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Chapter 3
My Harley rumbled beneathme as I rode down Hwy 95, following Maddog. Behind me, a dozen Tonopah Royal Bastards shadowed us, riding in rows of two along the long stretch that led to Las Vegas. Desert spread for endless miles on each side, and I’d been told the Great Basin was the perfect spot to hide a body. Rael gleefully spread that knowledge.
Crazy fucker.
A crisp, cool wind whipped through my hair and billowed the t-shirt I wore underneath my cut. The fall in the desert wasn’t all that exciting. Not like big maple trees were changing color or the air smelled like pumpkin and spice like it used to when I visited my grandmother in Ohio as a boy. Nevada desert didn’t change color much. There wasn’t a whole hell of a lot to take in other than a cactus or tumbleweed. The sand never changed. Tan and brown seemed to be the state colors, along with a pop of green.
My eyes grew heavy as sudden fatigue tried to pull my eyelids closed. I yawned as I felt the bike begin to slow, which didn’t make sense. I twisted the throttle and revved the engine. It didn’t seem to matter.
I slowed to a crawl until my Harley stopped. The engine shut off as I cursed, kicking down the stand. Huffing a breath in annoyance, I stood and lifted my head, noticing the ring of fire sparking, then roaring to life around me. Four walls of flames shimmered before they changed into my childhood home. The same night I lost my father and half my body was burned.
A roar of fury left my chest as I spun in a circle, furious that I somehow ended up back in one of my nightmares. What happened to Maddog? The Royal Bastards?
My hands clenched into fists as I stared at the bodies on the ground. Six charred remains. That didn’t make sense. Only my father perished in the fire. I survived. Alone.
“These are the bodies of the men who will suffer when you send them to me in Hell.”
The unknown male voice, deep and seductive in tone, filled the air a few seconds before a man appeared. Doused in flames, he grinned as the fire burned in flickering gold, crimson, and orange embers. It crackled underneath his skin, exposed through black cracks that spiderwebbed across his skin. Smoke rose from his shoulders as the cinders cooled until only black ash remained.
The man shook his body, wiggling his arms and legs before he snapped his fingers. In an instant, the soot disappeared. A black tailored suit replaced the grime with a bloodred handkerchief poking out from the jacket pocket on the left side. His entire body appeared fresh and clean from head to toe. Citrus and sandalwood drifted across my nose.
“Who the hell are you?” I asked, distracted by the roaring flames around us that still consumed the house and the bodies on the ground. Yet, no heat threatened to burn me as a result of the relentless fire.
“Who the hell do you think I am?”
Fuck. I hated games. I didn’t have time for this shit. “Someone trying to piss me off.”
The gentleman grinned. Why I thought to call him that, I wasn’t sure. Did he plan to kill me?
“Ah. You’re not wrong,” he admitted, “although my reasons are far different than your musings.”
“What do you want?” I asked, wary of this stranger.
“Isn’t that obvious? I’m offering vengeance. Blood for blood.” He waved his hand around. “The chance to make your enemies suffer. What greater temptation would there be?”
I could think of one, and she wasn’t with me.
He chuckled. “Ah. Bianca Huber. The granddaughter of Alaric Huber and a man related by marriage to Salvador Russo.”
My entire body froze at the mention of my woman, then heated upon hearing the names of my enemies spoken aloud. “Who are you? How do you know all of this?”
