by Nikki Pink
Sons of Mayhem Novels
2: CHASER
Sons of Mayhem Novels, 2
By Nikki Pink
Published by Nikki Pink, 2014
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
SONS OF MAYHEM NOVELS 2: CHASER
First edition. April 9, 2014.
Copyright © 2014 Nikki Pink.
Written by Nikki Pink.
Table of Contents
Copyright Page
Sons of Mayhem 2 Chaser (Sons of Mayhem Novels, #2)
The Night Before
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
Day 1
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Day 2
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
Day 3
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Day 4
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE
CHAPTER FORTY
CHAPTER FORTY ONE
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN
CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT
CHAPTER FORTY NINE
Day 5
CHAPTER FIFTY
CHAPTER FIFTY ONE
CHAPTER FIFTY TWO
CHAPTER FIFTY THREE
CHAPTER FIFTY FOUR
Day 14
CHAPTER FIFTY FIVE
CHAPTER FIFTY SIX
Epilogue
CHAPTER FIFTY SEVEN
Mailing List and Facebook
I release all my books at a discount for the first 3 days. If you’d like to receive an email letting you know the moment a new book is released so you can take advantage of the reduced price, please join my mailing list here.
Don’t worry, I only send out 1-2 emails a month. I’m not going to fill your inbox up with my ramblings!
Please join my new release and announcements mailing list at: www.nikkipinkwriter.com/mailing-list
I’m also on Facebook. Come find me at www.facebook.com/nikkipinkwriter <== My Facebook page has more frequent pictures, teasers, giveaways and news.
The Night Before
CHAPTER ONE
Red
Robbie “Red” Dugan squeezed the throttle of his new motorcycle - a Harley Davidson Dyna Wide Glide - and let out a whoop as the engine screamed and the bike flew down the desolate highway. The girl behind him dug her fingernails into the front of his jacket and pressed herself tight against him. As they soared through the night there was nothing left in the world but the two of them and the roar of the engine.
They had met in a local bar. She was looking to party and what red blooded young guy isn’t?
Apparently she liked what she saw when Red pulled up on his obnoxiously loud motorcycle. He’d barely had time for a bottle of beer before she was yanking insistently on his hand, telling him to hurry up and finish the bottle, telling him to show her his motorcycle, telling him to take her home.
Of course he’d obliged. Who wouldn’t? She had a tight body, she was insistent, and she was into him. But the thing that had most intrigued him about her was her wild eyes - eyes that spoke volumes more than her mouth did. Eyes that said, I want to fuck you or stab you, guess which? Eyes which an older, wiser man would have been wary of.
Don’t stick your dick in crazy, had always been Red’s old man’s advice, and it was advice that Red as a dutiful rebel son had done his best to ignore - when he could find some crazy that would oblige him, that is.
They soon reached her part of town, an older suburb full of run down one floor ‘starter homes’, most of which looked like they’d be better for starting a fire than starting a family. He turned the motorcycle onto her street and they slowly rolled down the road, the putt-putting of the bike filling the otherwise quiet evening air.
“Which way?” Red yelled over his shoulder.
She didn’t answer in words, instead she squeezed his arm and pointed to an unlit house coming up on the right-hand side of the road. He nodded as he gunned the engine gently, his light touch still being enough to cause the bike to let out an aggressively loud roar in the silent night air, and guided them into her driveway. He stopped behind a beat-up old Honda Civic which looked like the kind of vehicle that had seen better days ten years ago, let alone now. He wondered how she had gotten to the bar, and if her car even ran.
After they pulled to a stop Red lowered the kickstand of the motorcycle. In half a second she’d hopped off the bike and was tugging insistently on his hand, her short nails digging into the skin.
“Come on,” she said tugging, “let’s get inside.”
He grinned at her. “You don’t waste any time do you?”
“Stop talking. If I wanted to talk we would have stayed in the bar.” The young woman yanked his hand again as she drew him forward toward the front door of her house. Red smiled to himself and shook his head from side to side, hardly believing his luck.
She dragged him inside and as soon as the door was closed behind him she spun around and stared into his eyes. They faced each other, and Red could see a wild look of desperate longing in her eyes. She wanted him, she needed him, and she was going to have him. Any chance of a say in the matter was over now that he was in her lair.
Her hand latched onto the big metal buckle of his brown leather belt and she began to drag him willingly through the small, rundown house. There was nothing on the walls and the place hardly looked lived in at all. Into the bedroom they went, and in front of the large queen-size bed, covered only in a thin sheet, she furiously tore her clothes off.
Red gave an internal shrug to himself and, keeping his eyes on her, followed suit. With furious speed they each removed their garments, and as soon as they were naked the girl grabbed him by his engorged manhood and yanked him forward onto the bed, causing him to let out a yelp of shock, pleasure and pain. He could tell he was going to be in for quite a night.
The windows were un-curtained and dim streams of incandescent light streamed inside from the streetlight a few yards away outside. If anyone decided to peer through the window they could see everything, but she didn’t seem to give a fuck. Who goes peering through windows at night anyway?
As he lay back on the bed and she took him in her mouth he realized he didn’t even know her name. “Oh, fuck yeah!” God, he loved this life.
CHAPTER TWO
Dewey
He had arrived five days earlier, choosing a place to stay well outside of town. Somewhere quite and private. Somew
here without staff, or a check-in or check-out time. Somewhere no one had been in years, seemingly.
He wasn’t ready to see her yet. It had been so long since they had been together, but he wanted to cherish the gentle ache of being apart for just a little longer until he could sweep her up in his arms again and take her home.
He hadn’t seen her in so long he needed time just to see, just to watch, just to get to know her again before he revealed himself and they could be reunited.
Why had she run here instead of going home, he had wondered? He had smiled softly and sighed when he realized the answer. It was obvious. She was embarrassed and ashamed. After all that had happened it would have looked bad for her to be seen with him. So, darling that she was, she had run away, run away from him, her love, to start a dismal new life. All to protect him. That she would do that for him was truly something special. She was a saint. He really didn’t deserve to have the honor of calling her his fiancée.
So far he had bided his time, watching her settle in to her awful little shack of a house. When she went out he let himself inside (she had a key hidden outside under a rock; he now had a copy in his pocket) and let the ghosts of her presence - the faint hint of her lingering perfume, the smell of her unwashed clothes heaped in the laundry basket - rush through him.
He had planned to see her soon.
He imagined their reunion. She’d open the door to find him there, flowers in one hand and a basket of gifts in the other. Next to him would be a boom-box playing their song, the one they had danced to at their senior prom, before they had been separated.
Tears of joy would pour down her face and he’d kiss them off. Imagine her face when she saw him at the doorstep? At first she’d refuse to go with him, tell him to start his life afresh, to find someone else.
Perhaps she’d even pretend she didn’t want to see him. Like in the letter she’d sent him from prison. He shook his head sadly at the memory. She hadn’t meant it, of course.
But he wouldn’t take no for an answer. After all, they were meant to be together, forever, weren’t they?
They’d leave this awful little house in this awful little town and he’d take her home. Who cared what everyone else thought? Damn them all. Damn them all to hell.
But then something happened.
She went out one night and when she came back she wasn’t alone. She was driven home by a disgusting, ratty motorcycle enthusiast.
What on earth was happening, he wondered? It couldn’t have been consensual. It couldn’t. The man must have slipped something in her drink.
He watched as she knelt above his spread-eagled body, taking him into her mouth, her head bobbing up and down as she ran her hands up his thighs and cupped him.
She clearly wasn’t in a right state of mind. What was happening? They both sat upright on the bed, her impaled upon him as she dug in with her nails and raked his back leaving angry red marks behind.
This couldn’t be. No, no, no. She loved only him. Her head and neck arched back and her mouth opened wide as she screamed with pleasure. It was pain. She was screaming for help. But she wasn’t.
“I’ll fucking kill him.” The man, tears streaming down his face, couldn’t watch any longer. He turned off his camera and stalked away, his mind churning furiously.
“She’s mine. She’s mine. She’s mine.” He kicked at the sandy dirt. “She loves me.”
Under the light of the half-moon he stalked away to his nearby Toyota. He had supplies in there. Supplies he would need.
CHAPTER THREE
Red
Some hours later Red pulled himself out of the bed, his head hazy and his body aching. The crazy bitch was passed out. Finally. He’d begun to worry she was never going to be satisfied, never let him go until she’d drained him dry and left him a moistureless husk. He began to pull on his clothes and let out a whispered “Fuck” when he kicked over the empty bottle of whisky that had been half full when she produced it earlier, during their first pause.
He pulled on his clothes, wincing occasionally as he did so. She had grabbed, pinched, bitten and scratched him much more enthusiastically than he was used to, and he knew he would be thinking about her for days to come every time he grimaced in surprise at some freshly re-discovered sore spot. He grinned to himself. He had a feeling he’d be looking back fondly on this night for a long time to come.
Red let out a soft sigh as he gave a final look at the passed out naked girl lying on the bed, her skin seeming to glow orange from the incandescent light which dimly lit the room from outside. He kind of wished he could stay longer, but he had a big day coming up.
Red crept out of the room as silently as a man could in heavy boots, creaking leather and a bulky metal key-chain hanging from his jeans. He knew that if she woke she wouldn’t let him get away that easily, no way.
Standing on the porch of the small ramshackle house he took a moment to admire his motorcycle in the driveway. It looked even better than the woman inside. It’d taken a long time to save up for her, but god damn she was worth it. He shook his head in disbelief at the night he had just had, and just how damn lucky he had been recently. Maybe it was the bike, his new mistress and mechanical lover, bestowing luck upon him. If that was the case though, he must have pissed her off by cheating on her with the vixen inside - his luck was about to change.
As he stepped down the single step in front of the doorway his right boot caught on something, and he stumbled. As he tried to catch himself his left boot caught the same way. “’Da fuck?” he gasped as he tumbled to the ground. As he mashed into the dirt with his hands held out in front of him he realized that it wasn’t a small rock, or his own mistake that had led to his fall. He had deliberately been tripped.
Invisible to his eyes a thin line of strong fishing wire had been tied across the driveway, waiting to send him sprawling.
Even as he fell, Red recognized he was in danger and immediately rolled onto his back, to face any potential threat.
“Well, shit,” he said as he looked up.
A man with smartly parted hair had stepped from the shadows and was pointing a handgun directly at his chest. The man raised a finger to his lips, and made a quite shhh, as the other hand held the gun pointed at Red rock steady.
As they walked down the driveway, past his bike, he gave a soft sigh and paused. He wondered when he would be able to see her again. The momentary hesitation caused the man behind to jam the handgun into his back more forcefully. Red let out a grunt, and let himself be guided in to the driver’s seat of a waiting Toyota sedan.
The man got into the rear passenger seat behind Red. “Drive.”
Day 1
CHAPTER FOUR
Karen
The thing about a horror story is that you don’t know you’re in one. You’re just living your life. You don’t see the signs the movie goer sees. You don’t hear the ominous music. There is no camera focusing on the bad guy’s ‘evil’ countenance. You’re just you. Just living your life. As it turns to shit.
I woke up with a pounding headache and eyes so bleary it took several blinks to clear them. I ran over the memories of the night before in my mind, and let out a soft smile to myself. I turned my head to the side. He was gone, of course. I couldn’t really expect him to still be there, could I? I let myself savor the delicious aches that teased my body as I lightly stretched my limbs. My bare skin was warmed by the sun passing through the window.
It had been far too long since I’d had a night like that. Shit, had I ever had a night like that?
It was good that he was gone anyway, I guessed. He was just a fling, a one night stand, a tool to release pent up frustration and stress. A fun tool, for sure, but I wasn’t exactly looking to get in a relationship. I wasn’t ready for one of those, no way. And even if I had been, he was too young for me anyway. Definitely. I grinned for a moment while I pretended he wasn’t too young.
After deciding it was time to face the day I winced a little as I clambered out
of bed. He’d certainly given me something to remember him by. I guessed he probably felt the same, and grinned to myself as thoughts of biting his earlobes and neck and shoulders flashed through my mind. I wondered if his biker friends would laugh at his bruises, or regard them as badges of honor. Maybe a little of both?
Twenty minutes later after a quick shower which removed most of the traces of my biker lover from the night before I stood in my kitchen waiting for the toaster to finish its magic on the two slices I had inside. I had butter – real butter – and a pot of blackcurrant preserve waiting. After being deprived of small luxuries like real butter for the last few years I appreciated it all the more.
It was strange the things I had missed in prison. Often it was the little things rather than the big ones. It was things like not being able to choose what jam to have with breakfast, rather than the fact that there were giant razor-wired walls and angry armed guards keeping me locked in, that made me miss the outside world.
I reached over and switched on the crappy little portable radio that sat next to the sink. It had been here when I moved in and surprisingly still worked. Didn’t even need new batteries.
It took a few seconds to get going, then music started coming out. Guitars. A keening voice. I frowned as I recognized the tune. I hadn’t heard it in years. Anger flooded through me and I smacked down angrily at the power button to shut it off.
The force of my hit must have done some damage to the stupid little device because nothing happened when the power button popped up to the off position.
The refrain of the song Love will Tear Us Apart filled the kitchen and I smacked at the radio again in a rage. The power button popped up and down. Nothing. Still Ian Curtis sung.
I hated this song. Hated, hated, hated it. Rage surged in my veins and I swung my arm violently, sweeping the radio across the counter and sending it flying through the air before it crashed into the opposite wall, bounced back and tumbled to the floor, skittering in half a dozen pieces as it did so.
It was silent.
“Stupid piece of shit.”