Burn

Copyright © 2013 R.J. Lewis. All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events and other elements portrayed herein are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons or events is coincidental.

Cover design by R.J. Lewis

Table of Contents

ONE
JAXON
TWO
THREE
FOUR
JAXON
FIVE
SIX
JAXON
SEVEN
EIGHT
JAXON
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
JAXON
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
JAXON
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
JAXON
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-
FIVE
JAXON
EPILOGUE

Dedication

I dedicate this book to all my readers. Without your messages of love and encouragement, I would not have been able to push through. Thank you for the motivation. You have no idea how touched I am by it.

Heads up

I intend on creating separate books based on separate characters. I have purposely introduced these characters in Burn. Some will remain a mystery that will eventually be unravelled in upcoming standalone novels.

One

The Black-backed Jackal clubhouse was a black industrial looking building with blacked out windows and, with the exception of the black iron gates, a ten foot tall cement wall bordering the entire area. There were cameras everywhere, securely fitted to every corner of the perimeter, big in size and shameless, broadcasting to all its members every single soul approaching its vicinity.

             
Currently, there were five souls standing in front of the gate and one angry motherfucker snarling up at the camera. In fact, he’d been snarling there for a couple hours now. They’d ignored him long enough – the fucker wasn’t going to go.

             
And now he had a gun in his hand.
Motherfucker.

             
Remy stared at the screen and watched the douchebag put his arm up in the air. In the distance, gun shots were heard. Any second now Prez was going to walk into the room and demand –

             
“What the fuck is going on?!” Right on cue. The white haired, large burly man stormed into the surveillance room, zipping up the fly on his jeans. His shirt was off, fat and muscle combined and loaded in ink taking up every inch of his torso.

             
He took a single look at the screen, went all kinds of impossible shades of pink, and darted his eyes at Remy. The veins in his neck were protruding now, which was bad. The veins were always a bad sign. “What in God’s name is that motherfucker doing firing shots into the fucking air outside of my fucking compound, Remy?”

             
Remy stood there for a few moments feeling the heat of Prez’s gaze as well as the gaze of all the other men emerging from their slumber. It was four in the morning and everyone was pissed off.

             
“He won’t go away,” he simply stated to Prez.

             
“What do you mean he won’t go away? How long’s he been standing there?”

             
“Few hours now.”

             
Prez’s eyes twitched once. Then they twitched again as he regarded his VP. Remy knew he knew. Of course he knew. He hated he knew. Prez knew everything.

             
“What. Did. You. Do.”

             
From his peripheral, two of his men slinked back – the same men that had helped Remy eight hours prior. Remy didn’t respond. And when Remy didn’t respond, Prez always lost his shit.

             
“I’m going to lose my shit!” he screeched. Everyone but Remy flinched. He was used to the temper tantrums, albeit not at him, but still, they were all one and the same. “I don’t fucking believe it! You went behind my fucking back, didn’t you? You motherfucker! You cocksucking mother fucking –”

             
“I had to,” Remy interrupted, but the man continued to rage on.

             
“For a fucking woman! A goddamn piece of pussy that you can get anywhere you want! Always after that one slice of –”

             
“He killed Brett!”

             
Prez shut up. His face went blank as the words processed. Brett wasn’t one of them, but he was Remy’s brother. A part of the family. Prez was never fond of the fat douche, but he was his best poker bud. Poker was big for Prez. Finding a good poker bud to play with was very hard on Prez. So the fact he loved poker and his favourite poker bud was dead was big. Very big.

             
However, this was different. The Jackals and Scorpions were on semi-good terms now, and it had taken for-fucking-ever to achieve this. They were essential to the Jackals.

             
This complicated shit. And Prez hated complicated shit.

             
“You got this out of her?” he asked, calmer now that the words had sunk in.

             
Remy gave him a single nod.

             
Prez’s eyes wandered to the screen again. “What do you want to do?”  Remy had every right to retaliate. Depending on how severe this retaliation might be, it would inevitably stir the nest if it involved killing Jaxon Barlow.

             
“I want the girl.”

The words took
Prez off guard. He looked back at the dark eyed man. Remy was always a damn hard read, yet for once the emotion of certainty was profound in those dark eyes. He wanted the girl as retaliation? Talk about dodging a fucking bullet! If pussy would keep the peace going then Remy could have it.

             
Prez took a step closer to him. They equalled in height, and although Prez had buried most of his muscle in fat, the fucker was still strong as hell.

             
“Then you’re going to go out there and settle this,” he demanded firmly. His blue eyes spoke volumes that no one else around the room could see. They said
: Remy, you fuck this up and I fuck you up, too.
A warning that Remy nodded in agreement to.

             
“I’m going back to sleep. I better wake up to no dead bodies, and would someone please shut those fucking kittens up in Darcy’s room?!” They watched Prez storm out, and then dispersed themselves. There were only three men standing in the room: Remy, Fritz and Logan.

             
More shots in the distance.

             
“Guy’s losing his shit,” mumbled Logan. “I’m gonna get some guns out of the artillery room. Fight fire with fire, yeah?”

             
“No,” Remy said. “We don’t need that shit.”

             
Fritz bristled uncomfortably. “That fucker looks angry enough to shoot –”

             
“And if he does, he’s fucked. He ain’t gonna be shooting.”

             
Remy threw his vest on and walked out. He knew he was being a smug ass going out without a weapon. It was a statement: that the Jackals were far more powerful than the Scorpions. That they could stomp on their asses in a blink of an eye.

             
The perimeter’s spot lights flickered on as Remy and the men stepped out into the cold, early morning mist. The wind was ferocious, stinging his numb cheeks a bright shade of red. They were breathing out clouds and breathing in the icy air. Fucker had stood in this weather for three hours. Not bad.

             
With the lights on, he was no longer a silhouette. The more Remy closed the gap between them, the more of his features came out, and it wasn’t pretty. Jaxon Barlow was a man possessed with rage. He was drenched from head to toe in old rain, breathing heavily, a hand gripping his gun tightly. When they connected eyes, Remy had to fight the smile that was begging its way out. The man was a mess. And he fucking loved that.

             
He stopped at the gate. Both stood on opposite sides. Staring.

             
“Where is she?” Jaxon gritted out.

             
Remy looked past him and at the four Scorpions standing several feet behind him.

             
“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout, man,” Remy casually answered, idly scratching his chin.

             
Jaxon’s nostrils flared as he bounded forward and gripped the iron bars that separated them. “Don’t you fucking lie to me! I know you have her –”

             
“Have who?”

             
“Damien told me everything. You’re standing on thin ice, Remy. I swear to fucking God, if you don’t give her back –”

             
“What?” Remy snapped, taking a step closer to the gate. “What’re you gonna do, Scorpion? Ain’t nothing your ass can do to us.”

             
“You wanna fucking bet?”

             
Remy chuckled, eyeing Jaxon like he was two feet tall and made of cuddly bears. “You gonna start another war you can’t win, man? Who’s the one floating all them businesses you and your chimp of a boss got goin’? Regardless of what happens, I got what I want. I got my answers. Answers you were too pussy to come out with tonight.”

             
“Where is she?!” Panic swept his face as he gripped the bar tighter. “I swear, if you hurt her –”

             
“She’s a fucking Jackal, you moron,” Remy bit back. “You’ve known that for some time too. She ain’t hurt.”

             
“Give her back.” Remy saw the vulnerability in those words. Jaxon was losing his shit. The man looked desperate.

             
“No,” Remy calmly said. “You ain’t getting her back. She ain’t gonna be in that world of yours. Ain’t gonna get passed around like a whore. Would you really have given her that kind of life?”

             
Jaxon’s face fell. “I would never have passed her around –”

             
“You ain’t got no choice! That’s what woulda happened to her and you fucking know it!” Remy’s anger began to surface. “She would have been fucked like an animal in that poison of a club –”

             
“You act like you’re so much fucking better,” Jaxon interrupted, staring holes in his head. “Like you’re not some scum of a fucking murderer. The whole lot of you! Selling fucking drugs –”

             
“And it’s our earnings that keep your asses floating, you stupid hick. You act like you ain’t got blood on your hands either. May I fucking remind you of what your men did to our town three years ago? Burning shit down, threatening all them fucking businesses, monopolising this town like a fucking game –”

             
“We cleaned up the fucking streets while your police bought monkeys kicked back –”

             
“And you’re only here because of our mercy, you thieving piece of shit! Laundering our fucking money to keep your boat floating clean –”