Home > The Biker's Plaything (Straight to Hell MC #1)

The Biker's Plaything (Straight to Hell MC #1)
Author: Sam Crescent

Chapter One

 


“No, please, no!” The sound of the rat’s squeal filled the air. Seeing as he was standing in his own grave, which Lord had made him dig himself, there was no one to hear.

“You defied our laws. I can’t have that.”

“I’m sorry, Lord. I didn’t know what I was doing. It was a mistake. I’ll do anything. I’m so sorry.”

“Anything?” Lord asked.

“Yes. Please. Anything.”

Lord smiled. “Kiss my feet.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Kiss my fucking feet.”

The hole was big enough for the rat to still reach his boots. He waited. As soon as his lips were close, Lord kicked out, hitting him hard in the face. The man fell back, cupping his jaw, blood flowing between his fingers.

His men all laughed.

They knew the moment a rat was declared, the only sure thing was death.

“Please, what about my daughter? She’s not responsible. Please.”

“Don’t worry. Ally will get the right treatment owed to her by the club. You really should have thought about that before doing what you did.” Pulling out his gun, which he only used to take out rats in the club, he fired one bullet, and it went straight through the man’s head.

He was already in his grave and Lord nodded. Justice had been served. His men clapped their hands, all of them happy with the way this ended.

Brick, his VP, came to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Lord didn’t like to be touched and shrugged him off. The men knew not to put a hand on him.

“I want the cop next,” Lord said.

The rat, Richard Prixman, had been an accountant of sorts, working at the club’s strip joints. Not only had the son of a bitch been stealing from him, but he’d also decided to use their records to try to bring a case against the club. As if he’d ever allow that to happen.

The club was his life. He protected everyone.

“Get the prospects to clean this shit up.” He kicked some mud at the dead face. “It’s a shame we couldn’t mount his head on a spike to serve as a warning to anyone tempted to turn their backs on us.”

Leaving his mess behind, Lord made his way to the club. One of the club whores was at the bar, cleaning out a glass. He nodded for her to pour him a shot, which she did without question.

After knocking it back, he headed to the parking lot where his bike was ready and waiting.

“You’re not going on your own,” Brick said.

“This is my job.”

“Take Reaper with you. I’ll handle shit here.”

He glared at Brick. “You think I need a babysitter?”

“No, but you do need someone to rein in your anger. Do as you’re asked, please,” Brick said.

Lord raised his brow.

Brick held his hands up. “I don’t mean no disrespect. You know that.”

“Do I? The way I see it, my VP thinks he can tell me what to do.”

“Advise you. That’s it. I don’t want you to hurt yourself or worse, do something you might regret.”

“He’s right,” Reaper said. “You fucking know it, boss.”

He looked between his men. His temper was well known, especially when it came to defending the club, and right now, killing the rat hadn’t satisfied his hunger. When one of his informants called a week ago, he thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. Someone wanted to end his club, and it wasn’t the first time. Between fighting for turf and ending clubs himself through wars, he was used to always looking over his shoulder. When it came to an insider willing to take on him and his club, well, he couldn’t have that. The betrayal was too close to home, and it didn’t help that it had been Richard Prixman. He’d helped that son of a bitch get the job and this was how he got repaid? He was pissed off. No, he was furious.

Usually, killing the person responsible for his shit mood helped to improve it, but it had only made him angrier. He was pissed off and ready to kill even more people.

“Then hurry the fuck up. We know this piece of shit is waiting at a barn out in the middle of nowhere. I don’t have time to waste.” He clicked his fingers. “Oh, and get the rat’s daughter here too.”

“You know Ally doesn’t live with him. She declared emancipation from him when she was fifteen. The girl’s been living on her own ever since,” Brick said.

He didn’t allow himself to get embroiled with his workers’ business. Richard had issues, he got that, but didn’t they all? As far as he was concerned, his only regret was not killing the daughter first, so the rat could have watched her die.

Every one of the men at the club had issues, but he didn’t hold their hands or ask them about their problems. Instead, he liked to stick to the good, old, reliable method of not giving a shit.

“Just do it. You know how this works.”

“Fine. We’ll bring her in.”

Climbing on his bike, he allowed the purr to sink into his senses. The scent of oil, the leather, the roar, it was all sweet magic, but it still didn’t do enough to stem his need for blood. Gripping the handlebars, he revved the engine, not waiting for his enforcer to get ready. He was out of there. He didn’t need a sitter.

Taking the open road, he knew this was where he belonged. For many years, he’d been wandering through life, fighting, hunting, and trying to find himself, when he discovered his place right here in this very club, Straight to Hell MC. It had once been owned by a man who went by King. He’d been the one to rule this place, to have his men bow down at his feet, but greed had set him on a path of destruction. If it hadn’t been for Lord, they’d all be dead, rotting in their graves. Life had certainly taken a dramatic turn.

He hadn’t been prepared to take care of these men, and yet, somehow, he’d managed. He’d been able to take the role of president, to remove all the men with King’s influence, and now the club was exactly how he wanted it. Ruthless men who were one hundred percent loyal to the club, whose motives he didn’t have to question. They would always have his back. And he’d die for them in return.

It didn’t take long for Reaper to catch up with him. His enforcer was one hell of a rider and there was never going to be any way of getting shit past him.

Heading toward town, he noticed many people stopped to watch them. Whenever he decided to venture into town with the club to take care of business, most people tried to keep a wide berth from him. He didn’t mind at all.

Having people near him put him on edge. He was always tempted to reach for his gun, to shoot without giving a fuck when someone pissed him off—that was just his prerogative. So, it was best to keep his distance.

The cop who dared to defy the club lived in a little farmhouse past the town, near a patch of open road. Pulling down the old dirt road, he arrived just in time to see the man himself scamper into his home.

Climbing off his bike, he didn’t wait for Reaper. Instead, he barged into the house, grabbing the cop by the back of the neck and throwing him across the room. He landed against a ceramic urn that shattered.

“So, you think you can just take my money, and then turn rat on me?”

“No, please,” the cop said.

Grabbing him by the hair, he dragged him outside, ready to kill him.

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