Silas_Death Knells MC

by Vivian Gray

  “Well, Jack.” Silas opened the phone, swiping through contacts, trying to find something that looked like the president, Klay. The entry ‘Prez’ looked promising. Something niggled at the back of his mind. He opened up Jack’s messages – saw the most recent message received was from ‘Prez’. Twenty minutes ago. An address and a name: Old Pine Motel.

  Silas tamped down the excitement. That had to be where they’d taken Jessa. It had to be where Jack was racing off to. With a furtive glance to his brothers, Silas grinned down at Jack as he initiated a video call. “Time to talk to your president.”

  The video call picked up on the second ring. Klay’s gruff voice sounded annoyed. “Yeah.”

  Aiming the camera down at himself from above Silas ground his heel into Jack’s wounded foot. Jack’s wail pierced the night air.

  “I need to talk to you, Klay.” Silas focused the camera on himself. “I need you to let Jessa go.”

  There was a scuffle on the other end of the line. Some swearing.

  “Like hell I am.” Klay’s bloated, scowling face filled the screen. “You got my boy? Fine. You ain’t never getting your girl.”

  “Wow. Such loyalty.” Silas faced the camera toward Jack. “You hear that, Jack? Your president doesn’t give a shit if you die.”

  Jack let a low moan, sounding feral.

  “If that’s the case, might as well just put him out of his misery.” Silas brought the camera lens his way. His fingers twitched with the urge to hop on his bike and head right for the address in Jack’s messages. “Right?”

  “I might think twice if I were you.” Klay gestured off camera. A moment later, Jessa was thrust into view. She looked haggard and timid. His heart sunk all the way to his feet. What had they done to her?

  A cold fear slithered through him. “Jessa!” He couldn’t keep himself from calling out to her. The break in his façade made Klay sneer.

  “She’s been mighty nice to us,” Klay said, forcing her to sit down on his lap. Jessa struggled to free herself from his grip, but Klay held on, locked tight. Rage bubbled in Silas’ chest. His jaw ground as he watched Klay sling an arm around her shoulders.

  “Don’t you touch her,” Silas warned.

  “And why shouldn’t I? I told you: she’d fit in real nice with some buddies of mine. That’s where we’re taking her.” Klay’s hand snaked down between her breasts.

  Silas squeezed the phone so tight he thought it might snap in half. “Klay, you motherfucker—”

  “In fact, maybe you should watch this.” Klay let a sick chuckle, handing the phone to someone else to hold. There was a rustling at the phone, and a moment later he got a full view of Klay and Jessa. She had her eyes pinched shut, body wracked with silent sobs.

  “You lay a hand on her,” Silas said, his voice raw, “and he dies right now.” He held his gun up, aimed between Jack’s eyes, even though Klay couldn’t see it. “Klay! I’m warning you!” His voice was pitching up, but his anger was well past controlling now.

  On the video call, Klay made a display of cutting Jessa’s shirt down the middle with a long knife. She let a strangled sob, turning away from him, but he yanked her into place.

  “Say hi to your sweetie for me,” he stage-whispered. The evil gleam in his eye pierced Silas all the way through, worse than a gunshot wound.

  “Silas, stop this.” Butch yanked the phone from his grip, ending the call. “You can’t watch that shit. You’re playing right into it.”

  Silas drew a deep breath, unable to erase the images from his mind. But the address from Jack’s phone pulsed inside him like a forgotten promise. He had a plan. Jessa was within arm’s reach. He could save her.

  He turned to look at Jack. Silas shook his head slowly, sent up a prayer, and put a bullet between the Spawn’s eyes. A tight knot inside him unraveled slightly. It wasn’t the person that mattered most, but it was a start to taking down all the Wicked Spawn until none remained.

  “Let’s hit the road.” Silas strode back to the bike, stuffing the gun into the waistband of his jeans. “I found an address on that phone. I think it’ll take us to Jessa. PJ, call the rest. We’ll need back up.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Oh, fuck.”

  Jessa blinked away tears as Klay paused in his manhandling to grab the phone from his club brother.

  “It cut off?” Klay squinted at the phone a moment, his creepy uncle veneer dropping in favor of the technologically hapless grandpa. She drew labored breaths as she watched him swipe through screens. “We need to get him back. He needs to watch this.”

  One of the brothers snatched the phone from him. “Did you end it?”

  “How could I end it?” Klay snapped back. He pointed at a redheaded brother. “He was filming it!”

  The redheaded brother sighed. “I think he hung up.”

  “No way would he hang up.” Klay sent a scowl toward Jessa as he launched off the bed.

  The mattress creaked under him as his weight disappeared. And in the spot where he’d been sitting… a knife – the same one he’d used to cut her shirt open down the middle. Jessa looked at it then at the brothers and back at the knife. Everyone was gathered around the phone like it had fallen from the heavens, a sign from the gods or something.

  With her hands bound behind her, she scooted closer to the knife, backing up toward it so she could snag it with her limited reach. Klay groaned loudly and turned her way, then rejoined the group of brothers trying to call Silas. Jessa grabbed the knife, deftly maneuvering it, so the blade touched the twine holding her wrists together.

  She bit her lip as she sawed at it, as furtively as possible. She bit back a grunt as she felt the first layer of material saw away, followed by the middle part. There wasn’t much left now. She gritted her teeth against the secret exertion, trying not to attract attention. Please please please. She was so close. She could practically taste freedom.

  “Well, how do we fucking know he’s there if this asshole took his phone?” Klay went on.

  The last bit of twine fell away, and her wrists sang with newfound freedom. She stilled herself, squashing the urge to run. Not quite yet. She needed to line up her escape plan.

  Four burly men in front of the bed. Motel door to the right. All of them armed and dangerous. She counted to three in her head, then launched herself off the bed. Her feet hit the ground running, knife clutched in her hand.

  She didn’t have time to register shock; she couldn’t even tell if they’d noticed her leap from the bed. She was so focused on getting there, and getting out, that when a hand clamped down on her wrist, she reacted as though she’d been scalded by lava.

  Her free hand swung wildly, the blade slicing through the air. Klay had grabbed her, she saw his shocked face now, the greasy blond hair at his temples that made her want to puke. The blade swiped his forearm. He released her, probably out of shock, and stumbled back a few feet.

  She pushed onward, tugging open the door and racing outside as fast as she could. It was totally dark, a cracked and uneven asphalt parking lot greeting her. The Spawn’s bikes were the only motorcycles in the place. In fact, the whole motel seemed deserted, save them. She ran ahead, unable to pick a direction, unable to even digest where the best place to go from here might be. Total fight or flight mode.

  Adrenaline made her limbs weak but hyper. She couldn’t stop moving – until she collided heavily with the front end of a new bike. The matte black bike she used to see every night in her driveway. Her gaze swung up.

  Silas.

  She stopped in her tracks, jaw clattering to the floor in disbelief. There was no way he could be here. This had to be a mirage; an emergency, distress-induced mirage. She brought a hand up to her mouth, registering the look on his face too late.

  When another hand clamped down on her shoulder, she shrieked. Klay spun her around, leering at her like he’d just caught the prize fish.

  “Not so fast,” he warned, pulling her into him just as Silas lunged for her and
missed.

  Silas straightened, his dark eyes turning to charcoal as he eyed Klay. Jessa heard the click of a trigger, then the cold press of a gun barrel against her temple. She pinched her eyes shut, her whole body trembling. How the fuck had she gotten here again?

  Klay slowly backed up, his steps as steady as the gun pressed against her. “No sudden moves, Null Boy. I don’t want to have to hurt her.” He paused. An evil chuckle erupted from him. “Who am I kidding? I do want to hurt her. But I want you to watch.”

  Silas’ hands balled into fists, but he stood his ground. He seemed to swell larger with anger, like a cartoon hero pumping up for battle. “Klay, you’ve gone off the rails. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you touch her again.”

  Jessa’s breath came out in rapid spurts as Klay backed up onto the cement walkway lining the perimeter of the rooms. She stared at Silas so hard she thought her eyes might pop. Willing him with every breath, with every step, that he find some way to kill these bastards and keep her safe. Keep their baby safe. The baby that she wanted without a shadow of a doubt. The baby she knew he’d want, too.

  The roar of engines grew nearer. It took Jessa a moment to realize, in her panicked state, what she was hearing. Then the front ends of about twenty bikes nosed into the parking lot. Bikers. So many bikers. Her blessed family of bikers.

  Her entire body went limp with happiness. She’d never been so happy to see anyone from the Death Knells. She’d never felt so protected.

  And even though Klay still had his arm tight around her, she had no doubt that her family of bikers would save her.

  ***

  Silas felt the weight of his brothers’ support surround him as they arrived and dismounted their bikes. With Klay looking more and more like a trapped rat, Silas called out to him.

  “What do you want, Klay? Last chance to negotiate.”

  “I don’t negotiate with pigs,” Klay spat out.

  Silas raised his gun, pointing it straight at Klay. “Last offer.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Silas’ heart pounded in his chest as he stepped forward.

  Klay stiffened. “Another step and she’ll be the next one to die. Don’t test me on this.”

  Silas stayed put, eyeing the other Spawns through the open door of the room. It would be so easy to take these assholes out. It was four against twenty… They just had to get that safe first shot in. Without harming Jessa.

  From the corner of his eye, Silas saw Tiny creeping along the sidewalk that lined the motel rooms. Unseen by the Spawn, he crept forward, jerking his chin in Klay’s direction. Silas tried not to watch him as he approached from the side, staying out of sight of the Spawns in the motel room.

  “I hear you,” Silas said, relaxing slightly. He even made a display of taking a step backward. “Your rules.”

  Klay narrowed his eyes. Maybe Silas had played up the compliance too much. He tightened his arm around Jessa’s neck, taking another few steps backward toward the room.

  And that was when Tiny cleared his throat, made an undeniable noise that caused Klay to swing around and look behind him. Silas seized his chance; he shot Klay in the chest. The blast echoed through the dark night, maybe made louder by the vileness that the bullet had penetrated. Silas watched with satisfaction as he crumpled to the ground.

  A gunfight broke out. Butch and PJ and the other brothers aimed around Silas, shooting for the Spawn on the inside of the room. Bullets peppered the motel wall and door as the Spawn reacted, slamming the door shut just in time to avoid the gunfire. Silas grabbed Jessa and wrapped her in his arms, pulling him so tightly to his chest he thought he might break her in half.

  She was sobbing into him, clutching to him as hard as a life raft after drifting for weeks in the ocean. He guided them out of the fray, toward the end of the motel building. He leaned back against the building and sank downward. She curled into a ball on his lap, face buried in his chest.

  “Jessa,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.

  “Oh, my God.” Her voice was reverent, like maybe she was looking at a ghost instead of a real human. “I can’t believe it’s you. Part of me had resigned myself to the fact that I’d never see you again.”

  He shook his head, dragging a thumb over her bottom lip. “I’m not done with you yet.”

  She stared at him with watery eyes, the gunshots and clamor of the fight receding to a dull roar as they got lost in each other.

  And then she clutched his face like years had passed instead of days. She kissed him, once and then again, and again, every ounce of passion and fear and anxiety bleeding out through her lips. Silas held her head in his hands as they kissed, his heart cracking in two. He couldn’t get enough of these kisses – might never truly get his fill of them.

  He pulled back when he noticed someone standing beside them.

  Tiny looked down at him, a strange grin on his face. “Sure – go make out like a teenager while we clean up the mess.” He jerked his thumb behind him. “Spawn are taken care of, boss.”

  Silas grinned up at him. The gunfight had gone on in the background like a CD left playing too low. “Shit, really?”

  Jessa sniffed, wiping at her eyes. “I want all of them dead.”

  Silas squeezed the tops of her hips. “Now you’re talking like an old lady.”

  “They killed your brother… my dad… and almost me.” She looked up at Tiny. “Tell me those assholes are gone.”

  Tiny made a show of bowing. “Your wish is my command, madame. The assholes are dead.”

  Silas couldn’t fight the proud smile as he looked Jessa up and down. “Bloodthirsty much?”

  She laughed weakly, wiping at her eyes. “Maybe a little. But for good reason.”

  “Yeah. Well, two months ago you didn’t want anything to do with this MC.” He sought out her gaze, running his fingers through her silky hair. She met his gaze shyly. “Don’t forget that.”

  She sighed heavily, her green eyes brimming with emotion. “I know. I can’t forget that. I’ll never forget that. But that was before…”

  “Before what?” He wanted to hear her say it.

  “Before I got caught in the middle. Before I… fell in love with a biker.”

  The grin threatened to split his face in two. He let her words hang in the air for a long while so they could wash over him again and again. “With a biker, huh? Sounds like a bad type.”

  A sharp laugh escaped her. She wiped a few more tears that had spilled. “Yeah, he seems bad from the outside, but he’s all soft in the middle.”

  “I think his abs are probably not very happy to hear that,” he said softly, kissing a rogue tear off her cheek.

  Laughter bubbled out of Jessa, and he caught her face in his hands, bringing their foreheads together.

  “I love you too, you know,” he said, so softly that he thought he’d imagined it. He hadn’t thought those words would ever come out of his lips. He hadn’t thought that his heart could ever feel like this.

  Jessa stared at him for a few moments, her lower lip wobbling, until she broke out into more tears. Burying her face in his chest, she said, “Can we go home now, babe?”

  He rubbed her back, rocking her gently back and forth, relishing the relative quiet of the night around them. The smell of trees in the air. The distant whirr of crickets. The weight of Jessa on him, around him, filling his heart. The peace that came from knowing that the Wicked Spawn were no longer a threat to them. Not for now. Maybe not for a long while.

  “Yeah. Let’s go home, babe.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The next few days were a blur of relief and recuperation. Jessa’s body ached from the abuse at the hands of the Wicked Spawn, and nasty bruises had swelled on the side of her face and throughout random parts of her body. Her wrists bore the mark of the twine. When she laughed too hard, her ribs protested.

  Silas had convinced her to stay at the clubhouse while they recuperated, and Jessa reluctantly agreed. Her work had given h
er a few days off due to a nasty flu episode she’d told them she caught –never mind that it wasn’t even flu season.

  So here she was – cooped up in his manly fortress, sprawled out on his ultra-comfortable king bed. She did her best to rest amid the unfamiliar sounds of the clubhouse beyond his door.

  On the one hand, there was no safer place to be. But on the other, having the clamor of twenty some odd men, living and eating and whooping and occasionally partying in the same house, reminded Jessa of her childhood and adolescence.

  She’d grown up in this clubhouse. It was practically hers. She’d spent countless days playing with her brother, darting through halls, hiding behind the legs of club brothers, shrieking with laughter as her daddy picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. The roar of a motorcycle anytime, anywhere, could bring the tang of Stone’s leather kutte to mind, and the grizzled smile he seemed to reserve especially for her.