Havok: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance

by Riley Rollins

  "Fuck," I said. I hadn't expected them to react so quickly. "We'll move." Then I added, "And Ryker?"

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line. "What do you think, VP? There's gonna be hell to pay."

  "Had to do this, man," I said. "Can't let an innocent die." I looked over at Holly and saw her listening alertly. "Ain't the Sons way."

  But the truth was, under the surface I was questioning my motives just as much as Dash was. Was I fucking lying to myself about the reason I was here? Was I really doing this out of loyalty to the Sons charter, or was I seeing things sideways because I was falling—

  No. No, this was about holding the club to a higher standard than those fucking Reapers. I'd have done the same for any innocent. Maybe without the fucking, though. Yeah, that's what I told myself.

  "Look man, I owe you when this all blows over. I'm heading up to Four Corners, further out of Reaper territory. Keep shit together in town. Be careful. Shit's moving fast right now."

  "Yeah, boss," said Dash. There was a hell of a lot of doubt in his voice, and I knew why. If I couldn't make the guys come around to my side of this when I got back, I was facing a vote of no confidence as VP. And meanwhile the club was going into a rapidly heating war without me.

  I hit the End key on the phone hard and slammed it onto the nightstand.

  Holly's eyes were wide. "What was that all about?"

  "Reapers found the van on your street. They want my head now. And yours."

  "Damn," she said, but her voice didn't waver. I was fucking impressed with how well she was maintaining her composure. Maybe she was starting to get used to this shit. She was pretty fucking tough, not just for a college girl, but for anyone. Hell, I'd known some prospects in my time that didn't have the balls she did.

  "Yeah," I said. "Get your stuff. We're going."

  We forced ourselves out of bed and Holly hurriedly repacked her backpack. Christ, at least she'd had a change of clothes. I was still wearing the same shit I'd worn when I shanked those fucking Reapers, and I felt absolutely filthy.

  My wish to get clean came true in an unexpected way. As we thundered down state highways, rushing toward the northern border, the skies darkened with an early morning monsoon. There was thunder, lightning, and then finally rain. I normally fucking hated rain on a ride, especially how it stung my skin at highway speeds. But as sheets of water crashed down over us, I welcomed every drop. It washed away my blood, sweat, cum, and sin.

  We got to Four Corners around noon, where Arizona met New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah. We'd ridden out of the storm, and we were nearly dry by the time we arrived. Last night followed by the natural shower this morning had left me feeling more refreshed than I'd been in a while. My head was clear, my wits and senses were about me, and for once my body wasn't working overtime to clear a hangover out of my system.

  I parked the bike in the visitor parking center of the Four Corners plaza, a big wide open area with a few buildings around the perimeter, and the four-way border right in the middle. Tourists milled about, and the day was shaping up to be sunny but cool. I'd become so used to living life in the dark, hard clubhouse, and in bars and warehouses that it was a fucking shock to be outside like this. And to be up and about by noon in the first place. Shit, maybe this Reaper situation wasn't so fucking bad after all, I thought to myself. These fuckers were upping my productivity like nobody's business. I chuckled out loud.

  "I'm fucking starving," I said. "Let's grab some food."

  We found a food truck serving Navajo food, and I ordered some fry bread and beans for the both of us.

  Holly and I sat down at a bench. She pressed her leg against mine, and my cock stiffened in my pants as I replayed the events of last night in my head. I was gonna fuck her silly the next time we got a little peace and quiet.

  But right now we sat together like some fucking couple or something, having a picnic at the park in the middle of the day. What a fucking ridiculous way for Axl Archer to spend a morning.

  I needed to get my shit together.

  18

  Holly

  Axl and I sat on the bench in silence, munching on Navajo fry bread and beans, soaking up the sun's rays. The bread was so greasy, but it was exactly what I needed. I'd hardly eaten anything in the last few days and my body was starving for calories.

  I thought about last night, how badly I'd wanted Axl and how utterly fulfilling it was when he'd finally taken me while I kneeled in total submission. I'd never wanted it from anyone the way I wanted it from him. I loved the way he took control, loved the way it felt to be his fuck toy. I hated to admit it to myself, but I thought I was actually starting to feel something for him. Something real. I mean, he'd been there for me in my time of need. Who else had put their life on the line for me?

  I wondered if he felt the same way about me, or if I was just another cum hole for him. Maybe he just felt fucking sorry for me and thought he'd help me avoid becoming a stain on McClellan Street like those two guys. I mean, even dogs don't deserve to die like that. And if he met someone more beautiful, with bigger tits, with a better ass, who knows what would happen to this.

  Whatever "this" was.

  I was still hungry after we'd demolished the pile of beans. "I'm gonna go get seconds," I said.

  "Damn," said Axl, and let out a loud belch. "How are you still hungry?"

  I wrinkled my nose. "You're a pig."

  I returned to the food truck and ordered more of what we'd gotten before. When I turned around to walk back, Axl was watching a kid struggle to fly a kite. I watched from a distance, him facing away from me. But just as I started to walk back to the bench, Axl stood up and walked over to the kid.

  He crouched down, taking himself down to kid height. He helped the boy wind the string the right way and ran alongside him, showing him how to get the kite to catch the wind. With Axl's help, the red kite surged into the air, climbing the breeze, going higher and higher.

  That was about the last thing I'd expected to see from Axl Archer.

  When the kid had finally gotten the kite in the air, I saw a woman rushing toward the child. She bent down and picked him up, her eyes turning toward Axl suspiciously. I saw them linger—probably unable to look away from his handsome face even while regarding his rough, tattooed appearance with suspicion.

  He turned around and caught me watching as I nibbled on a piece of fry bread. He walked toward me.

  "Wow," I said, "Since when do big bad bikers fly kites with little kids?"

  He grunted, and it seemed like he was concealing something beneath the surface. "Little kids, you know, they just haven't seen shit. Haven't had the world shit on them yet."

  I ate slowly, pondering his words. "What about you? I asked, trying to imagine Axl as a kid. "When did life take its shit on you?"

  A fleeting grimace flashed over his face. "It's always been that way for me," he said. "I never knew my real parents." He added, "Foster system, you know."

  I instantly felt guilty for asking. "Damn. That sucks."

  "Yeah, well, guess that's how you end up like me," he said.

  "Like what?"

  "Like a fucking scumbag who people don't want their kids to be around."

  I chewed in thought, saying nothing. We began to walk in silence, heading toward the point where the four states met.

  Finally he spoke. "Yeah. You wouldn't understand. Pretty college girl with two parents." He laughed and there was a tone of cruelty in his laugh.

  "No, you don't understand," I shot back, heat rising in my stomach. Anger and resentment that had been brewing under the surface were starting to come out. "You should walk a fucking block in my shoes right now. My parents are always up my ass about everything. And now four years of work down the drain. I'm gonna get dropped from my classes 'cause of this. Unlike you, I actually have a future. Well, had a future."

  "Oh, fuck off," he said angrily. "Real fucking hard to repeat a semester while I save you ass. You're living a real hard life.
"

  I stopped walking and turned angrily to face him, my face beet red. "You know, my parents probably think you killed those guys on the street. Which you did. And they're probably sitting around the police station right now, wondering where the hell they went wrong with me. Wondering when and if they're going to be able to go home again. Honestly, this life of yours, with the motorcycles and the club, it's a total piece of shit. You can't just fucking kill people left and right and solve all your problems with violence. You're a bunch of fucking animals."

  Axl's eyes narrowed, his jaw muscles tensing and a look of anger flashed across his face. "You don't choose this life," he said, "It chooses you. It chose me a long time ago. And it chose you when you got involved in our business. Without me, you'd be fucking dead already. Things have changed for you darlin'. You're in this deep and the sooner you come to terms with that, the better."

  I was angry. Angry at how he talked to me. Angry that I'd given myself up to him last night. Axl Archer and I were about as different as two people could be. Stupid me for thinking that something good might come out of this whole mess. Stupid me for thinking just a few hours ago that I might be falling for him. He was a real asshole.

  Then, a loud bang split my ears, and Axl stumbled. A stream of bright red blood flowed down his arm.

  19

  Axl

  I didn't want to be cruel, but I couldn't help it. What did a chick like Holly know about fucking struggle? Was I supposed to get on my knees and grovel about spoiling her graduation plans by saving her ass from the Reapers? And now it was my fault she couldn't impress her parents with a paper diploma?

  All while I risked life and limb—not to mention my future with the Sons—just to keep her safe.

  This was just one of the many reasons the club lifestyle made sense to me. No bullshit diplomas, no bullshit authorities hanging over your head. Just money and mayhem.

  But at the same time, no matter how much she pissed me off, no matter how much she didn't understand the new world she was in, I wouldn't be able to fucking live with myself if something happened to her.

  I was opening my mouth to snap at her when I heard the gunshot. A civilian might've thought it was a car backfiring, but I'd been around enough fucking gunfights my first year in the club alone to know the difference. I knew the sound of gunfire like I knew my way around pussy.

  I didn't even realize I'd been hit until I saw her eyes lock onto my shoulder in horror. She stood there, frozen, not having developed the street instincts that I had—the ones that told me to get the fuck down.

  And the crazy thing is, as I pushed her to the ground behind a nearby SUV and saw the blood pouring out of my arm, my only thought was to thank God that it'd been me and not her.

  The Reapers had somehow fucking found us.

  "Oh my god," said Holly, clasping her hand over her mouth. "What can I do?"

  I gritted my teeth in pain, crouching down behind the vehicle, trying to simultaneously cover Holly with my body and pull my Glock out of my belt holster with my uninjured arm. "Pressure," I said. My shoulder felt like it'd been hit with the claw end of a flaming hammer.

  Holly pressed her palm against my shoulder, and pain seared through my chest and arm. Phantom pains fired out of the wound, triggering nerves in my neck. I clenched my teeth and fought through the pain, peeking out from behind the SUV, my eyes scanning for the shooter. Tourists were running and screaming, piling into their minivans and sedans in the parking lot. Not only did I have to protect Holly, I had to work against the clock and get us out of here alive before the place filled up with the ice.

  As I peeked around the corner, another shot rang out, and I felt a shockwave traveling through the air as a bullet whizzed past my head. Fuck. That was rifle fire.

  "What the hell do we do?" Holly asked in a panicked, urgent voice. "You're bleeding a lot."

  "I'm going back into the plaza," I said, "Can't see a goddamn thing from here. Stay put."

  I gripped my Glock hard, and dashed out from behind the safety of the SUV, sprinting back toward the bench we'd been sitting at earlier. There were more gunshots, but they echoed across the surrounding valley and it was impossible to tell where they came from.

  As I ran toward the bench, I caught a glint of light off a metal object in the window of a Ford Explorer parked across the plaza. The barrel of a rifle. There was no fucking way to know if it was the only shooter. But no matter what, I'd have to take out this fuck if I had any hope of getting Holly to the bike.

  I snaked my way around the perimeter of the plaza, taking cover behind trees as I rounded the circle. I was going to complete the circuit and flank the Explorer on the rear, get close enough to where I could light it up with my Glock. And if someone tried going across the plaza toward Holly, they were fucking fodder to me.

  But I didn't make it all the way around. I was bleeding heavily and by the time I'd gotten three-fourths of the way to the Ford, I felt lightheaded and fell to my knees, wheezing. I tried to stand up but my legs were lead, my body low on blood.

  I sat on my ass, and backed myself up against a tree. I rotated around the trunk, taking myself out of the shooter's line of sight.

  Fight, I told myself. Reapers won't show her any mercy.

  A voice called out from the other side of the tree. "Archer!"

  I twisted my head and yelled around the tree trunk. "She ain't a part of this, you fucks!"

  "Archer," the voice boomed, "Surrender and she lives."

  "I need a guarantee," I sputtered as loudly as I could. My voice was weakening, hoarse.

  "You ain't got a choice. Plaza's covered in your blood."

  Fuck. I was fucked up, and I had failed. I knew these cunts all too well. They'd finish me off, then Holly, no matter what they promised.

  "Fuck you," I coughed. "You want me, come get me." I pulled my knees up to my chest and held my Glock out in front of me, steadying it against my knees as best I could. If I was gonna go out, I was gonna take as many piece of shit Reapers with me as I could.

  "Don't need to. You're gonna bleed out behind that tree."

  Anger surged inside of me. I wanted to fucking murder this piece of shit. But I was frozen in place, unable to muster the strength to stand.

  Suddenly, there was a dull thud and a gurgling moan. Then Holly came into my field of view, holding a brick dripping with blood.

  "Holly," I said, my voice a gurgle.

  "I couldn't just sit there," she said.

  Goddamn. She had fucking saved my ass. I felt a new surge of strength inside me.

  "Help me," I said, and I took her arm, hauling myself to my feet. I was dizzy, but my shoulder had finally stopped pouring blood.

  Leaning against Holly, I hobbled over to the man laying on the ground, a pool of blood seeping out from under his black ski mask. I reached down and pulled it off his head. I recognized him—Mario Gutierrez, a veteran of the Demons MC. What the fuck? Sons had no beef with the Demons. Something was fucked up.

  Feeling my strength come back to me, I howled into the air. I smashed my fist down onto the dead man's face over and over again, until it was a bloody stump.

  20

  Holly

  I stood over the man, brick in my hand, heart pounding in my chest. When I'd brought it crashing down on his head from behind with all my strength, he'd let out an anguished, garbled cry and collapsed to the ground like a sack of rocks.

  There hadn't been time to think. When I'd seen Axl stumble and press himself up against the tree, I knew he was losing his strength, and that I had to do something. So I'd grabbed a loose brick from the wall I hid behind, and rushed straight across the plaza with it in hand, snuck up behind the masked intruder, and caught him by surprise.

  Then I'd helped Axl up. He'd pulled off the intruder's ski mask, and I instantly knew that something was wrong. Even more wrong than it already was. Then he pounded the dead man's face into the cement. I was aghast at the display of violence and brutality. I'd never seen an
ything like it. And even though it was all crazy, I was fucking glad that Axl had come out on top.

  "Goddammit," said Axl, supporting his own weight with one arm around my shoulders, "Why would a Demon do this?"

  "Axl," I said, replaying my mental image of the brick hitting the man's head, "We've gotta go."

  "Right," he mumbled. Up until now, I hadn't seen him so distraught. "To the bike," he said, "Fast."

  I turned around, still supporting his weight, and started to head back across the plaza the way I'd come.

  "No," grunted Axl, "Could be another shooter."

  "Damn," I said, the urgency of the situation boiling in my belly, "I didn't think about that."

  "Yeah, they don't teach you that in college," said Axl. "We go around the perimeter, the way I came."

  We rushed as quickly as we could around the circular plaza, ducking behind trees and buildings along the way. Axl's strength seemed to return to him as we hurried, and by the time we got back to the bike, he wasn't leaning his weight on me at all anymore.

  The entire area had become eerily quiet and empty. The couple dozen visitors that'd been milling around had all disappeared nearly instantly, fleeing in their vehicles. No doubt many of them had called 911 already. With blood on my hands now, I was more acutely aware than ever of our need to hurry.

  When we got back to the bike, I hopped on the back seat while Axl holstered his Glock, grabbing the passenger helmet and holding it in my lap. "I'll get this on later," I said, my voice tense, "Hurry!"

  Just as Axl began to swing a leg over the bike, I heard a quiet whimpering sound. "Do you hear that?" I asked.

  Axl turned his head and scanned the area. "Fuck," he said, shaking his head. "By the bench."

  My eyes followed the direction of his gaze, and then I saw it too. The little boy who'd been flying the kite earlier was crouching underneath a wooden bench, knees pulled up to his chest. His mother was nowhere in sight.