From the Ruins Read online

  We’re family, maybe not by blood, but by choice. If you ask me that speaks volumes. It’s one thing to be bound to someone by force, but it’s a thing of beauty to look at a person knowing you chose them and they chose you. For when we die, the blood that binds us will drain, but the imprint we leave on one another’s soul will carry on. It will live within the walls of this clubhouse, it will thrive in the brothers we leave behind. It will be the foundation that guides the anarchy of the Satan’s Knights for all of time. It’ll be the one thing that sticks, that survives through the times of change.

  And the times—they’re changing.

  Hell, right here in this moment, as I glance around the clubhouse and take in the transformation of our stomping ground, it’s clear to me things aren’t what they used to be. It might seem like only yesterday I stepped off a bus three blocks away from this gated compound with nothing but the clothes on my back and a prayer, but I’ve got years of memories and miles on my tires that prove otherwise.

  Sometimes I foolishly look around expecting to find things just as they were back when I first earned my colors and Cain was the man holding the gavel. The days when we rode with no end in sight. Nights when we partied into the wee hours of the morning with the same fucking whores we sold blow to. A time when a bottle of Jack and a line of coke were a man’s salvation. When we sinned just to survive, and by sin I mean kill. It didn’t matter if it was at the mercy of a bullet or the blunt blade of a knife—we took life with no regard.

  Yeah, things were different back in the day.

  Now, as Jack Parrish stands in front of the room dressed in his leathers, waiting for his ray of sunshine to walk down the makeshift aisle, I’m reminded of how far we’ve come. We’re still one percenters, still the men you fear when you hear our pipes rolling through the streets, but there is only so much drinking, drugging and fucking a man can do before it gets old. My younger self would probably kick my ass for admitting that.

  Watching as Jack smooths down the worn leather of his cut, I follow his gaze around the clubhouse and take in all the people who have gathered here today to watch our king take a new queen. If I’m being honest, I don’t think any of us expected Jack to prevail as he has. Being a man who has lost so much—his young son and his mind—the odds were stacked against him. I’m not sure if it was an act of the Lord or one dictated by Satan himself, but someone took pity on the bastard and granted him the strength he needed to rise above. He might be mentally ill and his heart still skips a beat over the loss of his son, but the self-proclaimed Bulldog has carried the Satan’s Knights through hell and back. I may not always agree with his decisions but I respect him and the direction he’s taken the club. I’m also proud to stand beside him as his sergeant at arms, despite his insistent need to make nice with the mob.

  The alliance we have with the notorious New York gangster, Victor Pastore, once burned my ass, but as my eyes reach his daughter, Nikki, I forget she and her man are a product of silk and aren’t cut from the same leather we all are. Shit, it makes me feel all warm and tingly inside knowing that in their time of need I bit my pride and gave up my cabin in the woods so they could remain out of the line of fire. Nikki and Mike aren’t the only two members of Victor’s family that have wormed their way into our circle. There isn’t much any of us wouldn’t do for his other daughter, Adrianna or her husband, Anthony. Never mind the gangster’s old lady, Grace Pastore. She is a good woman, a real good woman and as long as we’re kicking that woman will always have protection. When you become property of Parrish, it’s easy to overlook all backgrounds and only see the heart reflected in everyone’s eyes.

  It’s the thing Jack is always preaching about and for a while I thought it was his illness getting the best of him, but then I met Reina and I saw the change in our president. She may not cure him but she heals him. I suppose the love of a good woman will do that to you. It wasn’t long after Jack found his sunshine that all my brothers started searching for their own heart, the one that mends and repents their sins. Our vice president, Blackie, found his beating vessel in Jack’s daughter. Riggs found it in the mob enforcer, Anthony Bianci’s, little sister.

  Then there is me.

  And there is Oksana.

  Turning to my right, I stare at my wife. The smile on her face is big enough to light up a room and that fucking dress she’s wearing is tight enough to light me up in all the right places. Our story isn’t like the others. There isn’t a lick of romance as to how we came to be.

  I was with Wolf as he made his rounds across the tristate area, dispersing child support payments to all his ex-wives. By the time he forked over his last dollar the need to get drunk was dire and we stopped off at some swanky bar in downtown Brooklyn. I was drunk off my ass when I noticed her across the room. I left Wolf on his quest for his fourth wife and made my way toward her. A couple of hours later we were fucking like our lives depended on it. The sex was great, the best I ever had so I gave her my number and hoped for a repeat.

  She called two days later asking to meet up and my cock and I jumped at the chance. After another visit to the holy land between her legs, Oksana sprung the news that her visa was expiring and she was heading back to the Ukraine. I don’t know if it was the overwhelming sense of loneliness or her pussy that made me lose my fucking mind and suggest we marry. She said yes of course, and twenty-four hours later we flew to Vegas. Dressed like we are today, her in a red dress and a pair of sexy heels that match, and me in my leathers, we stood in front of a cheap Elvis impersonator and swore to love one another for all eternity. Now, here we are…Mr. and Mrs. Lee Jameson, living a more than comfortable life. She accepts me for who I am and doesn’t judge my sins. She gives me a reason to go home and makes this life a whole lot more gratifying. She’s healed the nagging ache inside my chest that my past left behind.

  Leaning closer, I squeeze her thigh and with the tip of my nose I brush her long, blonde hair away from her ear as one of our newly recruited nomads, Linc, climbs on top of the bar beside us. He positions his guitar over his shoulder and starts to strum some tune.

  “You wore my favorite dress,” I mutter, drawing her attention away from the music man. Angling her head, she gives me more of her creamy skin and I let my lips trail from her earlobe down the side of her neck. “I can’t wait until this guy takes his bride because the second Reina’s pronounced property of Parrish, I’m dragging your ass upstairs.”

  “What will you do with me?” she teases.

  “Oh, you know what I’m going to do with you,” I reply, gently sucking on her skin as I mark her as mine.

  “Should I keep the shoes on this time?” she whispers. The question laced with her thick accent sends all the blood straight down to my raging cock.

  “Fuck yes,” I growl as everyone stands to their feet and Linc sings softly. Tearing my lips away from Oksana, I take her hand in mine and stand beside her before diverting my eyes to the back of the room. Standing at the end of the aisle, holding a bouquet of sunflowers, Jack’s bride is a vision. Her silk dress suits her pregnant frame and is paired perfectly with a short riding jacket. As she makes her way to our leader, I see the patch sewn onto her back and a smile ticks the corner of my lips.

  Once she reaches Jack, he takes her hand and Linc’s melodic voice drifts away as we all take our seats. Still baffled that a priest was brave enough to step foot inside this place, I watch as he greets the room and acknowledges the celebration of love. My gaze darts to Jack and I realize I’ve never seen the man in such a state of peace as I do now. All the dangers our club is facing fades away. We forget about the enemies hunting us and all the reasons we sent Wolf to recruit four nomads. All that exists is the union of two people fated to spend the rest of their lives together.

  The priest draws his attention to the room and asks if anyone has any just cause why these two shouldn’t be married, and as Jack’s dark eyes turn to us in warning a stream of light shines from behind us. In a single second, Jack’s demeanor c
hanges. The peace that consumed him only moments ago vanishes.

  Following the source of light and Jack’s deadly stare, I turn my attention to the back of the room toward the door and the figure shuffling through it. I can barely register the man I know as Ronan, the informant we sent into a rival club because my eyes are pinned to the bomb strapped to his chest.

  From that moment forward, everything happens quickly.

  Too fucking quickly.

  I push Oksana to the ground and order her to seek cover behind the bar before I charge for Ronan. Staring at the clock ticking away on his chest, I try to calculate if I have enough time to make my move and disarm the bomb, but my effort is lost as my chance never comes.

  In a single second everything changes and the Satan’s Knights learn the heart and soul of evil is the callous disregard for the innocent as the bomb explodes, leaving us in ruins.

  Chapter Two

  There are things in life that haunt you until you die, things you can never fucking escape, and despite knowing it’s a wasted fucking effort, you spend your entire miserable existence praying for a reprieve. You have your good days when you think you’re free, when life is great and everything that threatens to drag you to hell fades. You think you’re normal. Healed. Hell, you think you’re fucking invincible.

  Then it happens.

  A man armed with enough explosives to destroy a small village comes walking in and sets you straight. In the seconds that tick by, your life and the shit you tried so hard to run from flashes before you and you’re reminded miracles don’t exist. Then right before the bomb detonates, the devil himself schools you, reiterating that the world is an ugly, brutal place and we’re all just a bunch of fucking pawns.

  In the blink of an eye, everything fades to black and the game ends.

  If you ever wondered what was worse, survival or death, I am the guy that will tell you surviving destruction is much worse than dying. It’s those first few moments after the dust settles when you open your eyes and the silence engulfs you. The scent of death surrounds you and you know for certain you didn’t truly cheat the devil. The motherfucker has bigger plans for you and the pain and suffering that is about to consume you is just the beginning of the torture he’ll inflict on your soul.

  I’m no stranger to destruction or the wicked game Satan plays, and as I lay here amongst the debris I can’t shake the dread in my gut, that indescribable feeling that tells me the world as I know it is about to implode. It’s the same feeling that consumed me as a young boy when I walked down a deserted alley searching for my mother. Her dull, lifeless eyes flash before me and a scream wails past my lips. To my own ears, I sound like a bitch, like the same child who stared at his decapitated mother and begged for her to come back to him. I shake my head and bleach the memory from my brain as I open my eyes and stare at the man looming over me. His face covered in ash but his eyes are soothing. Noticing the collar on his shirt and the crucifix that dangles from his neck, I foolishly think the man of God has been sent to rescue me and absolve me of my sins. Then I remember why he’s here.

  I picture Jack and Reina.

  I see the smiling faces of my brothers and the curve of my wife’s painted lips.

  I see Ronan and the timer blinking away on his chest.

  “You’re okay, son,” the priest says as his eyes travel the length of me. “Oh my,” he hisses once his gaze reaches my leg. Panic sears through me as he rocks back on his heels and makes the sign of the cross. Abruptly, I force myself to sit up but a debilitating pain shoots through my limb.

  “Don’t move,” the priest orders, racking his fingers through a mane of white hair. “You’ve got a large chunk of wood lodged in your calf. Looks like a beam or maybe a piece of the framing structure of the building.”

  Closing my eyes, I bite the inside of my cheek and ball my fists.

  “Pull it out,” I grind out.

  “What?” he stutters. “No, that might cause more damage. You could bleed out.”

  “Pull it the fuck out, father,” I hiss, clenching my jaw as I struggle to move my body into an upright position. Once I’ve managed to make my eyes level with his, he stares back at me with uncertainty.

  “Look around you,” I tell him. “Listen for the voices…the cries for help.”

  “I don’t hear anyone but you and I.”

  “Exactly my point, now before we never hear their voices or their cries I’m begging you to listen to me. You and I we’re different but we’re the same, we both took an oath to a higher power. Now, as a man of the cloth, you don’t discriminate. You help all your brothers and sisters despite their sins or who they worship to,” I growl, releasing a strangled breath as I point a finger above us. “Now would be a good time to send up a prayer to your God, but first pull the fucking wood out of my leg before we’re too late,” I holler, my voice echoing across the debris.

  He pauses for a moment and in the back of my mind I wonder if he’s questioning his faith. Surely after witnessing what he did he can’t possibly believe in the divinity of God Almighty. In fact, I’m certain he loses his religion as he rolls up his sleeves and grabs a hold of the wooden spear sticking out of my leg.

  “Fuck,” I shout, biting my tongue as the pain grows intolerable and the wood slips from my flesh. Blood spurts from the wound and the good priest is quick to rip his black sleeve from his arm and tie it in a tight knot around my leg. Biting back the agony pulsing through my body, I draw in a deep breath and slowly exhale as the priest rises to his feet and offers me his hand.

  “Hello!” I hear a familiar voice call into the devastation, a voice I know belongs to Victor’s son-in-law, Anthony.

  “Bianci,” I call out as the priest pulls me to my feet. “You bastard, I’ve never been so happy to hear your voice.”

  “Pipe?”

  “Aye,” I reply naturally, a one word tribute to the immigrant woman who bore me. The priest releases his hold on me but when I turn to tell him Bianci will find us, he’s gone. My eyes dart around in search for him before I look down at my leg and the piece of cloth tied around it, a sure sign I didn’t imagine the holy figure who came to me in my time of need.

  A hand closes over my shoulder pulling me out of my daze and I stare into Bianci’s piercing blue eyes.

  “Come on,” he orders, cringing as he crosses one arm over his chest and presses against the gushing wound on his arm. There’s no time to ask him what happened to him and I don’t dwell on it. He’s alive which is more than I can say for anyone else.

  “Have you found anyone else?” I ask as I follow him through the rubble.

  “You’re the first,” he answers before calling out for his wife. “Adriana!”

  “Over here,” she whimpers and we follow the sound of her voice until we find her crouched over another survivor.

  A man who has more lives than a fucking cat, someone who has survived war only to live in a different kind of hell—the kind we all signed up for. Stryker’s one of the nomads Wolf recruited to join our ranks after the walls started closing in on us and it became clear to Jack that we were a dying breed. Looking at the tortured gaze of the veteran now, I bet he’s wishing he died along with his buddies back in Afghanistan. At least then he’d be declared an honorable man and not one of the devil’s disciples.

  “Stryker, you okay, man?” I question, watching as he stares at Adrianna in disbelief. For some reason, my gaze shoots down to her bare feet and I think of Oksana and the red shoes she teased me with before Ronan walked in. My head snaps up and I swallow the thick lump lodged in my throat.

  “I’ve got to find Oksana,” I say hoarsely.

  As much as my leg allows, I turn in a circle and take in the scene before me, trying to place where everything in the clubhouse once stood, but all that’s left is piles and piles of debris and the thick fog of smoke blinding me doesn’t help much. The dire need to find my wife fades into a hopeless resignation of defeat. All those years of crafting pipe bombs with no regard have
finally caught up to me and karma has been sent to deliver me my penance.

  Nikki calls out, jolting me away from my morbid thoughts and hope is temporarily restored as another life is tallied to the list of survivors. Adrenaline kicks in and before I know it, I’m ignoring the throbbing pain in my leg and fighting to rescue Victor’s youngest daughter. I bargain with the powers that be and hope every life I bring to safety puts me closer to the woman I vowed to honor all the days of my life.

  “What do you see around you?” I shout as the soles of my boots crunch against the rubble and the four of us charge toward the chaos. Nikki replies that her fiancé is trapped beneath the bar and that dreadful churning of doom settles deep in my gut as I remember ordering Oksana to take cover behind the bar.

  “This way,” I say. My tone of voice is almost robotic as I lead them; to where I’m not entirely certain.

  “Linc,” Stryker mutters behind me. “He was sitting on top of the bar before the blast.”

  The memory of Linc’s voice washes over me as Anthony continues to fire off questions and I keep moving. I hear Stryker ask Nikki if she can see anyone else when my feet come to a halt and I stare at the violent flames dancing in our path.

  “We’ve got a problem,” I declare as Nikki begins to answer Stryker’s question.

  “There are two people trapped but I can’t tell who they are. One is wearing cowboy boots, and the other is…oh my God,” she shrieks.

  “What? What is it?” Adrianna cries in horror and the instant she does I wish she hadn’t. I don’t want to know what’s got her spooked.

  “It’s a woman, but she’s all the way at the other end. I only see her shoes,” Nikki replies.

  I lift my head and stare into the flames, toward the sound of her voice and I feel my heart beat wildly in my chest.

  “What color are they?” I ask, swallowing in fear.

  “They look red but I can’t be sure.”