Storm: (Blood Legion MC) (Bad Boys of X-Ops Book 3) (5 page)

Blaize strained beside me. I just knew she wasn’t gonna let that one fly.

She brandished her blade again. “You want a piece? Why don’t you come at me?”

Venom lumbered around. He clenched his hand as if preparing for a blow I’d never fucking let him get off.

Then he laughed, long and loud.

“You got dem big balls,
cher
. I’ll give you that. How ’bout we let Nash take the heat for yours and his actions? After all, he’s got a lot more to answer for than you. ’Sides, Nikki’s fine, ain’t you, gal?” He whistled, and one of the other women rushed forward, taking Nik’s arm and leading her away. “The woman talks too damn much anyway. Gotta keep ’em in line.”

I swallowed a huge gulp of relief when Blaize put her knife away.

Turning to the crowd, Venom lifted a hand. “Matter o’ fact, all you bitches get outta here. We got some old business to attend to with Nash here.” He peered over his shoulder. “Or do you still go by your roadname, Storm?”

“Storm’ll do,” I uttered.

Blaize followed after Nikki and the other women.

“Not you, beauty.” Venom hauled her away and sat her at the bar. He poured her some tequila, saying, “You get to watch the show.”

The show was gonna be me.

I stood in place, revealing no visible reaction at all.

With a motion from Venom, the music cut off. The atmosphere became even more ominous. The bar emptied of women—all except Blaize—and blades flashed from many ham-fisted grips. Guns came into view.

The bullshit welcome was over.

It was initiation time.

I recognized most of the men, but there were a few new faces, people and perps I’d have to look into
without letting them know I was digging for info. One man in particular set off alarm bells. Didn’t know why yet. He stood almost as tall as me. His hair was as coal dark as mine, but where mine was unruly and long, his was worn short. A scar marked the left side of his forehead. A bushy beard covered the lower features of his face, but what caught my attention was the look in his hooded eyes—intense, vigilant, wary.

Something that spoke about death . . . and possibly war.

Kouto intersected my line of vision when he strolled in front of me. He didn’t carry a pistol or anything as common as that. He preferred his seriously evil, curved-blade machete. The gris-gris around his neck rattled when he walked around me.

“You’re the disgraced vice president, Storm. Why should we let you back in?”

YOLO . . . Or Not.

I SHRUGGED. “MISGUIDED SON come home?”

“Thought you turned evidence on us.” Burn’s road rash face tilted in a gruesome semblance of a grin.

More men pushed forward, muttering curses, calling for my death by blade or gun.

“The Legion’s still standing, ain’t it?” I knew these guys, and my attempt at bonhomie was only gonna last so long before they brought down the pain. “’Sides. Y’all know I got no love for the po-lice.”

At the mention of the po-po, several members spat on the floor as if to wash a foul taste from their mouths.

I edged toward Blaize, giving her a lazy wink before casually lifting her glass of tequila to my mouth.

Venom leveled the barrel of his gun at me. “Didn’t say you could move, Storm.”

“Didn’t say I couldn’t either.” I swiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Blaize put her palm on my chest and slid it down my front.

Fuuuck
.

Was she trying to make me go cross-eyed and stupid?

I kinda needed to concentrate here. On not getting killed.

But when she dug into my pocket, probably about to find a lot more than she bargained for, my hips kicked forward, and I almost growled. Apparently being faced with imminent death with her hands on me did something crazy to my cock. She pulled out the pack of Reds and fingered a cigarette out. After fishing some more for my Zippo, she lit up.

Blaize exhaled slow-mo smoke rings from her full glossy lips.

The road warriors watched her with
pure want
in their eyes.

I cranked an arm around her shoulders, and she lifted the smoke to my lips. I took a drag and blew it out.

“Why’d you come back?” Burn asked.

“The Brotherhood. Blood, guns, and blow. What else is there?”

“Disappeared for a couple years, yeah? How’d you manage that?” Kouto took point as the others circled like sharks.

Flashing bowie knives knuckled in tight grips pointed at me.

“Rehab.” I winked.

Guffaws sounded. But they didn’t last.

“Still got your
cojones
, your colors, and your patch,
brah
. What about the backpiece?” Venom asked.

“’Course.”

“Show it.”

Stripping down to my waist, I handed the leather cut to Blaize. I tugged the muscle shirt over my head and let it drop. Turning in a 180, I showed Venom and the Legion my backpiece. The skull, the bloody eye socket. One of my Sigs stuck out of the back of my leather pants. Another was holstered at my hip. The KA-BAR was strapped to my thigh, a back-up knife in my boot.

Blaize sat behind me. I felt her taking in my body. My inked back, my ropey shoulders. And when I turned, hands in the air, the cuts of my pelvis leading into my pants. The thick, black dusting of hair on my muscled chest.

Her eyes roamed over me from head to toe before she returned her attention to the bottle of tequila.

“You can keep your weapons, Storm.” Venom’s head shined beneath the lights, making the skeleton tat even more macabre. “I got one more for you.”

He held out his Blackhawk six-shooter after loading three chambers.

I took the revolver in hand.

“Remember this?” he asked.

Burn chuckled. Kouto rubbed his gris-gris.

The new dude with the bushy black beard seemed to be whispering to himself.

Looked like it was time for a little Russian roulette, crazy Cajun-style. Fifty-fifty chance of blowing my head off. Great odds.

Not.

“Been on the receiving end of this gun before.” I hefted the Ruger in the palm of my hand.

“Three live rounds.
Three empty chambers.
Bon chance
.” Venom raised a glass.

“BON CHANCE!” The cheers reverberated throughout the room.

Bon chance. Bottoms up. Death to the end.

I pointed the revolver at my temple with a steady hand. The first time I’d undergone the Legion hazing there’d only been one bullet loaded.

Seemed the stakes had just gotten higher.

Blaize pushed her knuckles against her lips, shaking her head. Her skin was deathly pale.

Well, waddya know? Maybe she feels somethin’ for me after all. Or maybe she’s just dreading the KIA paperwork.

I cocked the round, a trickle of sweat sliding down the back of my neck. “
Bon chance.
”

My finger notched the trigger, and I started pulling it back.

No goddamn lie, my life flashed before my eyes. There wasn’t much to be thankful for.

Three bullets. One key to get inside the Legion again.

“STORM! NO!”

I heard Blaize, saw being her held back while she tried to wrench free.

I let the trigger go.

The gun clicked in my hand.

Empty.

I almost dropped to my knees in utter relief, blowing out a huge breath.

Venom rubbed his hands together, and I held the revolver out to him, but he shook his head.

“No, Storm. Too easy. Two years gone. Two turns with the gun,
pahdnah
. Spin the chamber again.”

A low growl came from my throat as I gave the cylinder a spin. The odds had just drastically risen. Blaize struggled against Burn and Kouto.

I shook my head at her, husking out, “No worries,
cher
.”

The other men looked hungry for my blood, hoping it sprayed across the walls covered in faded, peeling, velvet embossed wallpaper like an old-time saloon.

No second thoughts.

No holding back.

I shut my eyes just before pulling the trigger a second time. The moment the chamber turned I swallowed down a mouthful of bile.

Ragin’ Cajun

THE EMPTY CLICK ECHOED throughout the hushed room.

I coolly handed the gun back to Venom even though I still wanted to puke my guts out. Whistles and shouts and hollers rose to the rafters. Blaize tore free from Burn and Kouto. When I opened my arms, she flew straight into my embrace.

“You’re alive,” she whispered.

“
Shhh.
” Dipping my head, I kissed her long and hard, my tongue slicing into her mouth where slick heat pulled me deeper.

In that moment she wasn’t my superior. She wasn’t a fantasy. She was my partner. And I was alive.

Blaize returned the kiss with licks and murmurs and her hands tightening in my hair.

I pulled back, roaring, “Drinks on me!”

Rowdy shouts filled the bar. Chants of
Storm Storm Storm!

Women strolled back into the dingy room. The tunes started up. Solomon shot his head inside, nodding over and over.

I vaguely heard him saying, “
Fantôme
.
Hmmph
. Old Sol ain’t stupid.”

“C’mere, Solomon. Lemme get you a drink.” I beckoned him forward.

Turning his head, he spat sideways out the door. “You know I don’t drink dem spirits, boy.”

The door shut behind him, enclosing the chaos inside.

Venom pushed a glass of el cheapo swill into my hand. “Lucky sumbitch. Always was.” He held out his hand for a firm shake I returned. “I’ll be watching you.”

I drank back the stinging alcohol, all too aware of Blaize right next to me, her curves pressed against my bare chest. “And I’m ready to follow your orders, Prez.”

Not.

Someone brought out the cocaine. Rounds of shots were drilled back. The center of the room cleared for dancing. Dim corners multiplied with couples getting half naked and fucking in plain sight.

I accepted fist bumps and backslaps while Blaize was given wide berth by the cherries. The dudes had no problem getting a little too close to her, though.

I didn’t worry, too much.

But I was on my guard. Anyone so much as leered at her the wrong way and I’d gouge their fucking eyeballs out with my knife.

Fuck too much exposure or getting made.

When everyone was feeling loosey-goosey and high on blow, I found Venom. He sat in a back booth, white powder dusting his nostrils.

“One more thing.” I sat down across from him. “VP? That’s mine.”

He lounged back with glassy eyes that still pierced me. “That right?” He pinched his nose then took a long drink of beer. “Got someone standin’ in your way.”

“Who?”

Venom pistol-pointed his index finger at a bulky bear of a man with a giant mustache to go with his giant brown beard. “Lennox.”

“Like the heavyweight champ?”

“’S’right.”

So, Lennox it was. Lennox the lummox. Looked like a lumberjack, without the ax. But he did have a machete. Nice. Kouto’s trend was catching. Just like marriage was with my crew.

“That fuck there?” I asked.

Eh
, what the hell. What was one more scar on my body? Nothing, when I needed to fully implant myself in the MC to make sure Blaize stayed safe.

“He fought his way into the Legion.” Venom pushed up from the booth, whistling with two fingers in his mouth.

All heads shot around toward him.

“Yeah? Well I fought my way into the veep seat a long time ago. Ready to do it again,” I boasted loud and proud.

“Lennox! You willin’ to fight for your right as VP?” Venom shouted.

YEAHHHH!
Men and women punched forward, forming a fighting ring.

The usual testosterone-edged-high skyrocketed to the next level of
fight or fuck-you-up club
due to copious amounts of snow snorted and drinks slung back.

Lennox looked me over, his mouth downturned. He stripped off his shirt and bulged his muscles, showing off recent angry red welts and black-blue bruises mottling what flesh could be seen between the full torso tat.

“Got some fight left in me tonight.” He swung his long, heavy arms, baring a grin that showed a mouthful of gold.

Blaize sidled up to me. “You have more balls than you know what to do with.”

“Got that right. And I’mma prove it to you later.” I winked at her before pulling off all my weapons.

“Bare knuckles. That’s the only rule,” Venom, the disreputable referee, announced.

Bets changed hands in flashes of crumpled bills all stowed behind the bar with Kouto keeping track.

But that dude with the frosty stare and the black beard—he watched everything like a fucking PMC, a paid-for professional.

Stay frosty.

“Ding fucking ding ding!” Burn announced from the sidelines.

Lennox came at me. The first punch I let him land blistered my jaw. The second one? Probably bruised ribs.

I ducked and rolled away from his next combination, coming up behind him. With a left-right, left-right fist switch, I pounded Lennox’s kidneys.

He curled over. “
Fuuuck!
”

Leaping away, I waited for him to roll around, my fingers lifted to taunt him forward.

Didn’t have to wait long for him to charge—I wasn’t a small man by any means, but Lennox was a goddamn bull.

I took his glancing blow on my chin. “You’re fuckin’ slow,
couillon.
Might wanna take up Zumba.”

Hoots and hollers and more money laid on the bar top.

Lennox caught me around the neck.

I head-butted him with full force and swept my leg behind his. “Good thing you like gold so much because you’re gonna need a new set of teeth by the time I’m done with you.”

When he back-splatted to the floor, I pounced on top of him. King of the Fucking Mountain Man.

Wrapping his arms around me, he gator-rolled me across the floor. Stools, chairs, tables toppled over and feet scurried out of our path.

Lennox rammed his fist against my mouth. I spat blood into his face, blinding him. He jerked back, and I jumped to my feet.

My boot connected with his meaty midsection while he flopped like a fish on the floor. Again. And again. Leaning down, I roared, yanking him upright. Every one of my punches nailed him, precise and powerful.

Finding a second wind, Lennox drove his fist into my sore ribs.

I spun around, dizzy as shit.

“Get ’im, Storm!”

“Turn him into sausage, Lennox!”

“I say we just kill Storm now.”

“Why bother? He’s goin’ down.”

The comments filtered in through my ringing ears, and I swayed on my feet.

Lennox looked like pulverized meat, barely able to focus on me. Fucker still managed to knock me fucking hard on the side of my head, though.

I grabbed him around the waist and pile-drived him on top of the bar. Bottles, glasses, and ashtrays shattered all over the floor.

Lennox went down with them.

I bloodied my knuckles on his face, watching his swollen lips flap. I ground his face into the shards of broken glass, listening to the flesh burst open.

Gripping his head in both hands, I twisted his neck to the breaking point. “If you don’t want me to kill you, you better tag out now.”

His hand slapped to the floor.

One.

Two.

Three.

I slammed his head back, and he passed out.

Game Fuckin’ Over.

Wiping an arm across my face, I got to my unsteady feet. “Guess that means I’m veep again.”

I held my hand out. Blaize passed me my weapons.

I re-sheathed and re-holstered everything. Then, shaking sweaty hair out of my eyes, I stood above laid-out Lennox and opened my arms wide.

“Any other contenders?” I asked.

Tense silence rode through the MC, all eyes swerving between me—bloody and bruised—and Venom—coked out of his skull but still standing.

“VP is yours,
cous
.” Venom gave his blessing.

“My old room available?” I would
not
weave on my feet even though my entire body felt like a badly abused punching bag.

I was about fuckin’ ready for this day to end already.

Venom shoved his head outside. “Sol, Storm needs a room!”

Slinging my shirt into the waist of my leathers, I met Sol at the door, my knees almost buckling. “Hold up. Gotta grab our shit. Just keep an eye on Blaize for a minute?”

Barely able to see straight, I grabbed our gear from my bike and reentered Thunder Road with the shotgun slung across my shoulder.

When I caught up with Sol and Blaize, I patted him on the back. “Lead the way, my man.”

With Solomon ahead, Blaize and I followed up the stairs that backed down to the barroom.

“Keep that broad on a leash!” Burn shouted after us.

“No doubt. And a collar with my name on it,” I called down the stairs.

On the first landing, Sol opened the door of the third room. The biggest room. My old room.

“Was Lenny’s, but seems it’s empty now,” he said.

“Lenny?” I peered inside.

“Dat dude you left as a blood puddle downstairs.”

“He was one of the bad ones?”

“Sho nuff he wadn’t one of the good ones.”

Solomon was a Legion institution. One of the
good ones
. He cooked up the chow, turned a blind eye to the criminal activity. But he wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot. He knew every detail, every shady undertaking, every single bad habit of the Legion brethren. And he kept quiet about it all.

Why?

Because he had nothing else. No one else. Not anymore. His service in the ’Nam war had almost killed him. He’d rarely spoken to me about the fields of landmines. The poisoned, perfectly placed punji stick traps. The rice fields and ambushes.
Agent Orange.
The dirty tactics that had stolen his life, his wife, his family when he’d come home and turned to the demon drink.

The Blood Legion—specifically Angel’s dad, also a Vietnam War vet—had taken Solomon in. Given him a home.

Every man needed that.

Even me, although I still ran from it like my ass was on fire. Because to love was to put other people in danger.

When I turned from Sol to survey my old room, I had serious second thoughts about his goodness.

“What the fuck did Lennox do to my room?”

The place was a fucking pigsty from the unmade bed and stained mattress to the piles of dirty plates and the pyramids of empty bottles, the dusty surfaces and rank-looking clothes.

Blaize appeared less than impressed. Probably trying not to plug her nose at the noxious smell of stale weed, old alcohol, and musty sweat and sex.

“Just get your old lady to clean it up tomorrow.” Solomon laughed as he shuffled back down the landing.

Blaize slammed the door behind him. She took several deep breaths.
Probably
trying to swallow her gorge.

When she rounded on me, her pretty blue eyes narrowed. “Now that we’re alone, I think we better get one thing straight,
Nash.
”