Prologue
Blayze
Sniveling and crying, snot and tears running down his face, this low-ranking member of Los Demons is about to take his last breath. He was caught snooping around the Royal Bastards Clubhouse earlier today. Torch, our Enforcer, has been having too much fun with him for the past six hours. Between begging for his life and cursing us all to hell, he hasn’t told us jack shit on why he was there. Now, we’re out on an abandoned dead-end road and he’s on his knees in the dirt. The headlights of everyone’s bikes make a circle around the sorry piece of shit.
“I’m gonna ask you one more time, Punta. Why are you here?” Capone, the President of Royal Bastards MC, Los Angeles Chapter and my best friend asks him. His real name is Derek but because of his badass looks and his jet-black hair, the old Prez, Chains, called him Capone when he was little and the nickname stuck ever since.
“No entiendo.” No understand. Los Demons sobs through his tears and snot.
“Oh, you understand all right,” Capone taunts, leaning right into his face. “Because when I end your life, I’m going to fuck your sister.” The man growls low and tries to head-butt Capone, but he steps back laughing. “Told you he understood English.”
Capone cracks his neck from side to side. His deadly black eyes glare at our captive. His leather cut with our club logo, creaks under the move. “Pendejo, I’m going to ask you one more time. Why are the Los Demons snooping around my club?”
“Vete a la Merida,” Fuck you. He growls.
Capone smirks and nods his head to Torch, “Have fun. I’ve got better things to do.” Capone turns on his heels and steps away. I immediately follow him into the pitch-black night. Screams pierce the air and a shiver races down my spine. The Los Demon breathed his last breath.
Once we’re away from the area and near where the two of us parked our bikes, Capone lights up a smoke and slows down. “Blayze, I’ll need you and Bear to keep watch over the next few days. Something tells me we haven’t seen the last of Los Demons.”
“You got it, Prez,” I respond, lighting up my cigarette. I inhale the nicotine deep into my lungs. “What are your thoughts?”
Capone stares out into the deserted valley sitting high in the mountains on the outskirts of Los Angeles. The property our Chapter of the Royal Bastards MC owns is perfect for what we do. We’re the elite one-percenters, riding the line of legal and illegal. We run everything from guns, to drugs, to money laundering. Some of our legal businesses such as the sanctioned fighting ring, bars and porn business keeps us off the cop’s radar. But with Los Demons sniffing around today, something big is going down. Something we’re not seeing.
“I’m thinking, Los Demons want to take over our territory. We’ll send them a message with that piece of shit.” Capone grins. A look passes through his eyes. He enjoys this shit. Which I don’t blame him. There’s something that embeds deep into your soul when you become the judge, jury and executioner rolled into one.
One final scream pierces the air, causing the birds roosting in the trees to take flight. Capone stomps his cigarette out under his boot and mounts his bike. I do the same and the two of us ride back to the clubhouse. My thoughts are on what our next move will be if Los Demons show up again. We can keep torturing and tormenting them, or we can go on the offense and go after them. Make them stop now before one of our own gets caught in the crosshairs. And by one of our own, I’m thinking about a sexy as fuck porn queen, Monica. Capone’s sister. From her long lean legs which wrap perfectly around my waist, to her shoulder length dark hair I can grab while fucking her from behind. Monica consumes my every thought. I won’t make a move on her because she’s Capone’s little sister, but I sure as fuck will fantasize while I jack off at night or while I fuck some nameless, faceless club whore.
Chapter 1
Blayze
The rumble of my Harley Davidson Deluxe Review-First Ride pierces the quiet night. Capone and I follow the road that leads to a long driveway and ride up to a chain-link fence surrounding a huge cement building that used to be a warehouse at one time but now belongs to the Royal Bastards MC. There’s a guard shack to the left in front of the fence unmanned. The only way in or out of this place is through the rolling gates. Unless you want to be a fucking idiot like the now dead guy for Los Demons and climb the fence. We set security cameras up in every corner of the building and the blind spot along the fence moving with us on motion sensors. Capone and I stand idle until the gates to our clubhouse roll open. Once Tiny sees us from his spot at the over watch, he hits a button and the gate buzzes and creaks, allowing us inside. Capone and I ride to the left of the gates, past the full parking lot and roll up to the white garage doors. He hits a button on his bike and the door rolls up. We pull inside and park our bikes side by side, while the garage door closes behind us. The fluorescent lights turn on the motion sensors detecting our movements.
I remove my helmet, hanging it on the handlebars and light up a smoke. The nicotine burns my lungs and relaxes me. Capone climbs off his bike, removes his helmet and places it on the backseat. “I need you to find Monica and keep a close eye on her.”
Capone might not admit to caring about his sister, but we all know he does. Sometimes he cares too much and Monica being on the receiving end gets pissed. She’s an independent woman determined to make it in our world without relying on her brother. All he wants to do is protect her. In his mind, he failed her when he sent her to Detroit and Steam, the President of Savage Saints, MC Detroit caught up with her. We didn’t know Chains, our old President, knew Steam. We were in the middle of a turf war where tides were turning, and Monica was trapped in the crosshairs. Capone thought it was safer for her to be there, but it wasn’t. Steam figured out who she was and tried to kill her. He caught her, but Monica’s stubborn ass refused to succumb to him. She still carries the emotional and physicals scars.
“Aye, Prez. Consider it done. I won’t let her out of my sight.” I reply, stomping my smoke out.
I climb off my bike and together we walk down the long corridor leading deep into the clubhouse. We enter the common room together. To the left are the pool tables and dartboards. Some brothers who didn’t make the run with us tonight are there, hitting on the club whores and they’re soaking up the attention. To the right are a few couches and chairs set up in front of a seventy-inch-widescreen TV. The noise from the Xbox drowns out talking as people are gathering around it and taking bets as a prospect and Trigger, our Treasurer, battle it out in a boxing match.
To the back of the common room is another prospect tending the bar. He’s slinging drinks as fast as he can with a white towel thrown over his shoulder. Behind the bar is our club logo etched in mirrored glass. Twenty-six Chapters range from the east coast starting in Boston, MA; NYC; Baltimore, MD, all the way south to Miami, FL then across the US through Georgia, Mississippi, Louisiana, Tennessee, Kentucky, Missouri, West Virginia, Michigan, Colorado, Nebraska, Texas, to the west coast in Arizona, California, Nevada and Alaska. Twenty-six Chapters all over the US. If any one of them needs anything, we drop what we’re doing and go in a heartbeat. Loyalty to the Club goes before everything else. It doesn’t matter if you’re balls deep in your Ol’ Lady on your honeymoon in Cavo. If a Chapter needs help, you are there with no hesitation.