Smokey (Hell's Bastards MC 2)

Smokey stared at him, sickened. “All of this is about money?”

“Money is everything.”

“Money’s not everything.”

“Says the man who has it all. Live in my shoes for a couple of hours, and you’d see why.” Ryan shrugged. “You didn’t pay me enough.”

“The bar is mine now. We’ll see how much we can get that bar to make.”

“You’re going to kill me, aren’t you?” Ryan asked, already pissing himself as he said it.

Smokey stood up. He pulled the blade from Ryan’s thigh and without warning, stuck it in the man’s neck.

He watched as the last rays of life left Ryan’s eyes. The man’s head slumped forward.

Hunter was on the stairs.

“Clean this shit up.”

He went out of the clubhouse and toward his bike. Straddling the bike, he turned over his ignition and then gunned out of the main grounds, taking to the open road. Killing Ryan didn’t fill him with regret. It didn’t do anything for him. There was no victory here. He felt nothing.

Money.

Greed.

It was all the same kind of shit.

He was done with people.

Ava. He wanted his woman. He’d failed her.

There had to be a way of getting her back. He didn’t know what he could do. There was no fucking hope right now. She wouldn’t accept money from him, nor his help, or his time. He was failing at everything.

Smokey didn’t know where he was going until he saw the sign confirming he was in Creek Springs. Twisted Bastards territory.

He didn’t give a fuck about the danger surrounding him. Driving straight to the main bar, titled No Name Bar. Original. He parked up his bike.

Without a glance at anyone, he walked directly to the main bar and slammed his hand down on the counter. A blonde with a huge pair of fake tits walked toward him.

“What can I get you, baby?” she asked.

“A whiskey. Make it the good stuff.”

Whispers followed his entrance.

Within seconds, Creed would be well aware of who entered his territory, and that was exactly what he was hoping for.

The blonde put the drink down. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

Smokey noted the ink around her wrist marking her as one of the Twisted Bastards MC sluts. He knew how the club marked their women. All of them had to have a mark. One around the wrist claimed them as club property. The women had to have something across their back, or somewhere more personal. The sluts had barbed wire around their wrists, while the owned women had intricate roses mixed with thorns. This woman had the barbed wire. Any Twisted Bastard could fuck with her.

“You know I’m not from around here, darling.”

“I know who you are, and you’re not welcome here.” The blonde wrapped her fingers around her wrist.

“I wonder if he would come running if I put a bullet in your face.” He pulled out his gun and saw the flash of fear in her eyes.

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Everyone has done something, babe. There’s no question about it. You’re not an innocent. Now tell me where your owner is,” Smokey said.

She licked her lips and shook her head. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Smokey tilted his head. “Does he fuck you? Are you his little bitch?” He thought about Ava, and when the woman started to walk away, he grabbed her arm, pulled her across the counter, and held her neck tight. The woman screamed.

“Tell me.”

“I’m right here, Smokey. I suggest you let the woman go.”

He smiled and turned to face Creed. “Long time no see, asshole.”

Chapter Twelve

Ava took another spoonful of intense chocolate ice cream. The flavor exploded on her already cold tongue, but it didn’t do anything to appease the hunger deep in her soul. Her hand still hurt, but she hadn’t touched much in the way of painkillers. She didn’t want to get addicted to drugs and the pain helped her to remember. Not that she needed reminding. In the past few days, every time she slept, she was back in that nightmare. Every single night, she woke up covered in sweat, fear lodged in her throat, pain breaking out through her whole body. She couldn’t make it stop.

No matter how much ice cream she ate, or chocolate, nothing seemed to be helping her mood.

She hurt everywhere, not just physically but emotionally.

There was no one to offer her comfort. No one to talk to. She was all alone.

After her parents died, she’d felt lost and alone. This was the same feeling. Alone. The bakery remained closed. Her hand was useless in her attempts to bake. The machines were only good for so much.

The sound of the doorbell ringing made her pause with the spoon close to her mouth. She opted to ignore the sound, only it came again.

On the third ring, she pushed the spoon into the tub of ice cream and got to her feet. She checked through the peephole to discover Abriana standing there.