Hunter (Black Angels MC Book 1)

by A. E. Fisher

  “Psalm 23:4.”

  My eyes snapped open, and I jerked my head around to look behind me.

  A square of light cut through the dimness of the warehouse. The voice had come from the figure cutting through it, his mass solid, broad, and tall. He stood there for a moment, hidden by the light, before he began to walk forward.

  As the sun drew back, it revealed a person. A person who made my blood freeze. He was all muscles, scars, and sharp features. He had long, shaggy gray hair; a face aged with war and violence; and eyes like rusted metal that narrowed on me in a way that made me feel like the smallest, most fragile thing in the world.

  As he walked toward me, two more burly men came through the door and closed it behind them. Then they stood beside it in silence.

  I tried not to feel the fear, but the second the man stopped in front of me, close enough to reach, it all bubbled to the surface.

  “Please,” I whispered, my knees growing weak. He was so tall, towering, standing to his full height to look down at me like the pitiful creature I was. Every instinct made me cower before him.

  I had read the books, known thousands of antagonists, seen hundreds of criminals on the TV … But this man, he had a dark magnetism and a streak of violence that resounded deep within my primitive instincts. He was bad to the soul.

  “Don’t beg. It’s pathetic,” he stated, his voice slightly gruff and cold. “For a preacher’s daughter, I thought you’d have more of that righteous spunk.”

  I pulled back on the chains as he began to circle around me. I made sure to put the most distance between us, but it was like a cat circling a paralyzed mouse. I was cat chow. I knew it. He knew it. There was nothing I could do about it.

  He reached forward, and I flinched.

  “Don’t worry; I won’t hurt you,” he assured me as if my reaction almost bored him. “You’re the type that, the more I hit, the more stubborn you get.” With his hand still poised above my head, he looked down and said in a calm whisper, “Unless I’m wrong?”

  I felt my heart race like a jackhammer as I shook my head.

  “Thought so.” He continued the path with his hands on the chains above my head and gave them a small tug. “I thought you would have broken out of these by now.” He analyzed the chains with thin eyes. “You’re supposed to be smart, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t even speak like a biker. He was too articulate, too careful with his words.

  “If I were, I probably wouldn’t be here,” I whispered. I didn’t mean to say that, but the words were true. I might have been naturally smart, but I obviously didn’t know how to use it.

  “No, you wouldn’t be.” He didn’t seem fazed by my reply. Any other person in my situation would be in a puddle of their own piss by now. Not that I was far off. “But humans are fools, especially young girls like you. Falling in love, chasing boys, earning trust.”

  “Trust?” I asked, catching the emphasis he had placed. I could hear it all click into place. “As in, being entrusted with information that could bring your entire club down? That’s what this is about, isn’t it? The information?”

  “Maybe you’re smarter than you seem.” He stood in front me, shoulders slack, hands in his jeans. “Did you like the photo I sent you?”

  I heard the sound of understanding ring through my brain. The photograph! When Hunter had told me about Wolf being behind the letter, I had just assumed he had sent the photo, too, which Hunter must have done, too. But it wasn’t him. It explained why he thought I’d have the information.

  Despite not having the personality of a biker, he did dress like one. The jeans, the boots, the leather cut … the president’s patch. I wasn’t surprised by that one.

  “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I don’t have it.”

  “No, I don’t think you do.” He looked around the warehouse with a nonchalant sigh.

  “What?” I blurted. He couldn’t be serious. “You killed Mint, kidnapped me, and almost killed my son, all the while knowing I don’t have it? I’ve been running from you for four years for no reason!”

  “So, your son survived?” He gave a small shrug. “Nice work, tricking my men. Not that it would be hard; they aren’t the smartest tools. Even so, perhaps you are smarter than I give you credit for.”

  “He should be safe with the club by now,” I answered. It was my only solace in this whole situation.

  He shrugged, not seeming to care. “As for the other matter, I only figured out you didn’t have it after your timely return to Fellpeak. You were here long enough, even bonded with the Black Angels, yet no police came knocking on my doors. Surely, if you had the power to protect them from us, you would have used it by now.”

  It was true. I would have long since given the information to Hunter if it meant keeping the club safe.

  “Then why did you kidnap me? I know you failed at the house, but …” My words tapered off when I saw the faintest flash of surprise cross his face. “You weren’t behind the attack on the house? But the guy we captured …” I stopped, not feeling inclined to give out club information. I hadn’t been told it, but I had figured the guy Jax had grabbed was a Hell’s Runner. Was I wrong?

  The Hell’s Runners’ president went stiff, his small eyes fixed on me as he took a step closer, and then another until he was leaning over me. “You were saying?”

  I felt my mouth press tight. Shit, I really was the idiotic one who the threat of violence only made more stubborn. I hated those characters in the books and movies, pointlessly getting hurt when they could hand over the information. It wasn’t even that crucial. I didn’t know anything about the guy, and what I had thought I knew was wrong. Yet, I could feel my voice steeling up, not ready to give up anything.

  He must have sensed it, too, because he stepped away.

  Relief flooded through me. I felt the breath rush back into my lungs and even felt a little woozy from the momentary lack of oxygen.

  “We didn’t attack the house,” he admitted. “I have men I trust better to get the job done, and I can tell you they’re all accounted for. If you did capture one, I would have noticed by now. A call would have been made to your club. Don’t you agree?”

  He was right. Negotiations would have probably been made, not that I would have been told about it—club business and all. Surely, I would have noticed a change in the men, though. I would have noticed it in Hunter if we had been dealing with the Hell’s Runners. Or would I? Hunter had proven himself to be unpredictable recently.

  Not that it was the time to think about that.

  “So, you know I don’t have the information, which is why you haven’t tried to kidnap or threaten me before. The attack at the house excluded, since it wasn’t you,” I processed out loud. “Why kidnap me now?”

  “You’re bait.”

  “Bait?” I echoed. “Why would you want the Black Angels to come storming down on you here? You’re on your own. You’re unarmed.”

  “Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there, sweetheart.”

  “What?”

  Then I felt it.

  Dozens of eyes looked down at me, at us. I looked up and around the room, paranoia fueling the fear in my chest. My heart felt heavy, and my breaths quickened. It looked empty, but the second he had said the words, I had known he wasn’t lying.

  We weren’t alone.

  I looked back to the president. He was armed, too. With what, I couldn’t tell. Even without a weapon, his mind was dangerous enough. He was sharp.

  “Don’t think you’re the only one who didn’t notice.” He stretched to his full height, turned away from me, and bellowed, “Come out, come out, wherever you are, little mouse.”

  I looked at the door and noticed the two guards were gone.

  Hope danced in my chest, my eyes welling with tears.

  They were here. The Black Angels were here for me.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Hunter

  Shit, we had been noticed.


  Tension fluttered across the men, all hidden behind the small crates and metal pillars scattered around one edge of the mass clearing.

  I looked at Mallory in the center, at least one hundred and sixty feet from me, her hands bound above her head, red hair falling around her face, eyes searching everywhere. She looked so tiny and fragile as she stood next to the Hell’s Runners’ president.

  I had never met him before, but from what I had just heard and by looking at him, he lived up to his name.

  Spider.

  Fuck, we were all caught in his web without even knowing it.

  I looked at Wolf, who stood on the other side of the crate, and he looked at me, his eyes narrowed and body tensed. Despite the twitch of my trigger finger telling me to shoot the bastard for touching a hair on Mallory’s head, I awaited orders.

  Wolf looked up and around the room, probably looking for the other men. We couldn’t see them, but at the same time, I doubted they could see us. It was possibly a bluff, but I doubted Spider would let the whole of the Black Angels club storm in here without secure protection.

  Spider must have lost his patience, because I heard Mallory scream. When I looked, Spider had a knife pressed against her neck, blood dripping down her pale skin.

  “Just because violence doesn’t work against you, sweetheart, doesn’t mean it won’t work against them,” Spider told her.

  A red filter fell across my eyes. My chest soared with a rage I had never experienced. My bloodlust skyrocketed as I pointed my gun in Spider’s direction.

  He pressed the knife harder into Mallory’s neck, and I—

  “Stop!”

  I froze.

  Wolf seized the opportunity to grab me by my cut and drag me back behind the crate.

  Spider looked toward the other side of the warehouse where a man stepped out of the shadows. His front was turned away from us, so I couldn’t make out his face. All I could see was Mallory’s reaction.

  She went as stiff as a board. Her eyes went wide, her mouth dropped open, and I was sure she had stopped breathing. A silence dawned over her, and I felt as if I was watching her crumble right before my eyes.

  “No,” she whispered, tears falling down her face as she softly shook her head. “No … It can’t be you.”

  Even Spider looked surprised as he looked down at her.

  She was pressing herself as far away from the stranger as she could, even if that meant closer to Spider. She didn’t look like she cared. Whatever stood before her was far worse.

  “No!” she screeched, bucking against Spider.

  It was like she wasn’t even aware of the knife against her neck, cutting deeper into her skin with every jerk of her body.

  Spider dragged the knife away from her throat, and Mallory’s body tried to curl into itself. Her eyes never left the stranger’s face.

  “Who is it?” I asked Wolf. Even he was stiff with surprise.

  The second I asked, the stranger moved.

  Spider tensed as the stranger reached for his hood. He lifted the edges and let it fall back. A head of golden hair was revealed beneath, curled and short against his head.

  “It can’t be …” I whispered.

  I felt my heart slow to a heavy thump, thump, thump. Time dragged as my eyes moved. That small jawline I could make out, how square and sharp it was. The color of his tanned skin. The slightly sharpened ears. The breadth of his shoulders. The height of his body. The slight arch in his back. The narrowness of his waist.

  “You died,” Mallory said. “You’re dead.”

  The man stepped forward and looked at Mallory as her body fell limp against her chains, eyes pleading.

  “I saw you. I saw you in the parking lot,” she continued. “They didn’t believe me, but I saw you.”

  “Look closer, Mallory,” he said, voice soft.

  Mallory’s eyes flickered back and forth, and I saw the moment everything changed for her. Her eyes went wide once again, her mouth parting, her head softly shaking. “You’re—” Mallory collapsed against her chains, her body falling limp as she dropped into unconsciousness.

  The man straightened, his eyes jumping to Spider, who pulled a small syringe from her neck and dropped it on the floor.

  “What did you do?” the man hissed, reaching toward her.

  Gunfire exploded in the air, and the man stopped. He looked down at the chip of concrete the bullet had left in front of his feet, and then he looked back at Spider.

  Spider held a gun pointed down at the ground, his eyes never looking away from his face. Anger and rage were a turmoil within them, but his face was a sheet of stone as he lifted the gun and placed it at Mallory’s temple.

  “Move again, and she dies,” he warned. “That goes for all of you Black Angels as well!”

  I stiffened, and the man stood still now.

  “Well, well,” Spider said. “I didn’t think you’d be the traitor of all people.”

  “Things have to change, Spider,” the man replied. “This way of corruption will kill the club. We’re no different from outlaws.”

  “So, what, you give the information to the Black Angels to take us down then plan to run to them once all our asses are in jail?”

  “No.” The man shrugged off his jacket, the black material falling to the floor to reveal what was underneath. It was a cut. The same skull and flames as the president’s patch. “I’m a Hell’s Runner. That won’t change.”

  “So, a coup, then?” Spider continued, the disgust beginning to show through his features. “You gonna become president? Take my place?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t deserve that position for what I’ve done.”

  “Then who?”

  “Spider,” a deeper voice said.

  Out from the other side of the warehouse stepped a slender man. His hair was black and short against his dark skin. His reputation, the reason I knew his name on sight, was for the color of his eyes. They were a burning, molten gold.

  Charon.

  As in the Greek legends, his eyes were as golden as the coins paid to the ferryman to deliver them to the underworld, and Charon’s gold would be the last thing you would see before he sent you down to hell. From rumors I had heard, he lived up to the legend.

  First Spider, and now Charon? I hadn’t realized how many big bads the Hell’s Runners had accumulated. I thought Charon was the president of the Grim Reapers. Was he taking over the Hell’s Runners?

  I looked at Wolf. His expression seemed to say the same thing I was thinking.

  What the fuck have we gotten ourselves into?

  “Charon,” Spider said, his cold face returning. “So, you’re his patron. You finally here to take my club? It’s been years, brother. Didn’t think you were interested in settling old debts?”

  “We have a history, Spider,” Charon said, his voice aged from years of smoking cigars and downing hard liquor. “But so has everyone. Everybody’s got a story. Everybody’s got an end.”

  History? I had heard rumors of Spider being an ex-Reaper, having lost the battle with Charon for the president’s seat, but I had never imagined the confirmation coming out like this.

  “You think you’re my end, Charon?” Spider scoffed. “I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with anymore. It’s been a long time.”

  “Maybe so. But I know what you’re like. And believe me; you’re a cold bastard. Still, you’re a force that your fledglings can’t take out. We’ve been meaning to have this showdown for a while. Our history, and all that.” He shrugged, casually walking closer to where Spider stood. They faced each other down, Mallory looking so tiny in the middle.

  All I wanted to do was rush out there and drag her from between them. Spider and Charon were the two major players on the West Coast, so getting caught in the middle couldn’t end well for her.

  Coming up against the Hell’s Runners was something we could have handled. Now with Charon appearing, who knew how many of his boys were lurking in the shadows. We had ne
ver dealt with the Grim Reapers, had no relations. If Hell’s Runners were the king of the dark side, then the Grim Reapers were God. But on their own, both Charon and Spider were on even ground.

  Were they alone, or was this a grandstand for them both? If both of their men were here, then we should expect a three-way war.

  How the fuck did our small-town club get caught in the fucking center of the boss battle?

  “Does the boy know our history? Did you tell him?” Spider’s face twisted into an unnatural smile. “Does he know how you really won that patch?”

  “Fair and square, if I remember correctly,” Charon mocked. “But that’s a story for another time.”

  “I don’t think so,” Spider hissed, pressing his gun harder to Mallory’s temple. “This ends now.”

  “What you gonna do, Spider?” Charon shrugged. “Kill the traitor?” He gestured to the blond-haired man. “Kill your way through the Black Angels and my boys? You gonna escape with your tail between your legs?” He gestured to the whole warehouse. “I don’t think so.”

  “Don’t underestimate me, Charon. Despite that fool, I have a hold on my men. They could never escape me. They betray me, and everything they ever cherished dies.”

  “You’re right; they won’t betray you. Not with the hold you have on them,” Charon replied. “Good thing that doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “What?” Spider hissed.

  It was the first real emotion on Spider’s face that I had seen. He had been controlled and rational. Now I could hear true surprise in his voice.

  Charon smiled. “They’re dead.”

  A cold chill cut through the air.

  I could see the truth in Charon’s eyes, and in Spider’s. They were all dead. Killed in absolute silence. Every. Single. One.

  I had heard the rumors, the stories, but never could I have imagined they were so true. They lived up to their name.

  Grim Reapers—the silent killers.

  “What?” The blond man turned, shoulder’s stiffening with anger. “You killed all of them?”

  Charon ignored him, looking at Spider and his mask of stone.