Royal Blood Read online

  He narrowed his eyes and barked, “Wait here.”

  I couldn’t back out now, so I slid my ass onto a stool and an old dude at the opposite end of the bar raised his glass at me. I smiled thinly and glanced over my shoulder at the dingy pub. There were more eyes on me than I first realized. I’d seen biker bars in the movies and they were all painted to be dangerous places where one wrong move could see some pretty heavy shit go down. This place was no different.

  Rule two was show no weakness, so I sat up straight and shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. Fake it till you make it.

  “You,” the guy from behind the bar snapped at me, reappearing out of the shadows. “Boss wants to see you.”

  Sliding off the stool, I looked him up and down this time, a sneer on my lips. The fucking manners…

  “Office is there.” He jabbed a finger to a door across the pub that had a sign stuck on it that read, Staff Only.

  I didn’t know if I should knock or just barge in, but by going by the attitude of Mr. Sour behind the bar, I decided to go with the ballsy approach. I jabbed the door open with the flat of my palm and walked into what smelt like an opium den.

  A man was sitting behind the desk and looked up at my sudden appearance. When he saw me standing in the doorway, his lips curled into a smug grin.

  He looked like this thirty-something, broad shouldered, tough guy with a slicked back head of hair and a dirty cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Totally unattractive.

  He gestured for me to close the door and I let it go, stepping into the room. Balls, Mercy, I thought. Show him your big balls. Don’t let him give you shit.

  Taking a drag from his smoke, he looked me over like he was sizing me up. It was different from the way Sleazy Strip Club Dude had raked his beady little eyes over me. He was calibrating the level of sex appeal for his patrons. Pub Guy was looking to determine strength - I could see it in his eyes. That, and the fact that he didn’t linger on my tits.

  “You're the boss?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. This wasn't the typical job interview, but none of them had been so far.

  “That’d be me,” he drawled in a voice that was all husky. Not sexy husky, husky as in I’m about to cough up a lung, husky.

  “I’m looking for some work,” I began, but he waved a hand at me.

  “What kind of work?”

  I glared at him. “Bar work.”

  He started to laugh and butted out his fag into an ashtray on the desk. “We don’t deal with whores here sweetheart. That’s Freddy with the greasy fingers over at Fancy’s.”

  I rolled my eyes. Fancy Freddy. Figured.

  “I can see you’ve already met him.”

  “And what a fucking pleasure that was,” I bit back.

  Pub Boss Guy smiled again. “You can call me Weiss,” he said, looking me over.

  “Mercy.” The name I’d dreamed up for myself rolled easily off my tongue and Weiss narrowed his eyes.

  “What?” I snapped.

  “You’ve got bite,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “I like that.”

  “Look…” I hesitated, wondering how far I could push this guy.

  “Weiss,” he prodded.

  “Weiss. I just want a job.”

  “I’ve been lookin’ for a reason to piss off that cunt Brock out there.”

  I cocked my head to the side.

  “People ain’t nice here,” he went on. “Can you handle that?”

  “Sure.” I shrugged. “You lot have been a fucking riot so far.”

  “When I say they ain’t nice,” he went on, trying to hide a smile, “they ain’t upstanding citizens who pay their taxes and are nice to their mothers.”

  Glancing around the office, my gaze lingering on the motorcycle jacket flung over the sofa, I said, “I figured that.”

  “Can you fire a gun?”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Sometimes shit goes down. There’s a firearm in a bracket under the bar. You can’t shoot, you tell me now. You can’t shoot a shotgun, I’ll get somethin’ you can.”

  “I learnt how to fire a few different guns at a range,” I said. “I haven’t tried a shotgun, but I get the gist of it.”

  “That ain’t a range out there, sweetheart.”

  God, the way he kept calling me sweetheart, like I was a little fucking girl, got my goat. “I can shoot a gun,” I spat. “I can shoot you in the fucking balls if I have to and I will if you don’t stop calling me sweetheart.”

  Weiss leaned back in his chair and started laughing until tears were welling in his eyes.

  “Where the fuck have you been all my life?” he asked, reaching for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket.

  “Those things will fucking kill you,” I drawled.

  “No they won’t,” he said shoving a smoke into his mouth and flicking his lighter. “You will.”

  “Don’t push me.”

  Weiss took a long drag, the end of the cigarette flaring orange. “Can you start tomorrow?” he asked through a plume of smoke.

  “Cash in hand.” It wasn’t a question.

  Weiss raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask questions. “Cash in hand. Off book.”

  “Then I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “Hey,” he called out. “What’s your other name, Mercy?”

  My heart stopped and face planted. I didn’t want his questions.

  “Reid,” I said. “I’m Mercy Reid.”

  “Like that’s your real name,” I heard him mutter as the door slammed closed.

  Four

  X

  I didn’t look in the envelope straight away.

  Instead, I sat in the corner booth at The Gambler's Inn and watched Mercy Reid serve at the bar.

  I watched her tits sway as she wiped down the counter. I watched her lips move as she spoke to customers. I watched as she pulled beer after beer. I watched as man after man hit on her and got nowhere.

  What would it be like to fuck Mercy Reid? What would it feel like to wrap my hands around her tits and squeeze? What would she taste like? Would she beg me to choke her while I fucked her pussy?

  My cock stirred in my jeans, pressing against the material uncomfortably. Sticking my hand down the front, I rearranged myself, not giving a shit if she saw me.

  Weiss was right. I wanted to fuck her, contract or no contract.

  People came to The Gambler’s Inn for one reason and one reason only. To get lost from the nastiest shit out there.

  What, or who, was Mercy Reid and her perfect tits hiding from? The devil inside me flared to life at the thought of someone hurting her. Not that it was an indication that I cared; it was an opportunity to shed some blood. Slice 'n' dice.

  She glanced up every now and then, her gaze scanning the bar and when she didn’t find whatever it was she was looking for, she’d turn to the next customer, clearly disappointed. Who was she expecting to find in the dark corners of this cesspool? Nothing fucking good, that was certain.

  Leaning back into the shadows a little further, I took a mouthful from the bottle of Corona Weiss had slid me on the way out of his office. He’d given me a look, a raised eyebrow that said everything, but nothing all at the same time. He knew I was jonesing over Mercy.

  Sitting in a bar for three hours straight didn’t seem to be the best way to use my time, but this was how I worked. Solving people was my strong suit and I usually used it for another end, but Mercy? She was different.

  She glanced up again and this time, like she was looking for me, our gazes caught. Her fingers slipped on the pint she was holding and the glass crashed to the floor behind the bar. She cursed loudly, trying to wipe beer from her soaked shirt with her bare hands.

  My lip curled into a satisfied sneer and I downed the rest of my beer as Mercy stalked into the back and disappeared.

  Sliding out of the booth, I sauntered across the pub and ducked behind the counter. Nobody gave me a second glance. They didn’t know who I was, nobody did, but they knew I
wasn’t anybody good. Peering through the window on the door, Mercy had her back turned, wiping at her damp T-shirt. I could step into her from behind and show her how hard I was…but that wasn’t the way this game was going to be played.

  As I pressed the door open with the flat of my palm, she looked up at me with blue eyes that gave away two things. Her hair wasn’t naturally black and by the way her pupils dilated, she was amped up. I was interested in only one of these observations and by the way my cock began to stir, there was no guessing which one was the money shot.

  Mercy glared up at me, trying to cover her surprise at my appearance.

  “What the fuck do you want?” she spat, dabbing at her tiny T-shirt with a rag. “You’re not allowed back here. Employees only.”

  I stepped closer, not put off by her tone at all. I’d had worse.

  “I don’t give a shit,” I said.

  She eyed me, her gaze raking from head to cock and back up again.

  I quirked an eyebrow, my lip curling in amusement.

  “If you want something, just fucking say it,” she said with an exasperated sigh. “I don’t even know who the fuck you are.”

  “X.”

  “X, what?” she said, putting her hands on her hips. Bitch didn’t miss a trick.

  “It’s my name.”

  “X as in the letter x?” She rolled her eyes.

  “Got a problem?” I asked, inching closer.

  “Yeah.” She nodded at me. “You’re in a staff only area. You might be all buddy buddy with Weiss, but I don’t know you from shit.”

  “The mouth on you,” I breathed, totally turned on. I knew she had bite in her, but fucking Jesus H Christ. The more she bit, the harder I got. My gaze rested on her tits. Yeah, I was a tits man through and through and hers...

  “You think I’m going to let you fuck me?” she scoffed, her bluntness doing nothing but turning me on even more.

  My gaze snapped back to hers. “Who said I was going to fuck you?”

  She pressed her hips forward, her groin rubbing into mine. “Your cock.”

  My hand shot up and grasped the hair at the nape of her neck. With a sharp tug, her head fell to the side, leaving her neck exposed. If I was an asshole, I’d just take her now, but I wasn’t…fuck that. I was an asshole. Asshole was too safe a word to describe the kind of man I was.

  “No,” I said, running my gaze down her pale neck and over her tits. “No, I’m not going to fuck you, Mercy.” She gave me a look that screamed ‘offended' and it only made me grin wider. “Not here. When I fuck you, I’m not going to share your screams with anyone.”

  Her entire body shivered and I knew I had her. Next time, she would come to me.

  Letting her go, I let her hair run between my fingers and it took her a beat too long to step back and separate our bodies.

  Giving her one last appreciative look, I turned on my heel and exited the ‘employee only’ room. I could wait. My cock strained against my jeans in protest, but this was one desire I was playing out and savoring.

  I strode across the bar and pushed out of the door, rearranging myself.

  I could wait.

  I didn’t have to look in the envelope to make my decision.

  I wanted out. I wanted to get out of Royal Blood. I wasn’t done killing, but I was done killing for them. If I had to do a hit for the Necromancers to make that happen, then I'd stoop.

  My face would no longer be a secret to the so called enemy, but I could set up shop anywhere in the world. Graduate from motorcycle clubs to something a little darker and a whole lotta fucked up. There were means available to feed my compulsions and I would need it to keep on surviving. There was no place in the real world for a man like me. The real world didn’t even exist.

  I glanced at the text on my phone and at the building in front of me. One word to Weiss and I had a meeting with the notorious leader of the Necromancers Motorcycle Club. I lingered at the corner, watching various men come and go. Some in leathers, some in suits and some in plain clothes. Sykes had set up shop in plain sight. He had huge motherfucking balls, I’d give him that, but to ask me to walk in the front door? That was a stroke of genius.

  Pissed me off, but I would’ve done the same thing had I been in his position.

  Flipping up the collar of my jacket, I pushed off the wall and crossed the street, dodging traffic. I’d left the leather at that shithole I called home for now, opting for a suit jacket and open collared shirt. Walking into Necromancers HQ dressed in Royal Blood colors? That was asking for a bullet in my head.

  Pushing through the door, I was greeted by a guy at a table wearing a leather biker jacket. He was an ugly son of a bitch with a dirty handlebar moustache and greasy hair that hung around his shoulders. He stared up at me as I walked in, like I was some kind of problem already. He had no idea.

  “I’m here for Sykes,” I said. “He’s expecting me.”

  “And who are you?”

  “Xavier Blood.”

  Handlebars leaned forward, his leather jacket creaking at the elbows. “Blood?”

  Staring at him blandly, I sighed. “Like I said, I’m here for Sykes.”

  Grunting, he picked up the receiver of a phone that was hanging on the wall and pressed a button.

  “You expecting an Xavier Blood?” he asked after a beat.

  He eyed me up as he listened to whatever was being said to him through the receiver, his expression turning darker. At the mention of the name Blood, the name I took when I was forced into this shithole of an organization, trouble was a given. Hate ran deep in these parts, even though nobody knew who started what.

  I had a revolver shoved down the back of my trousers, but I didn’t need that to make the guy behind the table deader than dead. His throat would be slit before he even had a chance to call out for help. It would bubble out of his torn trachea, muffled by all the blood gushing from his severed arteries.

  Handlebars hung up the phone, slamming the receiver back into the cradle with a loud bang. The chair scraped back on the tiled floor and he stood to his full height.

  “I’m gunna have to ask you to leave your weapons with me,” he said stepping around the table. “If you don’t wanna give, then I’m gunna take.”

  I raised my eyebrows and reached behind me. The man went to lunge at the movement and I said, “Relax, chief.” Pulling out the revolver, I curled my fingers around the muzzle and handed it to him butt first.

  Best they think that they’re safe. People were fucking idiots like that. Just because a man is unarmed doesn’t mean he won’t fuck you up the moment you let your guard down.

  Some of these men would die for their leader. They’d die for their colors in an instant. That was something that never sat well with me. I was a part of Royal Blood, but I never really belonged. Not when I was forced. The only son of a bitch I’d die for was myself.

  The ugly door bitch I’d dubbed Handlebars, nodded toward a hall that ran off the cheery reception to Necromancers HQ.

  “End of the hall,” he barked.

  Without acknowledging him, I strode past and down the long hallway. A few doors here and there broke the pattern of blandness, all of them closed tight. At the far end, I stopped by the last door and turned the knob. I owed nothing to these pricks, least of all the courtesy to knock. Shoving inside, two pairs of eyes trained on me.

  I’d never actually met Sykes in person. That was an honor I’d yet to achieve in or out of my hitman guise, so when I laid eyes on him I really wasn’t expecting to see a man about my age, late twenties, early thirties sitting behind a desk, his feet kicked up on the surface like his shit didn’t stink.

  Ambition just ran deep in some people.

  “Xavier Blood,” he drawled, sitting up straight.

  “Sykes.” I nodded, straightening my suit jacket. He didn’t look like a leader, at first glance he looked like any guy out on the street, but looks could be deceiving. You never really knew what anyone did from one glance at the surface
. Their true nature came out in their little nuances…the way they conducted themselves.

  Doing a quick survey of the room, I noted that the Necromancer’s leader liked to conduct business in a death trap. One exit, small windows and low ventilation. A muscled boneheaded biker stood in one corner like an ugly guard dog, but like that’d stop me if I really wanted to cause some carnage. There was little chance of the normal everyday thug getting out alive. Not with Handlebars out front blocking the exit.

  “Greggor certainly holds his cards close,” Sykes said, drawing my attention. “You’ve got quite the reputation.” He looked me over, sizing me up, his expression giving nothing away. “Pretty boy killer,” he drawled.

  “I’m here for the contract,” I said, not breaking eye contact. “Not to trade insults.”

  Sykes snorted. “A killer who takes the moral high ground? That’s a fucking new one.”

  The Necromancer goon in the corner stifled a laugh. Sykes had some balls on him, but that was part of the facade. I’d never met the man face-to-face of course, but I had yet to work out if the reputation was only skin deep or the fucker was rotten to the core and into his soul.

  “You want someone dead. I’m here to do the job.”

  “He’s cold, too,” Sykes said to the goon in the corner. They laughed like I was the butt of some Necromancer Internet meme.

  The dickwad out front had taken my gun but he was too fucking dumb to check for other weapons. Shoving my hand into the waist band of my trousers, I slid out a six inch switch blade and before it had even registered on their stupid faces, I stepped forward with one long stride and struck.

  The knife imbedded deep into the desk, right in-between Sykes’ nasty fingers. The goon in the corner pulled his gun and clicked the safety, but he was much too late.

  “Games,” I said, staring right into Sykes’ eyes. “Talk or I’m out.”

  “There is no out,” Sykes growled. “I’ve got eyes on you now.”

  “I don’t deal in empty threats or insults,” I snarled, angling the blade so it began to press into the membrane between his fingers. Cool steel pressed against the side of my head. “You really think that gun against my head will stop me?”