My Dark Knight (gay biker romance) (Kings of Hell MC Book 2)

by K. A. Merikan

  Hovering around the excavation area was no one else than The Count—the most despicable man on the Internet. A pathological liar who spread nasty rumors about the Mercier family. Knight’s virtual nemesis.

  Now he’d invaded Knight’s territory in real life, and he would not get away with a simple dislike under his videos.

  Chapter 2

  Elliot took a deep breath and closed his eyes. The weather was perfect.

  Gray clouds hovered low above him like a warning that he was in fact all-too-close to death. The dampness in the air threatened that it might rain soon, and yet no wind pulled on his wig, and not a droplet fell on his elaborate costume. He’d waited so long for this moment, and it’d finally arrived.

  He stood right next to the patch of dirt where not one but five of William Fane’s victims had been found earlier this year. Elliot could feel it in his bones that these two-century-old bodies had remained hidden for a reason. And if William Fane had been smart enough for his victims not to be discovered for so many years then there surely were many other secrets of his still lurking somewhere around Brecon, Maine.

  With each step over the damp ground, Elliot could feel as if he were walking hand in hand with William. As if it was William himself who’d brought Elliot here to show off his handiwork. The skeleton found without an arm was a particularly exciting discovery. As soon as Elliot had found out about that one, all pieces of the puzzle that before had been scattered, fell into place. The incomplete body had been lying on top of the pile of earlier victims and therefore was the freshest. The last victim of Maine’s most prolific serial killer of all time and, material proof that William had experimented with cannibalism.

  Elliot’s heart skipped a beat, and he turned on the camera app before extending the selfie stick.

  “Good afternoon fellow Faneatics,” he said as he positioned himself with the huge boulder and the exhumation site in the background. The red brick building that used to house an asylum decades prior loomed farther on, with dark clouds gathering above it. But the ugly early-twentieth-century facade hid a gem of history—William Fane’s house, which had been structurally incorporated into the much more severe form of the former hospital. A pearl trapped within red brick and broken plaster and known only to those who wanted to discover the truth about William.

  Elliot had wanted to visit it for years, but since the huge property around the structure had been taken over by the local biker gang, the Kings of Hell, there was little chance for him to explore. And given that visitors to the club’s famously outrageous parties claimed no trace of the original building was left, he hadn’t been motivated enough either, but the monumental discovery of the five bodies forced him to finally act.

  His blood rushed with excitement when he noticed that several people were already logging on to view the video. “There is no time to waste, so I’ve decided to film live in the very place where William Fane’s life unfolded, and where he committed his crimes.”—He pointed to the pile of dirt by the boulder and to the trampled grass around it.—“This is where William Fane disposed of five bodies. What did he do to each of them? Will their injuries be consistent, or was he experimenting and developing his technique? We will have to wait until the forensics specialists release more data about the skeletons. What we do know already is that one of those young men was missing an arm. I don’t know about you, but as I walk down the paths that he himself used, I imagine him sitting at his long dinner table, feasting on the supple flesh of the man he’d held in his arms the night before. He surely treated his guests to that exotic meat, and took pleasure in knowing that he was the only one who realized just why the meal was so delicious.”

  Thinking of the handsome, charming William desiring another man so much he not only wanted to sleep with him but also to physically devour him had Elliot’s stomach in knots, both out of fear and arousal. He imagined William then cleaning the bones and keeping them under his pillow to remember his former lover in vivid dreams.

  This way, they could be together forever.

  “The fuck are you doing here?” a rich voice bellowed from the direction of William Fane’s former home.

  Elliot’s heart stood still for a full second before rushing into a frantic rhythm that sent him back to his feet at such speed the change of position made him somewhat dizzy.

  A storm was coming his way after all.

  The man was tall, wide in the shoulders, and his lusciously thick hair kept rolling into his face as the wind tousled the long strands. The biker’s arms were covered by a leather jacket with patches at the front, but even so the fury they could unleash on Elliot was palpable without the need for demonstration.

  Thinking on his feet, Elliot pulled out the fake journalist’s ID he’d made to trick people into disclosing more information about the exhumed bodies. If it worked on a coroner’s assistant, then it just might help him out against a dumbass biker.

  “No need to worry, sir!” He stood straighter to pretend he wasn’t afraid. “I am an independent reporter, and was authorized to photograph the burial site.” As his frantic mind calmed down somewhat he realized that the unplanned guest star could spice things up and make the video even more interesting to his viewers.

  The man’s teeth glinted in a menacing grimace, and Elliot’s stomach turned when the cold steel of a gun shone in the faint sunlight. All of a sudden, he imagined being buried where Fane’s victims had been, only with no one to lovingly chew on his flesh and hug his bones to sleep.

  “I must have been drunk out of my mind when I gave you authorization to come anywhere near this place,” the man hissed.

  “Don’t come any closer!” Elliot’s voice trembled despite his best attempts to keep his composure. If push came to shove, there was a blade hidden in his cane, but it would be useless against a bullet. Driven by a stroke of genius, he used the only other weapon he had, the camera, and pointed it at the wall of muscle. “I am broadcasting live, and I will have proof of any crime you might commit against me!”

  The biker slowed down, as if he’d suddenly stepped into tar, and the hand that held the gun very casually dove behind his back. But as soon as the firearm was hidden, he synchronized his gait to the rhythm of Elliot’s heart and approached. “What part of this being private property don’t you understand?”

  Despite his best intentions, Elliot did step back, intimidated by the biker’s steady, unforgiving approach. Elliot wasn’t short, but next to the tall stranger built like a professional athlete, he was a reed that could be snapped in two within seconds. The padding in the shoulders of his costume wouldn’t help in a fight and neither would the low heels of his shoes. He could already envision the heavy black boots cracking his ribs, and the fact that the guy had a ridiculously handsome face that did not belong on a gang member would surely not make the blows hurt any less.

  Just to be on the safe side, Elliot kept the live video on. “The public has the right to understand what happened here.”

  The biker’s mouth twitched, and he stood all-too-close to Elliot, straightening his broad, powerful shoulders. His long dark hair caught on the scruff dusting his cheeks, and the gray eyes burned with the desire to close his thick hands around Elliot’s throat. “You’re not allowed to be here. This is trespassing. And get that camera out of my face,” he said, unexpectedly grabbing the extended selfie stick and tossing it away along with the phone.

  Elliot yelped in surprise and briefly glanced at his empty hands, which he’d had so tightly squeezed around the handle. He pounced toward his precious device, afraid the biker’s next move could be to step on it and crush the most valuable item in Elliot’s possession. His face burned with heat under the thick white makeup, but he would not back down just because some savage wanted to thwart his efforts.

  His feet slid through the mud, but he managed to keep himself from falling and grabbed the cell from the damp grass, pointing the camera at himself. “If I disappear, you will know who murdered me,” he said grimly before e
nding the recording and glaring at the biker. “You don’t have any manners, do you? Maybe to you, this building is your club or whatever, but inside all that dirt, grime, and motor oil-stained walls is a place of a significance you would never understand! A place where a great man once lived, a place that still hides secrets, and you are obstructing the-”

  “You’re as fucking delusional as you are online!” hissed the biker, snapping his mouth, as if he wished to rip Elliot’s throat out. “Your beloved William Fane is a serial killer. Would you have traded places with his victims? I don’t think so!”

  Elliot’s mind went blank. This guy… watched his videos? If so, then his fame as an internet personality was indeed growing!

  He swallowed. “You know who I am?”

  The biker’s entire face scrunched, as if he’d just bitten into a lemon. “Yeah. You’re that nutjob who thinks Fane was some kind of romantic character. You’re a fucking danger to society!”

  Elliot’s nostrils flared, and with the man’s fists not flying at him yet, he was gaining confidence by the second. “Me? A danger? Is it not you who hides a gun on their person? I am merely trying to understand William Fane as a human being. Do you know his father was a miserable, money-grabbing old geezer? He wanted to marry William off to the daughter of a business partner when all William was looking for at that age was someone to be his out of true passion!”

  The biker showed both his hands, as if indicating that he was unarmed, and laughed into Elliot’s face as he stepped even closer, overpowering the smell of rotting leaves and dirt with the rich scent of his body. “Oh, no. So he had a difficult childhood? Damn, Laurent Mercier should have patted him on the head and given him a cookie instead of fighting for his life.”

  Elliot stood his ground even though his veins flooded with adrenaline. There was an intensity in the biker’s eyes that Elliot couldn’t look away from. The man actually knew about Laurent Mercier, William’s killer. Maybe Elliot had underestimated him after all?

  Elliot pouted and crossed his arms on his chest. “Laurent Mercier was a deceitful little slut who wanted to steal William’s money and got caught red-handed. But I do believe they had a connection. One that was sadly the blind spot that ended in William’s death. There must have been some kind of tenderness between them, because William had never made a mistake before that. Or maybe Fane even found true love in Mercier but it was one-sided and Laurent decided to get rid of William to not risk anyone knowing of his homosexuality. Imagine the cruelty of such an act. The one time William Fane opened his heart to someone, and that bastard stabbed him in the back.”

  The biker’s eyes, which glared at him so sharply throughout the tirade now twinkled with humor, and he gave a deep laugh. “You’re shitting me. Where’s your proof for any of those claims? I’ve looked through all the records, and there’s no mention of them ever being close in any way. Are you sick, or something?” he asked and reached out to brush his huge paw against Elliot’s forehead, as if trying to check his temperature. He let out a theatrical hiss and shook his hand as if he’d been burnt. There were smears of white makeup on his fingertips.

  Elliot pulled away too late, his skin now throbbing with heat where the man touched him. “You? Looked through records?” He sneered, wary of fighting back further assaults on his bodily autonomy. “I bet the most you’ve ever read is the back of a beer can!”

  Anger darkened the biker’s eyes, and he growled, painfully poking his index finger into Elliot’s breast bone. “You think all that polyester you’re wearing and the poodle haircut make you any smarter? I’m a descendant of Laurent Mercier, and I catalogued his history. Television even contacted me last time they made a documentary about the murders!”

  Jealousy flared up in Elliot so rapidly he couldn’t keep his face neutral. He’d volunteered to feature as an expert for these kinds of shows time and time again only to always be rejected. He grabbed the biker’s hand to push it away. “Of course you would try to stain William’s name if you’re Mercier spawn.”

  The biker leaned over him, a powerful, menacing presence that both made Elliot wish to run and kneel. The scent of him was beyond intoxicating in its masculine rawness, and it added yet another layer to Elliot’s failure.

  “I might be a spawn of the Merciers, but at least I know my bloodline. Who are you, you painted mongrel?” the biker hissed.

  Elliot was glad he caked on so much of the cheap white foundation, because he could feel his face going slack as the knife of the biker’s words twisted in his guts. “You know who I am. You watch my videos.” It came out weaker than Elliot would have liked. He took a step back and once more assessed the man in front of him from head to toe. Since when were bikers interested in genealogy? This had to be the most bizarre encounter he’d ever had, and Elliot had met some pretty strange people in his life. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the man’s face, even the gravesite forgotten.

  The biker smirked. “I will watch every single one of your videos, wannabe count, and I will rebuke all your fantasies with true facts!”

  Something slotted into place in Elliot’s mind, even though it seemed outlandish. Could it be possible that a man like this…? “You’re Tr_Knight.” Elliot’s online nemesis, always leaving nasty comments, always fighting over who Laurent Mercier was, what William did, always ready to quote some obscure references that had Elliot furious and deleting comments. He was standing right in front of him, handsome in jeans and leather, and with a gun hidden somewhere on his person.

  The biker blinked, visibly puzzled, but he wasn’t denying Elliot’s suggestion. Oh, fucking hell. He was Tr_Knight! “So what? You can’t delete my voice here!”

  Elliot swallowed and dared to step closer, completely mesmerized despite all the offenses he’d had to suffer through so far. He’d always pictured Tr_Knight as some retired geezer with too much time on his hands. “So… so you’re a member of the motorcycle club that lives in William Fane’s home?”

  Tr_Knight pushed at Elliot’s chest with so much strength it sent Elliot’s lanky body staggering back. His heel slipped down the ditch left by the authorities, and he gasped, gravity already turning his stomach as he was about to fall into the muddy hole.

  Tr_Knight’s arms came to the rescue as quickly as they’d earlier attacked, and within a split-second Elliot was once again on stable ground. He didn’t have much time to recuperate with his nemesis getting into his face. “It’s not Fane’s home. Fane rotted in the ground somewhere beyond the fucking cemetery. Even the priest washed his hands of that motherfucker.”

  Elliot pouted in frustration. It was true. Even in death William had been denied the respect and dignity he deserved. And yet there was a kind of elation in Elliot’s chest. He’d never had such a passionate argument on this topic in real life. “So you could show me around, grant me access. I promise to not touch anything and not bother the motorcycle club. All I want is to see what is left of Fane’s mansion.” The way the biker was gripping Elliot’s elbow was making him both hot and cold at the same time. The threat of violence was in the air. Tr_Knight could just as easily pull Elliot closer as he could push him into the ditch and cover the body with fresh dirt.

  Tr_Knight’s nostrils flared, and he barked, “No way in hell. You’ll leave now, and if I ever see you snooping around here again, there will be hell to pay!”

  It was Elliot’s cue to back away. Despite his sudden pull to Tr_Knight, the man was most likely not only straight but homophobic too, and Elliot didn’t have a death wish, no matter how many times it’s been suggested he did.

  “Why does it bother you so much that William and I have a connection?” he asked but was already stepping back farther.

  “Don’t flatter yourself. I only care about you blackening my ancestor. If it was up to me, I’d okay you getting all of Fane’s bones to molest. I wouldn’t even care if you fucked yourself with his femur!”

  Fury at the insults boiled up in Elliot so fiercely he leaned forward and spat in Tr_Kn
ight’s face. “Fuck you!” Then, looking at the biker’s shocked expression, he stalled with his stomach clenching. What had he done?

  He turned around and ran.

  The loud bang of a firearm going off had him screaming at the top of his lungs as he fled between the trees, already feeling weakened, as if Tr_Knight had got him and blood was now gushing out of a wound Elliot couldn’t yet feel due to the adrenaline rush.

  He couldn’t stop to check where he’d been hit. There was no time for that if he wanted a chance at living through this ordeal.

  Ha ran between the trees and had to let go of his wig when it got caught on a branch. By the time he reached his car, his hands were trembling and he was still in disbelief over what had happened. He started the engine in a frenzy but was becoming sure that no bullet had grazed him in the end.

  For a moment he considered going back to retrieve his wig, but he couldn’t be sure it was safe, so he drove off.

  Tr_Knight was a fucking maniac.

  He was also one excruciatingly handsome man.

  Chapter 3

  Knight lowered his gun, scowling at the buzzing left in his ears by the bang. The cheap brocade and polyester of The Count’s silvery coat glinted in the autumnal sunlight as he took flight across the expanse of grass that was now covered by a thick layer of brown leaves. Each dash he made forward sent a cloud of the decaying mess into the air, and at one point only spreading his spidery arms wide for balance saved the Count from doing a somersault and landing flat on his back.

  Slaloming as if it could actually help him if Knight actually aimed at him, The Count ran for cover between the trees, without turning around once. The guy was a bagful of crazy and Knight wasn’t sure if he wanted to drown that bag in a lake and never see it again, or open it up and investigate every strange thing to be found there.