by Jayne Blue
Dark Vow
A Dark Saints MC Novel
Jayne Blue
Nokay Press LLC
Copyright © 2017 by Jayne Blue
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For exclusive news, sign up for my Jayne Blue’s Newsletter. You’ll get a FREE EBOOK as a welcome gift! Sign up at www.jayneblue.com
Contents
Prologue
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
Epilogue
A Message from Jayne Blue
Books by Jayne Blue
Prologue
Death is my gift. Violence is my calling. It makes my blood sing and pours through my fingertips.
Ten days ago, the piece of shit at my feet drew down on my brother, Deacon. If his aim had been truer, he would have killed him. For what? So he could impress another piece-of-shit member of the Devils Hawks M.C.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
His face dropped, thinking my question meant more than it did. “They call me Slade.”
I cocked my head to the side, wondering who the fuck they were. The Hawks wouldn’t have bothered giving this shitheel a road name. “Whatever you say, Slade,” I said, then spit on the ground beside him.
“Come on, Axle!” he begged, thinking my name would help him. “It wasn’t like that.”
“Wasn’t it?” I asked. My heartbeat slowed. The hard steel of my Nine against my palm felt like a part of me, as if it shared my pulse. The Texas sun baked down against my neck but I hadn’t even broken a sweat. I wouldn’t. A chill settled through me.
“There’s a price for everything,” I said. This scum thought I was talking to him. “Deacon Wade is the best of us. You should have aimed for me.”
“I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry. The Hawks made me do it. It’s their beef with your club, not mine. They were going to kill me.”
My lips curved into a smile. Survival of the fittest. Today, this moment, I could end this. I knew this puke acted alone, thinking if he took out a member of my club, the Dark Saints M.C., that would earn him an instant patch with the Hawks. But the message sent would be mine.
He made a desperate move at the last moment. So you could say it was justified. It wouldn’t have mattered.
I raised my Nine and held it steady. One crack echoed across the banks of the Nueces River then the world fell silent and so did Slade.
We all have a calling ... a reason why we were put on this earth. But only a few of us ever learn how to live in it.
I have.
Chapter 1
Axle
“You know he hates it when you come through the front door, man.”
I leaned against the wall, crossing one boot over the other. I hadn’t been in the place five seconds before Cory—what passed for a bouncer in Junior DiSalvo’s eyes—walked over and puffed his chest out. The glow of ten flat-screen TVs behind him made his blond hair flicker bluish-green. Cups had a full house tonight. Hell, it was like this every night. Baseball season, hockey, football, no matter what, the upper middle class of Port Azrael, Texas found their way here. They guzzled their watered-down drinks and chicken wings while cheering on whatever bandwagon sports team they wanted. But all of that was secondary to the real draw of this place. Junior had a fucking gold mine on his hands. And he owed every bit of it to me and my club, the Dark Saints M.C.
Yet, here was Cory trying to get in my face. He crossed his arms. The little fuck even flexed his ’roid-made biceps. I curled my fists to my sides and shot him a smirk. I pushed off the wall with my shoulder and took a step toward him. Cory’s blue eyes went up and up. Even with his six feet, I still had a good five inches on him. Plus, when it came down to it, I knew what I was willing to do to defend myself or my club. The Dark Saints didn’t hand out my club enforcer patch for nothing. Cory only knew how to look the part.
“Look, man, I’m just doing what Junior pays me for.”
I put a heavy hand on Cory’s shoulder. He wore a black t-shirt with “Security” emblazoned across the front in white block letters. I squeezed him just a little, then dusted lint off him. His eyes flicked from mine to the patch I wore. Good. Maybe that’s all the reminder this little fuck-face needed.
“So am I,” I said. “Now, I’m going to have a seat at the bar. I’m thirsty. You can go tell Junior I’m here. If he doesn’t want me out here scaring off his paying customers, I suppose that’ll motivate him to get his ass out here sooner rather than later.”
Cory’s eyes widened. No way in hell he’d have the balls to say anything to Junior DiSalvo other than, “Yes, sir.” It didn’t matter. I knew damn well Junior already knew I was here. I looked over Cory’s shoulder straight into the security camera angled toward the front entrance. I gave it a wink, slapped Cory on the back, then walked over to the bar and parked myself on an empty stool.
I got a few sideways looks from a couple of college-aged kids on one end of the bar. Then the Stars scored a goal on the biggest screen over the bar and a cheer went up. I held a finger up to the bartender. She was a cute redhead with fake tits and a ready smile. Her name was Wendy or Stacy or something All-American like that. Zig, our club secretary, had brought her to the club a couple of times last year. In fact, that’s how she ended up working here at Cups. It sure wasn’t because she knew how to pour a drink. I watched her overpour a gin and tonic and two martinis. Shit like that would have had her out on her ass at one of our hangouts. She caught me looking and pointed that ass right at me as she bent over to grab a frosted beer mug from the cooler at her feet. This earned her a round of cheers louder than the hat trick the Stars forward just made.
Wendy or Stacy poured from the tap and slid the mug in front of me. “Hey, Axle,” she purred, leaning over the bar, putting her tits on display. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the view, but I couldn’t afford that kind of distraction. Not until after my business with Junior was over. Plus, second-hand tail wasn’t my scene. The chick was nice enough, but she was a straight-up biker banger. I didn’t want to be the one to break it to her, but that and the overpours would probably have her out of favor with Junior pretty soon. I gave it a month. I gave Wendy-Stacy a smile, then turned on my stool to look out at the crowd.
Two years ago, this place wasn’t much more than a dive bar like a dozen others along the docks. Now it was an upscale sports bar drawing big bank for the DiSalvo family. It was all a front though for some of their off-book businesses. That’s where my crew came in. We cleaned up the docks and drove the drug trade straight out of Port Azrael. We controlled all the shit that came in and out of our territory. From time to time, the DiSal
vo family, especially Junior, needed to be reminded of that. For the most part though, it was a simple arrangement. We protected their businesses here along the port, they paid us well for it. From time to time, Junior’s father, Gino, sent us to deal with shit he didn’t want to dirty his hands with. But now we faced uncertain times since Gino DiSalvo had a stroke. Junior wanted us to think he ran the show now, but I had my suspicions.
I scanned the crowd. Shit. Even on a Tuesday night, I couldn’t find an empty table. Sure, having a Texas team in the NHL playoffs didn’t hurt, but I swear this crowd would have been here no matter what was on. It wasn’t the games people came to Cups for, it was the girls. The waitresses all wore skintight tops made out of black-and-white referee-striped material tied just below their ample cleavage. Their tiny black skirts just hugged their hips, exposing their belly buttons and a curve of ass when they walked away. They were all lean, tanned, bubbly, and stacked. It was supposed to be all looking and no touching. I just fucking hoped Cory was willing to go rough enough to make sure it stayed that way.
As the Stars scored another one, movement toward the kitchen door caught my eye. Uncle Frank, Gino’s old-man brother, always perched there on a high-top table. Junior claimed he was there to keep an eye on the bartenders. It was bullshit. Frank was damn near blind in one eye. He sat there to ogle the girls. He wore a dirty apron to make it look like he had some legit purpose here. His bald head gleamed under a neon beer sign as the kitchen door swung open and a new girl walked out.
Uncle Frank grabbed her by the arm. Her tray of onion rings nearly overbalanced but she leaned forward, catching it deftly as Frank turned her toward him and put an arm around her waist. His wrinkled fingers tapped her flat stomach and she stiffened, looking for a way to wrench herself free. So much for all look, no touch.
She was fucking gorgeous. The girl had blonde hair piled high on her head and a deep tan. Her eyes sparked with fury as Uncle Frank whispered something in her ear. I downed my beer and slid off my stool. Wendy-Stacy called out behind me, but a red cloud of rage darkened my vision as I headed toward Uncle Frank. Fucking Cory was on the other side of the bar chatting it up with another bartender.
“Come on, Blondie,” Frank said. “Show me a little sugar.”
The girl twisted out of his grip and turned on him. I couldn’t hear what she said, but she curled a fist around Uncle Frank’s apron and pulled him forward so her lips pressed against his ear. Her brow furrowed as she spewed something in Frank’s ear hard enough I saw spit fly. Frank’s eyes widened and his mouth formed a bloodless line. Then the girl let him go, flattened his shirt with her palm, and pasted on a bright smile. Without missing a beat, she hoisted her tray higher and walked away from him.
Frank was still sputtering as she walked past me. Her shoulder brushed against mine and heat coiled through me, shooting straight to my dick. Stopping, she looked up at me. She had a cute little upturned nose and a downturned mouth with a sexy-as-hell beauty mark on her upper lip. A line formed between her eyes as she still wore the scowl Uncle Frank had put there. She stared at me with that same fierce intensity.
“Everything okay back here? You need any help, honey?” I asked, looking at Frank then back to her.
The girl widened that fake smile even as fire ignited behind her green eyes. “Oh, we’re fine. Aren’t we, Uncle Frank?” She spit out his name like it burned in her mouth, but the smile didn’t leave her. Only the slight flush of her cheeks and a furious pulse beating in her temple revealed her anger. Outwardly, she was all sweetness and smiles.
“Sure, Maya,” he sputtered. “Just a little misunderstanding.”
Maya. It was perfect. Just like her.
“Now, we just met,” she said to Frank, keeping her eyes locked with mine. “Miss Ballard, if you don’t mind.”
“Right,” Frank said. “Miss Ballard. No problem.”
“Excuse me,” she said, turning her focus back to me. Holy fuck. That flash of steel in her eyes stirred me as much as the view I had of her tits in that sexy referee getup. My fists clenched as I squashed the urge to wrap my leather cut around her shoulders and cover her. The idea of any man looking at Maya Ballard the way I was sent fresh rage pouring through me even though I knew it made me a hypocrite. At the same time, I couldn’t help imagining what it would be like to bend her over my knee or put her on the back of my Harley.
Frank got up and stormed through the kitchen door. He dropped a couple of “mother-fuckers” in the air before it closed. I raised a brow and crossed my arms.
“You mind telling me what the hell you said to the old man?”
Maya turned and served her tray of onion rings to the table of frat boys directly behind her. My blood simmered again as I caught them looking at her tits as she leaned forward to reach the far end of the table. The little pricks could have easily grabbed the plate from her to help her, but it was obvious they were enjoying the show too much. Dammit if I wasn’t too. Fuck. With shit stirred up at the club, I hadn’t had time lately for this kind of fun. Maybe Wendy-Stacy wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Except she wasn’t at all what interested me.
“Will that be all for now?” Maya asked, tucking her tray under her arm. The boys smiled and nodded, then she turned back to me.
“Oh,” she said, smiling up at me. “Thanks for your concern, but I can take care of myself.”
“I can see that. But I’m still curious. Frank DiSalvo is a legendary lech. Whatever you said made him move faster than I’ve ever seen him. He damn near tripped over himself to get away from you. I’m in awe.”
Maya raised a brow and batted her lashes. Still, a mischievous smile brightened her face and I knew it was genuine this time. She put a hand on my shoulder and went up on her tiptoes. Fuck me. She smelled clean and good but barely looked legal. Plus, like it or not, she worked for Junior. Messing around with her was a bad idea on about four different levels. But I leaned down until she pressed those sweet lips against my ear. “I’ve heard the same rumors about Uncle Frank as everybody else,” she said. “Now he didn’t confirm or deny it, but based on how fast he turned tail, I’m guessing they’re true.”
My shoulders shook with laughter. Maya batted those sweet, dark lashes at me one more time before she moved in for the kill. “I just told him if he ever got so much as the idea to put his hands on me again, I’d drive an icepick through the one ball he has left.”
With that, Maya Ballard tucked a hair behind her ear, hoisted her tray on her shoulder, and gave me a wink as she sashayed back toward the bar.
I adjusted my jeans. They’d gotten a hell of a lot tighter in the five minutes I’d spent talking to Maya. That, and every protective instinct I had flared as I watched three tables of men stare at her ass as she walked by. Damn. Where the hell had Junior found her? And what the hell was a girl like that doing in Port Az? I didn’t get the chance to think about it anymore as Cory walked up to me, clearing his throat.
“Boss wants to see you back in his office,” he said.
“I’ll just bet he does.” I said it under my breath. I had no doubt Junior had watched everything happening on the main floor from the security feed in his office. Keeping me waiting was just his way of trying to pull rank he didn’t have. Gino would never pull this kind of shit. If Junior kept it up, he was liable to wreck some necessary business relationships without which the DiSalvo crew wouldn’t survive. It was the kind of thing I’d have to bring up at church back at the club. Bear Bullock, my club prez, might think it was time to intervene.
I brushed Cory off when he made a move to usher me into the back office. I fucking knew the way. I strode toward the door and pushed it open, not even bothering to knock. Junior sat at his desk with his feet up on it. The shitbird didn’t even bother to stand up when I walked in. He just waved a dismissive hand toward an empty chair in front of his desk.
“I’m good, Junior,” I said. “The sooner we finish our business, the happier I’ll be. We’re at 2k for the week.”
&nbs
p; Junior DiSalvo was like a shrunken-head version of his old man. Gino had been thick and beefy with broad, strong shoulders he’d earned working on the docks before his old man finally let him into the business side of things. Junior, on the other hand, had been handed everything on a silver platter. I swallowed my urge to comment on his douchey tanning-bed complexion and overly spiked hair. He wore a purple dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves and shiny gray suit pants.
“Things are tight everywhere, Axle,” Junior said. “I told you a couple of weeks ago we might have to renegotiate our arrangement.”
I leaned over the desk and planted my fists on top of it, letting the club ring on my right hand clang against the wood. “You can take that up with Bear. I’m the collections department, remember? This week it’s two thousand. You want me to spell out for you what happens if word gets out you don’t have club backing for this place? You think those pencil-dicked college kids out there are going to keep coming in here if they don’t feel safe?”
Junior’s dark eyes narrowed and his pulse jumped in his neck. I stood up, letting him follow my gaze. I’d never lay a hand on the little shit directly, it wouldn’t be a fair fight. Still, I didn’t hate watching him squirm as he imagined it.
“How’s your mother?” I asked, taking a page from Maya Ballard and planting a smile on my face. In her case, it looked sweet, in mine, I knew it probably had Junior thinking I was deranged. All the better. Junior was a dipshit, but he wasn’t an entirely stupid one. Bear had his suspicions about who was really running the show now that Gino DiSalvo was incapacitated. He figured it was Junior’s mother, Christine. I’d never met her personally, but Bear swore she was a stone-cold bitch and the real brains of the family.