Riding Darkness (Back Down Devil MC #4.5)

Riding Darkness (Back Down Devil MC #4.5)

London Casey & Karolyn James




one.



Taken him out, man. Hurry. Fuck, Ares, hurry, bro. They’re coming. They got the first door down. What are you waiting for? You said you had this. You said you wanted this. You said you wanted… oh, f*ck… they’re here, man. Ares, we’re going to die.

Ares opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling of his rundown apartment. There were brown spots scattered like stupid polka dots thanks to water stains and who knew what else. The smell of burnt food and hot water filtered throughout the place from his neighbor up too damn early cooking her damn soup.

On his chest, Ares held his gun tight. He looked down at it and let out his first waking breath of the day. That was how he judged his life these days, taking that first breath in the morning and then taking that last breath at night. While sleeping, he didn’t give a f*ck what happened. Breathing or not. Hell, if it were possible to choose, wouldn’t everyone choose to die in their sleep? That would be peace. That would be the end. That would be true closure in life.

But it didn’t happen like that all the time. And Ares knew it wouldn’t happen to him. Not in his life. Not with the decisions he’d made.

He ran a hand down his leather cut. He touched the spots where there used to be patches. Patches of his success as part of another crew. He used to sit at a table. He used to smoke and drink, listening to the President talk about what the club needed to do. He used to vote on everything that came across that table. When he spoke, people gave a shit.

That all came to an end with death at his fingertips and death within his soul.

Ares sat up and looked to his right. A woman lay in his bed, naked. The covers were pulled down to her legs. She was on her stomach, head facing the other way. The curve of her ass was nice. There was a faded looking tattoo on her ass, something like that maybe once resembled a set of lips. If so, time hadn’t allowed that tattoo to keep its nice look.

Shaking his head, Ares smiled and swung his feet out of the bed. He was fully dressed, as he always remained while he slept. Never knew when the time would come to fight or run. His black leather cut gave notice to everyone that he really didn’t have a club. He wasn’t quite one of the Lost Men, but he wasn’t fully patched into Back Down Devil MC either. Sometimes it mattered to Ares, sometimes it didn’t. Being part of a club meant having rules and responsibility. It meant appreciating life in a way that most people couldn’t grasp. All of that Ares had and all of that he lost.

Ares turned and kicked the bed.

The woman’s head popped up. She turned her head, hair covering her face. “What the f*ck?”

“Wake the f*ck up. Take a shower. Make coffee or something. Then get the f*ck out.”

“Where are you going?”

“You’re not my wife, babe,” Ares said. “You’re nothing. Just like me. We’re all nothing. So be nothing. Be gone.”

Ares walked out of the bedroom and through the apartment. It was a crash pad and nothing more. He could have had a nicer place, but what would that prove? Miller had always taken good care of Ares, calling him the best prospect he’d ever seen. Ares never thought he’d be a bitch prospect again, but the cards life dealt were as such. But it kept things quiet on the outside. Inside, Ares fought a war nobody could quite understand. If anyone from his old club tried to come and f*ck with him, they’d see him as a prospect and back off. Not that something of that nature truly worried Ares; he paid his debt to his old club and was sent off with nothing except a black leather cut and a scar on his chest.

When Ares opened the door to his apartment, the smell of the rotten soup made his eyes water. For a split second, it made him think of the night before, with that woman from his bedroom. He licked his lips and cringed. He wondered what he had licked and what he had tasted.

“Should have brushed my teeth,” he whispered.

The neighbor’s door opened and a short, old woman stood there. She smiled a toothless smile and held a metal pot by its handle. The liquid inside the pot - considered to be soup - danced close to the edge of the pot.

“Ares, there you are,” Mrs. Harrinberg said. “I made you some soup.”

Ares leaned over and looked into the pot. It was cloudy water with something that maybe was a mushroom floating on top. If faced with a choice of eating the soup and eating the chick in his bed, Ares would take his chances with the woman again.

“Thanks,” Ares said. “That looks… like something…”

“Have some. Look at you. You look so hungry.”

“I have to get going,” Ares said. “Will you save some for me?”

Mrs. Harrinberg nodded and smiled.

Ares knew she would never save the damn soup. In fact, by the time Ares made it to the door to the landing, Mrs. Harrinberg was already knocking on another door. She would do this for a good hour until the soup was too cold. Then she’d go back and reheat the nasty stuff and try again.

It was a wonder someone in the building hadn’t killed her yet.

Ares took the steps two at a time, his hands balled into fists. He was in the mood to kill. The mood came in waves and lately there had been some serious talk within the MC about problems with other clubs. Eight Under MC were gearing up quite a bit, seeking revenge. They were moving in silence, waiting for the right time to strike.