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I opened the package and slid a metal letter opener along the seam, dumping the contents onto my desk. A curse left my lips when I saw photos of Trish and Suraya at the Blacktop, their apartment, and then finally here at the Crossroads. The photos were taken through windows and when the girls wandered outside and close to the repair shop.
Our auto repair business was located conveniently next door and attached to the rest of the clubhouse. It was once an old hangar the military used for planes and testing. It had been sold decades ago. One of the things Keys left me was the deed which I promptly renamed the Crossroads in celebration of our transformation into Reapers.
When I glanced up and out my window, I could see rows of motorcycles lined up outside with my dad’s Harley in the number one space. Several black vans and SUV’s were parked around the lot. Bays for the shop were open wide as most of the guys worked in the garage and made extra cash. It was our legit business and easier to filter the tainted cash through those invoices and out of pockets. Extra expenses and parts were easy to explain. We often upgraded supplies, tools, and whatever other equipment we needed. State of the art shit.
Ex and Wraith were usually in charge of that. The two brothers were practically married to their jobs in the garage and ran the place like a couple of mother hens. Everything was coded and logged into their system. Nothing out of place. Really didn’t go well with the others.
Bodie couldn’t remember shit. He misplaced everything. The prospects were fuckups and practically broke everything they touched. Hannibal tossed shit wherever he wanted. Papa occasionally showed up and messed with the bookkeeping on purpose just to start a little drama. Mammoth didn’t give a shit about the shop and skipped it altogether. As V.P. he had that right. Rael only worked on motorcycles and he was damn good at it. Lucky only worked on cars so it was a good balance. That left Diablo who showed up part time when it suited him. Since he was our cleaner, I didn’t give him shit about it. He had enough to deal with. Patriot was a natural talent. Must have been his time as a Marine. Anything he touched he made better. If I had a problem in the shop, I sent him in.
Sighing, I glanced over the photos in my hand again and away from the distractions outside. These were sent to fuck with my head. A smart adversary knew their opponent and studied them for weakness. I’d been foolish enough to fully exposed mine. I had only two. My club and Trish Holloway.
Opening my office door, I called Mammoth in along with Rael.
“We got a problem. Razr and Acid have targeted the girls.” Razr was behind bars thanks to his illegal gun possession conviction but that only spurred him on more. Violence was coming. I could feel it.
“I think we got a plan for that.” Rael leaned forward, a sinister grin on his face. “Acid is in for a surprise.”
Two of Acid’s club members were in our basement. It wasn’t hard to lure them into a trap. The Scorpions reputation for drugs and running their stash through Tonopah was infamous. We didn’t deal with them often but decided to offer a little temptation when we let it slip someone was pushing large quantities of meth through the area. Just as we predicted, the idiots showed up at the fake exchange. Rael, Mammoth, and Ex brought them in. Diablo stayed behind to ensure we couldn’t be associated with the bodies left behind. Acid lost two men before the others surrendered and were brought blindfolded down inside the Crossroads.
The two Scorpions were naked from the waist up as I glared in their direction. Each man was attached to a separate set of chains that ran vertical floor to ceiling and were pulled tight. I remembered those chains from eighteen years ago. Scary as fuck. Leather straps and additional chains attached their ankles and wrists. Movement was minimal. Fear was evident in their eyes but neither man broke, not at first.
Didn’t matter. Once Rael stepped in, it wouldn’t take long.
I’d seen countless men die. More than I would ever care to admit.
Shit. I’d been the cause of many deaths. That was the life of a Reaper.
There was something peaceful about death. A tranquility that couldn’t be obtained until the final release of the soul from the body. Sure, my brothers and I reaped many souls but those were dark with curling tendrils of corruption reaching out from within. A sinister shadow hovered over those who chose to harm others, specifically rapists, pedophiles, and murderers. Hell welcomed those souls the most. The ones that beckoned the hunger of the demons that thrived on the essence of the wicked.
But other souls were pure. Light and free and gossamer in texture, nearly iridescent. Almost every color of the rainbow shimmered in that pretty translucent light. They were rare. Mostly children.
Then there were others.
Souls like Trish.
Those with a tainted essence that came from experiencing trauma or deep loss. Rape. Incest. Murder. Torture. Those were just a few ways a soul could be touched and forever changed. They weren’t ugly. In fact, they were still as beautiful as the pure souls. There was light but it wasn’t white or transparent.
No, those souls were an incredible amber/copper or silver texture. A metallic sheen that coated their aura but also spoke of the strength, resilience, and beauty within. Like they were forged from an angelic fire and rose from the ashes, made into something unbreakable.
Maybe that was why I was drawn to Trish at such a young age. She’d only been ten at the time we met. Eighteen years ago. The exact same day that I accepted the Devil’s Ride and met the perfect, tainted, and beautiful soul that I would later meet in a rundown bar on the outskirts of Hawthorne, Nevada. Her aura had always been bright and beautiful, but it changed over the years. Something happened to her and I needed to find out why it wasn’t the same.
I knew
one thing though.
Tricia Holloway was a survivor.
Just like me.
We were two people with a painful and tragic past. Two souls lost in an unforgiving sea of monsters. Neither of us was good at traversing this life alone. We needed one another. Our souls had latched on, digging in deep into the flesh and bones of the other.
It wasn’t just her. Or me. It was us.
That was the way I saw it. My Reaper knew without a doubt that Trish was ours. She was destined to ride the Nevada desert on the back of my bike and tame the wild beast within. The same way I was destined to protect and care for the sexy little blonde and her numerous scars.
Trish’s memory never faded over that eighteen years.
I kept her close and hidden in my memories and my heart. Her stuffed bear was in a box in my bedroom closet. Someday soon I would show it to her and prove that she remained a part of my life all this time. Her aura was special to me and that hadn’t changed.
