by Sophia Gray
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Bonus Book – Prize: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons--living or dead--is entirely coincidental.
FILLED: Berserkers MC copyright 2017 by Sophia Gray. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.
***
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Contents
FILLED: Berserkers MC
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Bonus Book – Prize: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Also by Sophia Gray
BOUNTY: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (Giustini Family Mafia)
Prize: A Bad Boy Hitman Romance
MINE: Fury Riders MC
SINS: Devil’s Horns MC
OBEY: A Dark Romance
DENY: A Dark Romance
HEAT: A Dark Romance
FILLED: Berserkers MC
By Sophia Gray
I’ll fill her with my wrath, my heat…and my baby.
I was stabbed in the back and sent to rot in jail.
Now that I’m free, there’s only one thing on my mind: revenge.
I’m going to find the man that framed me, and kill him.
Then I’m going to find the woman that betrayed me, and fill her.
I thought I loved her.
But after years spent wasting away in that godforsaken cell, I know better.
Now, all I want is to break her.
Zelda served me up to my enemies on a silver g*ddamn platter.
I have to get answers.
But even more than that, I have to get even.
My first steps out of prison carry me to her front door.
And who do I see inside?
Warming the bed I used to sleep in?
Eating the dishes I used to eat from?
F*cking the woman I used to be with?
Santos.
That bastard.
That cold-blooded villain.
I thought they’d already stooped as low as any humans could go.
But I’m going to send them one step lower:
To a hell they never saw coming.
Whether by the violence of the gun or of the hard, brutal f*ck…
I’m coming to claim what’s mine.
Chapter One
Nester
They let me out with a pair of blue jeans, a clean white shirt, a pair of loafers, and twenty bucks. And maybe some of them meant it when they told me, “Keep your nose clean, kid. I don’t want to see you back here.” Except I wasn’t a kid and I wasn’t about to keep my nose clean. Maybe I would feel worse about my plans after getting out of the slammer if I hadn’t lost it all when I went in. It was a short stint, all things considered, but not short enough for me to let bygones be bygones.
After all, five years was a long time to a man who went in at twenty-three.
I didn’t know what I was expecting when I walked out of the gates that had been closed to me for years now, but certainly something more exciting than the same damn bus that had dropped me off here. “We’ll drop you off anywhere,” they told me, though anywhere was a relative term. What they meant was, “We’ll drop you off at your choice of the three closest major cities, all of which happen to be about fifty miles max.” Granted, I should have been grateful for even that.
No one was coming to pick me up.
So I got on the bus with my starched jeans and my clean shirt and the loafers that were uglier than shit. I sat down and didn’t make conversation, didn’t ask questions, or tell the driver or the three other guys sitting with me what I’d be doing when I got out. All I did was sit and kept my head down, because inside I was boiling.
Five years ago, I had it all planned out. I had my life set—maybe not by other people’s standards, but I was that strange breed of man who couldn’t walk the straight and narrow path—my girl picked out, and enough earned friends to make a life and a living all at once. And then I was hit. Like a ton of bricks on my head, my entire world came crashing down and when things went from bad to worse, and I found myself clinging desperately to what I had left, and I lost that, too.
Once upon a time, I led the Berserkers MC. Like demon riders from hell, we were a force to be reckoned with. There were only a few meager lines we didn’t cross—mostly prostitution and anything to do with kids below eighteen—but the rest was fair game.
The Berserkers MC was my baby, built up from the ground. It started with me and a motorcycle when I was just seventeen, and by the time I was twenty, I had a half dozen decent guys. We were hellions and proud of it. Drugs, arms, boosting, didn’t matter what to us, we delved. At the time, I was under some sort of strange, youthful illusion that we were invincible. Like we couldn’t be touched. It fueled me and when we continued to grow, it was easier and easier to believe.
Then it happened. Five years wasted.
I clenched my hands against the stiff fabric of my jeans and focused on breathing, concentrated on how I was out, how I would make things right. No, not right. It couldn’t be made right again, not now, but I could get revenge. I could make things even.
And that started in a very particular place with a very particular person.
I sat back and forced myself to relax. I needed cool precision to make things work for me. If I was going to be a hothead, I’d lose track of myself and end up falling for the same tricks that screwed me over the first time.
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Love? I could almost laugh at the concept now. What a joke.
It was still early enough in the morning that the heat hadn’t started to overtake me, but it was the end of June and fixing to be July in mere days. Already I could feel the coolness of night slipping away as the sun slowly rose higher and higher along the horizon. For one ridiculous moment I longed for the concrete cell that had been home for years now. I shook the thought away forcibly—I wouldn’t be one of those guys, the ones who couldn’t adjust to the real world again—but couldn’t deny that things would be difficult on the outside. Getting back on my feet, well, it would take time and patience, some determination.
Luckily, I had all of those things in spades.
Sinking lower into my chair, I tried to make myself nap. Not because I was tired, but because it was going to be hot soon and because it would be another forty-five minutes before we got anywhere, and I didn’t think I could wait like that for what was to come.
Patience was one of the few—maybe the only—virtues I had, but that didn’t mean I liked waiting. I could be patient when I had to be, and especially when I was actively doing something, but just sitting here on a bus? Not so much.
I didn’t sleep, despite my attempts, and ended up running through the same shit I always did in my cell.
Santos DeArma.
There were few men in this world who hated me more than Santos DeArma, and thanks to his latest attempt at revenge—successful, I would think—the feeling was more than mutual. If you asked me to pinpoint the moment where Santos and I became enemies, or the catalyst that started it, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. But I could list the moment we butted heads and the times when I was sure I would have to tear him apart or him me just to bring some sort of closure to the anger that was forged so solidly between us.
Santos was the leader of a rival motorcycle club. Not that the idea could have been his own, I was sure, because he’d been a nobody when I first met him. Even more of a nobody than I was.
I shoved him into the fence, anger fueling me. I was too young, too stupid, to think that this was school property and if we got caught fighting, we’d be expelled. And then where would we be?
But Santos knew just how to get to me and the bastard was even grinning as blood gushed from his nose. Some of it dipped onto his lips and it grossed me out when he licked it, though I wouldn’t let him see that. Santos would use anything he could against me.
“The hell’s your problem anyway?” I asked him angrily, my hands still fisted in his shirt, holding him against the chain link fence that separated the currently empty playground from the dilapidated road that would eventually lead to downtown.
Santos attempted a shrug, which looked awkward and sort of dumb since I had him pinned, but his smile was smug. Like this was all part of his plan. Hell, it probably was.
“I ain’t got a problem, Nester boy,” he taunted. He was grinning, but there was something flashing in his eyes. Like he was pissed off. Like he hadn’t just called my mom a fantastic lay. Okay, step-mom; my birth mom was in prison for the next ten to fifteen. But still, it was the principle of the thing.
I felt my face redden with anger. At sixteen, life was pretty hard in general. At sixteen at a public school where everyone knew you fit into the lowest income bracket and your mom was a psycho drug dealer locked up, well, it got harder.
Which was usually why Santos and I got along. Even when we didn’t, we had some sort of unspoken agreement that we’d, be there for each other or some other dumb shit. But then my step-mom moved in and the world shifted. She wasn’t all that great, kind of a lush actually, but she was something.
But Santos didn’t like it. He was always ragging on her and I felt like it was my job or something to defend her, even though Santos was usually saying something honest about her.
“If you ain’t got a problem, then maybe you should stop letting your mouth make one for you,” I told him, and released one of my hands from his shirt so I could pull it back. And just before the impact of my fist on his face—again—I told him, “And shut the fuck up about my mother!”
The bus came to a stop and I moved to get off. One other guy did, too, but we barely even looked at each other as we single filed our way off that damn bus, both just relieved to be back in the city and away from that damn place.
When the bus rumbled away behind me, I spared a last thought to my boyhood friendship with Santos. Had that been the moment? Had it been my then step-mom who had started this rivalry between us? I didn’t know, and at that point, I decided I didn’t care.
By now, the Florida heat was starting to waft in and I tried to stay cool despite it, heading for the overhang of a bus stop to at least stand in the shade while I decided my next move. I had plans, yes, but the specifics from this point to the next point were a little shaky at the moment.
After all, it was hard to have much of a plan when there was only twenty bucks in your pocket and you weren’t sure which of your steadfast, loyal buddies was still steadfast and loyal.
I frowned. On the corner, I saw a payphone. It was ratty and so old that I half expected someone to just wrap crime scene tape around it and call it dead, but the cord didn’t look cut so I suspected it might still work.
Which meant I needed change.
Up the street was a diner that looked about as ratty as the payphone. I didn’t know how good any of the food would taste, but seeing as how I’d been eating the slop they served us in prison, I reckoned it wouldn’t upset me too much whatever the cost. And it looked cheap.
I could get change and a meal, two birds with one stone.
So I headed over there, hunching my shoulders up, wary of the passing strangers who were probably harmless, probably just on their way to work or school or to catch the bus, but it didn’t matter. I was still in defense mode, determined to protect what was mine up until the end. Whenever that would be.
I wouldn’t throw myself under the bus for anyone; I’d already learned that, in the end, you could only trust yourself.
Jerking open the door to the diner, I headed inside, my nose assaulted with the smells of cooking meat and spices and all the other things that came with real food. My stomach growled and my mouth watered. It didn’t matter if this was complete crap and didn’t live up to the health code; it smelled like a slice of heaven.
Glancing around, I spotted a seat towards the back where there was another exit. I headed over towards it and slid into the booth, grabbing one of the menus stashed at the side of the table.
I’d only just begun scanning through the menu items—everything sounded good, all of it different and familiar all at once—when the waitress came over. She was wearing the most unflattering shade of teal that I’d ever seen, but without it, she was probably pretty. She looked petite, with flared hips and slightly smaller than average breasts. Her heart-shaped face made her cute and her curly up do made her almost retro.
I felt half a hard-on grow in my jeans, though I wasn’t really all that attracted to her. But I hadn’t seen a woman in real life for a while and the prospect of having one…well, you can’t blame a man for a reaction to that.
She popped the gum she was smacking on, pulling out her notepad. When she had a pen poised over it, she finally glanced at me. Her eyebrows rose in surprise and her painted lips broke into a wide grin. “Hey there, cutie,” she greeted with a bat of her long and probably fake eyelashes. “You just get out?”
I froze. Just get out? How the hell did she know that?
Probably in response to my sudden agitation, her smile softened to something like sympathy and she said, “We get a lot in here. We ain’t too expensive and we’re a short walk from the bus stop.” She gave me a wink. “Why don’t you keep on looking through the menu and I’ll get you a nice cold soda. On the house.”
Before I could tell her no or yes one way or the other, she was walking away, sashaying her hips with noticeable exaggeration. I felt a tinge of gratefulness towards her for her k
indness, but figured a soda wasn’t that big of a deal and she probably wanted something. Or at the very least, would throw me under the bus if anything didn’t go her way.
Still, I did as she said and looked through the menu. By the time she came back with my complimentary soda, I had picked out a double cheeseburger with extra bacon and a side of fries. It was morning, breakfast even, but it didn’t matter to me. I wanted something full of grease and junk and real fucking meat.
She laughed. “That’s what I figured,” she explained, smiling almost giddily. “It just seemed like the kind of thing you’d like.”
Turning, she went to place my order and I greedily gulped down my soda. It was better than I would have expected, sugary and too sweet and the bubbles burned my nostrils, but it was like feeding a long missed addiction. I drank half the glass in a single gulp, then breathed a little easier.
I was out.
It seemed impossible almost, surreal somehow, but that gulp of soda settled me into my own skin and got me situated in the real world again. I was out and it was time to start making plans.
The waitress came back with my food and I was scarfing it down eagerly as I thought. She appeared a half a dozen more times, gave me three soda refills, and winked at least five more times at me the entire time, but I mostly didn’t pay attention to her. I watched her ass and legs as she walked away and imagined a few sultry and dirty things I thought we could do together, but I didn’t let my mind wander too far, because every time it did, I thought of her.