by Rayne, Sara
"That's the way we heard it," the slack jawed asshole drawled.
When Manson leaned toward Shep, Noah stepped forward, chest bowing. Dash's low, "Easy brother…" snapped him out of it before he crossed the room, removed whatever hand Manson thought he was going to touch Shep with and beat him to death with it.
Manson winked as he pushed Shep to his knees, baring his bleeding back to Noah's view. Shep gasped, body tensing as he came-to with the shock of his kneecaps smacking concrete. He let out a shallow grown as his body sagged.
Sweet Jesus.
Carved too deep in the flesh over his left shoulder, angry red lines etched out Pretty Boy.
"We were going to go ahead and ink him for you …" Manson snickered. "But we decided slicing him up would hurt more."
"You should really stop adding to my to-do list," Noah growled.
His prospect brothers stood back to back in a triangle, trailing him as he backstepped and circled counterclockwise on Manson. He angled for an opening. He'd crowd Manson, herd him away from Shep, and the guys could grab him and book it for the door. But if the bigger guy saw him coming, he'd get the drop on him and Noah might not be able to find them enough time to get Shep out.
He loosened his shoulders, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He shot a glance over his shoulder gaze connecting with Crash's. He waited for the slight head nod and fell back into his slowly swaying circle.
"I gotta say, pretty boy," Manson rasped, stepping away from Shep. "I kinda liked hearing him finally scream."
Noah stared him down, hoping his thoughts were written in his eyes. I'm going to put you down.
Dash snickered. "Dude, who'd have figured a guy that ugly for a perverted, sick … just damn ugly … sadist?"
Crash lifted his hand.
"Totally being sarcastic there, C. Put your hand down." Dash shook his head.
He shrugged. "Just saying."
It was enough distraction that Manson turned to look at them. Muscles coiled in anticipation, Noah darted the second Manson's eyes left him. He brought his arms up crossed to block the wild punch the bigger biker tossed at him, pushing out and throwing Manson's weight off balance. He followed up with a speeding one-two volley that snapped Manson's head back.
Then he darted out again, grinning. Therein lay the genius of his fighting style. He'd been outmatched by his father's weight class—no way he could go toe-to-toe just standing there and taking it like a man. Yeah, he intended to get stronger, but quicker was mission critical.
Sure, he could drop an elbow like a blacksmith striking an anvil now, but that was just the showy stuff the crowd like to see. He won fights because he was lightning quick, sneaking in an entrance the other guy didn’t know he’d left open, fast as a rattler strike, and getting back out before he could blink the blood out of his eyes.
Manson surged forward, meaty hammer of a hand too big to dodge, but clumsy enough to block. Noah twisted his wrist, bring the strongest part of his forearm to intercept between those brass knuckles and his jaw. He turned with the motion, bringing his sharp elbow into the fleshy muscle over Manson's diaphragm, viciously pleased as the man hacked all the oxygen out of his lungs. Completing the turn, he slammed his other fist in the guy's mouth. He felt teeth scrape across his fingers deep enough to bleed.
When Manson recovered, glaring at him with renewed malice, Pretty Boy taunted, "C'mere and get me, big boy."
The Raptors drew closer to Manson, shouting their encouragement, and leaving their six looking a little short-manned.
Pretty Bow blew a kiss at the pissed off psycho.
With an outraged howl, Manson came barreling at him like a freight train. He had more than enough time to dodge, but he didn't. He just stood there, arms raised and let the motherfucker hit him. The concrete jammed Noah's shoulder as he and Manson hit and for an awful second, he thought it had dislocated. But nah—just jammed.
The pain lit him up with adrenaline.
Noah pivoted, swinging his legs as he pushed down with his still good arm and managed to roll Manson underneath him.
Shep's ragged gasp of pain told him the Trio was making a dash for it with the former VP. Noah had to control this fight long enough for them to get to the door. He got in one punch before Manson got back in the game, fighting back. A solid hit to his jaw rang Noah's brain like a pebble slingshot at a bucket, but he stayed on top.
An angry shout echoed above the jeering crowd. "Hey—get those fuckers!"
They'd been spotted. Crash and Dash employed the shove them out of the way as you run approach to escaping, Fetch fireman-carrying Shep over his shoulder as they booked it.
Time to end this.
Noah flipped himself backward, pivoting on his bad arm—motherfucker, that hurt—and leapt to his feet. He gestured with his hands, breath labored as he called, "Come at me, asshole. I'll put your ass six feet down."
Manson was on his feet and almost on top of him in seconds. Noah dodged left, right, left again – Manson's fist swooshing past his face close enough to move his hair.
"Your aim sucks! I'd have knocked your jaw off by now!" To prove his point, Noah clocked him in the jaw hard enough one of his buddies shoved a hand in his back to right him.
The Raptor stood still and gestured to his chin. "Try that again, fag."
"I'm bi, actually." Noah grinned and swung. He watched Manson's eyes gleam as he turned too far, hand harmlessly winging past Manson's cheek and towards the guy still standing too close behind. In one fast, smooth motion, Noah slid his hand under JUNIORS cut and closed around the hilt of the gun holstered there.
He yanked his hand back, banging the hilt against Manson's temple as he took two quick steps back. He leveled the gun at the guy's head and cocked it. "Your brain splatters on the count of three."
Manson stiffened, spine rigid. "You don't got the fucking—"
"One. Two." Noah made solid eye contact and winked. "Three."
He pulled the trigger.
The gun kicked in his hand as it fired. The percussion muffled the other sounds around him. The back of Manson's head spattered across his gaping brothers' faces. Pretty Boy watched him slide to the floor in a pool of his own mess with a profound satisfaction.
He took the moment of stunned silence to look around the room. Shep and the guys were gone and he was surrounded by vengeful Raptors. A chorus of clicks echoed off the walls as guns cocked around him. The barrel of .45 pressed against his temple and he turned to see Manson's ugly ass VP grinning at him.
It would probably be the last thing he ever saw.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Your brother's back. Watch it. Have it.
~Four Horsemen Charter
* * *
The unmistakable sound of a Texas chopper revving in the parking lot growled through the remains of the door they had smashed. It could have been a chorus of angels for as sweet as it sounded to Pretty Boy's ears. And he'd never been a big fan of Texas choppers, probably because Duke had one.
Duke.
Oh. Shit.
Pretty Boy hit the floor, praying he didn't get trampled as he heard the chopper coming in hot right through the damn door, but it wasn't Duke driving.
Coyote let out a yell that was somewhere between battle cry and terrified as the bike's tires landed on the concrete. Pretty Boy curled into a ball, protecting his head as Raptors scrambled around them. Yo knocked over two Raptors too stupid to move out of the way of a crazy man crashing a bike through a warehouse, and managed to stop inches before crashing Duke's chopper into the wall.
The lights cut out. Raptors were shouting and running around him, and more motorcycles came through the door. He heard boots pounding down the stairs from the second floor, then punches and bodies hitting the concrete. Pretty Boy jumped to his feet, blinking rapidly, trying to adjust to the dim light. He had no fucking clue what Yo's plan was, but if it gave him a chance at walking out of here, he was on board.
The lights started flickering back
on, the ancient fluorescents buzzing and popping back to life. Junior was on his knees and Duke stood over him, gun pressed to the asshole's forehead. Duke grinned. "Surprise, motherfucker."
He had never thought he'd be glad to see Duke. Fetch, Crash, Dash and Voo had each taken a few down with their bikes and the remaining Raptors were surrounded by heavily armed Dixie Mafia thugs.
A familiar voice came from the top of the stairs. "Sorry to break up your little party, gentlemen. But I'm going to need you to let Pretty Boy here go. On account of my new friendship with these here boys."
Beauregard.
"You made a deal with us," Junior growled. "We got you into every corner of this town, and you swore you'd never harm a hair on our heads."
"Hmmm. Good point." Beauregard pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster. He fired a round into Junior's kneecap. The man screamed as he dropped to the floor. "Calm down. The hair on your head is fine."
"You … motherfucker …" he wheezed.
"That's not very polite." He bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile. "Now, my good friends the Horsemen are going to depart with their lost little pup. And you're going to stay here with me. It is my understanding that some very nice men in very blue uniforms want to talk with you about all of the illegal activities going on in this here building I bought in your name."
The bastard had bought the Raptors and sold them out. And he'd used the Horsemen to do it. Pretty Boy shook his head.
"You givin' us to the cops? We'll snitch on every underhanded thing you've ever done," Junior threatened.
"Go for it. Unlike you, I'm all paid up with the people I need favors from." Beauregard straightened his suit, and faced Duke. "You boys can go now. Give Shep my well-wishes, will you?"
Duke's fingers tightened on his gun and Pretty Boy guessed he was trying to figure out whether or not he should just shoot Beauregard in the face and save them all a lot of trouble down the line. His eyes flickered around the room to the Dixie Mafia thugs and he seemed to think better of it.
Instead he shot Junior in his other kneecap. Then bent down to look the guy in the face. "The next time I see you, I'm going to shoot you in the knee again. Then we'll rinse-repeat until you decide it’s in your best interest to stop seeing me. Understood?"
Duke didn't wait for a reply. He lifted his hand and made a circular gesture and the bikes headed for the door. He grabbed Pretty Boy by the shoulder and yanked him along as he headed out.
"Take care, boys! Be in touch." Beauregard called. As Duke hauled him out of the building, Pretty Boy heard Beauregard say to the Raptors, "It was the whole kidnapping and prostitution thing, if you're wondering. Why I chose them over you. Just so you don't think it about the hygiene issues—I'm an equal opportunist."
Duke dropped Pretty Boy's shoulder as they reached the parking lot and made a beeline for Coyote. "How bad did you mess up my fucking bike?"
"Relax, your little POS is just fine. Not like you could tell which scratches came from me anyway." Coyote shrugged.
"What fucking scratches?!" Duke began running his hands over his bike. "Why the fuck you couldn't take your own goddamn bike—"
"And mess up my custom TARDIS paint job? No fucking way. Dani would put my balls in a vice grip if I scratched her work," Yo protested.
Pretty Boy breathed in gulps of cool Fall air. Holy shit. He was still alive. He jogged over to where Voo was laughing his ass of at Yo and Duke arguing over their bikes. "Where's Shep?"
"Axel and Ryker took him to the hospital. He's stable," Voo confirmed.
He'd never prayed before, but … thank you, God. "Thought my ass was grass in there. How did you change their minds?"
Voo smirked. "I called out the big fucking guns."
"You didn't."
"Sure did. And I'd hate to be Axel and Ryker when Eddie gets back from her and Cap's little honeymoon." Voo laughed, dreads dancing around his face. He'd call the fucking Prez's mom. Well, if you wanted to reach Axel's heart, as far as Pretty Boy could tell, Eddie was the only woman on the planet he truly gave a damn about. “I heard she played the protection tatt card and then double downed with a ‘you’re better than your father’ guilt trip.”
“Damn.”
“She don’t screw around when it comes to family.” Voo grinned. “That’s why we love her.”
t
Shep woke up in a room that smelled like too much bleach and rancid chicken soup. A large vase of red roses added a sickening sweetness to the scent, a card dangling from the ribbon around the vase read, 'best wishes to the biker and groom, ~B'. He groaned as his body lit up with pain.
"Shep?" The edge of his bed dipped and suddenly his vision was full of Pretty Boy's green eyes. "Hey, welcome back."
The noise that came out of his mouth when he tried to reply sounded like something out of a horror movie. Pretty Boy poured some water out of an ugly, tan plastic pitcher into a cup and held it to Shep's lips. He drank it down and tried again. "I told you not to come after me."
"Since when do I do what I'm told?" Pretty Boy laughed.
"Good fucking point." After some struggling, he managed to pull himself into a sitting position. "Speaking of being rescued, when the fuck can I get out of this sterile hell-hole?"
"Tomorrow." Pretty Boy smiled. "Though, you're going to have to talk to Jane the Lawyer. She thinks you have grounds to press hate crime charges."
"Fuck that." Shep rolled his eyes. "She wants to send them away for general douchebaggery that's just fine. But I don't want no part of testifying."
Pretty Boy's hands cupped his face. "You ain’t gotta do nothin' you don't want."
"What about what I do want?" Shep swallowed. "I was so busy worrying about keeping you safe, I overlooked all the times you had my back. So worried about losing my family, I almost lost you."
"Never happen," he vowed fiercely. Pretty Boy's lips swept over Shep's in a gentle caress.
He dug his fingers into Pretty Boy's silky black hair and deepened the kiss, wishing his body was more up to movement. "You still want to be with me?"
"Never want to be with anyone else," Pretty Boy said, voice too rough and eyes glistening. He smirked despite the seriousness of his tone. "You asking me to be your old lady?"
"We're gonna have to come up with a better name for it, but yes." Shep's throat worked. He could feel where Pretty Boy's name was carved into his back, scabbed and irritated. But it would heal. And he'd never be able to hide how he felt again.
"Then we'll get me a new tattoo with your name as soon we break you out of this joint." He threaded his fingers through Shep's.
"What about the MC?" Shep asked. "Technically, you shouldn't be here talking to me. Once I quit—"
"Don't fucking worry about it."
A short rap at the door proceeded a parade of Horsemen. Jag, Voo, Coyote, Ryker, Axel and Justice trooped in. Shep took a slow breath, hand on his ribs. "I owe you guys—"
"Shut the fuck up. You owe us shit." Duke stepped forward, a bundle of leather in his hands. He shook it out and with efficient movements, draped it over Shep's shoulders.
Shep slid a hand over the leather, feeling his eyes prick with tears which he damn sure wasn't going to let fall. "My cut?"
"We voted. You stay." Duke put a hand on his shoulder and looked him hard in the eyes. "When I dug you out, I said we were family. And that still counts, even if you do like dick. I shouldn’t have forgotten that."
Holy fuck. Had Duke just … apologized?
"Thanks, brother," he whispered. He looked up at the crew of bikers. He'd never considered the possibility they'd still want him around.
Yo leaned closer to Voo. "Hey, did you know Duke actually had a heart?"
"Shut the fuck up, Yo. You still owe me a new paint job," Duke growled. "Speaking of which, let's you and I go over to Seventh Circle and see about you paying for that."
Yo frowned. "Painting your bike's like putting lipstick on a pig. Don't see the point."
"Allow me to sho
w you." Duke shoved him towards the door and headed out.
Shep grinned, knowing Duke couldn't handle staying in a room with emotional men. Just not his scene. He leaned back against the mattress which Pretty Boy had kindly adjusted to a sitting position for him. The leather of his cut against his skin made him feel human again, himself again. Pretty Boy's squeezed his hand.
"Alright, we're going to leave you two to … uh, recovering," Justice said hastily, turning on his heel and following after Duke and Yo.
“Just so you know, Duke paid for your entire hospital bill—and an upgraded room if you want it.” Axel set a hand softly on Shep’s shoulder while Ryker tucked a twelve-pack under his hospital bed with a wink. "So, you want that VP patch back?"
Shep's eyes fixed on the patch now stitched to Voo's cut. "Naw. I’m gonna need a little break."
Axel nodded. "For what it's worth, I let my own issues with lying get in the way of blood. I get why you hid that shit. And I'm sorry you felt like you couldn't tell me. Just don't lie to me again."
Shep clasped his hand. "You got it, cuz."
As the group started for the door, Jag hung back a second. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do, fellas. And just remember—apparently you got to know a person's first and last name to have sex with them."
"That so?" Shep laughed. "I think we got this."
The door closed behind them, and Pretty Boy stretched out beside Shep, careful of his IV and his bruised ribs. "Well, Isaac Rollins. What do we do now?"
Shep pressed his lips against Pretty Boy's ear. "What do you say we try to get me kicked out of the hospital?"
"Yes, sir."
Copyright
© Sara Rayne 2015
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review or book discussion, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part is forbidden without the written permission of the author.
Stock Photo
curaphotography via Can Stock Photo
Cover Art
© Sarah Laney 2015
Sweet Southern Creations