Defying Destiny (Forsaken Sinners MC #3)

by Shelly Morgan

  I don’t want my truck to be spotted, so I park a few blocks away in an alley by a dumpster. This way I can make a quick getaway if needed, and for what I have planned, I’m for sure going to need it.

  Grabbing the tire iron, I head toward the busy bar.

  As I get closer, I realize the place is packed. There are about thirty cars parked in the lot and then there are about ten motorcycles parked on the street. I still have no real plan to find the person or group that was involved with killing my dad, but I figure I’ll just go in and talk to the bartender first, then see if anyone else there knows anything. I have a feeling that whoever did it will be there tonight, maybe even bragging about what they did and spending the money they probably stole. If they are, I hope they’ve made peace with whatever they need to because they won’t be alive for much longer.

  Before I head inside, I walk around the side and into the alley. Seeing a dumpster off to the side, I figure that’s where my father took his last breath. Walking closer, I look for any sign he was here, but I see nothing. Glancing around, I notice a door that must lead inside the bar. Knowing I can’t take my weapon of choice inside, I place it in the alley across from the door. Now all I need to do is lead the fucker that killed my dad out here and I’ll have him right where I want him.

  Making my way into the bar, I see that the amount of people inside is doubled, if not tripled, for the number of cars outside in the lot. This may be more difficult than I originally thought.

  There are people everywhere; there isn’t an empty seat at the bar, all the tables seem to be full, and there is barely any standing room. It’s muggy as fuck in here, and I can barely breathe. Looking around once more, I notice the only place that isn’t crowded is in the back, where it looks like about a dozen or so bikers are congregating. People seem to be giving them a wide berth, probably because they are in a biker gang. I’m surprised with the people in this town that they haven’t starting running for the hills, screaming. You don’t see a lot of bikers around here, at least not the serious biker types—the ones that are in it for life and not just extracurricular purposes.

  I have half a mind to start with them, thinking that if someone caused trouble last night and killed my father, it would be them. But something makes me rethink that train of thought. Instead of approaching the bikers, I head straight for the bar.

  When the bartender sees me, he gets an odd look on his face and looks toward a group of three men off to the side of the bar before coming over toward me.

  “You can’t be here, kid. Go on home now.”

  I know he knows who I am, and probably why I’m here, but what he doesn’t know is that I’m not leaving without what I came for. It’s gonna take a whole lot more than that to make me leave.

  “My father was here last night. I want to know who he was with,” I say calmly.

  The bartender looks back at the same group of three men as before, then turns back to me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, kid, so it’s best you just leave.”

  He looks almost sincere, but there’s something in his eyes that isn’t truth. Leaning in close, I give him one more chance. “Listen here, motherfucker. Someone killed my father right outside these walls and I know you know who did it. All you need to do is point them out.”

  The bartender hesitates for a few moments, thinking about what he should say, but I can tell he isn’t going to cooperate.

  “Yeah, okay. Your old man was here last night. He was drinking and trying to start shit with everyone. I tried to cut him off and told him to just go home, but he wouldn’t listen. He started fighting with a group from out of town and they went outside. That’s all I know. Now, you need to leave.”

  Why the fuck was he so desperate for me to leave? And why do I feel like he’s lying? It’s not just because that doesn’t sound like how my dad would act, but it’s something else. Maybe the way his eyes are darting back and forth between me and that small group of men watching my every move, but it’s also just a feeling.

  Looking over to the group of men, I stare long and hard at them. Then it clicks. These are the men that killed my father. That’s why the bartender was looking at them when he saw me come in and more so when he was talking to me. It also would explain why they haven’t taken their eyes off me, either.

  I need to lure at least one of them outside, and I have a feeling the one that delivered the final blow to my father will be the one to follow.

  Dropping my head, I pull my facial features to show nothing before looking back at the bartender. “All right. Thanks for your help.” I lace my voice with sorrow and disappointment, like I believe what he told me.

  “I really am sorry, kid,” the bartender says just before I turn around and head toward the back. There’s a door that leads out to the alley where it all started. This is where I want to lead his killer—where he will take his last breath.

  As I walk past the bikers, I notice one of them has his eyes on me. He’s older than the rest, but is younger than my father. He has darker hair, but it’s cut short, and he’s fucking huge. But what really makes me take notice is his eyes—they are intense but caring. It’s like when I lock eyes with him, he can see inside of me and knows what I’m thinking, what I’m going through. It almost makes me stop in my tracks, but then I remember that my father is dead—he was murdered—and I’m here to get my revenge.

  Steeling myself, I look away and walk out the back door. It’s dark in the alley, barely any light shines from the street lights. Good. That will work in my favor.

  I make my way to the opposite side of the alley and lean against the wall, my eyes burning a hole into the door that leads back inside the bar, just waiting for someone to come out. And I don’t have to wait long.

  The door opens and two men step outside. They are both from the group of three that the bartender kept glancing at. I fucking knew it!

  When the door closes, one of the men—he’s a little on the bigger side and looks to be slow moving—stands to the side of the door and crosses his arms over his chest. He’s the lookout. The other man—he’s tall with longer, stringy hair—walks toward me.

  Stopping in the middle of the alley, he crosses his arms and smiles a cruel smile. “You looking for someone, boy?” he sneers, and I know instantly that he’s the one who killed my father.

  “Not anymore I’m not,” I growl. My blood pumps harder now and my hands itch to plow into his face and wrap around his throat. All in due time. I want to make him suffer first.

  The man by the door laughs, which just pisses me off even more. Motherfucker will get his after I deal with this shitface.

  Taking a few steps closer to me, the man in front of me snickers. “So let me get this straight. You come here tonight and what? Confront me about your piece of shit daddy? Is that it, boy?”

  Hearing him even mention my father has me seeing red, but I hold back. “Nah. I came here tonight to put the motherfucker that killed my father in the ground.”

  Now both men are laughing like this is some kind of joke. Like that fact that they took the only person I have on this earth I care about away from me is a laughing matter.

  Not being able to hold back any longer, I rush forward and catch him by surprise with a powerful uppercut to his chin. He stumbles back a little and shakes his head.

  “That was the only one you’ll get, boy. Now I’m going to do to you what I did to your daddy,” he growls as he pulls a knife from his back pocket.

  “That’s what you think, fucker,” I say as I reach down to grab my weapon—the tire iron.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement from the door. The lookout man is moving in, but still keeping off to the sidelines, no doubt ready to step in if he thinks his friend is losing.

  Focusing back on the guy I want to rip apart with my bare hands, I smile the first smile since I found out about my dad. It’s cruel and full of vengeance. “Let’s do this.”

  Everything seems to happen in slow motion after th
at. The man with the knife strikes out toward me, barely missing my stomach. I move out of reach, but I miscalculate his speed because before I even realize it, he slashes my arm, just above my elbow. The sting barely registers, but is enough to fuel the rage inside of me to make him pay. I’m going to peel his skin off his body slowly with his own fucking knife. I don’t want to make it fast, I want to torture him.

  Swinging the tire iron around wide, I clip the side of his face. It isn’t hard enough to kill him or knock him out, but it was hard enough to drop him to the ground.

  I see lookout guy step forward, but before he even takes two steps, the back door swings open and five of the bikers come out—the first being the older biker I noticed in the bar.

  The lookout guy turns around as fast as he can, but it’s not fast enough. The biker swings and it’s a devastating blow to his head. He’s down and out, maybe even dead. Not that I care. I’d hoped to kill him myself, but beggars can’t be choosers.

  The man I’m fighting looks around and notices the bikers coming closer, but I won’t let them interfere. He’s mine and it’s time for him to pay for his sins. I lift the tire iron above my head, ready to deliver the final blow. I don’t have time to make it slow and as painful as possible. But hopefully it’ll be enough for me to just kill him.

  Before I’m able to deliver the hit, the biker grabs my wrist to stop me.

  “You sure you want to do this, son?” the biker asks. It isn’t condescending or mocking. He asks me the question like he is genuinely curious and concerned for me.

  Still looking down at the man that killed my father, I can only nod. This is exactly what I want to do. I wish I could do more, but this will have to do. Instead of letting my arm go, however, he forces me to lower it.

  Further enraged that he is keeping me from avenging my father, I swing my other arm out and land a solid hit to his face. Everything around me turns hazy with a red tint to it. My vision tunnels, the only thing I can focus one is the motherfucker that killed my father and the man standing in my way.

  “He killed my father! Shot him point-fucking-blank and walked away like it was nothing. Like he didn’t just take the only person I have left away from me. He needs to fucking pay for what he did. He deserves to die,” I roar.

  The biker straightens up and walks toward me slowly with his hands up, like he means no harm. Fuck, the way I’m feeling, I could level every single one of them. Nothing is going to stop me from taking what is rightfully mine—this man’s life.

  “I agree with you, son. I’m not saying he should live. But think about where you are right now. Someone could have called the cops. I’m sure they’re probably looking for you anyway if your only parent was killed last night. Am I right?” the biker asks.

  I try shaking my head to consider what he’s saying, knowing he’s probably right, but I just can’t see fucking reason. The monster inside of me is snarling and begging to taste blood. Begging to take a life for a life. The only thing I can see is myself putting an end to the pain. To right a wrong.

  The biker must notice that I’m not hearing him because he steps forward again, but this time, he doesn’t stop until he’s right in front of me. It’s not menacing and he’s not afraid that I’ll lash out at him again.

  “Look. Why don’t you let my brothers over there take this piece of shit to one of our warehouses?” he says as he points to the man I hate more than anything. “You and I will meet them there after we have a talk. I promise you, he will pay for what he did and what pain he caused you—either by your hands or ours. But let’s have a chat first, yeah?”

  I know he’s right. I know this isn’t the place to do this and he’s right about the cops probably looking for me. Fuck!

  Afraid that if I speak the barely suppressed violence will take over again, I just nod. The biker nods toward the others and they all move forward like an army of one and drag the man toward the other side of the alley. He screams and flails around until one of the bikers kicks him in the stomach and slams his head into his knee, knocking him out cold.

  Once they’re out of sight, the biker in front of me pulls my attention back to him. “Did you drive here?”

  Nodding again, I start walking toward my truck, not even looking to see if he’s following me. When I reach my truck, I open the door and wait until he gets in with me.

  “Name’s Mack,” he says as I start the truck.

  “Holden,” I clip out.

  “Okay, Holden. Why don’t you tell me a little more about you and what’s going on? If I’m going to help you, I need to know what we’re working with.”

  “I never asked you to fucking help me. I was doing just fine on my own,” I yell, angry he thinks I need his help. Angry my father is dead. And angry that the man who killed him is still breathing, no matter if it’s only delayed a few minutes. Every minute he’s alive when my father is dead is too long.

  “I know you didn’t, son, but what do you think killing that man is going to solve? I know he did you wrong and took your dad away from you, but what happens to you once he’s dealt with? How old are you? Are you still in school? Do you have a job or a place to go after? What if you get caught? These are the things you need to think about. These are the things I can help you with if you let me.”

  My rage starts to simmer, but only enough for me to finally hear what he’s saying. Like my dad has done my whole life, Mack is just trying to look out for me—trying to make sure I think before I act.

  I give him the only answer I can.

  “My dad was my best friend, all I had left, and the only person who cared about me. We were going to move right after I graduated next month. He had just found out he won the lottery last night and everything was looking up for us. We were going to be okay. But now he’s gone and I have no one, so it doesn’t matter what happens to me. My father is dead and I have no one else and nowhere to go. That man took my father’s life. It’s only fair I get to take his.”

  It’s probably not what he wanted to hear, but it is what it is.

  Mack is quiet for a few minutes, thinking about what I said, before he finally speaks. “I know the pain and rage you are feeling, son, but you have to let it go. If you let it, it will eat you alive. When I saw you in that bar, it was like I was looking into the eyes of Lucifer himself. This isn’t the road I want you to take—killing a man changes you. But I also understand the feeling of being wronged and having something so priceless taken away from you.” He pauses again, making sure I’m listening. “I’ll make you a deal. You say you only have a month left of school and I’m here on club business for another month. You finish your schooling, because I have a feeling that’s what your father would have wanted. I’ll hold the fucker that killed your dad, keep him alive until after you graduate. Then, you can decide if this is the road you want to take. But regardless of what you decide to do with him, I want you to consider something else. My brothers and I are from California and a part of a club—a family, if you will. I want you to consider coming back with us when this is all said and done. You don’t have to join our club if you don’t want to, though I noticed that you have a nice-looking bike back there. You can still have people in your life that care about you, son—we can be that for you. So think about coming back with me and joining our brotherhood, but for right now, what do you say about waiting to make any life-altering decisions until after you graduate? Okay?”

  Everything Mack said was right on. My father would want me to finish school first. And even though I want to end this right here, right now, I know that this is the best thing to do. Having someone talk to me the way Mack just did, like he cares about what happens to me and is trying to help me, I know I’d be stupid to walk away from that. I don’t know if I’ll take him up on following them back to California or joining their motorcycle club, but I do know that it’d be nice to be a part of something bigger than myself. Or just to be a part of anything again.

  Looking at him, I hold out my hand to him to shake. “Yo
u have a deal, though I can’t promise that I’ll make the decisions you think I should make. I can promise I’ll hold off until after graduation to make them, though.”

  With that, I put the truck in drive and think about everything Mack just offered. Maybe things won’t turn out so bad after all. And even though I still can’t feel any old piece of myself, I can still feel the monster…but maybe it’s not the end of the world.

  Chapter 3

  Age 26

  Lying in bed at the clubhouse with my eyes closed, I try to shut my mind off. I know I’ve barely slept, as well as I know that as soon as I open my eyes, I’ll see the clock flash that it’s three a.m. It’s the same thing every fucking morning. I swear that night at the bar when Mack said he could see Lucifer in my eyes, he cursed me because not only is that where I got my road name—Louie, short for Lucifer—but I swear it’s why I am always awake at this hour. Three a.m., the devil’s hour.

  Thinking about that night brings all those feelings of rage back tenfold, although I’m able to control it better now. After taking Mack back to the house I had shared with my dad my whole life, we sat down and figured out how the next month of my life would go.

  Mack stayed with me at my house for that month. While I was at school, he did whatever it was that he was there for–club business, he’d said. I never did find out what that was, but I guess I never really asked, either. I had too much on my mind.

  When I’d get home from school, Mack would already be there. Even on the days that I said “fuck it” and left school early, it was like he knew and would always be waiting for me.

  He’d ask me how my day was, made sure I did what little homework I had to do to graduate, and cooked a hot meal before I went to my room. And it was always something better than ramen, though sometimes I wished for that because it reminded me of my dad.

  At times, I hated Mack for keeping me from doing what I originally sought out to do that night. I hated that he called the police station to tell them that he was my guardian. And he spoke to the school I attended and told them that he was my uncle and to call him if there were any problems. I learned that when the first day I went back to school when I got into a fight with some punk who was talking shit about my dad, saying that he deserved what he got.