Colt: Devil's Nightmare MC: Book 10

by Lena Bourne

  “You have me back now,” I whisper. “You have me right where we both want me to be.”

  I’m looking at him like I want to be kissed, even though that’s the very last thing I want.

  His plump lips disappear into his beard as his face contorts into such an ugly expression I close my eyes for a moment to get away from it.

  Then he rips his hand from my grasp and stalks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. I have no idea what that means. None at all. I’m afraid my charms failed to work on him, but I’m not exactly sorry they didn’t. For some reason, I’d much rather stay true to Colt than whore myself out to this man again. Even if I never see him again.

  24

  Colt

  At dusk, I’m at a gas station on the outskirts of Vegas, watching truckers pull in for the night, frazzled parents calming down their children for long enough to pump some gas and continue the ride, and couples making one last stop before hitting the bright lights and fast life of Vegas. I wonder how many will end up getting hitched there. I don’t want to wonder, and I don’t want to see them. The reminder of all I lost by not holding onto Brenda tighter feels like the slow onset of stomach flu.

  I spent the day finding out where the King's MC clubhouse is and how welcoming they might be to strangers, so regret isn’t the only thing making my stomach churn. It’s helped along by all the cheap beers I had to drink at the dive bars I visited to get the info. But I know all I need to know now, and I’d be at the clubhouse having myself another cheap beer if I hadn’t let Blaze talk me into waiting for him. It’s the last thing I wanted to do, but I’ve learned to listen to his words of caution even when I least want to hear them. That’s usually when I need them the most.

  Blaze and Ace pull just before nine PM.

  “You’re just in time,” I tell them while they’re stretching after their long ride. “I was about to go.”

  They exchange a glance, then both look at me like they’re looking at a dying man.

  “It’s not the best idea to just ride into a random clubhouse and challenge the president over a woman,” Blaze says, and he’s not even being sarcastic. His voice is oozing concern.

  “I was thinking,” Ace says. “Stormi knows the place, me and her can go there for a drink, find Brenda, and pass on the message that you’re looking for her.”

  “I’m not about to send your girlfriend to do something I need to do,” I say, as respectfully as I can manage. “I know where the place is and I’m going there now. It’s up to you if you want to come with me.”

  Blaze grabs my arm as I turn to mount my bike. “Stop it, Colt. Of course, we’re gonna help you, but we’re gonna be smart about it.”

  I especially hate it when he starts talking to me like whatever he says goes, no matter what. But I also know that those are the times I really have to listen to him.

  “I’ll get Stormi and we’ll all go together,” Ace says. “Come on, she’s already waiting for us. She really wants to see Brenda, so you’ll be doing her a favor and making it all easier in one fell swoop.”

  This time he is being a little sarcastic, but Blaze is still gripping my arm and looking pointedly into my eyes, silently demanding that I agree.

  “Fine,” I say and shake his arm off. “But it’s on you if my presence there starts something.”

  “No, it’s not,” Blaze says. “You’ll make sure of it.”

  I hate it, but he’s right. I’m not gonna put any of them in danger, not for helping me.

  As I follow Ace and Blaze onto the highway and then along a winding road to a residential area overlooking Vegas, I’m still not sure I’m not gonna just speed off and go on my own. It’s not until we pull up in front of a two-story house with a small, neatly trimmed front lawn, and a long-legged blonde whoops and runs into Ace’s arms that I understand I’m not gonna do that. I look away as he lifts her us and she wrapping her legs tight around his waist while they kiss like the world is ending. A very pale woman with short white hair is standing by the porch railing of the house Stormi flew out of. She looks like a ghost, but a friendly one, given how serenely she’s smiling at Stormi and Ace. Blaze must be thinking he’s watching a ghost too, seeing as he can’t tear his eyes off her. He’s always been the superstitious type, and I’m fully expecting him to turn to me and say something about bad omens and such that seeing ghosts brings, but he’s very silent and has trouble looking away from the pale woman even after Stormi and Ace are ready to leave. She noticed him, waved, and smiled, and that could be why he’s walking like he’s half asleep. I’ve never seen him react to a woman like that. Ever. But it’s probably just something to do with his stupid superstitions he’s always so full of, and I’m sure he’ll snap out of it before we get to the Kings’ clubhouse. And Brenda. I might not even say anything to her. I might just kiss her first. She can send me to hell all she wants after I get one last kiss. That sounds like a very good idea to me right now, so it’s a good thing the others are with me to prevent it.

  Brenda

  The door is locked, but the window opens. The only trouble there is that it’s three stories up. But I’ll jump before I get taken to the truck stop whorehouse. Monarch owns at least three of those in and around Vegas. The first thing any club girl learns about is those, and that she’ll end up in one of them if she so much as puts a toe of line. Being Monarch’s mistress and cheating on him qualifies as that.

  But I’m still alive, still mostly unharmed, and Monarch seems to want to believe my story. I just need to get out of this room for long enough to make a run for it. I just need that little chance.

  I’ve been able to walk pretty steadily all day and the lump on my forehead is only the size of a quail’s egg now, no longer the potato it was. A huge bruise is spreading from it down across my left eyes, and along my nose almost to my lips. But make-up will fix that. The vision in my left eye is almost back to normal, with only a little fuzziness at the edges of my vision back. A few more days and I’ll be able to run. For now, I gotta focus on getting myself to the start line.

  My side of the huge, cherry wood closet that takes up an entire wall of Monarch’s bedroom is still filled with my clothes and shoes. Some of the shoes are missing heels and are otherwise shredded like a young dog got to them, and some of my clothes are ripped up and ruined, but it’s all neatly folded, hung up, or stored pretty much how I left it. Decidedly odd.

  My makeup drawer in the bathroom is in a similar shape. Mirrors, eye shadows, and powders cracked, yet neatly placed one next to the other—much more neatly than I ever kept stuff in here. Brushes and combs are broken, but their stubs are all there.

  It’s as though someone—Monarch?—trashed all my stuff and then felt sorry for it and put it all back. It could only have been him. No one else touches his things. Back in the day that included me as well. I figured he’d never forgiven me for cheating on him. Never. But seeing all my stuff still in this room and the state it was in, a new plan formed in my mind. He wants to believe I hadn’t cheated on him willingly, that I want him and only him. He would take me back if I made him believe that’s the truth.

  It’s my only way out, so I better put on the best show of my life.

  I’m breathing hard, my head once again throbbing ominously and my stomach protecting by the time I’m all dolled up. I’m wearing the sequined dark blue dress that glimmers like the night sky under the lights in the clubhouse. The front of it is tight and short, the skirt barely covering my inner thighs, but the back is long and flowing like a wedding dress, only trashier, and more beautiful. It’s one of the first things I bought when I hooked up with Monarch and it’s still, to date, the most expensive single item of clothing I’ve ever gotten. It’s a little big on me with all the weight I’ve lost, but it still flows and shimmers very nicely.

  The sky outside is dark and I can hear music, laughter, and shouts coming from the clubhouse bar, which I can’t see from the windows since it’s on the other side of this building.

 
; I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, ignoring the increased throbbing in my head as I struggled to put the finishing touch on this outfit. The sky-high, dark blue patent leather stilettos. I’m not sure I’ll even be able to stand in them, let alone walk, but I’ve never yet done a thing half-way, especially not an outfit, and I’m not about to start now.

  I stand to give it a try when the door suddenly, Monarch standing there. Two of his henchmen are behind him, one on each side. I’m sure that doesn’t bode well for me.

  But the completely star-struck look on Monarch’s face might. He stopped dead in the doorway, his wide-open eyes fixed on me and glowing, his mouth slightly open, his arms and whole body frozen mid-step.

  “I wanted to look nice for you the next time you came to see me,” I coo. “What do you think, baby?”

  If I was just a little steadier on my feet, I’d twirl for him, but as it is, I don’t want to spoil this vision by falling flat on my ass.

  “I’m not wearing anything underneath,” I whisper. “Just the way you like it.”

  “Leave me,” Monarch says to his two henchmen. They look very confused right before he slams the door in their faces.

  He strides towards me without breaking eye contact. It’s impossible to read his eyes, but the aura around him is lust. I think I have him.

  And as he grabs my lower back and kisses me, I’m pretty sure I’m right.

  His kiss is nothing like Colt’s. It’s not even in the same ballpark. Hell, it’s not in the same world. I felt a pinch of guilt over kissing another man, but this is hardly a kiss compared to what me and Colt shared. Hell, it hardly qualifies as a touch compared to that.

  I think thinking of Colt made my eyes all lovey and soft, because Monarch smiles as he gazes into my face.

  “No use wasting this outfit on the bedroom,” he says. “Come down with me, let’s show them all that my princess is back.”

  I never got over how incest-y it sounds when he calls me that, given that he’s the “king”, but I’ve never mentioned it to him either. I let him lead me past the two still very confused men in the hallway. His hand on my lower back is gently steering me, and I’m thanking my lucky stars, bursting inside with joy over how easy this was while letting nothing of it show on my face as I follow him to the clubhouse.

  Colt

  At just before ten, we entered the Kings’ clubhouse, a wooden warehouse-type structure behind which a large, three-story, condo type building rose. Most of the windows in the big house were dark, but the wooden clubhouse was kinda glowing as light escaped it through the many cracks in the walls. Light and smoke and noise, that is, though as we entered, Ace and Stormi leading the way, it was only about half full.

  As far as clubhouse bars go, this one wasn’t the worst. The bar counter and tables are of good quality dark wood, and the leather sofa and two armchairs on a slightly raised podium to the left of the bar looks like it’s been cleaned and polished as early as this morning. The club colors—a golden crown on blue—are hanging behind the sofa, printed on, as far as I can tell, actual blue velvet. Kings MC is printed in gilded letters over it. I gotta agree with the pimply kid at the motel, the effect of it all is more tacky than regal, which I assume is what they’re going for.

  But this whole place looks polished, and completely at odds, everything from the tabletops, to the bar counter and little metal accents—all gold-colored—are gleaming. But for all that, the stench of booze, smoke, unwashed bodies, dust, and mud is still hanging over the whole place.

  I scan the room, looking at every face as we walk to an empty table chosen by Ace as the one that gives the best view of the rectangular space. None of the faces are Brenda’s. The more optimistic part of me starts spinning the happy tale that she’s not here at all, that she didn’t leave for an old man, that this has all been a misunderstanding. But it’s too soon to listen and believe that voice.

  “Monarch’s not here,” Stormi whispers. “He always sits on the leather sofa there.”

  No one is sitting there now.

  “Do you know anyone here?” I ask. “Someone to ask about Brenda?”

  She looks around and shakes her head. “I only came here like twice.”

  “We’ll just ask whoever brings our drinks,” Ace says.

  A voice of caution is reminding me very vividly of the last time I walked into a bar asking for Brenda. But it turned out good that time, and I’d do it all over again, even if that wasn’t the case. No regrets.

  A girl with breasts the size of melons bounces over to our table. I barely glance at her as we order drinks, still scanning the room, still hoping I’ll see Brenda any second now.

  “Hey, listen,” Stormi says once we’re done ordering. “A friend of mine used to come here a lot. She’s about your height and she’s got long dark brown hair. Her name’s Brenda. Have you seen her around?”

  The woman’s already pretty big eyes widen to comic-book proportions. “You mean Brandy? No she hasn’t been around since she ran out on Monarch. And she shouldn’t come back here either. He’s gonna kill her if she does. He’s announced that more than once these last few months.”

  At her words, I feel like this entire building has collapsed on top of me, and it’s on fire to boot.

  I’m still trying to catch my breath as the waitress leaves. Blaze is gripping my forearm, shaking it slightly.

  “Calm down,” he says. “There’s a long way between threatening something and doing it.”

  “And it’s a long way from Brenda’s motel to Vegas,” I counter through gritted teeth. “I’m gonna kill that bastard Monarch. I’m gonna kill him tonight unless I see Brenda walk in here on his arm.”

  Every cell of my being wants that outcome, burns for it—to see her with him, safe and sound. A fucked up world and mess of things this is that has me wishing for it. But the alternative is too horrific to consider. Brenda dead? No. I won’t think of that until I see her lifeless body, her eyes no longer shining like the night sky, her soft skin cold. No!

  Ace gives me a long, studying look, then excuses himself to take a leak. Blaze is still gripping my arm and I dare not look at Stormi, because the one time I glanced at her since the waitress babbled off Monarch’s plan for Brenda, I saw the same terror in her eyes that I feel in my own chest. Unbearable doesn’t even come close to describing it.

  Minutes pass as slowly as fucking years, while we wait for Monarch to show. The place has slowly been filling up and now most of the tables and spaces between are packed with people. But no Monarch and no Brenda. Two fights broke out around the pool table in the back, but they were quickly subdued by four of the most efficient bouncers I’ve ever seen. The guys getting dragged out through some door in the back didn’t even put up much of a fight. Whoever this Monarch is, he seems to be running a pretty tight ship around here.

  It’s nearly midnight, and I have managed to convince myself I’d know it if she was dead. I’d feel it or something, somehow I’d know. And I don’t know. In fact, I know she’s alive. So she must be. The more I repeat it in my head, the more real it becomes. Flimsy and transparent, but at least it’s holding my blind rage, hatred, and terror away from the forefront of my thoughts.

  A weird sort of silence starts on one end of the space, somewhere to the left of the bar where I can’t see that well because of all the people crowded into this space. But the crowd soon starts parting, and the blaring eighties ballad that’s playing is suddenly the loudest sound.

  A tall, gray-haired guy’s round stomach comes into view first. And the next thing I see is Brenda’s serenely smiling face as she walks beside him, holding his arm. Her dress must be made from a piece of the night sky the way it glimmers and shines just like her eyes. The only eyes I want to see. Eyes that don’t see me.

  Relief like I’ve never felt it washes over me, leaving no room for other, baser feelings like betrayal, anger, bone-deep disappointment. At least she’s alive. Even if she’s with someone else, at least she’s alive.

/>   But that only lasts for a second after her eyes lock on mine. They’re cloudy and dark, and I can clearly see an outline of a bruise around the left one even though she tried to cover it with makeup. But it’s not that which makes me leap to my feet to get her away from that fat old piece of shit. The stark naked plea in her eyes does that. It’s unburdened by anything else—there’s no guilt there, no regret, only the plea to save her.

  My ass slams painfully against the hard chair as Blaze pulls me back down.

  “Don’t,” he hisses, gripping my arm so hard I’m gonna have bruises in the shape of his fingers tomorrow.

  The fat man leads Brenda all the way to the podium, helping her ascend first before he follows her. Along with five big men, who are clearly there for protection and not because they’re the elite worthy of sharing the king’s throne area, or whatever the fuck that leather sofa’s supposed to be.

  A sea of tightly packed men and women is between me and Brenda now, but the podium is high enough that I can see her clearly. And as far as I’m concerned, we’re the only ones in the room. She’s searching for me, her lost pleading eyes straining to find mine, but we’re too far back, she can’t see me.

  The fat man turns her around and stands beside her, facing the crowd. His bodyguards make a half-circle wall around them.

  Someone turned off the music, and it’s so quiet in here now I can hear men breathing and drops of water from a broken faucet somewhere hitting metal.

  “My princess has returned to me,” Monarch bellows. “My beautiful Brandy is back, telling me she never wanted to leave in the first place. Saying she loves me madly.”

  The words are like a rat eating its way into my stomach. But it’d be worse if Brenda’s eyes weren’t full of fear and pleading as she frantically searches for mine. It’d be worse if Monarch’s words weren’t met with silence even deeper than before.