Hell's Viper (Hell's March MC Book 1), page 7
“What?” He sits up with a gasp. “It was Ajani too, huh? That man is too sexy for his own good. What did they call him? I bet it was something more delicious than mine. Banana Cream Pie! I bet it was Banana Cream Pie.” He snaps his fingers as he nods profusely, his grin taking over his face.
“Never mind,” I mumble with a roll of my eyes. “Get a few hours rest because we’re scouting in a bit.”
“I’m going to ask him. I need to know.” He moves to get up off the bed when my fist hits his chest, knocking him back down playfully.
“It wasn’t Ajani they named, you fool. They named both of us together,” I hiss at him as his eyes widen and his hand rubs the spot I hit on his chest. My ass hits my bed as I sit and face him, pulling my boots off.
“No way! What’s your name? Blueberry?” His eyes fill with humor as his mouth twitches to hold in a laugh.
“It’s Stud, actually.” I grin, loving watching the smirk he has on his face slowly melt away.
“How did you get Stud and I got Muffin? That makes no sense,” he grumbles and kicks his shoes off to get under the blanket.
“Makes complete sense to me,” I fire back as he turns and gives me his back with a huff.
“Asshole. I’m still prettier,” he continues, his annoyance making me chuckle as I get under my own blanket. My body instantly relaxes as the soft mattress lulls me closer to sleep.
“That you are,” I mutter and close my eyes.
It’s just before dawn when we split into two teams, Quinton and Cruz heading up to the roof of the warehouse across from the Knights’ compound while Ajani and I stroll around the block, incognito without our cuts on.
The streets are quiet and the compound seems desolate from where we can see it. No movement and definitely no little snake running around shooting people. I’d find myself on the wrong end of her gun if I ever called her that to her face, and the more I think about it, the more I want to do it. A pissed-off Delia is a hot one.
“What’s that grin for?” Ajani cuts through my thoughts, his voice low as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“Just making a list of all the things to annoy Delia with when we drag her ass back home.” I hum as we turn a corner, finding more vacant-looking warehouses. His eyes burn a hole into the side of my head and I turn to look at him, the questions in their depths making me pause. “What?”
“She told me how close you two used to be,” he begins, turning his head forward as we continue to walk. “What happened?”
“Delia told you we were close but didn’t tell you why we aren’t anymore?” I stop walking as he pauses a few paces in front of me and turns to flick an eyebrow upward.
“Fine. She didn’t say you were close, but I could tell by the way you both have been acting over the years that you were. So now I’m asking you, what happened?” He crosses his arms over his chest, his body tense with what he thinks will be some confession of an illicit affair gone wrong. He couldn’t be farther from the truth.
“We grew up together in the club. Our parents were members and we were roughly the same age. When Diego left to become a prodigy doctor, she was lonely and I filled that void for a while. It ended when I was sworn in and she began to deal with her parents’ deaths. That’s it.” It’s a watered-down version of events, but I’ll be damned if I get into the gritty details with her boyfriend about it.
We continue walking, the silence between us thick with tension. “That’s not it,” he finally says, breaking the awkward void. “But I won’t pry.”
“Cool,” I grunt.
“I got a thing for big guns,” I tell Quinton as I watch him set up his rifle from where I’m sitting on the roof. Sweat rolls from his temple to his cheek as he pops his head up to look at me, a grin working over his mouth.
“Is this where you begin to get too comfortable and tell me about all the other big things you like?” His chuckle coats the air between us as I scoff, waving him off with my hand.
“You’re cute and all, but chicks handling big guns are my thing,” I continue to ramble as his back shakes with suppressed laughter. “They’re so pretty and feminine, and then BAM! They’re holding up a big gun in your face, telling you to do as they say or die. What’s hotter than that?” I fall onto my back and stare up at the lightening sky.
“So you’re basically telling me you have a thing for Delia.” Quinton snorts as my brows come together in thought. Images run through my mind of her strutting into the club with her guns strapped and a rifle on her back to collect payment from Barrett for another hit. My cock begins to swell as I adjust it in my pants and let loose a breath. Seems like I might be more than just a little interested in the dangerous woman.
“Yep.”
“Ajani has been with her for a while, think you could handle sharing?” Quinton presses as I lean up on my elbows to look at him. He’s staring at me, a mischievous smirk on his mouth and his eyes twinkling with mirth.
“Share? Like in the same bed?” I sit all the way up as he laughs. “Are you asking if I would fuck both Ajani and Delia?” My mouth drops open, his suggestion leaving me feeling scandalized.
He continues to laugh as I huff, my confusion only making him laugh more. “No.” He shakes his head once the laughter dies down. “I mean both of you date her at the same time. Like Genni with us.”
“Oh.”
He begins to laugh again as I ponder it, my mouth curling down in thought. “Were you considering sleeping with Ajani?” He gets out between bouts of laughter.
“I mean…” I shrug. “He’s a good-looking guy, but I don’t think he’d be down for it.” My laughter mingles with his as I lay back on the roof to look up at the sky. “Besides, I don’t think Ajani is the sharing type, and Delia, well, she’s a hard one to read.”
“If the Charles twins can share my girl, then I say anything is possible.” I let his words sink in as I imagine myself dating Delia. Is that something I could handle? My Old Lady being someone else’s Old Lady too? Whose patch would she wear? Whose bed would she sleep in? “Shit. Looks like something is happening.” I jump up at Quinton’s words and sit beside him as he peers through the scope of his rifle.
“What is it?” I squint toward the compound and see some Knights running for their bikes, but no faces or distinguishing features.
“If I were to guess, I would think they just found their hostage missing. Took them long enough to figure it out. Robby must’ve played it dumb about Delia.” Just then, my phone begins to ring with Ajani’s name on the screen as the Knights roll out.
“Yo,” I answer, watching as the bikes split into two groups, each turning down opposite sides of the street. “We got some activity.”
“Yeah, we hear it. They’re coming this way. What spooked them?” The engines grow louder through the phone and I swear I hear Davis calling out obscenities as they pass, making me snort.
“Quinton thinks they finally discovered their hostage missing.” My eyes flick to Quinton as he backs away from the scope, his mouth drawn down in a scowl. “Let’s reconvene back at the hotel.”
Once we’re back inside our rooms, Quinton and Ajani join me and Davis, all of us quiet and thinking.
“Delia freed their hostage. I would bet she was watching them drag that woman out of the vehicle at the same time we were watching through the aerial footage,” Ajani begins as he leans against the wall beside our adjoining door, his arms crossed over his chest. “Not only am I trying to hunt down who The Beast is so I can trail Delia, now I have to figure out who this woman is and where Delia would be hiding her.”
“Fuck trailing anyone but Delia,” I snap as they all turn to look at me. “She’s our mission. Not The Beast, not some chick who found herself at the wrong place at the wrong time, and certainly not the fucking Knights. We focus on Delia, and to do that, we need to get into her head. We need the person who knows her best.” I stare at Ajani whose golden eyes meet mine, but when he turns his head toward Davis, shock courses through me.
“Why are you looking at me?” Davis growls as his casual stance turns tense. “The Delia I knew no longer exists.”
“That’s not true,” Ajani fires back, pushing himself off the wall to face Davis. “The Delia I knew believed her parents killed themselves and had accepted that. Yes, she would fall into episodes of anger and take up a job for whoever needed to disappear, but her grief wasn’t her fuel. An angry Delia I know well, but not one who’s lost herself in grief. You know her.”
Davis’ face loses its edge as realization dawns on him. “What am I missing?” I ask as I look between them.
“I’m going to get some shut-eye,” Quinton mumbles as he leaves the room, closing the adjoining door behind him.
Davis has been a part of Hell’s March his entire life, having his father as President, and Ajani joined around the same time Diego came back to take over his father’s position as Medic, but I didn’t join Hell’s March until much later. I don’t have the same history as they do, and I don’t know Delia other than she’s a fierce assassin we sometimes hired to send a message.
“Delia used to be my best friend,” Davis begins as he sits on the end of his bed, leaning his forearms on his knees. “But then her parents died and she became someone I didn’t recognize.” He looks up at Ajani and shakes his head. “I can’t help you get inside her mind while she’s driven by grief because that’s when she shut me out. I never knew that Delia because she wouldn’t let me get close enough.”
“Jones is working on places the Knights frequent and if The Beast is known for grabbing women and hostages, then maybe we’ll find him—and Delia—in one of those places.” My words float between them and Ajani turns toward me as he falls back against the wall, worry etched into his features. “We’re going to find her.”
“If there’s one thing I do know about Delia,” Davis cuts in, his voice soft. “She’ll only be found when she wants to be.”
The sounds of motorcycle engines bring a smile to my mouth as I adjust my stance in the rafters of the warehouse whose security I purposely tripped. The place is stacked with drugs, but what thoroughly pissed me off was the evidence in the back room of human trafficking.
There were pieces of female clothing and etchings on the wall with names and calls for help. Gionni, The Beast, Derucci is going to meet his match today, and I’ll be taking a few of his brothers out too.
Loralee went into great detail about this place, telling me she’d been investigating it for a few months. It was only a few days ago when she saw evidence of what it was used for, but before she could get away, The Beast found her. In the weeks that I’ve been in Nevada, they hadn’t come here once, and I would’ve known since I was trailing them.
Only, I wasn’t trailing the right group. It’s clear now that The Beast doesn’t stay at the Knights’ compound with the other members and he must have his own squad of trafficking assholes.
Learning about him, or rather, Gionni DeRucci has been eye-opening. He’s been in deep undercover with the Knights for over a decade and Loralee believes he’s using them to funnel money into the crime family. She said she wouldn’t have pieced it together were it not for the slip-up the son of the DeRucci Godfather made while she was on a date with him three weeks ago.
Her bravery to take risks in her mission to reveal the DeRucci family is admirable and I’m glad to have her on my side. There’s a reason why The Beast grabbed her and had her held in the basement of the club, and I think it had everything to do with how much she knew about him and his family. It feels like fucking fate and it’s been a long time since I’ve believed in that sort of thing.
My rage comes to a boiling point as the engines pull up outside of the warehouse, at least four that I can determine, and I reach down into that scalding pit inside of me to call on my own monster. She’s been waiting patiently as I slowly fed her these past few weeks. A little blood here, some torture there, and now she’s ready to be unleashed.
Closing my eyes, I say a small farewell to Delia, letting her slip away like cool, soothing water and letting the inferno of The Viper rush upward, coating everything in molten lava.
The doors bang open just as I open my eyes, seeing the scene in front of me awash in reds and oranges, settling over my prey. Four men, four little rabbits, cautiously step into the warehouse, their boots hitting the filthy concrete floor and sending echoes around the space. I swallow back the urge to growl, not wanting them to be alerted to where I am until the last possible moment.
My mind works fast as they spread out, one going to the empty room in the back, another heading toward the steel stairs that would lead him closer to me, and the other two stand in the center of the room right under me as they look over the tables of packed cocaine. None of them are the man I’m seeking, but I’m willing to bet this is his team and they’ll be able to tell me what I need to know with enough motivation.
Boots hit the landing behind me, making me turn around on the rafters and rise to my feet. The sound of a beating heart thrums through my ears as the rabbit across from me searches the loft, his wide shoulders and muscled arms telling me I’ll have to use stealth instead of brute force.
Running along the rafters on my toes, I take a deep breath and jump the platform, my feet cushioned by the pile of folded blankets I landed on. I crouch down as he turns, his brows hovering over his eyes as he looks out toward the rafters I just came from, missing me by seconds. Fuck, I love this game.
“Tony!” one of the others below calls out. “Anything up there?”
“Nah,” the biker in front of me replies, his tone uncertain as he turns to look down to the floor below. “Clear.”
My gun is out of the holster, its twin still resting in its case at my side, then I lift it as the silencer gleams under the streak of sunlight cascading in from the single window. I aim for his head and pull the trigger, the spray of blood arching out and catching the light on its descent.
He teeters then falls over the edge, his body disappearing from sight, and a few seconds later, hits the ground floor with a loud resounding crack.
“What the fuck?” someone growls, a tenor of fear lilting the syllables, making me moan softly as I rotate my neck. It’s the calm before the storm, and I feel the electric charge rip over my skin, leaving my hairs standing in its wake.
Two sets of boots charge toward the stairs, bringing my prey to me, as the third set remains inside the room, oblivious to what’s happening out here. He’s the lucky winner of a Viper interrogation. Once I’m done with these two rabbits, that is.
They’re not thinking straight as they barrel up the narrow set of stairs, one in front of the other as the width prevents them from climbing side by side. They get nearer as I raise my gun again, aiming for the moment a head appears over the ledge, my chest warming with the prospect of more bloody violence.
Dark hair sways with the motion of his running, the soft waves tumbling as time slows. I press my finger to the trigger and as soon as his eyes appear over that edge, I give him a taunting smile before firing my gun, sending that bullet perfectly into the center of his forehead. He falls backward, hard against his partner, and they both hit the stairs with a crash, their bodies tumbling back down in loud bangs until they hit the floor.
Patiently, I wait a few seconds then a groan filters upward from the bottom of the stairs, sounding broken and filled with pain. Still no sign of the fourth little rabbit, but he must’ve heard something by now. Standing from my crouched position, I grip the gun tighter as I head for the stairs, my nose flaring with the scent of carnage. I can’t wait to skin the bastard rabbits and leave their hides all over this warehouse for their leader to find. Presents of foreshadowing, a promise of torture, just for him.
Taking each step carefully, I keep my eyes on the pile of bodies at the foot of the stairs, my ears tuning into any sound outside of the soft falls of my feet on the metal beneath them. Not even a shuffle sounds around me in the cavernous space and I’m slightly disappointed at the lack of a challenge. Maybe that’s why I’m tempting the devil himself. Not only am I avenging my parents, but I’m craving a fight that could potentially send me to an early grave.
A dance with death, if you will.
I reach the bottom and find the twisted limbs of the biker who had the unfortunate luck of being behind his fat friend when he found his end, and now he’s a fucking pancake who’s moaning, the sound wet and gurgling.
“This little piggy took a fall down a lot of stairs,” I sing as I flick the dead asshole’s nose. “And this little piggy should’ve stayed home,” I finish and flick the crushed asshole’s nose beneath him. “To make up for your shattered bones,” I say as I rise to my feet. “I’ll let you stay alive to watch what I have in store for your friend who’s hiding.”
My eyes take in the closed door the biker went through, knowing he’s planned a trap for me, hoping I’ll fall into it. As tempting as it is to run inside that stuffy little room with no windows and no other exit, I’d much rather wait him out, even if it means his smooshed friend dies before the show.
Plopping my ass down on the first rabbit I shot in the head, I cross my feet at the ankles and rest my gun in my lap. “Let’s make a bet on how long it takes for him to come out of his hiding spot,” I wager with the corpse underneath me, slapping a hand to his ass. “Oh, do you work out?” When nothing but the gurgling biker sounds around me, I roll my eyes and stare at that closed door. “Strong silent type,” I muse out loud. “Just how I like my men. Anyway, I got a hundred on the little rabbit running out in the next five minutes.”
Another wet cough filters through the air and I chuckle. “Did you want to place a wager, minced meat?” I call out just as the gurgling stops, telling me the fucker is dead. “Pity. Seems I’m the only one with skin in the game here.”
It takes six minutes for the asshole to open the door and run out, firing one shot that goes wide before my two find his gun hand and his right kneecap. “You made me lose my bet,” I snarl as I stand from the biker with the nice ass and head toward the one bleeding puddles on the floor. He has his bleeding hand pressed to his chest as he cries out, the song of pain like church bells on a Sunday morning. Loud and fucking obnoxious. His gun is resting about twenty feet away from him and he begins to crawl toward it, his movement like molasses on a winter day.
