Instigation: A Twisted Mayhem MC Novel

by Cat Mason

  Now he is dead, and I am left wondering what will be left of me once I have picked up all the pieces.

  Stepping up to the sink, I switch on the faucet, preparing to start another pot of coffee. Looking up into the window, I stare at my reflection. “Would you get your shit together? You’re so fuckin’ transparent.”

  “Nothin’ wrong with bein’ easy to read,” Schrader announces from the doorway.

  “There’s food out on the bar. Coffee in five,” I say dropping my eyes to the sink.

  “Not hungry,” he replies quickly. “I’ll wait for the coffee though.”

  Dropping the empty carafe into the sink, I shut off the water, then spin around to face him. He has showered and changed into clean jeans and a black t-shirt with the word Mayhem written across his chest in white letters. He looks good. Stupid man always does. “I can bring it out to you,” I tell him, moving toward the pantry for more filters.

  “I’ll wait.”

  “You heading back out?” I ask casually, glancing at him over my shoulder.

  He nods. “Club business.” His dark brown eyes warm, concern filling his face as he studies me. “You sure you’re okay?”

  Blowing out a breath, I fling open the pantry door. Even though he is several years older than I am, Schrader and I have always had a sort of connection. He gets me. He reads me like no one else ever has been able to. It is annoying as hell. He is a friend, an overprotective big brother, and a sort of kindred spirit all mixed into one. No one ever really understood it. Especially not Troy. He may have never said anything about it, but now I felt like maybe Troy considered Schrader a threat. Ivy all but confirmed that the night Roanne and I went after her. The crush I have always had on Schrader is something I knew I could never act on. The idea of he and I ever being together like that was quickly squashed the moment I realized that if I gave into it, I would eventually lose him.

  Thankfully, he never showed any interest in me that way.

  Schrader is an adrenaline junkie. His main interest has always been the chase. It’s like a drug, you can see the high burning in his eyes like a flame. But once he catches what he’s after, the excitement is gone. Then so is he. I needed more than that.

  Then I met Troy and he swept me off my feet. He was everything I wanted; damn, if I didn’t fall hard and fast.

  Little did I know the life we would build was standing on a foundation of a sinking sand of lies and borrowed time.

  “I’m fine.” Storming into the room I use for extra storage, I dig through the shelves for the extra box of coffee filters. “I’m so tired of people asking me that. Same shit, different day and all that; right, Schrader?” A can of soup falls from the shelf, rolling into the corner. Turning to grab it, I freeze. My eyes drop to the floor as unwanted memories come crashing back.

  “Let her go!” Ro screams.

  Dragging me into the pantry by my hair, Troy shoves me to the floor. “Tie her up.”

  “No,” Ro argues, shaking her head. “I won’t do that to her.”

  “Why would you do this?” I ask from the floor. This isn’t happening. I am dreaming. Someone wake me up.

  Laughing, he kicks me in the side. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, I bite the inside of my cheek, swallowing the scream that threatens to come out. “Didn’t Daddy tell you?” he spits angrily. “Never question your man, Cheyenne. You should’ve kept your fuckin’ mouth shut. I wasn’t gonna hurt you.”

  Looking up into his eyes, fear settles heavy in my chest. Raising his gun, he aims it at my head, then looks to Roanne. “You’ve got thirty seconds.”

  “No,” she says again, her voice cracking, along with some of her resolve.

  Releasing the safety, he kicks me again. Biting down harder, the taste of blood fills my mouth. “Do it.” Reaching down, he grabs me by the hair, yanking me onto my knees. “Or I’ll kill her.”

  Ro’s eyes widen, fear filling them. My body stiffens. “I’m your wife,” I breathe, completely broken. “I never thought you’d hurt me.”

  Tightening his grip on my hair, he presses the gun to the top of my head. “You thought wrong,” he bites out, his tone frigid.

  “Yeah,” Closing my eyes, I sigh. “It may cost me my heart, but it’ll cost you your life.”

  “No! Stop!” Ro screams. When she drops down to her knees, Troy releases his hold on me. Taking my wrists in her trembling hands, she begins to bind them together. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, giving my hands a reassuring squeeze once she is done.

  “Not as sorry as he’s gonna be,” I bite out, knowing that my husband has just signed his death warrant.

  Rage explodes in his eyes. “Shut the fuck up!” he roars, slapping me hard across the face. I fall onto my side, my face hitting the concrete floor hard.

  Turning to Roanne, he grips her by the throat and slams her into the shelves. “Your turn.”

  “Fucking bastard,” I whimper, shutting my eyes tightly and shaking my head.

  “Shy?” Schrader’s voice cuts through the noise. Coming up behind me, his arms surround me. My body tenses against his, the breath lodging in my chest. “Hey.” His voice soft and soothing. Turning to face him, I open my eyes, meeting his deep browns, filled with worry. “Where’d you go?”

  Blinking, I take a deep breath. “Into the pantry.” Shaking him off, I grab the filters and shove around him, needing to get the fuck out of there. “Now, I’m going over to make coffee.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” I feel him at my back, but he doesn’t make a move to touch me. Good. If he did, I would fall apart right here and cry into the goddamn Chicory coffee my brother orders online from some little shop in Louisiana.

  “I know,” I nod. Grabbing the scoop from the counter, I finish prepping the pot and hit the start button. Gripping the counter, I square my shoulders. “Doesn’t mean it’s up for discussion.”

  “Okay.” His hand drops to the counter beside me. When his shoulder brushes mine, I have to force myself to breathe. He is too close and if he presses the issue, I am in no position to push him away. “I’ll drop it.”

  I sigh in relief, and swallow the sob that was making its way up my throat. “Good.” Turning my back to him, I wave him off and head for the door. “Because I’ve got shit to do.”

  “Love you too!” he shouts, making me roll my eyes.

  Rounding the bar, I quickly move down the hallway for my room. I have lived on the compound my entire life. After my mother split on us, shortly after I was born, Dad packed up our shit and moved us in here with Huck, Vick, and Schrader, who stayed here when his mom was away in rehab or jail. Which was often. We were the dysfunctional version of the television show Full House. The club was in its building stages then. Even after I got with Troy and we were married, I never moved from the room I had as a child. I liked that it was on the main floor, and mostly off to itself. It was easier to pretend that we had our own little love nest. We had even talked to Stone about turning the room beside it into a nursery.

  The bubble I thought we had was nowhere near as impenetrable as I allowed myself to believe.

  Kicking the door closed behind me, I sit down on the bed and stare up at the now empty wall, that only weeks ago was filled with photos of Troy and I. After what he did, I couldn’t look at them anymore without either crying or wanting to bash his face in. Although, I don’t need to look at the photos to feel that way. Especially when I try to sleep. The memories have haunted my dreams every night since my entire life as I knew it changed.

  It was all a lie. No matter if it started out that way or not. I simply believed the version of the truth he allowed me to see, instead of dissecting it for myself when shit didn’t add up.

  A tap on the door pulls my attention away from my pity party. The door opens, Pop’s body fills the doorway. His blue eyes, the exact same shade as mine, softening. “Headin’ out, baby girl.”

  I nod. “Club business.”

  He gives me a proud smile. “Jinks, Colt, and
Stone will be here. That shithead Kennedy kid too. Your ass stays on this side of the gates.”

  “Sir, yes, Sir,” I say, pushing to my feet and giving him a mock salute.

  “Smartass. I mean it. No takin’ off.”

  “I can take care of myself, Pop,” I remind him, flashing him a smug smile of my own. “I was taught by the best.”

  “Butterin’ me up won’t work, Cheyenne.” Striding my way, he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into one of his bear hugs. “Be back when I can. Love you, Kiddo.”

  My smile spreads. My father may look like some heartless criminal, but I know that is only partially true. He doesn’t pretend to be anything he isn’t. I have heard enough stories over the years to know that my dad is one man you don’t fuck with. However, to me, he is nothing but a teddy bear. He never fails to make me feel safe.

  “Love you, Pop,” I return, giving him a squeeze. “Ride safe.”

  “Always,” he assures me, releasing his hold.

  Once I am alone again, I shake out my arms, trying to rid my body of tension. Grabbing the empty laundry basket from the floor, I head for my brother’s room, knowing that there is more than enough to do in there to occupy me for a few hours.

  If not days.

  When I stress out, I try to keep my hands as busy as possible. It helps slow my racing mind. Generally, cleaning the clubhouse falls on the tramps that hang around, or the prospects, if we have any. Thanks to Troy and the mess he made, we lost one, but it is only a matter of time before Jace is voted in as an official prospect and will be assigned to take on some of the slack around here. Lately, I have been taking a lot of it on myself. Though, I leave the floor scrubbing to the girls. After all, they are generally already on their knees anyway.

  Especially if Jinks is around.

  Making a quick stop at the hall closet I use for storing cleaning supplies and toiletries, I dump what I need into the basket and head for his door. Pressing my ear to the wood, I listen before knocking. No one walks into his room without giving him warning. Unless you want to risk seeing shit that will make you want to carve out your own eyes with a spoon.

  Knowing your brother has sex is one thing. Seeing it? Well, that’s an entirely different level of nasty.

  “Decoda!” I shout, tapping on the door when I don’t hear any voices. “I’m comin’ in there. If your dick is out, I’m going to puke on your computer chair.”

  He laughs. “Coast’s clear.” When I open the door and step into the room, he turns in his chair, flashing me a huge smile. “You bring mints for my pillow?”

  “Sorry, we charge extra for those. I did bring you this.” Sliding the basket onto the folding table he keeps in the corner, I flip him off.

  “You’re so classy,” he chuckles, rolling his eyes.

  “Fuck your mother,” I bite out with a smirk.

  “Nasty ass,” he shudders. “That’s your mother, too.” Turning back to his wall of computer screens, he goes back to typing away like a madman. “You don’t have to clean up in here, Sis. Double-D does that.”

  “Ew!” Scrunching my nose, I shake my head. “The word clean is not in Debbie’s vocabulary. Even that bitch’s crabs have crabs.”

  “Eh,” he shrugs. “She’s not that bad.”

  “Hope you double bag your junk. If you knocked her up, the kid would need a semi-automatic weapon to get out of there alive.” Grabbing the trashcan, I yank it between the table and the desk and begin tossing in the stacks of empty energy drink cans that my brother lives on. Seriously, it’s a wonder his heart doesn’t leap out of his chest and race alongside him on the highway.

  “Double bagged and only in her ass.” I gag at the visual. He laughs. “Consider that payback for that fuck your mother bullshit.”

  “One of these days I’m gonna switch out your lube with super glue.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, shaking his head. “Like I need lube to keep pussy wet.”

  “So..” Dumping the last of the cans into the trash, I sigh, needing to change the subject before I lose what little I have managed to eat today. “Lockdown, huh?”

  Looking over at me, he nods. “’Fraid so. You know the drill. On the defensive until the threat is eliminated.”

  “That’s where Pops is headed.”

  Scrubbing a hand over his shaved head, he groans. “You know I’m not tellin’ you that shit, Shy.”

  Yanking the full bag from the trashcan, I roll my eyes at him. “You don’t have to, D. Like you said, I know the drill.”

  That doesn’t fucking mean that I have to like the way some things have to be done. Because I don’t. Anyone with two eyes can see this is only the start of a war. That is some scary shit. I can’t help worry, when it comes to the people around me, and I will continue to do so until they are all back on the lot safe and sound. I may not be a patched in member of Twisted Mayhem, but those guys are my family just the same. I hate knowing that they are riding into dangerous shit. If anything, the last few weeks have been a painful reminder that none of us are invincible. Life is a game of chance.

  Some people are simply luckier than others.

  Chapter Three

  Schrader

  There are four things in this fucked up world that I live for. A hard fuck, a long ride, a fight, and my club. The days when I get to enjoy all four are fucking Heaven.

  Today, hopefully, is one of those days.

  Coming around the bend in the highway, I spot Torch and Huck parked on the side of the road in the van. Once Doc and I pass by, they pull out behind us, but keep their distance, giving us plenty of room on the empty stretch of highway. Adrenaline begins to build, my body vibrating with anticipation.

  When the rest area comes into view, and I see the truck parked on the far side of the lot, I smile. Jinks was right. As usual.

  Glancing over at Doc, I jerk my chin in the direction of the parked truck. Knowingly, he nods his head, his face filling with cold resolve. Taking the lead, I pull off the highway and onto the ramp, leading up to the nearly empty lot. Killing the engine, I climb off my bike and head straight for the truck. Pulling my gun, I release the safety, my finger itching to squeeze the trigger. “Rise and shine, motherfucker.”

  Climbing up onto the side of the truck, Doc yanks open the door, pointing his gun inside as he scans the cab. “Empty.”

  “Check the cargo in back.” Knowing he couldn’t have gone far, I bolt for the building, every muscle in my body aching for a fight. Yanking open the door, I scan the room, my eyes landing on Connor. Oblivious to me, he stands studying the snacks in the vending machines. “You wouldn’t happen to have change for a ten, would ya, buddy?” he asks, not bothering to turn around.

  “Nope,” I reply, popping the p. “Sorry, asshole.” Whipping around, his eyes meet mine, widening. Taking a step closer, I shrug. “You could always blow that up too.”

  “Hey, Schrader,” he says nervously, holding up his hands. Connor takes a step sideways, toward the rear entrance. “I, um—”

  Squeezing the trigger, I fire off a shot. The bullet hits the vending machine, inches from his head, breaking the glass. “Don’t fuckin’ move.” Completely fucking ignoring me, the stupid bastard bolts for the backdoor.

  Following his stupid ass, I shoot again, the bullet blowing right through his right knee cap just as he shoves through the door. Screaming he falls down the steps, landing hard on the concrete at the bottom.

  “Uh oh,” I chuckle. “Sir, it looks like you’re gonna need to use the handicap accessible exit.”

  “You fucking shot me!” he shouts, gripping his leg.

  “What the fuck did you think I was gonna do? Blow you a kiss?” Holstering my weapon, I crack my knuckles before making my way down. “Seriously, what kind of idiot turns their back on a man with a loaded gun?” Towering over him, I roll him to his back and punch him in the throat, smiling in satisfaction when he begins to choke. “It’s like you wanted me to shoot your ass.”

  “Please don’t k
ill me,” he gasps. Earning another punch from me. If this piece of shit thinks I am going to feel an ounce of pity for him after what he did, he has another thing coming.

  If it were up to me, I would put a bullet in his head and leave him here in a puddle of his own blood. No conversation needed.

  This is also one very good reason why I am not the one wearing the President’s patch.

  Thankfully, Stone thinks shit like that through before he acts on it.

  I generally don’t.

  “If I chase somethin’,” I inform him, getting in his face. “It’s to fuck it or kill it.” I arch a brow. “I think you know we ain’t fuckin’.”

  “Hey!” Doc shouts, coming down the stairs, holding a candy bar. Ripping the wrapper away, he takes a bite. “You don’t get to have all the fun.” Storming our way, he kicks Connor in the side of the face. “Should take the fucker back to the clubhouse and string him up in the lot like a goddamn piñata. Let everyone get a turn.”

  Looking over at Doc, I flash him a smile. “I like the way you think, Old Man.” Yanking Connor upright, I give him a pat on the back when he wobbles, unable to put weight on his injured leg. Connor wheezes, blood dribbling down his mouth and chin, onto his gray t-shirt. “You’re lucky Stone wants answers. If it were up to me, I’d blow out the other knee, tie you to the back of my bike by your shoelaces, and floor it to the state line.” Stopping, I contemplate the idea of dragging his ass down the highway at eighty miles an hour while he screams like a little bitch. “You know what?” I shrug. “Now, I really wanna do that. Whatcha think, Doc?”

  “Looks like he’s about to piss and shit down both legs,” Doc laughs, cramming the rest of the candy bar into his mouth. “I say go for it. He’s just the bitch for hire.”

  “I had no choice!” Connor argues, struggling against me.

  “Bullshit,” I fire back, gripping him by the shirt. “Coulda said no.”

  “No one betrays Maxwell Teague,” he replies. “And you sure as fuck never tell him no.”