Devil's Reach Trilogy: Books 1-3

by J. L. Drake

  “Hello, son.” Allen smiled down at me. “We thought we’d stop by and finish what we started. I’ve been so looking forward to this.”

  There was no warning as he let my hair go and stepped toward Gus, and there was no warning as he plunged a knife into my uncle’s chest and ripped it downward, blood spraying everywhere.

  Gus’s eyes locked onto mine as his soul was brutally torn from his body.

  The only man who meant anything to me, the only person I looked to as a father figure, the only man who truly loved me, was just murdered in front of my eyes.

  “You took my life from me, so I plan on removing every last piece of yours. Then I will kill you.”

  Just as quickly as they arrived, they disappeared, leaving me with the aftermath. I could barely comprehend what had happened. Where were my men? I could’ve prevented this. I should’ve killed Allen the first time.

  This was my fault.

  “How the fuck did they get in!” Brick’s booming voice pulled me back.

  “Three men dead at the door,” Morgan barked from the doorway.

  “Where was Joe?”

  Morgan swiped the sweat from his forehead and avoided looking at Gus’s body. “He was watching the back gate tonight.”

  The screams became too much. I needed to get out of there.

  My foot kicked the bike to life, and I pointed it north. I split traffic and watched as the speedometer climbed along with my adrenaline.

  ***

  Tess

  The water beat against my face. I wished it would clear the fog that had wrapped itself tightly around my brain. Every time I thought I couldn’t cry any more, more tears came, which turned into sobs, and then more fog enveloped me. It was a horrible loop, one I knew all too well with Mags’s death. Gus and I had become so close. I thought I had lost him once, and when he was returned to us, I realized how important he had become to me. He made me feel like I was family, even though we weren’t blood related. He filled a hole I never knew I craved—a parent figure.

  I pressed my back against the cool wall and let my knees give out until my butt hit the tile. I drew my legs up and tucked myself into a ball and let my soul have its way.

  I needed few minutes to be weak, so I could be stronger.

  “Where are the boys?” Morgan handed me a glass of whiskey, but I took the bottle instead.

  “My bed,” I whispered and ran a hand through my damp hair.

  “How are they?”

  “Denton has shut down, and Fin cried himself to sleep.”

  “And you?”

  I shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Tess, how are the bo—”

  Big Joe stopped when I turned and glared at him. I couldn’t help but pour every venomous emotion I had been holding back in that one look. It was all directed toward the man in front of me.

  “Their father was murdered in their home. How would you be, Joe?”

  “Sorry,” he quickly stepped back, “I should be a little more sympathetic.” He turned away, and I fisted the neck of the bottle.

  Morgan pinched his brows together before he leaned over the bar top and stared right into my eyes.

  “You know.”

  “And so do you.” I downed the glass in front of me, hugged the bottle, and walked out back. Instead of going to the pool, I turned and went down the long hallway and into the slaughter room.

  The door was locked, but I had seen Trigger use a key before. I rocked up on my toes and reached into the lampshade that was attached to the wall and fished around the bottom of the bowl. I hooked the ring and pulled it free. A long skeleton key hung from a chain with a tag that read “Devil’s Playground.” It was a fitting saying for the use of the room.

  Carefully, I turned the lock and headed inside.

  It was always so clean, and the smell of bleach burned the lining of my throat. It was oddly comforting.

  I flipped on the light above the industrial drain. It was a small light, so the rest of the room remained dark. With the remote in hand, I flicked on the Apple TV and searched for one of Gus’s favorites, “The Sky Is Crying” by Stevie Ray Vaughan and Double Trouble. I turned it up, tossed the remote, and made my way over to the weapons hanging on the wall. The whiskey dangled from my fingers, and the amber sloshed around in the body of the bottle.

  I ran my hand along the bat I had used to kill Clark. My fingers dipped along the grooves, and my eyes shut at the memory.

  “The only reason he’s even paying attention to you, sweetheart, is because he’s trying to get my attention.” My mother gave me a smirk when she saw the damage her words did to me. “You’re nothing but a steppingstone.”

  I shook my head clear and moved on to the ball on the end of a leather tether.

  “No one will ever love you, Tessa.” My mother found me again. “How can you love a thorn in the side?”

  My hand slammed the wall, and I saw something move by the sink. I repeated the action and saw part of the wall move again. There was a door there I hadn’t noticed before. It must not have been shut properly. I suspected Trigger wouldn’t like me to pry.

  I pulled the door open and found where the real weapons were—car cables, a club with nails, ropes, small benches, pulleys, a crossbow, a double-bladed axe, and various swords. A computer sat on a metal table, and I tapped the keyboard. The light flickered on, and I studied the screen.

  Rows and rows of files filled the background, all named for the slaughter room’s “guests.” I tapped one and realized they were videos. I tapped Clark’s name. I was tempted to watch it, but now wasn’t the time. I would save that for the one-year anniversary of his death, a personal treat.

  I pressed another key, and when a live video popped up, I realized it was the slaughter room. I clicked on the little picture of the feed of the front bar. Trigger was home.

  I brought my face closer to the screen as I caught the mood in the room, and I watched, fascinated. Trigger’s arms were tense, and anger flowed from him. He pulled himself up to his full height, then his ear went down to his shoulder on one side then the other. His hands were fisted at his side.

  “Trigger,” Morgan had his back to the camera when he spoke, “Joe wanted you to—”

  Crash!

  The back of the bar, freshly re-stocked, blew up like a grenade. Trigger had thrown one of the bar tables straight into it.

  “Holy shit.” Morgan covered his head as he jumped out of the way. I jumped myself as the noise sent shock waves through the room.

  Big Joe had stepped into view, and I felt my body drain of blood.

  Trigger grabbed a whiskey bottle, flipped it around, caught it by its neck, and chucked it straight at Joe’s head.

  “Shit!” I yelped with my hands over my mouth.

  Joe went down hard and hit the floor, knocking over a chair. Trigger threw another chair out of the way and grabbed of one of Joe’s arms and started to drag him out of the room.

  I stood frozen and wondered what would happen next, torn as to whether I wanted to run to see it in person or stay with the screen. I watched Morgan for some kind of guidance. He called out to someone, and moments later, Brick and Rail came running in.

  “What the fuck happened?” Rail had his hands over his head. “Whose blood is that?”

  “Where is he?” Brick’s tone was completely different, almost eerie.

  Oh, no.

  I fumbled with the keys to switch the camera feed back to the slaughter room. I realized Trigger was headed to this room with Joe, and my mind imagined the blood trail behind him.

  Fuck.

  I wasn’t ready to show myself in case I was sent away. I searched the small room for somewhere to hide, but there really wasn’t much choice. I tucked myself behind a heavy jacket that hung on the wall and waited.

  The door flung open, and the room echoed with angry jeers. I peeked out from behind the jacket to the screen and saw Brick, Rail, Morgan, Cooper, Cray, Bruce, Ryder, Tristen, and a few others I didn’
t know. They stood along the perimeter as Trigger ordered Ryder to tie Joe’s torso to the wall and his arms and legs to the chair.

  He waved something under his nose, and Joe woke slowly with a groan.

  “Whoop!” one of Tristen’s crew yelled, and he hit the fight bell next to the door.

  Ring!

  Trigger turned. Every muscle in his body stood out as he twisted, and then I caught sight of his face and saw the demons glaring from his pupils.

  Oh, shit.

  “Morgan,” Trigger grunted as he peeled his t-shirt over his head, “rope.”

  Damn. The screen had gone black. I was not missing this. I stepped out and tapped the computer to wake it up and waited to see what they would do to a mole. A traitor. I couldn’t even think his name. The anger and betrayal were too raw.

  A thrill went through me. A part of me was twisted with excitement to watch this without them knowing I was there. Trigger seemed so different, so magnificent.

  Morgan put a rope and a bucket with some liquid in it at Trigger’s feet and stepped back.

  Trigger cracked his knuckles then his neck before he ran both hands through his hair and tied it back. Some escaped the tie and fell over his face, but he ignored it. He walked up to Joe’s chair and kicked it to bring him to attention. I studied the mole. His cut was gone, and his shoes had been removed.

  “Look at me,” he grunted again, and this time Joe’s eyes flickered open, and his face twisted in terror.

  “Shit.” He squinted and groaned as blood ran down his face from the gash on his head. “I wondered when this day would come.”

  I tapped the key to turn it up. Trigger’s back was to me, and I didn’t want to miss a thing.

  “How long did you know?” he asked.

  “No,” Trigger shook his head, “you don’t get to ask the questions.” He stepped back and tossed the rope in the bucket. Morgan handed him latex gloves while the rest watched like it was a live fight.

  Joe sniffed at something, and his eyes went wide. That seemed to wake him up.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “Will not save you now,” Brick muttered without missing a beat.

  After the rope soaked for a minute, Trigger held one end and ran his other hand down the fibers to drain off the excess liquid. He then tied a rag that was dipped in the same liquid around Joe’s head to cover his eyes.

  He stepped back and held out his hand. Brick handed him a paddle with nails through the end. Trigger didn’t hesitate and swung the wicked-looking beast into Joe’s kneecap. His scream was so loud, it made the speakers on the laptop crackle.

  “Holy shit!” He spat and foamed at the mouth. His neck veins popped, and his teeth bit down. “Mother of shit! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

  “Fuck that. It’s too late. I want to know what happened that day,” Trigger shouted over his suffering.

  “Fuck you, Trigger!”

  Whack!

  The other knee was driven in by the ruthless nails. His body jolted forward with a heave as he screamed and sobbed.

  “You, of all people, should know I don’t like to repeat myself.” He took a third swing to the thigh.

  “Ahh!” Joe shook his head as if the pain was too much. “I had to go back, to get Allen’s fuckin’ wallet. The assholes just dumped him and didn’t strip him down. Fuck, Trigger, I was loyal to Allen before you even took over.”

  “Loyal! That’s rich.” Morgan took a sip of a drink.

  “Fuck you, Morgan. What do you know about it?” He panted. “He said you were never fit to run the club,” he blurted between sobs. “Said you would have run the DR into the ground if you took over. He promised to make me VP.”

  Trigger popped his neck and snapped his fingers at Brick, who handed him something.

  What the hell?

  “If you had let that fucker die, Gus would still be here. You lied to me.” The bright yellow flame from the lighter grazed his cheek before…

  Holy shit!

  The rag must have been dipped in gasoline, because it shot fire straight across the cloth, and the sound that came out of Joe was indescribable. The image of his eyeballs burning while he was still alive would haunt my dreams.

  They watched until he begged for it to stop. The smell of burned flesh made it under the door of my hiding place, and I almost lost my stomach contents.

  Trigger hooked the still-burning rag away from Joe’s eyes and tossed it on the floor.

  Joe’s head flipped from side to side as the flesh around his eyes continued to burn. Saliva dripped from his lips as he fought to breathe.

  Trigger paced the room like a caged lion, and I lost sight of him. Shit. I leapt behind the jacket and froze as he suddenly pulled the door open. He seemed not to see me as his eyes roamed over the wall. He selected a weapon and left as quickly as he had entered.

  I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to the screen.

  Brick tossed a bucket of ice water over Joe’s head to jolt him back. “Shit! Trigger, let me live,” he begged. “I promise I’ll tell you where he is. I’ll help you get him.” He fought to breathe, his muscles twitched, and his head rolled in agony. I was sure the mixture of different pain was quite a trip for him. I felt no sympathy as I watched.

  Brick looked over at Trigger for a moment then stepped up to Joe.

  “You lived with us like family. You betrayed us…your family.”

  Joe jerked, and his burned eye sockets stared toward Brick. “All the years I worked for the club, you never saw me. All I ever was to you was a doorman.” Saliva dripped from his white lips. “I just wanted to be somebody.”

  Trigger’s laugh sent a chill across my skin as he stepped up to the mole again. “He saw what I always saw, your fucking weakness.”

  Joe made a noise then spat in Trigger’s face. A movement in the top left screen drew my eye. Trigger’s mother stood in the hallway listening to what was happening.

  The entire slaughter room went silent and drew back my focus.

  The mole’s face went red. He knew he was done. “Now every single one of the people you care about will be taken from you,” he screamed. “You think she’s safe.” He grinned darkly through the pain. “How wrong you are. As long as Allen is alive, that girl will be hunted like the wild animal she is. Then those kids and everyone in this room will die. Then he’ll kill you.”

  No one saw me approach. The weapon in my hand seemed to have a life of its own as I swung it toward him with all my strength. The blade caught him across the upper arm, and blood sprayed as it fell to the floor. Trigger spun around, and his wild eyes turned to mine as Brick grabbed the weapon from my hand.

  “Enough!” Trigger shouted as he seized the weapon from Brick, swivelled, and drove the battle-axe straight down the middle of the mole’s head.

  My chest heaved at the strength it must have taken to slice a skull nearly in two.

  Blood poured down his lips, into his open mouth, and around his neck.

  It was fucking sick.

  Trigger grabbed the bucket and poured it over the mole. Then with a flick of his hand, flames jumped, and the mole burned.

  “Feed,” he ordered as his eyes stayed on mine.

  Where the fuck was Trigger? Because that man wasn’t him.

  ***

  Allen

  I sank into the dingy comforter in room 605 of the Holiday Inn in Santa Monica. Normally, I’d find some church to camp out in, but I needed to focus after the shit hit the fan with Gus. I grinned up at the stained ceiling. The feel of the knife slicing through his flesh was riveting. Like a rare steak from Ruth’s Chris, a slight touch of the blade, and you slid right down to the bone.

  “Come on!” Zay hissed at his phone. “Where the fuck are you?”

  “Your negative aura is ruining my moment.”

  “What are the chances Joe flipped on us?”

  That brought me up to a sitting position. “Why would you ask that?”

  “You killed Gus, and now Joe i
sn’t answering his fuckin’ phone.”

  “’Cause you’re the one calling.”

  “No,” he held up my phone, “I’m not.”

  Shit.

  I scrambled off the bed, snatched my phone, and tried it again. We had rules, and that was number one. Always answer my calls. Joe always picked up.

  I licked my dry lips and pressed my forehead to the murky window.

  “On to the next plan.”

  I watched Zay’s reflection in the window. I knew he didn’t like this plan, but I didn’t give a rat’s ass what he thought. He just better watch himself. He was on thin ice with me as it was. If I didn’t need him, I would have gutted him like Gus.

  “Now!”

  I waited for him to leave before I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head.

  “Where is he?” I pumped my arms wildly as I hurried into my office. My fucking son was on the phone. The meeting had blown up in my face all because of my own goddamn son!

  Without a thought, I pulled back my hand and slashed him across the back as deep as I could, not once, but twice.

  He jolted upward, which dragged the blade deeper the second time. He whirled around with angry, dark eyes, and I saw his expression as he realized I was the one who had done it.

  “What the fuck?” His voice boomed throughout the room.

  Trigger was anything but a president. He had tried to ruin my deal with the Serpents, the one deal that would have allowed us to stay in Santa Monica and own our own turf. The piece of shit thought he knew best and that he was too good to sell drugs. He was about to ruin all my hard work. He needed to die.

  “You aren’t worthy to run such an empire. You’re weak and worthless!”

  The door opened, and I let my defenses down for half a second. I felt a knife rip into my stomach. I froze as the pain tore through me. My fingers tingled, and I knew this was it. I went down hard.