Havoc
(A Reapers MC Box Set)
International Bestselling Author
Elizabeth Knox
Publication by:
Knox Publishing
Cover by:
Clarise Tan
Editing by:
Brynn Burke
Formatting by:
Raven Heidrich
Copyright
Copyright © Elizabeth Knox 2019
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, incidents, and places are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real except where noted and authorized. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events are entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
WARNING: This book contains emotional triggers, sexual situations, violence, and other adult themes. Recommended for ages 18 and older.
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Scarred
A Demons of Hell MC
& Reapers MC Novel
PLAYLIST
I Could Use a Love Song | Maren Morris
Save My Soul | Jojo
Think Before I Talk | Astrid S
I Don’t Know | Molly Kate Kestner
Worth It | Danielle Bradberry
Tell Me You Love Me | Demi Lovato
Tequilawine | Olivia O’Brien
Right Where You Want Me | Sarah Reeves
Girls | Rita Ora, Bebe Rexha, Charli XCX & Cardi B
In Case You Didn’t Know | Brett Young
Chapter 1
So much more was said in the unsaid.
– Bridgett Devoue
Roxy
“I’m so jealous of you, Rox. You’ve got it all.”
That one statement pulls me back to reality. I hadn’t been listening to jack shit coming out of her mouth. To be honest, I don’t even know who the fuck she is. She makes it a point to act like she is my longtime friend. They always do. I am the Prez’s wife; it is important to be friends with me.
What a fucking joke that is.
I scan the packed clubhouse, filled with our members, seeing if I could spot my husband. I take a deep, easy breath when I discover he is nowhere in sight.
The Demons of Hell MC just infiltrated a shipment of coke from the Ramirez’s, who arguably runs the biggest drug cartel in Mexico, next to Frank Lopez and his crew of lowlifes. Now, it’s time to celebrate, considering the club has about fourteen kilos of coke to put back on the streets and the surrounding areas. I know Rage is thrilled by this. It’s the only reason he is leaving me alone right now, and I’d take any reason to not be near him.
I may have been the wife of the Prez, but make no mistake, this life is not glorious. There is nothing glorious about my life. The blonde bimbo to my right has no idea. My life is completely fabricated, nothing but a giant lie.
For one, Rage is not my honey; he is my fucking nightmare.
I would laugh, but I refuse to pity myself for being with the monster I chose.
In the beginning, I thought we were straight out of Beauty and the Beast. Rage was my Beast, and I was his Belle. I learned shortly after that I was so wrong. There was no taming his inner beast. There was only one thing: acceptance.
And even after all these years, I couldn’t accept it.
I am not a dumb girl. I know that one day he will get bored of me and order one of the men he calls brother, from our so called “family”, to kill me. Hell, maybe Rage would even do it himself. He has come close so many times. I was truly shocked that I was still alive. And I could only blame one person for being in the position that I am in.
Myself.
I’d thought of running many times, but Rage is friends with practically every MC across the states. There were maybe a select few that he didn’t have an in with, but I was also not desperate enough to go into the territory of the ones who he didn’t get along with – it was a death wish.
I would always be looking for a way out, even if no one saw the fight I have in me.
“He’s upstairs with Shelia, getting his cock sucked.” Roman, our club enforcer, is to me. He is a man of very few words. Whenever you envision a club enforcer, you’d picture Roman Raines. The man is a tank, bulked up like Hulk Hogan with jet black hair running past his shoulders. Roman is one of the few in the club that I couldn’t say anything bad about. Him, and his wife Quinn. “I’ll try to keep Rage drinking until he passes out. It’ll give you a break from him.”
The bimbo next to me straightens up, peaking interest in our conversation. “Why would ya need a break from that man?” I take a long, slow look up and down her young body. She is probably only a few years younger than me. I remembered when I was that young, that naïve – the naivety that made me marry Rage.
Roman looks to me for a split second, then back to her. I could have bet we were both thinking the same thing. “If you want to entertain him, darlin’ go on ahead. Tell him Roman sent him something fun to play with,” he tells her.
Her expression changes from intrigue to excitement in just a moment’s notice. She didn’t know what we were sending her up to, though. I used to feel bad when Roman did this, when he would send others to get what I would be experiencing otherwise. I don’t anymore. I welcomed any break from a beating. Maybe that made me awful. Maybe it made me a cold-hearted bitch. Did it even matter? At the end of the day, these girls got out. They fucking left.
I was stuck here.
I was trapped.
***
Blondie goes upstairs right after Roman gives her the option. I nod my approval to her; giving her my OK to go and fuck my husband. She didn’t realize what she was signing up for. Not many of the whores that came into our club did. You would think that after the past few years of seeing me being beaten to a pulp on a daily basis that they’d put the picture together and stay leery of Rage, and some of them are – the smart ones, but there are never many of those. A lot of them come to us because they couldn’t kick it at an actual job. So, we employ them.
We have club whores, like lovely old Shelia. Then, we have street whores. The club whores belong to the club, which makes them club property. There is only one rule when it comes to the club whores. Only club members could fuck them.
The street whores are different. We make money off of them. They charge a set rate of prices for blowjobs, handjobs, fucking, anal, slapping, BDSM shit… whatever you could think of, they offer. The club makes sixty percent off of those girls. It is one of the many business ventures that the club has. It is actually our most profitable, next to the drugs. “You think she regrets it by now?” Roman asks me, taking a sip from his bottle of beer.
“Do any of them regret fucking the Prez?” I look him dead in the eyes, waiting for his
reaction. He doesn’t say anything, which doesn’t surprise me. He knows I am right. The girls just want bragging rights; they want to run around to all the other whores and tell them, “I fucked the Prez!” Well, I let them Run around, bragging about how they fucked my husband.
I bet you they wouldn’t be bragging about the black eye that he gives them or how he punches them so hard in the gut that they couldn’t breathe for a week.
Over the course of the last few hours, the party has dwindled down to almost nothing. I glance around the room and see that there was about five brothers hanging around, and they were all too drunk to know what was going on around them. This is the part of the night that makes me cringe, the part where I know I need to leave soon.
Like clockwork, I hear his laughter before he is even down the stairwell. Rage is awake, very drunk, and not sated whatsoever.
“Roxxxxxxxxyyyyy.” I could hear by the tone of his voice that there is plenty of fight left in him, and call me selfish, but I don’t wanna experience any of that, especially tonight.
Roman and I exchange a glance, his eyes silently warning me to leave, and somehow, I know not to. I should’ve when I had the chance a few minutes ago. When I had the gut feeling to leave – but I didn’t, and here I am, stuck with my reality. If I run, or even tried to leave, it would be so much worse the next time. I could let his need to beat me build up until it was overflowing, and I was in the hospital, or I could take small beatings with a few black eyes.
The footsteps become louder and louder with each step that he takes down the stairs. I could hear the small creak in the wood as he moved. He was moving slower than usual, the liquor obviously impacting his motor function.
“Leave, Rox. Fucking. Leave,” Roman hisses at me. When I don’t move from my stance, he wraps his arms around me, lifting me up into his grasp, and rushes me behind the stairs until I am at the back door. He shuffles quickly in the pocket of his jeans, yanking out the keys to his truck. “You fucking leave right now.”
“If I leave, you know what’ll happen to me,” I argue, searching his eyes for some sort of understanding. Roman is the one who took me to the hospital two months ago after I was left in the clubhouse, halfway dead. He should have understood what would happen.
“Yeah, and you know what’ll happen to that damn kid you have in there if you stay.” He spits out at me, words thick as lead. Shock overtakes my entire body. I try hard to not show my emotions, yet I fail. I only told one person about my pregnancy, and that was Quinn, Roman’s wife, and my only friend in the damn club. I should’ve known she’d share with her own husband.
“Get out before you get that kid killed. I’ll cover for you, now go.”
I don’t waste another moment. I head for the truck, opening the door, and sliding onto his new leather seats. I take one last glance back at the clubhouse and know I’d be safe for the night. I know Roman would keep his word; he’d cover for me.
Roman’s job is to enforce the club – to protect us against all threats. I didn’t realize until today that meant protecting myself and my baby, but not just from Rage, from me as well.
Chapter 2
What if… everything you are going through is preparing you for what you asked for? - Anonymous
Roxy
One thing about the club is that we never miss out on any opportunity to party. We’d celebrate anything. From shooting down our number one competitor in the drug trade, to Bax breaking up with his bitch of a girlfriend, Cynthia, it was how the club rolled. It was how we roll. It has always been a time when everyone could wind down and let out all of their pent-up frustrations.
Me? Well, I didn’t come to every party. I come to the ones I am demanded to be at, the important ones. Tonight, wasn’t important by any means, but Rage wants me there, and who was I to deny him that? The entire ride out here on the back of his Harley, he acts like I am nothing to him.
I know deep down that he views me as nothing. He is probably regretting marrying me. I didn’t blame him. I regret marrying him every damn day. It was odd, to hate the man you slept beside every night – the one you swore in front of God that you’d love until death do you part. I hate him more than I’ve hated anyone in my entire life, and yet, there is that small part of me that still had a shred of love for him too.
I know that one day that sliver of love would turn into nothingness, and I expect that to come sooner rather than later.
“You don’t look too bad today,” Quinn mentions as she slides onto the bar top next to me. Our clubhouse wasn’t massive, but we make due. It used to be pretty big until Rage kept expanding the club, patching over other MC’s until the Demons have a presence in almost every state. When push came to shove, we had to complete renovations, and that meant the living area was made smaller to accommodate more space for rooms. From where we sit, we could see most of the brothers, we had our eyes over the kingdom so to speak.
I made sure that I was hiding my baby bump well, wearing a loose-fitting tank top with a heavy jacket. It was concealing, and unless you were my doctor, you would have had no idea I was even pregnant. I was barely beginning to show, even with being how far along I am.
“I don’t feel too bad. The morning sickness is finally letting up. It was supposed to get better weeks ago. I’m just finally glad it’s over with,” I tell her, my hand resting right below my stomach. Ever since I found out I was pregnant all I had wanted to do was keep my hand there. I didn’t know why. Maybe it was some motherly reaction, either way, it was comforting to me and to the little man inside my womb.
“I bet you are.” Quinn is silent for a moment. I already know she was thinking, and whenever the woman does that, there is nothing good that comes out of her mouth. “Did you tell him yet?”
My eyes almost burst out of my head. “No.”
Of course I wouldn’t tell him, not yet at least. I haven’t even made up my mind when it came to telling Rage about his son. I’m sure you’re wondering how I hid it from him for so long, but that was easy. For one, I wasn’t beginning to show very much, and secondly, he made a comment about how I was gaining a few pounds the other day. The jerk thinks I’m fat, not pregnant.
“You need to tell him, or you need to just… leave,” she whispers softly so no one around us could hear. Everyone was too busy caught up in their own business to worry about what Rage and Roman’s wives were talking about anyways. She didn’t even have to whisper. “Personally, I think you shouldn’t say a thing and should just get outta here. I’m worried about you, Rox. I’m really fucking scared for you.”
Quinn was right to be worried about me. Fuck, I was worried about me. I knew what my options were, and both were terrifying. I could try to leave and potentially get caught and die, or I could stay and potentially die. I didn’t know what to do. She has no idea what it was like to be in my shoes. No one in the club really did, and for the ones that pitied me, or felt guilty for me being in this situation – they didn’t get a right to judge any decision I make. In the end, I was doing whatever I felt was the best thing. Even if it sometimes wasn’t.
“Baby, get your ass over here.” Rage’s voice echoes through the room. I ignore him at first, thinking he was speaking to one of his club whores, but when I look up to see the anger flashing behind his eyes, I know exactly who he was speaking to – me.
I slide off the bar, careful when I walk to not show an ounce of fear. It was what he wants, and I’d be damned if I showed him that I was scared of his unpredictable behavior, even if we both already knew that I was.
He watches me closely as I make each step towards him. He was seated in a chair in the living area, surrounded by chapter Prez’s from other charters – all here to suck up to him.
“Sit your ass down.” I obey the command he growls out to me, sitting on his lap, looking out to the men surrounding us. Each of them are so different than the others. There was Leon who is built like a tank, next to him sits Richard, and Sam was on their right, and so on, and so on. They may h
ave looked different, but they had one thing in common; their lethality. It was the only reason Rage allowed them to be charter Prez’s.
Demons of Hell MC had forty-two charters, all spread across the United States. With each day that passes, the MC was growing, and so was our territory. Rage needs to have men that he could count on to do the job right. To make the decisions that he would make. In most cases, they were men that killed first and asked questions later.
Just like my husband.
I know not to speak to any of the men sitting before me, but to listen, to pay attention to whatever was going on around me. Rage knows my strengths. He know how I listen and pick up on the slightest details surrounding us. A few weeks back our Jacksonville charter Prez mentioned he’d been out of town for two weeks on a vacation of sorts. I knew for a fact that was a lie. By the end of the day, I ended up saving the Demons of Hell over two million dollars. One greedy Prez wanting a little too much. We all know where he is now, rotting six feet under, if Rage even bothered to bury his body.
My husband doesn’t love me, or even like me for that matter, but somehow, he has some small inclination of respect for my opinion.
I think, maybe I was somehow useful to him. Maybe that is why I am still around.
I sit with Rage for over two hours listening to the charter updates. We’d acquire two new charters, one just outside of Seattle – expanding our reach to the west coast, and one outside of Raleigh, giving us a greater presence in the south.
Expansion didn’t come for free. It has to be earned or taken. In our case – we take, and what Rage doesn’t take, he steals.
“Are you getting any kickback from the Sons of Gods?” Rage asks Sam, our charter Prez who just took over an old Raiders compound in Alabama. The Raiders were a prominent MC across the South and West. Only a few short weeks ago, Rage made deals to patch over numerous small clubs. In the end, that grew our headcount from a little over twenty thousand to around thirty-two thousand members. He decided that the time to act on annihilating the Raiders was now.
Havoc- Reapers MC Boxset Page 1