Wicked Tales
An All Hallow’s Eve Anthology
WITH STORIES BY
• Mary Martel • Brandy Slaven • Bethany Jadin •
• Crystal Ash • Serena Akeroyd • J.J. Dean •
• Cece Rose • Elissa Ryan •
WICKED TALES: AN ALL HALLOW’S EVE ANTHOLOGY
Copyright © 2018
All individual titles copyrighted by the individual authors. Published October 2018
Cover Art Design 2018 by JODIELOCKS Designs
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Editing by Meg West at Stylized Precision
Contents
PRETTY COMPLICATED BY MARY MARTEL
DRUDELLA BY BRANDY SLAVEN
HAUNTED DELIGHTS BY BETHANY JADIN
WITCHY TRICKS AND DEMON TREATS BY CRYSTAL ASH
ORIGIN:THE TRIALPHA CHRONICLES PREQUEL BY SERENA AKEROYD
GRIMOIRE BY J.J. DEAN
DARK REVERIE BY ELISSA RYAN
GREY WITCH AND HALLOWEEN MAGIC BY CECE ROSE
PRETTY COMPLICATED
BY
MARY MARTEL
PRETTY COMPLICATED
BY MARY MARTEL
Way over his duties as a recruit for the Mercy Motorcycle Club, Stephan takes advantage of the fact they are gone on a run and decides to go off and find something meaningful to do for the night that doesn’t revolve around his Club.
It’s too bad for him that this night happens to be Halloween night.
And, all the crazies come out to play on Halloween. That’s just the way of the world.
On his way out of town and away from his Club, he spots a place filled with everything people would want for Halloween. They’ve got a scary maze in a cornfield, a haunted barn and a cemetery filled with promises of darkness.
He thought to drive right past it, but after spotting several motorcycles belonging to members of his Club, one in particular that he had feelings for, he decided to stop and check things out.
In doing so he changed the entire course of his life and witnessed things he could never take back.
It was Halloween. And, as much as he’d always hated it, this year would make him love it and he’d never forget what took place that night.
PRETTY COMPLICATED
BY MARY MARTEL
© COPYRIGHT 2018 MARY MARTEL
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 4 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
CHAPTER ONE
I was all kinds of fucking stupid
I was young, but not inexperienced in a way you'd think of for someone my age.
I had done things.
Wild things.
Most of them criminal and either with or for my old man’s brothers and his Club. And, I'd done a lot of people, too. Living a wild life with my family, there had always been an available, willing piece of ass to tap, and I'd gone for almost every piece thrown my way.
My dad was a biker, born and raised. He'd been one since long before I was born and had remained true to that life until the day he’d died. For the majority of my life, he'd been the President of the Mercy Motorcycle Club. On the tragic day his spirit had left this world my brother by blood had taken over the throne in place of our father, becoming the new Club President. It hadn't been hostile, he'd been voted in. Just like my dad, my brother Captain was well loved and suited for the role he played in our Club; he'd been made to lead.
Me, on the other hand?
I wasn't a full-fledged, top rocker on my cut wearing, member of the Club yet, but I was earning my stripes and making my way towards it. I had my cut, it just proclaimed to the world I was a Prospect and that patch would change as soon as I became a full member. There was nothing in this world I wanted more than joining the ranks of the brotherhood that was the Mercy Motorcycle Club.
There was one, not so little, problem with all of this. My brother, Captain, didn't want me to officially become a member of the Club. For various reasons.
The number one being the Club was all kinds of dirty and that life was a dangerous one. My big brother wanted me to potentially die at the ripe ole age of ninety-five while I slept in my bed without anything bad having ever touched my life.
He was delusional, and I loved him for it, I did. But he didn't know that the damage was already done and walking the straight and narrow wasn't an option I'd ever consider for myself. I was born into this life, and there was no other way to live for me.
Lucky for me, my brother was the only one who didn't want me joining the ranks, and when I'd gone for Prospect, the entire Club save for Captain had gone for it. My brother was resigned to my fate, but let it be known to all who'd listen that he wasn't happy about it in the slightest.
I didn't care. I'd gotten my cut and, yeah, I still had to earn the Mercy patch, but I'd do my time, and eventually it'd be mine, and it'd be worth it.
That's not to say I was enjoying my time as a Prospect, because I fucking wasn't. The life of a Prospect was a seriously shitty one.
Prospect, clean this shit up.
Prospect, go and get me a fucking beer.
Mow my lawn, Prospect.
Clean up this vomit and piss that's fucking everywhere after that last party.
Clean the Clubhouse.
Take this skank home and make sure her bitch ass stays there and doesn't come back. If she comes back, that shit's on you, and it is not going to make me happy.
Yeah, the life of a Prospect was not a happy, fun one. It was always open season, and, I was everyone's bitch. So, it sucked now, but it would be worth it in the end and, eventually it'd be me bossing some little shit around and making him clean my puke up after me.
Tonight, on Halloween of all nights, I'd gotten lucky, and they didn't need me for shit. The boys were out of town on a run, the Clubhouse a fucking dead zone, and there was absolutely no one to boss my ass around. I hadn't stuck around to see if anyone would get back early and needed me for some more bullshit. I had, however, taken my cell with me, just in case, because that's how big of a bitch I was and, as a Prospect, what was expected of me.
As I cruised out of town on my bike, a billboard caught my attention. It advertised a haunted house and cornfield maze right next to a graveyard. None of it really sounded appealing to me because I didn't scare easy, and I was liable to pull my gun on any motherfucker who jumped out in front of me while waving around some form of a weapon. If they were lucky, I'd reach for the knife on my belt instead of going for the gun at my back and they'd be quick enough to get out of reach before I could cut them.
I
shook my head. I finally had freedom for a few hours, I wasn't about to waste it in some tricked out cornfield next to a graveyard with a bunch of fucked up people stupid enough to find that shit fun or entertaining.
As I drove down the road that would take me to the highway where I could cruise for hours with the wind in my hair and at my back, I knew I'd feel lighter, freer in no time, and the day to day shit that bogged me down would just slip away. I'd be free again.
Before I could make it to the highway, the woods on either side of the road opened up to cornfields that seemed to go on for miles and miles and even passed the ramp that led to the highway. There was either no parking or the parking lot had filled up already because there were cars lined up and down the road, and the non-existent traffic suddenly became existent as cars pulled out of a dirt road and went speeding past me.
I'd stake my life on the fact over half of them were drunk or fucked up in some way and get behind the wheel. It wasn't my way to judge people, but even I wouldn't get lit and drive, putting innocent people’s lives in danger. I already danced with the devil because of my Club, I didn't need to add shit on top of the pile.
I was almost clear of the shit when I spotted a familiar black Dyna Glide on the side of the road next to three other Harley's.
"Son of a fucking bitch," I swore under my breath as I immediately slowed down, pulled off to the side of the road so an SUV full of douchebags could pass by me, and then turned the bike around in the middle of the road.
The object of my recent affections, whom I'd been avoiding like the fucking plague, was here. Ever since realizing I’d developed more than feelings of friendship towards the guy, I had backed off from said friendship and made a point to be wherever I knew he wasn't going to be.
It's not that I was ashamed of my feelings towards him or the fact that he was a guy. I already told you, I'd done lots of people since hitting puberty, and I'd never discriminated based on gender. I'd just always made a point to keep it discreet and away from the Club when it came to doing guys because a lot of those old fuckers who were from my dad's generation would never be down with patching me in and I would have been gay in their eyes, no matter how much I liked pussy, too. It was the sad truth with them, and, though I wasn't ashamed of my attraction to men, I didn't think it wise to rub it in their faces either. I wanted that patch more than I'd ever wanted anything else in my whole entire fucking life. And I was determined to get it. And, once I had it, I'd fuck whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted to, and I wouldn't give the first fuck about who knew about it because it wouldn't be reason enough for those old SOB's to take my patch from me and my brother, who didn't want me to join but solely for safety reasons, would fuck anybody up who acted like they had a problem with my sexuality. We were brothers by blood, there was nothing more important to either of us than that, and he'd straight up murder someone who looked at me funny. And I'd return the favor, not that he’d ever want me to.
The thought that Hash was here with a date burned in my gut in the worst kind of way.
I knew he wasn't into guys, he'd given no indication that he liked anything other than pussy and even then, he kept it to himself and didn't flaunt that shit. I'd never seen him with a chick at the Clubhouse, and when he'd leave for hours at a time and I'd ask where he went off too, he'd always quietly tell me he'd had a date, and that would be the end to it. It became obvious to me that he never wanted to talk about it, so I'd immediately let the subject drop and wouldn't bring it back up again until he'd go missing for a few hours again. The only girls he'd ever brought to the Clubhouse had been his sisters and, even then, they didn't stay for long because there was always some kind of shit going down that wasn't cool for sweet little girls like that to see.
Hash was the closest thing my big brother had to a kid, and we were tight like family. So, when I started catching feelings for him, it made me feel like the biggest piece of shit that walked this planet. Then I'd felt like an even bigger piece of shit because I knew I'd hurt him with my sudden absence from his life. It was getting harder and harder by the day to continue avoiding him. For fuck's sake, we lived under the same roof together. His room was only three doors down from mine. Because we were so close in age and he'd wanted to Prospect so he could earn his patch too, we'd become even tighter than family and our friendship had morphed into the kind that I'd always imagined he'd be my best man one day at my wedding.
I cut off another douche bag in an SUV and parked my bike next to Hash's. I kicked the stand out and swung my leg off.
If he left before I could find him in the fucking house of horrors or the goddamn cornfield maze, then he'd at least know I was here and, since I'd parked my bike next to his, he'd know I knew he was here and he'd either wait for me at his bike or come looking for me. I thought about pulling my cell out and shooting him a text, letting him know I was here, but if he was on a date then I didn't want to ruin it for him with the sour mood I was sure I'd fall into as soon as I spotted them.
I needed to snap the fuck out of this, I thought as I weaved my way through the bodies stumbling around the parked cars. Nobody came close to me, and I wasn't surprised when people actually moved out of my way, giving me a wide berth.
It was clear from my cut, even with the Prospect on it, who and what I was. It also didn't hurt that my family name was written all over my face because I looked like a younger version of my brother, and he looked like a younger version of our old man.
I couldn't keep the small smirk of satisfaction off my face as I made my way down the dirt road while the sun set and my feet carried me towards a fucking haunted house of all places.
And I was fucking smiling.
If I was smart, which I was realizing I wasn't, I would turn around on my motorcycle boots and take my ass right back to my fucking bike, climb on and get the fuck out of here.
I did no such thing.
Because I was all fucking kinds of stupid, my motorcycle boots carried me forward, likely towards my ultimate heartbreak, like a fucking moron.
CHAPTER TWO
Shit Show
It was worse than I thought, and I had thought it was going to be pretty fucking bad.
The entrance to the cornfield maze was guarded by masked men with machetes wearing black jumpsuits. Every time someone walked past them to enter the stupid maze, one of those motherfuckers jumped out at them waving around their weapons, that I hoped to fucking god weren't actually sharp, at people who fucking knew they were standing right there, but still, somehow they screamed bloody murder anyways. I did not get it and knew that if I was one of those bitches they were waiving that thing around at, I would put their asses on the ground.
There were bales of hay stacked in piles everywhere with groups of people sitting around them and clustered off into little groups everywhere. There were also barrels spread out with fires going in them.
It wasn't completely dark yet but would be soon, and then the fires would probably come in handy. Not to mention the weather started to change about a month or so back, and the nights were a whole lot colder now and people would gravitate towards the heat the fire in those barrels was giving off.
I wouldn't be among the many who gravitated towards the heat, not my style. If I wanted to congregate, I'd do it with my brothers and their bitches at the Compound or their homes even. I wasn't here to take in the fucked up sights of crazy assholes who got off on scaring people and the even crazier, fucked up people who clearly got off on being scared.
I was here for one thing and one thing alone.
Hash.
A quick scan around the area had me heading towards the barn behind the massive farm house. I followed the signs that stated the haunted house was way in the back in the barn.
I continued to scan my surroundings as I made my way to the barn, keeping my eyes peeled for my friend.
The barn doors were wide open, and thankfully, there was no-one standing here, waiting to pretend to attack the pathetic patrons who strolled through
the open doors.
I felt my rigid body relax slightly as I walked through the doors. I hadn't even realized I'd gotten tense, but apparently, I had sometime between climbing off my bike and walking up to the barn.
If the shit was possible, which I could not believe and wouldn't have if I wasn't seeing this shit for myself with my own two eyes, but the inside of that fucking barn was even worse than the entrance to that fucking maze had been.
It was dark and there were fog machines on and pumping out fake fog at an alarming rate that was so thick my feet disappeared in the shit and I could hardly see five feet in front of my face. Bullshit fake cobwebs hung down from the open rafters above and kept smacking me in the face as I stupidly moved deeper into the space.
There were feminine squeals and shrieks floating through the air along with masculine grunts, the noises showcasing their fear. If it had been me making those noises, I'd have been embarrassed with myself, and my dick probably would have shrunk down an inch in size due to the fact I'd lost my masculinity, and likely, a good deal of my pride.
The big, open space had been broken up into several smaller sections. I rapped my knuckles against one makeshift wall. It was obviously cardboard and smelled as if it had been recently spray painted. Cheap, but not poorly erected.
I questioned my sanity as I stepped up to that first makeshift cardboard room, knowing there was no possible way in hell I would be able to find Hash in this shit show. Any sane person would have called him by now and gotten the fuck out of here.
I paused inside the opened doorway to the first room. And, by open doorway I meant there was no fucking door at all. I didn't know if this was another cost cutting measure on the owner’s part or if they left the doors off on purpose because they worried that maybe people might bust down doors in order to get away from the scary shit hidden away in these cardboard rooms.
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