A Broken Vow: Inked Angels MC

by Zoey Parker

  I tried to protest, but Luke shrugged me off and turned to finish pulling Blaze through the gate. Blaze was still dazed from the blows to the face, but I could see him struggling to pull himself together and fight back. “Get off me, you son of a bitch,” he slurred, but the surprise pain was proving difficult for him to think through.

  Luke laughed wickedly. “Let’s go, kiddo,” he said to Blaze. He shut the gate in my face and locked it before I could fight my way through.

  That’s when I heard the gun cock.

  I ran through the house towards the back. Just as I was about to pop open the back door so I could get into the yard and stop Luke, several pairs of hands pulled me back.

  “No, no,” said Narco, one of Luke’s patch brothers. He was massive, well over six feet tall, with a grip like steel. There was no use even trying to fight him. “That’s Luke’s business, Miss Olivia, so I think you oughta stay in here and let them hash it out.”

  Sliver, another Inked Angel, nodded. He was rail-thin, but the muscles that clung to his wiry frame were taut.

  “Luke’ll handle it all, no sweat,” he said. “Can’t let you interfere, unfortunately.”

  I wanted to scream. The rush of passion was still swirling through my brain, making everything hazy. Blaze’s hands on me, his lips on mine, the swelling burn between my legs that begged me to submit to his touch, to let him pull me on top of him and push himself into the part of me that wanted it most.

  I jumped onto the couch and yanked open the window. Narco and Sliver stood behind me, cautious to make sure I wouldn't try to intervene. I could see Luke and Blaze out back. Their voices sliced through the night air.

  “I’m only gonna tell you this one time,” Luke said. His hands were busy toying with something, but I couldn’t see what. “You’re gonna stay away from my sister forever.

  And stay the fuck away from Austin, too. As far as I’m concerned, you could never come back here and that’d be just fine with all of us down at the clubhouse.”

  “You know, Blaze said, wiping blood from his mouth, “your sister’s getting to be a woman now. Seems like she should be making her own decisions. If she wants to kiss someone, I think she oughta have the right.”

  “You shut your fucking mouth right now before I put a bullet between those pretty white teeth of yours,” Luke said. He swung his hand up and I saw what he had been holding—a pistol, shiny and cocked, ready to put a hole in Blaze that might just mean the end of him. “Shut it and keep it shut.”

  The light caught the gunmetal. It had a wicked shine to it, like the thing itself was hungering to do damage. Blaze stared it down and did not move a muscle.

  My heart jumped into my throat. It wasn’t just desire that was flowing through me—it was more. That arrogant, crude, brutal, violent man standing on the wrong end of a gun down there—I wanted his lips never to leave mine.

  Call it a silly crush, but the way my body sang back to his when he touched me, it was like nothing else I’d ever experienced. Even now, as I watched him face death by my angry brother, I could still feel my thighs trembling with all the foreign thirsts that Blaze stirred up in me.

  Luke cocked the gun.

  I couldn’t help the scream that tore out of my mouth. “No!” I shrieked. “Luke, stop!”

  Both the men spun their heads to look at me. Blaze’s face, stoic up until now, split into a cocky smile. He knew what he’d done to me with just a single kiss.

  Luke knew it, too. He saw the horror in my face, and when he saw the grin on Blaze’s face, the anger in him boiled over.

  Arms bulging with the effort, he smashed the butt of the pistol straight into Luke’s jaw. I heard teeth cracking from a dozen yards away. Blood droplets flew.

  “I’m gonna fucking kill you, right here and now, you grimy piece of shit!” Luke roared.

  Things were happening so fast. Blood spilling, bones crunching, mud, voices ripped raw from screaming and emotion and the desire that seared through me.

  And then the gunshot rang out.

  I couldn’t look up. But I had to. Blaze might be dead out there. Blaze, that stupid neighbor who never said anything. Blaze, who only looked at me as I walked past his porch, eyes never leaving mine, leaving me to writhe in bed at night, wondering what he might be thinking about me—more importantly, what I wanted him to be thinking about me.

  I peeked through the fingers splayed over my face. A thick ribbon of blood wound its way between the bricks of our backyard patio. I traced its path up and saw its source—a small hole in Blaze’s thigh that kept weeping crimson.

  I looked up further, barely daring to. And then I saw it—the merest rise and fall of his chest.

  Thank God. He was alive. The sounds of the night rushed back in then, like they had been put on pause and only came back once I knew that he wasn’t dead.

  Blaze’s face was twisted in pain, but he kept his teeth clenched together and did not make a noise. Luke heaved above him, coming down from the maniacal wave of anger that had taken him over.

  I’d never seen anything like that before. Luke was always so careful to keep his two lives separate. When he was at home, he was the doting older brother, always taking care of me, making sure I was comfortable and safe.

  But when he stood out in our backyard with a gun pointed at Blaze, I saw the unbalanced forces that had propelled him to the top of his club. Anger like lightning, rage like earthquakes, all trembling through him with scary force.

  This was my brother?

  But then he turned to look at me, and his face softened. The Luke that I knew came back. I loved him, of course. He was my brother, after all. And when he looked at me like this, I recognized that he loved me, too.

  But the image of his face twisted in fury was burnt into my memory. Even now, with his eyes so remorseful for letting me witness this outburst, it was like a shadow dancing around the edges of my vision, reminding me that there was a whole different side to him that lurked in the background.

  I was at a loss for words. Luke saw how scared I was, and swallowed a knot in his throat. He turned back to the bleeding man dying on the ground.

  “Get the fuck out of here, alright?” he said softly to Blaze. He sounded so tired. “Just go. Don’t let me see you here again.” He started to walk away, one hand digging into his exhausted eyes.

  Blaze struggled to his feet and limped away. His hurt leg dragged behind him. The leg of his pants was stained with blood that kept oozing. Right before he reached the fence, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at me.

  Eyes locked on mine, he said to Luke, “She’s a woman now, Luke. Devils are gonna come after her. But she’s got to make her own choices.”

  If only I had known how right he would be.

  But it didn’t matter then. I wouldn’t see Blaze again for five years.

  Chapter 2: ’Til I Collapse

  Houston, Texas – Five Years Later

  Blaze

  Christ, my head hurt. My eyes were gummed together with sleep and a brewing hangover that I just knew was gonna turn into a real son of a bitch. I tried to think through what had happened last night, but it was mostly a blur.

  I remembered being at the clubhouse bar, whiskey shots plunked down in front of me with reckless abandon. I knocked ’em all back, of course—who didn’t love the good burn of a nice old whiskey running down the back of their throat?

  And then, of course, once me and the boys had gotten nice and toasty, we’d needed some pussy to take the edge off. The clubhouse was good for that. It drew easy tail like flies to a porch light, no effort necessary. Escorts, strippers, and all kinds of townie whores flocked to the skull logo, just begging for a good dicking. And who better to give it to them than yours truly?

  Come morning, though, I was more than ready for them to get the hell away from me. I grunted in pain—this headache was really trying to do me in.

  I sat up in bed groggily. Lying to my right was the girl I had brought back last night. She was sti
ll ass naked. Her tits were bare above the sheets. The girl rolled towards me, half-asleep, and extended a hand to stroke my abs. I pushed her away.

  “Listen, hon,” I told her. “You need to go. I don’t cuddle. I don’t sweet talk. I fuck, and then you leave. And seeing as how we’ve already fucked…” I pointed towards the door.

  She gave me a huffy stare, but she knew better than to talk back to a brother wearing the skull on his shoulder. As soon as she’d grabbed her clothes and left, slamming the door behind her, I sighed and fell back in bed.

  Part of me always hated how callous I could be. It was so easy for me to just shut off all the caring bullshit that preoccupied most people. I had no problem being the ice cold son of a bitch who told a girl to just get out.

  But, no matter how hard I tried to suppress it, there was always that nagging little voice in the back of my head telling me that I was ignoring something important.

  Oh well, fuck it. Nothing a little whiskey couldn’t silence.

  I shrugged on my jeans and boots and staggered into the bathroom. The face looking back at me in the mirror was fierce. Stubble covered my chin and neck, my jaw set tough against all the bullshit that the world kept throwing at me. Bitches who wouldn’t leave, hangovers that overstayed their welcome…today was already off to a bad start.

  I splashed some water on my face, then lumbered into the main room of the clubhouse. Guys were strewn all around, nursing hangovers that looked every bit as bad as mine was. Broken bottles and condom wrappers littered the floor, while cigarette smoke hung in the air. The place could be a real shithole when everyone got as rowdy as we’d gotten last night.

  Bomber had gotten married over the weekend, so the whole club had descended on our spot with whiskey running through their veins and a hankering to break some shit and fuck some things. And we’d done just that, as per usual: drank the bar damn near empty, then stuffed a few chicks damn near full.

  I chuckled to myself at the thought. Us Inked Angels could be quite a handful when we get together.

  The thought of marriage, though, was less funny. I still couldn’t believe Bomber had done something as stupid as getting hitched. Who the hell wanted to be stuck to the same piece for the rest of their life? In my opinion, the best part about pussy was that you could always exchange it for a version that was newer and more interesting.

  I practiced what I preached, too. Never the same girl twice; I just couldn’t stomach it. They always looked up with these empty eyes, just gave themselves up without a word. Not that it was easy to resist me. I knew what I was packing, and I knew what I represented to the more delicate gender.

  I was a trip down the highway with the wind yankin’ at your hair and the thrum of a powerful engine between your legs. Hell, the sound of the bike itself was enough to get most of these girls off. Didn’t even hardly have to touch ’em before they were dripping all over themselves and just pleading to get my cock inside ’em.

  But even as I thought back on the slut from last night—remembering her eyes rolling back in her head as she rode me, dragging nails down my chest and coming as hard as she possibly knew how to—that little voice in the back of my head picked up.

  You ain’t all that, the voice seemed to be saying. I know what you really are, Blaze.

  The patch on my cut proclaimed my name in big letters, letting the world know exactly who I was. The name told people not to fuck with me either.

  People knew Blaze. People knew what I was about: pussy, whiskey, and fighting. That was all I needed.

  But there it was again, trying to get me to realize something. You ain’t all that. There’s more to you.

  I growled and ripped a beer can off the bar top next to me. Popping the tab, I sucked it down in one gulp. Fuck that voice.

  I let loose a loud belch and wiped my hand across my mouth. One guy on the couch raised his head to give me a nasty look, but I stared him down. Like the rest of them, he knew better than to say a damn word.

  “Yo,” came a voice to my right. It was Steezy, popping his head out from the hallway. “Yo, Blaze,” he said, casting his voice low so as not to draw too much attention.

  I looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “What do ya want, Steez?” I demanded. He didn’t say anything. Instead, he just nodded his head down the hallway behind him, then disappeared.

  I followed him, not happy about what might be lurking behind the president’s door. It was definitely going to be a bad day.

  It was worse than I thought.

  “Croak, are you out of your fucking mind?” I slapped the desktop, sending papers and pens skittering to the floor. “I mean, you must be on some fucking kind of drug if you think I’d ever go through with some fool shit like that.”

  Croak tented his fingers in front of his face and looked at me coolly. He was a slick bastard, the iciest and meanest son of a bitch who’d worn the presidential skull in a long time. Just the name was enough to send shivers down the spines of all the pussy cartels to the south who’d ever dared to fuck with our business.

  He knew who they were, he knew who their families were, and they knew that he had no qualms with scalping a bitch just to prove a point.

  Or at least, that’s how the stories went. Croak himself never confirmed nor denied them. Ask him about it and he’d just look at you the exact way he was looking at me now—eyes as gray as the ocean, and unreadable. Truth was that I could never quite tell what he was thinking, thus the questions exploding out of my mouth.

  “This is by far the dumbest thing you’ve ever cooked up, and lemme tell you, you’ve got the wrong son of a bitch for the job. I ain’t doing it.” I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms across my chest, confident that he’d realize I wasn’t the right guy for the insanity he was proposing.

  I shoulda known better. He just sighed and ran his fingers through the thick, cropped beard on his chin, waiting for me to calm down. My breath was still coming in angry spurts.

  “Blaze,” he began, but I cut him off, still heated.

  “Don’t fucking Blaze me! I told you already, I’m not doing it!” I roared. Behind me, Steezy chuckled. I whirled to look at him.

  “And don’t you fucking laugh, either,” I shot at him. He shook his head and kept chuckling.

  “Blaze, getting married…” Steezy guffawed. “Whoo, damn, now I have heard everything.” He could barely contain himself. I was about to blow my top.

  Marriage, after all, was exactly what Croak had just informed me about.

  My own marriage, to be precise.

  I was getting married, in a week. To some unknown bitch from the Inked Angels charter in Austin—the same place I had left five years ago with a bullet in my leg and the world’s biggest chip on my shoulder.

  “Blaze,” Croak said, speaking slowly and carefully. “You know damn well that this needs to happen. You know exactly how many years we’ve spent at the throats of our own brothers up in Austin.”

  I did know. From the first day of my initiation into the Austin charter of the Inked Angels MC, I had been bred to trust no one outside of my own city. And when I was kicked unceremoniously out of Austin by that bastard Luke Morris, the Houston boys had turned that right back around and made sure I knew to hate those Austin fuckers.

  The point was, despite the shared Inked Angels brand, there was no love lost between our two clubhouses, and it had been the cause of many a deal falling through. Money was lost, and Croak, ever the greedy bastard, didn’t like losing money.

  I grunted. I didn’t give a rat’s ass about money falling through. If this was all about money, I’d tell Croak to shove that marriage up his own ass, chain of command be damned.

  Croak went on. “You’ve seen it with your own eyes, from both sides. We hate them and they hate us. Well, this shit has gone on long enough, and now that Luke Morris is running the show up there, this is as good an opportunity as we’ve got to squash all the bad blood and start working together, exactly like a real MC should be operating. I
’m sick of this bullshit where everyone is always gossiping behind each other’s backs like a bunch of fuckin’ schoolgirls. This ends now, and in order to do so, you’re bitin’ the goddamn bullet. Am I understood?”

  That only made me angrier. If there was one thing I hated in this world, it was being talked down to.

  I started to explode, but then I felt the heavy touch of Steezy’s hands on my shoulders. I bit my tongue. Everyone in the club knew damn well that Steezy kept two spring-loaded blades tucked up his sleeves. All it took was a simple twitch of the wrist and I’d have six inches of shiny, well-sharpened steel in my jugular. I wouldn’t be the first brother who spoke out of place and had something bad happen to him.