The Blood That Drives Us: The Devils Dust MC Legacy

by M. N. Forgy

  The Blood That Drives Us

  The Devils Dust MC Legacy

  M.N. Forgy

  The Blood That Drives Us

  The Devil’s Dust MC Legacy

  Copyright © 2018 M.N. Forgy

  Edited by Ellie McLove

  Cover Design Cover It Design

  * * *

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  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.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  To the original sinners.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1. Addie

  2. Monday

  3. Addie

  4. Addie

  5. Addie

  6. Zane

  7. Addie

  8. Zane

  9. Zane

  10. Zane

  11. Addie

  12. Addie

  13. Addie

  14. Addie

  15. Zane

  16. Zane

  17. Zane

  18. Addie

  Epilogue

  The End

  Acknowledgments

  Stalk The Author

  Also by M.N. Forgy

  Prologue

  Zane

  * * *

  A splintered stick holds tight in the heel of my palm as I poke at the dead carcass laid out across the cracked street of a bloated bird to the point of exploding. Flies buzz around like hawks circling a prey, the smell of putrid death, rancid. The smell reminds me of that time our power went out from fires and all the meat in the refrigerator went bad. It’s a smell of its own. I’m supposed to be getting ready for the family BBQ, but I was tired of waiting for my mom and sister to get ready.

  How did this bird die? What was so forceful and strong it took the life from this crow? I shove it a little harder with the end of the stick. It’s stiff, and beak half open. I’m strong. I bet I could have killed it if I wanted to. The sound of something snarling catches my attention and my eyes flick away from the bird. A dog sitting a stone's throw away snarls at me, its fur dull looking, and covered in ticks. He must be a stray.

  Growling, teeth-baring, it crouches down as if it's ready to fight me over the dead bird. I grasp the stick in my palm, pieces of wood splintering into my palm. The pain feels good actually, so I squeeze harder. I should run from the dog, be scared or scream, but I’m not.

  I’m not like other kids, this I know. I’ve been told how weird I am from kids in my class.

  * * *

  Just as the dog leaps toward me, I jab it in the head with the stick. It doesn't back down, and neither do I. I keep hitting it and hitting it.

  I feel mighty. I feel strong. I feel… like I’m in control of something!

  * * *

  “Zane!” my father yells my name and my spine straightens. The tone in his voice demands attention. Stepping up behind me, he sighs, rubbing his chin as he looks over the scene in front of us. “Shit son.” I can’t tell if that’s disappointment or shock in his voice.

  He hunches down and takes the splintered stick from my hand, throwing it to the side of the road.

  “What happened here, Son?”

  I shrug, chewing on my lip. I mean, I don’t know what happened to the bird, but I do the dog.

  Dad sighs, rubbing his chin. The wrinkles around his eyes deeper than I’ve seen them before.

  “Does this have anything to do with the neighbor’s hamster?” he asks almost in a whisper.

  I don’t answer him. I was at the neighbor’s house and was holding his hamster. It was cute and fuzzy but fucking mean. It bit me to drawing blood and the next thing I know… I killed it.

  My parents were not happy with me when they got the call. I can’t help who I am. If I am angry, scared or hurt, I lose control of myself. Kind of like that movie we watched as a family. The Hulk. I am the Hulk. Just like the green monster I can’t be around fragile things, or loved ones because I am not even sure what I am capable of. I have no way of controlling what is inside of me.

  “Look, I know you feel bad—”

  * * *

  “I don’t feel bad,” I cut him off, and he takes his attention from the dog and bird to me, his blue eyes widening. Recognition flashing across his face as if he sees something very familiar while looking at me. Does he see someone he knows?

  * * *

  “You can’t control it, can you?” His tone unreadable. It’s almost like he has been waiting for this to come, a speech has prepared and readied for me.

  * * *

  I don’t answer him because I don’t want him to get mad, or look at me different. I know there’s something wrong with me. That I’m not normal. I don’t see a puppy and get stupid happy. I think about how I’m on top of the food chain. How I need to be the stronger one. Just when I think my dad might get angry or discipline me, he cracks a smile and rubs my chin with his calloused thumb. I am confused.

  * * *

  “You’re just like your old man, aren’t you?”

  I smile, this moment feeling like a bonding between father and me. I’ve always wanted to be like my dad. Strong. Serious. A biker. Our family is all about the motorcycle club, but my mother doesn’t want me around it much because she feels it will make me more violent than I am. She’s seen the signs, seen how angry and numb I can get. So she tries to protect me. I admire her for it, but it’s useless. I am this way, and nothing can change it.

  I’m the blood of my father’s motorcycle club. Violence is sewn into my soul, and I get excited at the cost of another's heartbeat.

  I’m an outcast.

  * * *

  “Look, son, I don’t want you to tell your mother anything about this. Understand?” He holds his pinky out, and being ten years old I want to say, ‘how lame,’ but I don’t. I pinky promise him.

  “How come?” I ask out of curiosity.

  “Just, not everyone is like you and me. It’s best if we just keep this between you and me.”

  I nod, knowing what he means. I keep to myself a lot because kids my age don’t understand me.

  * * *

  "Come, I'll teach you the ways of cat and mouse," Dad states, taking my hand and leading me away from the dead animals.

  They call my father Shadow, and that day I learned how to live in the shadows of the normal and not get caught.

  * * *

  Addie

  * * *

  Swinging on the metal swing-set that the club recently had placed on the beach, I watch as everyone I know gathers for the monthly BBQ. Bikers, old Ladies, and even kids. My mother used to hate me being around the club, but when she met Bobby, she finally came around. This is our family, she says. She still gets nervous with the outlaws’ ways of the club, but she just tells me to keep my eyes open and nose clean. Which I do. I am not like a lot of the kids growing up in the club. I am focused on school, love rea
ding, and could care less about wearing some leather jacket.

  A warm breeze slides over the ocean, brushing my blonde hair from my face. The sun reddening my cheeks as my sundress blows with every descent backward in the swing.

  * * *

  “Hey!” Zane grins at me, his dark hair flopping in his eyes as his untied boots pound in the sand. He’s six years younger than me, but he tends to grow on you the more you hang out with him. He acts older than he is, and to be honest… I don’t mind having him around. As long as he’s not in one of his asshole moods. His temper goes from hot to cold in less than one minute. One second he’s putting slime in my lip gloss, and the next he’s helping me put a band-aid on my skinned knee.

  * * *

  "Hey, Zane!" I smile, happy to see a familiar face. He takes the empty swing next to me and starts to slowly push himself. I look at him like I always do when we get together. He never smiles, maybe a grin but never a full smile. It’s like there’s a certain darkness that imprisons him to the point it takes over his ability to be happy. Looking at his dad, Shadow, the king of darkness, I’m sure Zane has no control over his own demons. Much like his dad.

  * * *

  A burst of color has me lifting my head to our family friend, Piper, sashaying across the beach, her eyes on us as she nears. “Really, you wore a dress to a beach BBQ? How lame,” Piper insults me, chuckling as she marches through the sand with bare feet. Her yellow bikini top and torn white shorts the only thing on her slim freckled body. You’d think she was a bitch if you didn’t know her, but we grew up together and I know her sassy attitude is just who she is. It’s when she doesn’t talk to you, that she doesn’t like you.

  * * *

  “Hey, Zane.” She smiles with bright red lipstick on. I’m surprised her mom lets her wear makeup. My mom would have a stroke if she saw me with makeup, especially that color. Piper is Zane’s age and I think with them being so close in age it makes them resent each other more than anything. Like two Leos being together.

  * * *

  “Sup?” Zane lifts his chin to her, his aloof tone in place. I remember when Piper and Zane used to be inseparable when Piper came to the MC. She showed up at an older age when her dad went missing. I am not too sure on the story, to be honest, I don’t even think Piper really knows. However, one night of spin the bottle between Zane and Piper things got weird for them. Piper wanted more, and Zane was the ass he usually is and didn’t. As for me, I’ve had a couple of boyfriends but my stepdad, Bobby, does a pretty good job at making them cower and run. Biker dad, criminal record, it tends to make guys walk around you. I don’t remember my real dad, he died when I was young.

  A low laughter has me lifting my head, and I find Bull grinning and walking toward us kids. He’s the club’s president.

  “Hey, kids.” He grins at everyone, a beer in his hand. His dark hair is peppered with gray, but his face still looks menacing. His leather cut barely covering his tattoos and chest. Not all the bikers are friendly like him, but Bull is always nice to me. He’s like my real grandpa or something. He always has something wise to say, and always has your back.

  * * *

  “Hey, Grandpa.” Zane squints up at his grandfather, the sun near blinding today. He’s proud of Bull, which he should be. Bull is the president of The Devil’s Dust MC after all. He gains a lot of respect around these parts, which is passed down to Zane and his family.

  The sound of a grill falling over steals our attention, and we find Dani yelling at Zane’s barefooted sister Delilah who has run off across the beach without any pants on. Dani starts chasing her, dropping hot dog buns she was carrying to a table in the process.

  “Delilah, get back here!” Dani rushes after her before Delilah runs under a table full of chips, causing Bull to chuckle before taking a long swig of his beer. Zane looks just like his mom, the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen linking them together. Delilah and Zane are so different, it’s scary.

  * * *

  “You guys be good, yeah?” Bull hollers over his shoulder before walking away to control his daughter and granddaughter.

  * * *

  We all nod, but don’t really respond. Give it two hours and all of us kids will be the adults. Our parents will be hammered, and the Old ladies will get loud and crazy. It happens at every get-together.

  * * *

  “We should go get a burger before Bobby eats them all,” I suggest, my feet skidding in the hot grainy sand. Bobby is a pig, he eats everything at home. When Mom is home and cooks, Bobby is always the first in the kitchen, and the last. I don’t know how he’s not three-hundred pounds. Probably because my mom is a doctor and makes him exercise. She makes sure all of us are being healthy when she’s around. Getting off my swing the wind suddenly cools, the ocean becoming still and silent. Chills run up my spine causing goosebumps to splinter across my arms. Something is off. Zane must sense it too because he freezes his eyes slowly finding mine in the midst of silence.

  The other members of the club slowly stop doing what they’re doing, the slow rumble of unfamiliar motorcycles echoing through the evening air.

  * * *

  The sudden sound of fireworks popping make me shake to a standstill. I look around the beach to see the vibrant art shooting into the sky but see nothing. People begin to scream, bodies dropping, and the popping gets louder. It’s not fireworks. Someone is shooting!

  * * *

  A dozen men on motorcycles roar by the beach, their faces covered with menacing looking bandana, and leather cuts unrecognizable to our club. It’s a drive-by. Fear strikes through my body like a bad omen, I want to run, but I can’t move. This can’t be happening. A man with hollow eyes slowly cascades by on his iron motorcycle, a long gun pointed right at me and I scream. I push my feet to move, but I don’t budge. The beach once a moment of solace, now my hell. My jaw unhinged and heart beating in my ears, everything goes by in slow motion.

  * * *

  A spit of fire shoots from the end of his barrel at the same time I’m thrown to the sand by someone. Fire slices through the side of my arm just before my chest hits the unforgiving ground nearly knocking the wind from my lungs. Arms wrap around my head in an attempt to protect me, and everything resumes into real time. Gunshots and people screaming. I can only cry and scream. I cry so hard the sand sticks to the tears running down my face. I could be wailing, but it’s so chaotic I can’t hear myself.

  "MOM!" I sob into the beach sand, scared to death she might be dead. This is why she kept me from the club for so long when I was a kid. She was afraid of us getting wrapped up in the club’s affairs. I used to think she was overprotective, worried about everything but it looks like she was right.

  * * *

  “Don’t get up!” Zane whispers into my ear, his body pressing me into the unforgiving ground. His force was so powerful I didn’t even realize he was the one that knocked me to the ground. I nod, sobbing. The searing pain in my arm not letting up, I don’t risk taking a glance at what is causing it as I’m afraid I’ll be shot. Weight is suddenly lifted from my back, and I force myself to turn my head to see where Zane’s going. He can’t leave me. What if someone comes after me?

  My body shakes with fear, and my stomach churns in knots watching him get farther and farther away from me.

  “Zane, come back!” I cry, but only I can hear myself from the fear choking me.

  * * *

  Zane walks toward a tall man wearing a skull mask standing above Bull who is now laying on the ground holding his chest. The same biker that just rode by us and shot at me the guy aiming his large gun down at Bull, and the biker begins to yell at him, but I can’t hear what he’s saying though. The severe tension rushing across the biker’s body tells me it’s nothing good.

  The man is the scariest man I’ve ever seen. He’s tall, and big. His shoulders holding a vendetta, a dark hatred toward Bull. Before Zane can reach them, the man fires, and Bull’s body jumps as the bullet plows into his body. Blood splattering ev
erywhere.

  * * *

  “NOOO!!” I cry, my fingers strangling the loose sand. Just as I’m about to get up and try and fight the guy, my eyes find Zane picking up a gun from one of the dead members of our club. I don’t recognize the member as it must be a friend of a member’s.

  * * *

  The biker wearing the skull mask turns around, the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen sway across the beach for his next victim. He’s every villain in every scary movie my mother has ever watched. His haunting eyes making me shake. What kind of a person guns down a family at a beach dinner? That’s when I finally see the patch that holds the killer’s name.

  Bender.

  A name that I will never forget no matter how much I want to.

  Zane roars with anger, his face redder than I’ve ever seen it as he points the gun at Bender. I want to get up and protect Zane, but I’m terrified. I’ve never seen Zane so undone, out of control. He’s usually so quiet and weird. Bender’s shoulders rise as he laughs at a ten-year-old pointing a gun at him. I’m paralyzed. Zane may act tough, but he’s just a kid, how is he not terrified? He will regret this surely!