Made to Riot: A Motorcycle Club Romance (The Ancestors MC) (Beards and Leather Book 5)

by Nicole Fox

  “All right,” said a thin voice from the other side of the bar. “Who’s next?”

  I shot a glance in the direction of the voice and, sure enough, it was Rooster. Dressed in an oversized basketball jersey, his thin arms sticking out from within it, a pair of baggy jeans and flashy sneakers on below, he didn’t seem to be any worse for wear after our last encounter. If anything, judging by his cocky stride and smarmy grin, he seemed to have been made even more confident by escaping his brush with death. A pool cue in hand, he strode around the table, looking for challengers among the drunks.

  “No one? Laaame.”

  I rushed up to the bar and ordered a drink. Booze was the last thing on my mind right now, but I need to fit in. Once the fizzy gin and tonic was in front of me, I sat at the corner of the bar in a conspicuous seat and waited for him to notice me.

  It didn’t take long.

  “Hey, girl!” he said, tossing his pool cue aside. “I know you!”

  His eyes on me, he slid into the open barstool to my left and ordered a drink. He looked me up and down, his gaze feeling like slime on my skin.

  “You’re that girl with that motorcycle asshole,” he said, taking a sip of the drink that’d just been put in front of him. “What you doin’ in a humble little place like this?”

  “I live in town,” I said, affecting a sultry tone to my voice, something that didn’t come naturally in the slightest. “Just figure I’d finally stop in this place.”

  “Oh, I know what’s up,” he said.

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, yeah—you got a taste for that bad boy shit,” he said, his mouth a sneer. “Once you get that first hit … I seen it before.”

  And with that, he was off. He laid his game on me thicker than I was expecting, and by the time I asked him if he wanted to go someplace more private, he was all over it. He was an eager little punk, and even someone like me could tell that despite his full-of-himself swagger, he was in way, way, over his head.

  I excused myself to the restroom before we left and sent the text to Bryce to let him know that it was time to go.

  “You ready, my fine lady?” Spider asked, looking me up and down once again.

  “Of course,” I said with a smile.

  Back in the parking lot, I slid into the front seat of Spider’s flashy, too-expensive-for-him convertible. Once we were on the road, I spotted Bryce’s motorcycle in the distance, keeping a low profile.

  Here goes nothing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bryce

  “Go with you back to Atlanta? You gotta be fucking kidding me!”

  I swung my fist again, connecting with Spider’s ribcage. With a whoosh, the air rushed out of his lungs, his mouth hanging slack.

  “I don’t think I was asking,” I said, cracking my knuckles as I stood over Spider.

  I’d followed the pair to Spider’s pad a town over, a fancy little apartment in one of the little yuppie developments they’d been building around these parts. The place was decked out in the latest electronic gadgets, basketball posters hung here and there, and more drug shit than I could count. This kid was stupid and sloppy; I was almost happy to work him over just to teach him a lesson about being more careful.

  “Come on, man!” Spider shouted as he struggled against the nylon ropes he was tied to the chair with. “You know I can’t go with you! Rat on Donny? That’d be a fuckin’ death sentence!”

  “It’s a death sentence either way,” I said. “Only choice you have is whether you want it carried out by me now, or later by Donny. And trust me, between him and me, I’m the sweetheart.”

  I wasn’t really planning on taking this kid out; I just wanted to put the fear of God into him, motivate him to come back with me. He was right, though: if he ratted on Donny and got found out, it’d be curtains for him.

  But it was him or me. I wasn’t planning on regretting a damn thing. At least with me, he’d have the chance to high-tail it out of the state before Donny tracked him down.

  “This is bullshit!” shouted Spider. “Bullshit!”

  I turned around to Anya, who was sitting on Spider’s massive, black leather couch, watching the show. I was a little surprised that she wanted to watch; I would’ve figured that she’d be too squeamish to watch me work this little shit over. Surprises on surprises with this girl. I could’ve sworn she even had a thrilled look in her eyes as she watched. That wasn’t too hard to believe— any time a normie got a peek into my world they either ran screaming for the hills or developed a taste for it.

  And once they’d seen just a little bit of the shit that I got up to, Netflix and wine would never really hold the same appeal.

  “You fuckin’ bitch,” said Spider, turning his gaze to Anya. “I thought I was gonna get my dick wet, instead you sic this fucker on me! Low! That’s real low!”

  I drove my fist into his stomach once again. This time he spit out a little blood. I made a mental note to go easy on the kid; I was already holding back, but even with my half-strength punches I was doing some damage.

  “That’s for bad manners with the lady,” I said.

  The half-smile that formed on Anya’s face made this abundantly clear.

  “Listen up,” I said. “You’re fucked either way. You made your bed when you tried to ice me and fucked that up. No coming back from that. And you fucking lucked out with me letting you go last time. This time, though, you gotta make a choice. You either help me, or you pay the price that you should’ve already paid a long time ago. Got it?”

  Spider hocked a big, bloody loogie on the floor by my feet. It almost got on my boots, and that made me none too happy.

  “Fuck you,” he said.

  “Have it your way,” I said, pulling back my fist for another swing.

  “No-no-no!” he shouted. “Fine, fine!”

  I stopped mid-swing and looked him over, seeing that his face was in a tight wince. He really wasn’t cut out for this line of work.

  “You ready to play ball?” I asked.

  “Yeah, yeah. Just stop hitting me!”

  “You’re making the right call. Once you help me out, I’ll slip you some cash and you can get the hell out of Dodge, maybe make a fresh start in some town where you can find a job that’s a little more, uh, suited to your talents.”

  “There’s always community college,” said Anya.

  “Fuck you both,” said Spider.

  “Grab whatever shit you need,” I said. “You’re gonna want to make a break for it right after you leave my joint.”

  “Fine, fine,” he said. “Just give me a few minutes.”

  “Make it quick.”

  Spider set to work packing up his belongings, gathering his clothes and other essentials, and tossing anything incriminating down the toilet. He muttered under his breath as he did, cursing me, Anya, and the rest of the world for his misfortunes.

  “Little hard on the guy?” asked Anya as we waited for Spider to put his life into a few boxes that could fit in the back of his car.

  “Kid needs a wake-up call. Little show-off like him’ll get offed sooner or later.”

  “So, we take him back to your club, then what?”

  “Then, assuming the kid is as good as his word, I’ll get the okay from the bosses to take out Donny.”

  “You mean kill him?”

  “That’s exactly what I mean.”

  Anya nodded solemnly. She was getting a better sense of what needed to be done.

  “OK, assholes!” said Spider. “I’m ready!”

  The three of us headed outside, Spider putting the last few things in his car and shaking his head as he looked over how little space he had in his convertible.

  “First lesson might be to buy a car that’s a little more functional,” I said with a smirk.

  Spider shot me a dirty look before climbing into his car. I told him the address and soon we were off. I stayed close behind him on the road, making sure that he didn’t ge
t any big ideas about taking off down some exit ramp.

  The drive went smoothly at first but about halfway through it Anya poked me in the back to get my attention.

  “What?” I yelled over the wind and the engine.

  “You know them?”

  “Huh?”

  She pointed behind her. Turning my head, I was greeted with the sight of a half-dozen bike in arrowhead formation coming up quick behind us. At the point of the arrow was a blood-red bike, the owner hulking and huge at the handles.

  I knew exactly who they were. I’d have recognized that hog anywhere—it was none other than Donny Court.

  “This is bad!” I said.

  But before Anya could respond, the bikes sped up, cutting the distance between them and us. Keeping an eye on the road, I watched as Donny and another one of the bikes screamed past me, only slowing down when they reached the flanks of Spider’s car. The engines of the bike were deafening, and I could barely focus through the noise.

  Everything after that seemed to happen in slow motion.

  I watched as Donny stuck his hand into his vest and withdrew a small chrome pistol. He drew a bead on Spider, and a muzzle flash popped at the end of the gun, the crack of the weapon firing barely audible over the engines. I watched as Spider’s head whipped to the side before going limp, his body slumping to the left.

  Anya let out a shrill scream, and I grabbed hard onto the handles as Spider’s car went out of control, fishtailing across the highway. The thing swerved hard, and as it rushed towards me, I knew that there wasn’t a chance that I’d be able to react quickly enough to get out of the way.

  The grinding sound of metal on metal as my bike collided with Spider’s car was the last thing I remembered before all went to black.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Bryce

  It was around the third punch when the irony of the situation took hold. My hands bound behind me, holding me in place in my chair, I was a mirror image of how I’d had Spider only a little while ago. The difference now, however, was the men who were working me over likely didn’t have the same mercy in mind that I’d shown towards Spider.

  “What’s the goddamn point of this?” I demanded, spitting blood onto the concrete floor of the garage where I was being held.

  “Just for fun,” said the first of the two men, a younger guy with a shaved head and the paunch of a middle-aged man.

  “Yeah, you need a reason to beat the shit out of someone?” asked the second, a tall, reedy guy with sunken eyes and teeth like a horse, his hair a messy mop of red.

  “Where’s the challenge if I’m tied up?” I asked through a bloody smirk. “Loosen up these ropes and we can have a real fun time.”

  “No fuckin’ way,” said the paunchy guy. “We know how you beat the shit out of our boys with Spider and fuckin’ killed the rest.”

  So, that was it; these guys were with whoever had been working with Spider, and therefore with Donny. I scanned their outfits for any kind of insignia that might give me a clue as to who they were working with, what gang they were a part of. But their clothes were nothing but denim and T-shirts—standard biker wear, but nothing that could’ve helped me figure anything out.

  “I guess this is fun and a little revenge, too, said the horse-toothed man. “You wiped out just about every one of the guys we had lined up for membership.”

  Well, if there was any question that these two were with some club, I had my answer. Stupid, too; this was all information that I had no business knowing.

  Unless they were planning on killing me, that is. I figured there was a pretty strong chance of that.

  Even though my life was in total danger, all I could think about was Anya. I scolded myself for letting myself get so wrapped up in the girl when I should’ve been looking out for myself. But I couldn’t help it.

  “Where’s the girl?” I demanded, blood trickling down my chin.

  “She’s fine, just fine,” said the punchy man. “Lucky that crash didn’t fuck up that pretty face of hers.”

  “Yeah, lucky for us,” said the big-toothed man, the two of them letting out barking laughs at this before high-fiving one another.

  My blood began to boil; the thought of these two little fucks laying a hand on Anya made me madder than I ever remembered being. I wanted to tear these two apart like paper.

  Before I could say another word, a tall, bulky figure appeared at the door.

  “You should be a little more concerned about yourself, Brycie,” spoke the booming voice.

  My eyes snapped up to the direction of the voice, the figure of the man covered by shadows. But I didn’t need to see his face to know who it was.

  It was Donny-fucking-Court.

  He stepped out of the shadows, his big, heavy boots landing with thuds.

  Donny was a beast of a man, with a build like a truck and muscles that were almost inhuman. His ruddy, ugly features were crossed with a long, red scar that went diagonally across his sharp features, starting near his thin lips, traveling over his tiny little arrowhead nose, and ending just to the left of one of his gimlet eyes. He was tall as hell, a good six inches higher up than me when I was standing face-to-face. And from my vantage point tied to the chair, he towered over me like a statue carved out of rough stone.

  “You know I hate it when you call me that,” I said, lolling a pool of blood around in my mouth.

  “No shit,” he said with a grin. “Why the hell you think I do it?”

  “Where’s the girl?” I asked, not in the mood to fuck around.

  “That little normie piece of yours? Why, you two got an afternoon of shopping at Crate and Barrel that I’m cutting in on?”

  “Answer the question.”

  Donny slipped a cigarette out of the soft pack of Camels he had rolled up into his shirt sleeve. Not hurrying in the least, he slipped out a smoke, lit it, and took a long, slow drag.

  “Doesn’t seem like your type,” he said, walking to the wall across from me and leaning against it.

  “What goddamn difference does it make to you?” I demanded.

  Donny put his hands up in mock surrender.

  “Easy, B,” he said. “Not that getting upset’ll do you a damn bit of good. I’ve got you right where I want you—finally.”

  “And where is that?” I asked, trying to fish some details out on just what this fucker had in mind.

  Donny rolled his eyes. “Please. You know exactly what this is about- you being a little fuckin’ daddy’s boy moving up in the club when didn’t have the right.”

  “That’s what this is about?” I asked, scoffing. “You’re trying to snuff out a brother just because you think he didn’t earn his stripes? What, you just that strong a supporter of the meritocracy?”

  “Fuck you,” said Donny, finally losing a little of his cool. “I busted my ass for decades in this club before I finally got my patch. And you, just some little punk with the right last name, moves up before he even hits thirty.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I moved up because I put in the blood; you know this goddamn well.”

  “Cute that you think that,” he said.

  “So what, you’re gonna take me out, then what?”

  Donny scoffed. “Things are gonna be changing in the club in a big way,” he said. “Not that you’re gonna be around to notice.”

  I wondered just what he meant by that. I knew that there was more going on than Donny just correcting some perceived injustice with my promotion.

  “What do you know about my pops?” I asked, just knowing it had something to do with that.

  “Your pops ever tell you why he left?” asked Donny.

  “No,” I said. “Not a goddamn word about that or anything else.”

  “There’s a reason for that,” he said. “Shit going on behind the scenes that you have no fuckin’ idea about.”

  I struggled against my restraints, wanting to burst from the chair and beat Donny until he stopped being so fucking cryptic.

 
“Tell me! Where did my pops go?”

  Donny just shook his head, his arms still crossed over his barrel chest.