American Street Kings: The Complete Series

by Bella J

  Everything was happening so damn fast, there was no time to think. Taking a split second to breathe, I turned just in time to see Slither punch Ink in the gut, followed by an uppercut to the jaw. Blood was already pissing from his nose, the sides of his mouth.

  Suddenly, all I heard was my own heartbeat, flashbacks of the night my father died piercing through my mind like poisonous darts. For a split second, I was transported to that moment—the moment my dad fell to the ground, blood pooling around him.

  I’d seen men die before, but nothing I’d ever witnessed came close to that image, witnessing the life drain from my father’s body. Watching someone I cared about, someone I loved, take his last breath. The pain smothered the bloodlust. The heartache crucified the hate I felt for the Pythons. All that mattered right then was that I would lose my dad. And as he closed his eyes for the last time, I vowed vengeance and swore I would never allow anyone else I cared about die at the hands of the fucking Pythons.

  That was a promise I intended to keep.

  I lifted my hand, placed my finger on the trigger, and the gunshot cracked through the air. The echo of the shot was replaced with utter and complete silence, all the men who tried to kill each other mere moments ago frozen and silent.

  I clenched my jaw, biting my tongue as I glared from one face to the other. “The day will come when we kill each other, but today is not that day.”

  “Fuck that.” Ink spat out a mouthful of blood. “I’m ready to massacre these motherfucking reptiles, right here, right now,” he yelled.

  Slither snarled, his split tongue grazing against his top teeth. “Bring it.”

  “No!” Granite snapped then stepped in next to me, a smear of blood painted across his eyebrow. “Onyx is right. This is not the time or the place. Cops will be here any second.”

  Slither grunted before spitting on the ground. “Your man started it.” He shot Ink a warning glare, and Ink growled at him like a starved animal. “Seems like your SAA here has a soft spot for the pixie.”

  “Don’t you fucking talk about her,” Ink warned, yanking forward, but Manic jumped in front of him, keeping him back.

  “Everyone calm the fuck down,” Granite’s voice boomed through the night.

  I walked over to Ink and grabbed his elbow, pulling him close. “Calm down, man,” I muttered with my back turned to the Pythons. “I know how much you want this, but when it comes to revenge, timing is everything. And today. Is not. That. Time. Feel me?”

  Ink still bared his teeth, never taking his eyes off the man he hated the most. I could practically feel the flames of hell burning through his flesh. “Go back to the cage and calm down.”

  I let go of Ink’s arm, and Dutch gave me a knowing nod. Ink stepped to the side, his stare of death never leaving Slither. “One day, man. One day I will make you look me in the eye while I carve out your goddamn spleen.”

  Slither smirked. “I can’t wait.”

  The wild look in Ink’s eyes screamed all sorts of crazy. The man was shaking, sheer adrenaline fueling his anger and need to make Slither pay for what they did to Neon. I didn’t blame him. We all felt that way. But today was not that day, no matter how much we wished it was.

  Slither wiped at the blood in the corner of his mouth, snorting when he saw the crimson smear on the top of his hand. “How is she doing, by the way? The pixie girl with the screams of an angel?”

  “Don’t,” I warned, lifting my gun and aiming at his head. In an instant, Granite and I had six other guns in our faces.

  Time stood still. No one even breathed as death hung over us like the veil of hell. If I had to pull the trigger, Slither would be dead by the time his crew got to shooting us. It would be worth it, though, that split second of watching my bullet cracking his skull wide open. If it was just me, I’d do it. But Granite was here too, and no matter how much I wanted to see Slither dead, his existence erased from this world, my need to protect my brother was stronger.

  I tightened my jaw, taking one more second to imagine what it would feel like to kill him, before I lowered my gun.

  Slither’s face pulled up as he smiled. “Seems like I’ve underestimated you, Onyx. Here I thought your older brother was the only one with balls in your crew.”

  “Shut up, Slither.” Granite stepped up, his presence as heavy as a goddamn wrecking ball. “Like my brother said, the day will come when this war ends between us. But it’s not today.”

  Slither’s freaky-ass eyes cut to Granite. “Remember our deal, good man. Don’t fuck with my business.”

  “What? Like you fucked with ours?” I chimed in, but Slither ignored me and continued to keep Granite’s stare.

  “That ballerina girl of yours is safe back at the compound because of me.”

  “Talk about her again, and I’ll cut out that motherfucking tongue of yours.” Granite stepped up, and I was sure he got taller within two seconds.

  Slither licked his lips, the two tentacles of his tongue slipping in and out of his mouth. “Just remember how easy it was for me to get to not only one, but three of your women. I could do it again.” He lifted a shoulder. “That’s if you don’t keep to your end of the bargain.”

  I stepped up, halfway forcing myself between Granite and him. “Let’s go.”

  Granite’s jaw ticked, his eyes dark orbs of malice. He was frozen to the spot, and it cost me a slight nudge against his chest to get him moving.

  “Make no mistake, Slither,” I started as I continued to walk back, “you’re on borrowed time.”

  He smirked, the evil he reeked of spreading for miles.

  Dutch pulled up behind us, and I never took my eyes off Slither as I got in the back. Never turn your back on the devil. Never.

  Manic closed the doors, and only then did I relax against the paneling of the van. I closed my eyes, leaning my head back, focusing on trying to get my rage under control—trying to get the adrenaline to slow the fuck down.

  “You should have let me kill him.” Ink slammed his fist into the side panel. “You should have let me kill that son of a bitch!”

  “Not today.” Granite pinned him with a warning stare. “Not today, Ink.”

  “Why the fuck not? That was the perfect opportunity to fucking take them out, and you let them get away.”

  “You’re too angry,” I said without looking at him. “If you fight Slither with that amount of anger pumping through your veins, you’ll lose.”

  “Like fuck I will.”

  Dutch swerved sharply to the right, and I had to steady myself as I looked over to Granite. The confidence that always clung to him like a second skin was gone, his face no longer as hardened as it used to be. With his fingers weaved through his hair, his gaze cut from Ink to the floor. I already knew what thoughts ran through his mind, what it was that had him looking so despondent and pale.

  “He won’t hurt anyone else.”

  Granite looked up at me, the green in his eyes now a sullen gray.

  “Slither will never hurt anyone else we care about. I promise.” I sat up straight and looked at each of the guys. “Not while I’m president.”

  Chapter Seven

  Wraith

  The Hanged Man wasn’t your typical American dive bar. From the outside, it didn’t look like much. If you didn’t know it was a bar, you wouldn’t have been able to guess it. Not by looking at the black tinted windows and the steel door that seemed like it had been bolted shut. But I knew what went on behind that door, how wild MC parties could get. It was usually nothing short of barbaric, a bunch of savages drinking their weight in alcohol, getting high, and fucking whores until dawn. That was all it was about. Alcohol. Drugs. Whores. And plenty of it.

  Word on the street was the Kings had been laying low on their wild parties, being picky on who they let in without a proper invitation. Apparently, it had to do with the big bad wolf, Granite, being a little overprotective when it came to his old lady. And everyone knew about the war on these streets, so my guess was the once savag
e president had turned into a an overprotective beast.

  Goodbye, wild parties. Hello, snore-fest.

  It was almost ten p.m., but traffic lights and car engines filled the night with life. New York. The city that never sleeps.

  As I reached out to the door, I took a deep breath. Odds were, they would either welcome me as a potential patchwhore, or toss my ass to the curb the second I put my boots in that bar. But I had to try. I knew he’d be here. In fact, I counted on it. He admitted to following me the other night; it was only fair if I did the same.

  The door creaked open, and I walked in, only to have an entire bar full of people turn my way, staring at me like I was fucking lost. Clearly, the locals didn’t take well to new people.

  Shifting from one leg to the other, I glanced around, painfully aware of every stare pinned on me. I suppressed the need to fidget, pretending to be confident enough to think I belonged in here as much as everyone else did.

  Heavy rock music boomed from the speakers, but it didn’t smother the whispers. Everyone was thinking it. I could feel it in the way eyes leered my way.

  Patchwhore.

  With self-assurance and poise, I made my way to the bar right across from me. I kept my plump lips in a smirk, hiding the teeny-tiny bit of insecurity that tingled at the base of my neck.

  The bartender was young and wore a cut with a prospect tag at the front. The dark circles under his eyes told me he was having a pretty hard time trying to prove himself worthy of being an American Street King. Everyone who knew their New York City crews would know that it was nearly impossible to get patched with the Kings. Many prospects have tried and failed.

  “Jack Daniel’s on the rocks and a shot of tequila.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled, grabbing a glass.

  I leaned over the counter and glanced from one side of the bar to the other. There weren’t a lot of women present, but those who were clearly were old ladies who preferred to cling to their men’s side. I didn’t blame them. Crew men were notorious cheaters, pussy being their main motivator in every damn thing.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I smirked when I heard the familiar voice. “Opal, is it?” I turned to face him.

  “Onyx.”

  “Oh, snap. Almost had it right.”

  The lack of a smirk gave the impression he wasn’t amused.

  “Aw. What’s the matter? Didn’t have your dose of happy medicine today?”

  He leaned with an elbow on the counter. “Are you following me?”

  “No. Maybe. What if I am?”

  Sky-blue eyes searched mine, studying me. The pure color of his irises made it seem like you could look right through them, get a glimpse of what lay beneath. But something told me the light shade of his eyes was a stark contrast to the darkness that lurked within.

  “I’d say you should be careful walking into places like this one,” he dragged his attention up and down my body, “but something tells me a girl like you can take care of herself.”

  I placed a hand on my hip. “Of course I can. Why else would I march into a bar like this one without a knight in shining armor to protect me?”

  “Come, now,” he started. “We both know you’re not looking for a knight in shining armor. You’re looking for a devil in leather.”

  I bit my lip. “If I am, will I find him here?”

  Our gazes locked, mine fire, and his ice. The music faded, and all I heard was my drumming heartbeat, the look in his eyes intoxicating me with every passing second. There was something different about him—threatening yet captivating, and I felt drawn to it in a way I couldn’t explain. It was disarming but electrifying at the same time. It was easy to see he was the wild card, the one who hated rules the most.

  He moved a little closer. “There are a lot of devils in leather around here, sweetheart, but none of them are the right one for you.”

  “I’m a big girl. I think I can decide who’s right for me and who isn’t.”

  “You’re naive.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” He shifted even closer. “You pretend to know the rules, walking in here like you belong in this world, but that look in your eye, it tells me a different story.”

  “Yeah? And what’s that?”

  He smirked, biting his bottom lip. “You’re searching for something. But let me tell you this. Whatever you’re searching for,” he stepped right up to me, his face inches from mine as our breaths collided, “you won’t find it here.”

  For a split second, I was frozen on the spot, enthralled by the man before me. The other night when we first met, he didn’t seem as troubled as he did now. Agitation swirled in the blue of his eyes, a dark unease settling over him. I’d be a liar if I said it didn’t make me even more curious about him.

  Onyx narrowed his eyes, no trace of the roguishness I had experienced with him before. It was odd that he no longer wanted to partake in the banter that seemed to come naturally to us every time we bumped into each other. There were worry lines on his forehead which he didn’t have before. And the cold expression on his face did a pretty good job at hiding any sign of the carefree personality I caught a glimpse of the other day. But rather than deter me from playing this game with him, it only made me want to play harder.

  With a sly grin, I turned to the bartender and thanked him when he placed my drinks in front of me.

  “So, am I right?”

  I gave Onyx a sideway glance. “About?”

  “About you searching for something here.”

  “Are we not all searching for something in this life?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Wow.” I widened my eyes. “Why so grim, buttercup?”

  Onyx straightened. “Not grim. Just curious.”

  “About what?”

  “You.”

  I balked, smiled, then tossed the shot of tequila back without being even slightly aware of its sting as it traveled down my throat. “Believe me, there’s nothing worth being curious about.”

  “I don’t believe that. I’ve never seen you around these parts of town before, yet this is the third time in one week we happen to run into each other?”

  “I know. It’s really random, don’t you think?” I turned to face him again, and his eyes pulled into slits as he studied me. “Your lack of a sense of humor is really unbecoming.” I turned and glanced around the bar. “Where’s that guy with the pretty scar on his face? He seems like he could be fun to hang around.”

  Onyx shifted closer again, and I could smell the spicy scent of his expensive cologne which contradicted his street look with a pair of torn jeans and a dirty shirt. My gaze drifted to the shirt he wore beneath his cut. Onyx wasn’t a small man, muscles and brute teasing through the white fabric. It had been a long time since I appreciated a man standing so close to me, his large frame hiding me from the rest of the dimly-lit bar. Whether it was his smell or his presence, I didn’t know. But I felt drunk after only one shot of alcohol yet managed to keep my stone composure from cracking.

  “See something you like…buttercup?” His voice dipped low, but it wasn’t any less powerful. This wasn’t the man I met in the bar last week, nor the man I encountered while they were on their Sunday run. This man was different. Intense. And a lot more intimidating.

  I kept my eyes locked with his. “Other than the bottle of tequila behind you, no.”

  He smiled, but it was as cold as the blue of his eyes, and it sent a chill down my spine. “You seem like a smart woman, Wraith. Which is why you should turn around and walk out of this place.”

  “I don’t scare easily.”

  “You should.”

  “Why?”

  “Because once you’ve descended into hell, there’s no getting out.”

  I moved forward, lifting my chin as I continued to look him in the eye. “What gives you the idea I’m not already in hell?”

  I felt his warm breath skid across my cheek, eyes glancing from mine do
wn to my lips and back up. The corner of his mouth twitched, yet he remained unmoved. Still. Frozen. Just like me.

  The bar full of people disappeared. The New York City buzz vanished, replaced by something heavy and laden with tension, with a need to touch. To take. To use.

  “Where did you come from, Wraith?” He leaned down, his face inches from mine. “Who are you?”

  I could smell the bourbon on his breath, and mixed with his spicy scent, it was something I could get high on.

  This was wrong.

  This was dangerous.

  You should run.

  But I came here to find him.

  Well, you found him. Now run.

  I took a step back. “You’ll never know.”

  My feet managed to move back and away from him. Step by step, I retreated before tearing my gaze from him and rushing out of The Hanged Man.

  Chapter Eight

  Onyx

  I watched her storm out. For a second, I contemplated going after her, but deep down, I knew the better option was to let her go. It was a good thing, the way she rushed off and away from me. Away from this place. I didn’t need another person to care about—not with this war raging. And there was something threatening in her eyes, something that lured me in. A hunt for secrets, a chase for the darkness I saw lurking behind pale blue eyes.

  Her scent still lingered even though she was gone. She smelled like fruit and lush forests—tantalizing and sweet, with a hint of mysterious complexity. If it was any other place, any other time, I would have had my hands all over her body right about now. But this was not the place, and definitely not the time. Not for me, anyway.

  “Yo, Onyx. You ready?”

  I turned and found Manic waiting for me by the base of the stairs. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

  Wraith’s glass of whiskey was standing untouched on the bar. I picked it up and downed it with one large gulp, relishing the sting as it traveled down to settle in my stomach. Woman had taste in alcohol, I’d give her that.

  Moving through the crowd, I approached the stairs and took two at a time on my way up. Ink emerged from Neon’s room at the same time a shoe came flying over his head. He ducked and looked back into the room just in time for a boot to hit him in the face.