck if I know, man. I heard your dad talkin’ and I called Mystic to see if he heard of any hits. He said he’d call me back and the motherfucker just hung up. I assume you two have been in contact,” he asks. I nod my head and run my hand through my hair.

  “Yeah. Since I got out of the hospital. Plans all changed, Preacher.”

  “Sure the fuck have. We got the motherfuckers who shot you though,” he says with a giant smile. Hate to break it to him but I will.

  “No, you didn’t.”

  “What do you mean? Colts raided us,” he says, “and we killed them all.”

  “Fuck, Preacher. Wasn’t Colts who shot me.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” he asks, looking between me and Silla as he shifts from foot to foot.

  “It was my dad.”

  “What?” I hear a gasp and when I turn, I see my mom standing in the door with her hand over her mouth. Tears fill her eyes, but she doesn’t say another word. She just stares at me like I’m a ghost and I suppose in a way I am. She thought I was dead. They all did.

  “Mom,” I say softly. She flies down the step and slams into me, her arms wrapping around my neck as she sobs.

  “They said you were dead. Oh my God, Greyson! I thought you were dead.” She cries so hard her body shakes. I hold her tightly when I see Preacher move toward Silla. He’s eyeing her up and down, but he doesn’t make a move to touch her. Good thinking, brother, or I might snap your goddamn neck.

  “I’m okay, Mom.” She pulls back and stares up at me, her hands coming to cup my cheeks. Mom never wanted this life for me, but she always knew my path. I couldn’t be anything else. This was it. I was destined to be just like my dad and here I am.

  “God, I’m so glad you’re okay, Greyson. What’s happening? Why did he do that? What was he thinking?” She has a million questions, and I’d love to answer every one of them but not standing in the garage.

  “You still got the alarm on this house?” She nods her head. “Let’s get inside first. Then we’ll talk.” She nods and pulls away from me but not before hugging me once more. Mom goes in with Preacher behind her. I grab the bag from the bike and usher Silla inside. All eyes fall on her as I close the doors and set the alarm.

  “This is Silla. Silla, this is my mom, Bridget and my boy Preacher.” She extends her hand like a polite schoolgirl, which makes me laugh. She is far from polite.

  “Nice to meet you.” They both shake her hand but its Preacher’s eyes questioning me. I shake my head slightly and he smirks. Asshole.

  “Come on, let’s sit. Do you want something to eat? Drink?”

  “No, Mom. We’re good.”

  “Greyson! Let her answer for herself. You don’t know if she’s hungry or not,” she snaps. God, I’ve missed her.

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Silla finally tells her. Preacher and I share a glance. It’s one of those, I need to talk to you privately glances.

  “Nice try. I’m in,” Silla leans over and whispers. She must have caught that interaction. I chuckle and wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her closer into my side before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Preacher gives a low whistle, but I flip him off.

  “Now what happened? They told me you were dead, Greyson.”

  “I was dead, Mom. He left me to die. Technically, I was dead until I got to the hospital or in the ambulance, I don’t really remember,” I admit. Tears bloom in her eyes once more, when I reach for her hand. “I’m alive. I’m not goin’ anywhere, Mom.”

  “And you know it was him who shot you?” I blow out a breath, and just as I look to Preacher, Silla answers.

  “He saw him. Looked him in the eyes before he left him for dead.” The growl escaping her throat surprises me a little. I didn’t expect her to get that upset but when I tighten my arm around her, she calms.

  “You saw him?”

  “Not the first shot. That came from behind. I turned ready to fire, but he was ready too. Fuckin’ shot me, brother. My own fuckin’ dad!” My mom tries to cover her sobs but that doesn’t work. I’m pissed. I’m beyond pissed. I’m raging mad that my own dad would do that to me.

  “What are you gonna do?” Preacher asks. I pull my arm from around Silla and scoot forward on the edge of the couch.

  “What do you think I’m gonna do? The original plan sticks, Preacher. Just like before. Only this time, I’m risin’ from the goddamn grave.”

  Chapter Ten

  Mom made dinner and then we all settled in for the night. Preacher and I stand outside smoking a cigarette in the backyard trying to be unseen in case my dad has guys watching the house. The plan for tomorrow is to get Mom out of the damn house and somewhere safe. I can’t have her on my mind when I go back in.

  “You sure this is what you want to do?” Preacher looks over at me as I nod my head.

  “Yeah. I’m endin’ this shit. Not right away of course, I do want to play with him a bit first.”

  “Sick fucker,” Preacher mumbles with a grin.

  “He changed the rules when he shot me, brother. Upped them even more when he put a hit on my mom. She hasn’t done shit to him, hasn’t even seen him in years.”

  “Heard that. I can’t believe he’d do it.”

  “I think it was to pull me out of hidin’.”

  “You think he knew you were alive?” he asks turning to face me fully. He looks confused, which sparks my next question.

  “We k
now he hated havin’ me around questionin’ his every move, yeah? How did he act when he thought I was dead?” Preacher scratches at the back of his neck before bringing his cigarette back to his lips.

  “Not sad but not gloatin’ either. I don’t know, Grave. I just don’t fuckin’ know,” he roars into the night.

  “It is what it is, brother. He went too far.”

  “The girl? What’s the deal with that one?”

  “Fuck if I know,” I answer, dragging my hand through my hair. “I made some shit decisions when I found her. Shit kind of escalated from there.”

  “She good people?” I shrug.

  “Seems to be. She’s been around a while now and I haven’t noticed anything wrong with her. She has connections that I don’t,” I admit to him.

  “Which is?”

  “Jordan Prescott.”

  “The fuck? Drug and gun lord in Wisconsin?” I nod.

  “You know him?”

  “Not personally. Heard about him. The motherfucker is ruthless. From what I heard, he tricked out his wife to anyone willin’ to pay for a piece of her and then sent his daughter on her way to God knows what.”

  “You know anything about the daughter?” I ask, looking over at him now. He shakes his head, takes a drag from his cigarette and blows smoke through his nose.

  “Not much, honestly. No one really knows shit about her.” Nodding along with his words, I smirk at him. “What? What am I missin’?”

  “That little hellion in there?” I say, nodding toward the house. “That’s his kid. He didn’t send her out on her own. He sent her out to train.”

  “Train to do what?”

  “Kill.” Her voice drifts through the dark, slamming right into my chest. She steps out the back door and strolls over to where we’re standing, plucking my cigarette from my hand and bringing it to her lips.

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I’m a hitman,” she says casually, like she’s having a normal conversation.

  “A hitman?” Preacher asks, glaring at her now.

  “Yes, a hitman. You know, boom, boom, you’re dead.” I chuckle as she looks him in the eye like he’s the biggest idiot she’s ever seen.

  “You bring home the hitman, huh?” Preacher’s gaze now falls on me. I shrug and grab my smoke back.

  “She’s got a good ass,” I tell him. Silla rolls her eyes, turns around and shakes her ass on Preacher’s cock while I watch. Any other man, I’d probably snap his neck, so Preacher is a lucky bastard tonight.

  “Get your ass in the house,” I growl low in my throat. She starts to walk away, blowing me a kiss over her shoulder as she goes. Preacher just laughs.

  “Jesus, Grave. Got your hands full with that one.”

  “No shit. We good on tomorrow then?” He nods his head, but he looks off in the distance.

  “I don’t like not tellin’ Psycho though, man. He’s a goddamn mess,” he says, never looking over at me.

  “I know but we can’t risk him changin’ the way he acts just because he knows I’m alive, yeah? I want this shit to be a fuckin’ surprise. That’s the point,” I remind him.

  “Heard that. I ain’t sayin’ shit. I’m headin’ in to sleep. This thirty minutes of sleep is bullshit.”

  “You were trained for that shit. Get over it.” I slap a hand on his shoulder and head back inside with him right behind me. I trail down the hallway passing by other rooms on the way to mine. Shoving the door open, I step in and gasp. Silla is standing there, in front of the mirror over the dresser, naked. She looks at herself, disgust all over her face. She doesn’t notice me standing here, so I don’t say anything. I just watch.

  “He ruined me,” she whispers to herself. A tear slides down her cheek when I close the door and lock it, finally capturing her attention. She looks up at me in the mirror but never turns to face me as she quickly wipes her eyes.

  “I don’t know what you’re thinkin’, but you’re wrong.” She shakes her head slowly before finally turning to face me. There’s the scar, the mark from the bullet. A few lingering bruises that are slowly fading away. It’s the swell of her tits, the curve of her hips keeping my eyes glued to her. I let my gaze slowly slide up and down her body before resting on her eyes. Slowly, I pull my arms out of my cut and toss it onto the chair in the corner. Moving to my shirt next, I do the same. Silla watches me, not saying a word. When my top half is naked, I move closer to her.

  “Each one of them means somethin’,” I say as I run my fingers over every scar. Not just the one’s from the shooting. All of them. “Each one says that I’m a survivor.”

  “You’re a man,” she says softly.

  “So? You survived, Silla. They thought they could take your life and you did one better. You fuckin’ lived. It’s like the biggest slap to the face they could get. You did what they didn’t want you to do,” I tell her. When I reach for her, she lets me. She doesn’t pull away as I run my fingers over the marks on her flesh. Heat coils inside of me as chills rush her body.

  “Tell me all men will look at me the same way you are right now,” she nearly begs me. Fuck, what is she trying to do to me?

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I need to know,” she whispers, sounding so broken and vulnerable.

  “I can’t tell you that,” I admit. Silla starts to pull away when I jerk her back. “I can’t tell you that because I don’t think I want any other man to touch you, to see you like this but me.” The growl leaving me is feral. What I’m feeling inside is unhinged, and she is making me crazier by the second. She reaches for my jeans and undoes the button before slipping them down my legs along with my boxers. I kick my boots off and climb out of the rest of my clothes before reaching for my jeans. I grab a condom out and tear it open, rolling it on before stalking her like my prey. Silla walks back until she hits the bed and I smirk. Shoving her down roughly, I watch the way her body bounces. She’s gorgeous. I don’t know why she thinks some little scars will keep men away from her.

  Kissing her neck, she arches into me. I can feel the bumps as they form on her skin. I inhale, loving her scent as I drag my tongue down to her shoulder and nip at her flesh. Silla moans.

  “You like that?” I whisper near her ear. She nods her head when I lick my way back up. Fuck, she tastes so damn good.

  “Grave.” She whispers my name.

  “What do you want, Silla? Tell me,” I urge her. She isn’t looking for a quick fuck the way I wanted. She needs me right now. She needs reassurance that she’s still fucking beautiful and I plan on giving her that.

  “I don’t know,” she says through her tears. She doesn’t need to know because I do. Kissing my way down her body, my cock strains and begs to be inside of her but he has to wait. I press my lips to the bruises marring her flesh, the scar that reminds her every day that she lived. I move down her stomach, kissing each of her hip bones as I make my way further south. Nuzzling my face in the dark hair I find, I growl. I’m not a picky man. I don’t care if a woman shaves, waxes or stays natural. Either way her pussy is sexy as hell to me.

  “Fuck,” I whisper before biting down on her mound.

  “Grave,” she hisses. I scoot further down the bed and spread her wet pussy wide open for me before leaning in and taking a long hard lick. Her taste explodes on my tongue and I waste no time getting to work. I flick her clit with my tongue before dipping it inside of her. I pull it back out and run it all around her little bud that wants to be played with. I make her writhe beneath me as I taste her. Her body trembles the more I lick, just like I want it to. I want her out of her mind, and then, and only then will I let her come all over my mouth.

  “Please,” she whines as I press one hand on her pelvis, keeping her in place as I dive in. Growls and groans rip from my throat as I eat her to perfection. Flicking her clit with my tongue once more does it. Her body spasms, cum coating my tongue as I lap it up. I don’t let her calm down. I don’t give her a chance to catch her breath. I climb up
her body, grabbing her leg as I go and thrust inside of her. Silla screams for me as I roll my hips. I wanted to fuck her roughly. I wanted to take her and show her who she belongs to, but I also want her to feel special because goddamn it, she is. So I slow my pace, rocking into her slowly as I lean down and let her taste herself on my lips. Each stroke of our tongues has me feeling higher than the last. I never thought I’d feel like this with a woman. Maybe because I was so focused on ruining my dad, but now that I have her, I don’t want to let this feeling go, and God help anyone who tries to get in the middle of this.

  Chapter Eleven

  I wake to the smell of coffee and an empty bed. Rolling over, I yawn as I sit up and grab my clothes, pulling them back on. Once I slip my feet into my boots, I grab my cut and head out of the room and down to the kitchen. That’s when I hear it. Silla laughing. I don’t know a lot about her but from what I do, I know she doesn’t laugh very often. Not like she should anyway.

  When I come around the corner, my mom spots me and closes the scrapbook she had opened on the counter faster than I’ve ever seen her move.

  “Really?” I ask, nodding toward it.

  “Oh shut up. She was curious,” Mom says, making me grin.

  “I bet she was.”

  “The bathtub photos are the best,” Silla adds with a laugh. Before I can say anything further, Preacher storms into the kitchen.

  “We need to move.” My eyes jerk to his and all it takes is a slight nod to let me know shit’s changed.

  “Mom, grab your bag and give it to Preacher,” I tell her. She nods her head, knowing we have to get her out of here. We explained things for the most part, but my mom is a lot like me. She’s hardheaded and doesn’t let anyone tell her what to do, but when it comes to this shit? She will listen to us.

  “What did you hear?” I ask, taking Silla’s coffee and bringing it to my lips.