Hell's Viper (Hell's March MC Book 1), page 3
“If he’s looking for a partner, I may consider handing in my resignation.” Chip’s eyes brighten as he looks from Cruz to me, my mouth suddenly drying out from the suggestion in his tone.
My brothers in Hell’s March know of my sexual orientation, it’s never been a secret and I’ve never been treated any different. The reason why I’ve been single for most of my life has nothing to do with being judged and everything to do with how damn awkward I am around men I find attractive.
“A partner, eh?” Cruz’s green eyes round with surprise as he snorts, his plush mouth tipping upward. “I bet he’d be interested—”
“Alright,” I cut in and shove him toward the truck. “That’s enough. Let’s get going.” I clear my throat, trying desperately to lower the octave and sound unaffected.
“Come by the clubhouse sometime, Chip. Our boy here is going to be lonely when I ride out. He won’t have anyone picking on him for the next few days.” Cruz walks by Chip and gives him a wink. “He’ll need the company.”
Chip watches as we get into the truck, then steps back when I start it, my hands a little too damp with nerves. Cruz struggles to put on his belt and I tamp down the urge to shove his ass back out of the vehicle.
“Is he your type?” he asks as we pull out of the lot, watching Chip as he raises his hand.
“No,” I answer firmly. “I’ve only ever had one type and he died thirty years ago.” Images of dark curly hair and dark brown eyes threaten to take hold as I shove them back down.
“So about the time he was born then, huh?” He chuckles and I can’t help the grin that answers it.
“Something like that.”
“I heard she took down the trafficking ring here on her own,” Cruz states as he lifts the beer bottle to his mouth and takes a drink.
“I heard that too,” Quinton, Hell’s March’s Vice, hums in agreement, a water bottle grasped firmly in his hand.
Davis runs his hand through his thick, brown hair, the ends curling in toward his face as he huffs. “She had to have had help. That place looked like a meat factory exploded when the cops arrived.”
“I don’t know,” I chime in as I place a beer in front of Davis. “Delia changed after she lost her parents, and around that time, she lost quite a few friends too.” I eye Davis as he tips the drink up to his mouth.
“I wasn’t around when her father killed himself, but I heard the stories,” Cruz rumbles, his black hair falling in lush waves to his shoulders. “No one would be right after that, but then to learn her mother was murdered and her father killed himself because of it? Nah, I would be on a killing spree too.”
Quinton nods his head in agreement as he turns on his stool to face the room. It’s a quiet night tonight, the brothers mostly sitting around or playing pool, a welcomed change from the partying we’ve been doing. He spots Jaeger at the pool table and leaves the bar, heading toward his best friend.
“I just hope we find her alive,” Cruz continues. “Because Diego will snap and Ajani will put our heads on spikes for not retrieving what’s his.”
“My sister is the only one who puts heads on spikes, and she’d have ours for not bringing back her best friend.” Davis looks over his shoulder toward Quinton and Jaeger, his brows falling over his eyes with thought.
“You should give her a call and see how she’s doing. You’re the only family she’s got left,” I advise, making him turn back around to face me.
“She’s better off without me,” he mutters, draining his beer in one swallow.
“Probably.” Cruz leans over and looks Davis in the eyes. “But you sound like a coward when you spew shit like that.”
Cruz is brutally honest, his words never minced or cushioned in empathy. He tells it straight and leaves the carnage they cause as your problem to clean up.
Davis shrugs and stands from the stool. “Better a coward than a deadbeat brother.”
He turns to walk away but Cruz isn’t done yet as he turns in his seat to say, “They are both one and the same.”
Davis gives us the peace sign over his shoulder as he carries on toward his room, both Cruz and I watching him until he disappears inside.
“I’m hoping bringing Delia back will help him,” I tell Cruz as he turns back around to face me.
“Why would Delia fix it?” He tips his head in question.
“Because they have a history.”
I’m shaken awake by Quinton, his hair a mess around his head and his eyes wide in the dark room as my shoulder aches in protest. “We got a hit on where Delia may be. We’re riding out now.”
I snap up in bed as Quinton rushes out of my room, heading across the hall to Davis’. Getting out of bed, I quickly dress and unfold my cut from the dresser to shrug it on. My shoulder is better and I forego the sling as I rotate it in a slow circle. I’m stepping out into the hall when Quinton comes out of Davis’ room, his face filled with determination.
“Where is she?”
“Jones got a ping from her cell phone. She’s in Mohave County. Outside of Kingman to be exact.” Something about that sounds odd and he nods as he looks at my confused face. “We’re doubtful it’s her, but it’s the best start we have.”
“If it is her, she’s been under our nose this entire time,” I mumble as I head out to the main room, trailing behind Quinton.
“It’s smelling like a trap, honestly,” Quinton replies as he attempts to pull back his shoulder-length hair into a ponytail.
We find Ajani already waiting for us at the bar, the yellow glow of the lamp highlighting the umber skin of his face. He turns at the sound of our approach, his golden eyes scanning over us, looking a little frantic.
“It’s not her,” he implores with a hard shake of his head. “She wouldn’t be this close and not come home.”
Quinton’s hand lands on his shoulder as I fall onto a stool beside them, smoothing my own hair back off my forehead. “It could be a trap. Jones is pulling up satellite for me now.” He heads back toward Jones’ room and down the corridor as Davis comes stumbling out of his.
His face is still sleep-swollen and his hair is a tangle of waves on top of his head. Irritation radiates from his features as he leans against the bar, his arms crossed over his chest. “Are we riding out?”
“Looks like it,” I murmur as Ajani shoves off the stool.
“It’ll be a waste of time. It’s not her,” he snaps as he walks out of the clubhouse, the door banging shut behind him and reverberating around the empty room.
“He’s right.” Davis watches the closed door. “She wouldn’t be this close. She’s in Nevada hunting that motherfucker.”
“Well, her cell phone is this close, and that’s a bit concerning. We still need to check it out.” Davis nods his agreement as Quinton heads back toward us. “Maybe she’s back? Her mission complete?”
“Ajani would know,” Davis rumbles as he adjusts his stance against the bar. “He’d be the first one she’d go to. She’s been in love with him forever.” His face darkens with his admission and I don’t have time to prod him about it before Quinton is standing in front of us, his face filled with confusion.
“It’s at a playground, just outside of Kingman. I got the coordinates. Where’s Ajani?” He looks around the room as Davis pushes off the bar.
“Outside.”
“I have a plan. Let’s head out there with him and discuss.” Quinton strides toward the door, his back to us and adorned with a large sniper rifle.
I whistle under my breath as Davis looks at me, his eyes shining with a bit of excitement, something I haven’t seen since he found out about his birth mother. “Let’s hope we get to witness that thing in action.”
The plan was to split us up. Ajani and Davis are sitting in Ajani’s car, facing the playground while Quinton and I are set up in an apartment building stairwell, his rifle pointed at the playground. This is a seedy part of town, filled with drug dealers and pimps, some of whom we sell our shit to.
Quinton pulls back from the scope to grab his phone from his cut pocket as I slip into his place, pressing my eye to the metal. The focus is on the playground and I can count each wood chip on the fucking ground from here.
“We’re set up,” Quinton says to Ajani from behind me. “Remember, look beneath the structure. I’m sending Cruz down to the front of the building now to keep an eye out.”
I step back as he hangs up the phone, his face staring out the single window on the landing with a perplexed expression. “She’s clearly not here,” I state as I look out through the window. “Why the fuck is her phone here?”
“No idea.” He bends to peer through the scope and I begin to descend the stairs.
The stench of piss and vomit disappears as soon as I shove open the large industrial door, sucking in a lungful of fresh air. Scanning the area around me, I find it mostly empty, save for the homeless man crouched beside the dumpster with a cart filled with god knows what.
Heading out toward the edge of the parking lot, I scan the playground just as Ajani and Davis get out of the car. The scent of rotting garbage has me dragging my T-shirt up over my mouth and nose as I begin to walk away when something in the homeless man’s hand catches my eye.
How the fuck did he afford a cell phone?
He must feel my eyes on him because he gazes up from the illuminated screen to give me a narrowed look as he rises to his feet. Then he drops it into his pocket and starts to push his cart toward the park when all the pieces come together in my head.
“Hey!” I call out and chase after him. “Wait!”
Ajani and Davis hear me and begin to jog over as the homeless man gets a frantic look on his face. He looks around, trying to find a place to run to when I grab the back of his jacket to hold him in place.
“Where did you get that fucking phone?” I growl as he begins to struggle.
Ajani and Davis approach us just as he screams, “It’s my phone! It’s mine!”
“Hold him,” I grunt at Davis then look at Ajani. “The phone is in his right pocket.”
Ajani’s jaw tenses as he reaches into the pocket, snapping his teeth at the man when he begins to thrash his head back and forth. “Where did you get this?” He holds up the newest model iPhone, the lock screen a picture of Genni and Delia together.
“I found it! It’s mine!” He continues to struggle as Davis and I let him go, the momentum making him fall to the ground. He beats his fist to the earth as he growls, “I couldn’t get into it because of the password, but I found it!”
“He must’ve found it and powered it up, the ping off the nearest tower alerting Jones,” Davis suggests as he looks around. “But why was she here?”
“This is where you go when you’re shopping for illegal substances. She was refilling her poison stash.” Ajani’s throat works on a swallow as he looks around again. “But what happened to her while she was here?”
“Where did you find the phone?” I ask the man as a few guys come around the building. They pause and watch us, reaching into their coats. I’m not too worried, knowing Quinton has our backs.
“At the gas station across the street,” he sputters as he struggles to get back to his feet. “It’s mine fair and square.”
“Here’s two hundred dollars,” Davis says as he hands the guy the bills, his eyes on the guys standing and watching us.
“Fine. You can have it,” he relents, grabbing the money from Davis and heading back to his cart. “Can’t use it anyway.”
I reach inside my own cut, making it clear I’m packing as well, and the guys continue walking as they stay vigilant to what we’re doing. Looking across the street, I see the gas station he was talking about and nod in that direction. “We should check it out.”
Quinton comes outside just as the sketchy guys round the corner of the building, disappearing from sight. He jogs over to us, his face looking expectant. “Where did he get it from?” he asks as he looks down at the phone in Ajani’s hand.
“There.” I point to the gas station and then look back at Ajani. “Do you know the passcode? Maybe there will be some clues in there of where she was headed.”
“Yeah, I know it,” he murmurs as he slips it into his cut pocket. “Let’s check out the gas station first.”
His eyes roll into the back of his head as his lips pull back taut against his teeth, each one making an indent into the material of the bandana I have tied around his mouth and head. The straight cut of my knife into his cheek has my mouth salivating with anticipation as the blood flows and drips from his jaw.
He begins to mumble around the gag, his eyes filling with pain. The look is so fucking delicious, the urge to lick his cheek nearly overwhelming. Nearly. You wouldn’t catch me licking the blood of a Highway Knight.
“You had your chance to speak and you chose the fifth amendment, which is completely within your rights, might I add. So now you’re stuck with the punishment I’ve created to fit the crime.” I should’ve been a judge. The honorable Delia Viper Montez. That’s not my real middle name, it’s a nickname I chose when I decided my true career would be killing people while moonlighting as a personal trainer at my local gym.
I kick aside Penguin’s shredded cut as I lean closer to the bathtub he’s curled up in. It’s the best spot to kill him because of the drain. Bloodstains are a killer to remove from carpet. I snort at my own wit as his eyes widen.
“Why’d they call you Penguin?” I ask as I twirl my knife in my hand. He shakes his head as tears gather in his eyes, the sight making me angry. How did he ever make the cut into an MC? My hand connects with his bloody cheek, the wet sound reverberating inside the small bathroom of the cheap motel I rented for the night. “What kind of answer is that, asshole?” I snarl at him.
Penguin is probably regretting his decision to come home with me tonight. He was easy pickings at the bar, his Highway Knight cut standing out like a beacon the second I walked through the door. It took approximately three shots of tequila to convince him to trot behind me like a puppy all the way to this cheap, rent-by-the-night motel. I haven’t even touched the bed, knowing bed bugs travel on clothing.
His eyes begin to water and I decide I’ve had enough. He’s not an important member of the MC, given his cut doesn’t have a position patch, so there’s no information he can give me. Hunting The Beast has been tiring, but I can’t deny the chase is always thrilling.
I run my left hand down the side of his face not covered in blood as I smile at him, giving him a serene look. He begins to relax the second I slam the blade of my knife through his right eye, the sharpened edge cutting through his flesh and bone with a satisfying sound. Then he slumps over as his body jerks with the last signs of his life being cut short. Yanking the knife back out, I wipe the blood off the blade onto his shirt, then slip it back into the custom holster strapped to my shoulders and waist. It houses my two snakeskin guns as well.
Turning toward the bathroom mirror, I pull off the blonde wig I’m wearing, then rip the wig cap from my head, letting my tangle of curls spring free. I lean in farther and blink rapidly, making the brown contacts covering my light blue eyes slide over my irises. After furiously washing the blood off my hands, I remove the contact lenses and discard them in the toilet before soaking in all my real features.
The Viper is notorious here in Nevada, especially within the MC circuit, and my description is well-known. I’ve been wearing this disguise for weeks now, and not one person has recognized me. It leaves me both elated and disappointed. I’m supposed to be infamous!
I grab the key card from my pocket, making sure to wipe it down with a towel before letting it fall to the counter. It’ll be another vicious murder aired on the late-night news in a few days for sure, and it warms me to know the police don’t have a single lead. Five bodies have been mutilated and left as trophies for homicide detectives to find, and it’s fun to watch them chase their tails for clues. They won’t find any, that I’m certain of. I pull on my leather gloves then pick up the wig and take the towel with me out into the room, making sure to wipe down all door handles before dropping it to the floor after I’ve opened the door to leave.
This failure tonight means I need to up the ante. No more low-level scum. I’ll be searching for a patched position starting tomorrow. I’m eager and growing impatient to snuff out the life of the man who took my parents from me.
I walk away from the motel and dump the wig into a dumpster, letting the rising sun coat my face in light as I head down the street, my heels clicking on the pavement of the sidewalk. It’s been all fun and games while I’ve been here, but it’s time to shut myself down and let my darkness break free. It means forgetting the faces of the people I love back home and shutting off my humanity.
I’ve been up since before the sun and my eye is burning from watching the compound across the street through my scope, my stomach pressed to the asphalt roof of an empty warehouse.
They’re quite active today with motorcycles riding in and out and the members running around the compound. I’ve been keeping my ear to the ground while I hunt and I’ve heard of an organization, a family, who’s moving in on the Knights’ territory. It’s been nothing but whispers and I hadn’t put much thought into them until now.
As long as they stay away from my kill, I’ll stay out of their hair.
The DeRucci name rings a bell though, telling me I’ve heard of them at some point or another, but I haven’t searched for anything else beyond that. My focus has been on my target, and I won’t deviate from it.
A van swerves into the lot, the tires protesting with the sharp turn as the rubber fights to grip the gravel. “What the fuck?” I hiss to myself as a few guys jump out of the van and head toward the back double doors.
