Crossover: Devil's Due MC and Vipers Creed MC Prequel

by Chelsea Camaron

  Subject line: X should know.

  Owen ‘X’ Gallow, the man with a scar that runs the length of his face from his hairline to his chin, doesn’t hide the hard life he has lived. His mother was murdered when he was just a boy. With his father unknown and a profound fear of the system in the Orleans Parish of Louisiana, he took to the streets. The small X tattooed under his right eye serves as a constant reminder he’s the unwanted, the uncontrolled, the wandering man. The people in his life are by his choice alone.

  We have all made our way together with one simple bond: life threw us a shit hand, and we play the cards we were dealt. The six of us make up the Devil’s Due Motorcycle Club. Nomads with no place to call home, we stay on the move. For each of us, it’s about serving our own hand of justice to a system that fucked us each in our own way.

  I’m Dover ‘Collector’ Ragnes. Once upon a time, I was a proud boy in blue. But my shiny badge, gun, and patrol car were all a false sense of security. The same cops who failed my sister, failed my family, came full circle and failed me as the man I am today. Funny the things you easily ignore until reality slaps you hard in the face like a cold wet towel. It’s a hard and lingering sting.

  Not all cops are bad; not all are good. It’s a fine line, day in and day out. Sometimes, the wires cross between right and wrong… when your instincts scream inside that something is off, but you can’t sort it out fast enough. Or your life as a whole is one giant distraction, making it virtually impossible to see anything clearly. Sometimes, bad people go too far, even by their own fucked up standards. More so, sometimes, good people make bad choices.

  Justice in itself is not about right and wrong. Justice is about being fair. The system is corrupt from the ground all the way up. How can it not be? We are all simply human when it’s all said and done.

  What my brothers of the Devil’s Due MC and I do, well, some call it justice of the vigilante sort, while others find it disgusting. I couldn’t give a shit less. Bottom line, when the devil demands his due, we are happy to be of service.

  I’m sure each one of us knows our highway to hell is paved in bloodshed, markers collected, markers owed, and the kind of torture and shit nightmares are made of.

  The truth behind the cut of each man is our lives are a nightmare of our own. Our life is a living hell, day in and out, knowing what we lost, what we couldn’t keep safe. Each of us has a past, and not one of us isn’t haunted by it. The justice system failed us.

  For Owen ‘X’ Gallow, the entire system of Social Services, a city, a street life, the woman who carried him and birthed him, down to the one woman he let himself trust, it’s all been one betrayal to another.

  The answers he seeks could be inside the email addressed to me. I have the balls to open it, but the question remains, do I have a bigger dick to allow this to be another let down in life for my brother?

  Raleigh, my baby sister … I let her down once. That’s all it took.

  Once.

  The one fucking time I let myself be led, not by my head, but by my cock, it cost my sister everything. I won’t let anyone down like that again.

  Never.

  Chapter Six

  ~Judge~

  “Collector, you know a Daniel Teatley?”

  Dover ‘Collector’ Ragnes, our unofficial club president, runs his hand through his shaggy dark hair as he thinks. “Yeah, he’s a doctor at the family practice.” He’s sitting on the edge of his bed at the small motel we are staying at while in Cloverfield.

  “Fucker likes to use his hands.”

  Collector raises an eyebrow at me. “Elaborate.”

  “Went to the store. Woman in front of me was shaken up. Boy had healing bruises. Cashier laid it out for the woman in a way that said go home. I set her and her kid up to get out of Dodge then went back for the scoop. Apparently, the man has a history of leaving marks on his woman. Everyone sees it, and no one stops it because he takes good care of her.” The words coming out of my mouth make me want to vomit.

  How can anyone think, because he financially provides, he can do whatever the fuck else he wants? Shit like this pisses me the hell off.

  “Lives outside of town,” Collector informs before moving to the back of the room where the bathroom is then returning with his toiletry bag. “Load up. When Rowdy gets back, we’ll ride out.”

  His eyes meet mine. No further words need to be exchanged. Once the crew gets back, we are heading to the next city, but first, we will pay Daniel Teatley a visit.

  Collector goes outside to smoke while I head to the room I’m sharing with Rowdy to pack up. He’s in the parking lot with Deacon, trying to fix the brake lines on his bike from his own morning of hell.

  It doesn’t take me long before I’m tossing my things back in my bag then putting the shit away on my bike.

  “Can’t believe you fucked a cop, Rowdy. Like, really fucked her a block from the courthouse. That’s sweet revenge,” Trapper boasts to my brother. “Deacon looks like he pounded into something, but the man of little words doesn’t want to own it.” Trapper smirks as he meets the former SEAL’s gaze. “I’ll just tell myself it was a hole in the tree. The scraping of the bark on your elephant cock has you chaffed, and that’s your problem today.”

  “One day, Trapper, one motherfucking day, you’re gonna push too far and get your ass kicked,” Collector states, trying to shut up the loud mouth of our group.

  “Oh, I love it when you talk dirty,” Trapper gives back with a wink.

  “Do you ever stop?” X pushes off from his place of leaning against the building.

  “Now what fun would that be?” Trapper goads everyone.

  “Satan himself doesn’t even know what the fuck to do with you,” I join in.

  Trapper looks at me, not missing a beat. “That’s how I like it. Keep him on his toes rather than the doorway to hell staying wide open.”

  “Only you, fucker, only you,” X adds, going into his room to grab the last of his things.

  Within twenty minutes, we have Rowdy’s bike fixed and are all lined up and headed down the road to Teatley’s home.

  I sent an email to Tempest to make sure Sabrina is taken care of upon her arrival. Honestly, I thought she would take the money and not leave. She surprised me by purchasing two tickets at the bus station and being confirmed as on her way to Haven’s Harbor. At least I can sleep easy knowing she really did want out and is doing what she can to make her son safe. I can also make sure this man understands she’s off limits for now and forever.

  Collector tosses up a hand to signal to us to slow down as we make our approach to the man’s driveway. With a right, we lean in, and the six of us enter the circle driveway in front of the mansion. The towering home is an obnoxious reminder of my past.

  Pushing down my own anger, I pop down my kickstand and climb off my steel machine, already itching to hit the open highway and leave the past far behind me once again.

  With my brothers taking my back, I climb the five steps and cross the wraparound front porch to reach the front door. Skipping the doorbell, I pound my fist on the wood.

  The man who comes to the door is around five-feet-ten, and he hasn’t missed a day at the gym without being overly built. His spiky brown hair is perfectly set like he’s ready to jump off some country club golf magazine with his navy pants and white polo shirt. The red rims around the edges of his eyes show his need for some lubrication to hide his habit.

  “Daniel?” Collector looks at the man. “Time has not been good.”

  His brows furrow. “Dover Ragnes.” He tsks. “Town talk is you rode out on that metal machine of yours and never looked back. Good cop gone bad. Or is it bad cop gone good?”

  “Shouldn’t poke the bear,” Deacon states from behind me. “Only warning you’re gonna get.”

  “Looking for a doc? I’m not getting tied up in your mess, Ragnes. Know a guy a few towns over in Dyersburg. Goes by Needles to his boys. He’ll patch y
a up if you’re real nice.” The cocky bastard stares Collector down as if we are trash.

  If the fucker only knew…

  My net-worth would make his home and lifestyle look like he is trailer trash. Money doesn’t buy everything, and it damn sure doesn’t promise safety.

  Rather than continue the back and forth banter, I step in front of Collector, invading Daniel Teatley’s space. Like every other halfway smart punk in life, he backs up.

  I take another step forward.

  He steps back.

  Like a rehearsed dance, I move and he moves. It’s not long before I hear the click of the door closing as me and my brothers settle in the doctor’s space.

  “Sabrina found herself some back up,” he says on a half-laugh.

  “The devil called for his due,” I growl between gritted teeth.

  “You put your hands on your boy?” Collector asks from my right.

  “Ragnes, you should know better than to involve yourself in another man’s affairs,” Daniel shoots back.

  “Did you put your hands on the boy?” Collector repeats without being fazed.

  “I remember—the whole town remembers—someone putting their hands on little Raleigh. Cute girl with the yellow ribbon in her hair. Can’t say my son knows what the cold wet grass in a ditch feels like.”

  Deacon reacts at the same second Collector lunges, pulling him back from ripping the doctor’s limbs off one at a time.

  “Temper, temper,” Daniel taunts.

  Reaching out, I grab his throat. “Look here, you dumb motherfucker, your son no longer exists to you. Your wife is now your ex. You will sign the papers being drawn up and sent if you don’t want us to return and make your wife a fucking widow.”

  He paws at my wrists while he gasps for air.

  “You aren’t a man, but a motherfucking pussy who needs to pick on someone his own size.”

  Trapper steps up with a crazy cackle and evil in his voice as he reaches out and grabs Daniel’s crotch. “Want you to remember, fucker, we got you by your motherfucking balls.” He squeezes, and I swear Daniel stops breathing. “Yeah, bitch boy, real nice cock you got in there. Mine’s bigger, but yours could be fun for someone to play with.”

  Trapper’s eyes are wild. He’s relentless, and I look down to see the veins popping out in his arms as he applies more pressure to the man I have by the throat.

  “I hate a piece of shit who preys on those smaller than him. You wanna act like a man, but”—Trapper makes a clicking sound—“fucker, you ain’t got the balls.”

  “We do,” I add, letting up on his throat enough for him to choke on his intake of air.

  Trapper releases his grip on the man’s cock as I press him back into his entryway wall. With my forearm on his throat, I kick his feet apart then settle my thigh between his legs.

  “Shit’s done between you and Sabrina. You’ll set her and the boy up. You’ll never contact them again. If we get wind you do, you are no longer breathing. You lay another hand on a child or a female, and we return.” I push my knee up, applying pressure to his manhood. “If we have to come back, we cut your cock off and shove it down your throat. With your hands tied behind your back, we watch you choke on your own balls until you take your last motherfucking breath.” With an extra shove, I step back, allowing the man time to take it all in.

  Deacon releases Collector who steps up to the man.

  “If you ever even think my sister’s name again, I’ll be back to make sure it’s my fucking fist you choke on.”

  Liquid pools at the man’s feet as his pants saturate in his urine.

  Deacon looks Daniel up and down. “That’s the devil’s due for today. If you don’t straighten up, he’ll call for your soul. And, sir, we’re happy to deliver.” He spits on Daniel’s now wrinkled mess of a shirt before, one by one, we each turn and walk out the front door.

  Point fucking made.

  Chapter Seven

  ~Dover~

  We ride for about an hour before we stop for some chow. My phone pings with a new email, another flagged one from another bogus account, yet it still calls to me.

  Subject Line: X needs to know

  Waving the guys inside the small shack of a restaurant, I click the button to open the email. My heart pounds wildly in my chest, adrenaline reaching a pitching point.

  You boys have made a name for yourselves, Collector, one that calls out to Owen Gallow’s past. She’s no ghost, and she’s in bed with the enemy. He’s waiting for X to call his name. He’s watching. Everywhere you go, he’s watching.

  What the fuck!

  With my frustration building and the cryptic email only leaving me with more questions than answers, I make my way inside the place.

  Turning the chair backward, I straddle it against the table as I toss my phone down.

  “Got two emails, both flagged suspicious and both calling out X.” I look at my brother, watching his brows draw together in confusion.

  “I got a shitty past, a shitty future, and everything I have right now is at this table.” He tells us all what we already know.

  “I didn’t open the first one. The second just pinged.”

  When I slide my phone across the table, X picks it up and enters my password. I have nothing to hide from my brothers. The same respect and trust are given to me.

  “X should know,” he reads the subject line to us all. “Hadley’s in deep.”

  The scar on his face seems to tick, and I see a slight tremble in his hand before he stills himself.

  With a flick of his thumb, he opens the second email and reads it to the guys while I watch my brother try to remain impassive as his past clearly collides with the present.

  “Hadley,” Trapper says her name with a smirk. “We gotta meet her just so I can say I had me some Hadley and had her howling ‘owe, owe, owe,’ as I pounded into that tight cunt with my camel cock while Owe, Owe, Owen here watches. Yes, fellas, dreams can come true.”

  X looks at Trapper. “You are one sick son of a bitch; you know that?”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know,” he continues to arrogantly push X to the limit. He pauses for a moment, leaning his chair back on two legs as he taps his finger on his chin. “Well, currently, I don’t know what Hadley’s pussy tastes like or feels like, but given the email is calling for us to come save the day, I’m sure I’ll find out.” He winks.

  X pulls his switchblade from his side, flicking it open. He kicks the chair out from Trapper, and Trapper slams his hand down on the table to catch himself.

  X jambs the blade down into the table between Trapper’s middle and ring finger. “First, Hadley has never been the type of girl to let a single soul save her. Second, if you ever even fucking think of tasting that pussy, I’ll cut your tongue out of your big fucking mouth and lay it on the table in front of you.”

  Trapper stands without missing a beat and casually slaps the back of his hand to X’s chest. “Temper, temper. You can have Hadley to yourself, but could you at least let me watch?”

  “X, focus,” Collector growls as he throws his fork at Trapper. “You, go wash your hands, rub one off in the bathroom, drop some logs in the toilet—I don’t give a shit. Just get the hell outta here for a few minutes, Trapper, before you get yourself killed.”

  Sticking his tongue out and down to flick it, Trapper makes his way from our table.

  “Gene Simmons has left the table,” Judge calls out loudly enough for Trapper to hear.

  “The KISS singer only wishes he could work his mouth like me,” Trapper calls out without looking back.

  “You work more like Richard Simmons: a lot of jazz hands and show with a lot less action, you fucker,” Judge spits back, making us all laugh and taking away the tension for a moment.

  We all settle down while Trapper goes off to do whatever the hell it is he needs to do to wind down. The man is seriously warped. He’s seen some fucked up shit, lived when he
should have died, and he’s so twisted up inside it’s impossible to know what his next move should be.

  “He needs fucking meds,” X spits out, still staring at my phone with his knife sticking in the table.

  “Hadley’s in deep,” I redirect all of our attention back to the matter at hand.

  “Hadley Combs is fucking dead,” X says coldly. “Least, that’s what the hospital said when I went looking after finding her blanket bloody under the Pontchartrain Expressway where we shared a tent.” His expression hardens as the man fights back the memories.

  “Looks like we need to dig into things,” Deacon comments, picking up his phone and clicking away.

  We each order a burger and fries, as well as one for Trapper, while we wait for Deacon to get a response from his contact.

  It’s not long before Trapper is strolling back to our table with smeared lipstick around his lips and readjusting his belt. He slaps our waitress on the ass as her co-worker steps out from behind him with the buttons on her shirt out of order and her hair a disheveled mess.

  “You’re next, darlin’. And if you’re lucky, I’ll have you both at the same time.” His words get a giggle from both women as he continues on in our direction.

  “Dirty man-whore,” Rowdy says, taking a drink from his glass.

  “That one was a little dirty,” Trapper gives back as he sits down just before our food arrives. “Thanks for thinking of me, sweets.”

  “Jackass, we ordered for you,” X informs him, causing the waitress to drop her smile.

  I get two bites into my cheeseburger before Deacon’s phone pings.

  He chews his food and swallows while the rest of us are literally waiting with our sandwiches in hand for the information.

  While he picks up his phone, I watch X carefully as he steels his emotions.

  “Hadley Combs is alive,” Deacon reads the screen. “Possible whereabouts in Dyersburg, Tennessee.”

  When he doesn’t say anything else and sets the phone down, X looks ready to pounce.

  “Well?”