BEFORE THE PATCH – book one (A Devil Call MC Book) by Ana W. Fawkes

1.
     
    (Talon)
     
    I tucked another gun into the back
of my pants and crouched down at the base of the steps, looking up, wondering
if my number was going to get called tonight. Not that I was afraid of a bullet
or dying, it was just a sense of something like excitement, knowing you were
about to face death. But the honor behind the death, that ’ s where it all waited for guys
like me. I had nothing but my gun, my leather cut, my ride, and my cock. All of
them big and powerful.
    “ Ready
for this? ” Layne asked as
he crept up next to me.
    I glanced at him, his beard big
like he had just come off a ten year stint of living in the mountains. His eyes
were weary from drinking too much last night. I couldn ’ t lie to myself and say I wasn ’ t as hungover, but I was ready
to kill. Or be killed.
    I think Layne feared it though.
    He loved the life and he wasn ’ t afraid to pull his trigger,
but he feared taking one. Maybe because he ’ d
never been shot yet. I had. A few times. It fucking hurts like a bitch, but you
get over it. Plus, you get a gallon of whiskey and plenty of women to ease the
pain.
    Hell, we had a guy in the MC who used
to shoot himself in the foot every time he was ready to fuck so he could get it
on the cheap. Fucking punk … he finally took one to the back of the skull, not his own doing.
    I touched the first step and looked
around. We had to keep a low profile for plenty of reasons. First off, we didn ’ t need the fucking police riding
up on us right now. Not that they would do much, we had them on the take, but
they would fuck this entire thing up badly. And if the guy we were here to take
out - some guy named Crash - got wind of us, he ’ d open up a shooting match or just take the fuck
off.
    I wasn ’ t in the mood to chase anyone down right now. I
just wanted to fight, kill, then fuck. Nothing was better than the high of
defending yourself and then finding someone to fuck. That was the kind of high
I lived on and demanded. Anyone else around Brocke who shoved powder up their
noses or needles in their arms, that was a quick way to the grave.
    “ We ’ re clear, ” I said to Layne. “ We
each take a side of the door and then kick the fucking thing in. ”
    “ Just
start shooting? ”
    “ I ’ d love to. But Nash said Jasmine
might be in trouble. ”
    “ His
old lady is always in trouble, ” Layne said.
    “ Yeah.
She loves cock. And not Nash ’ s. ”
    Nash was the President of Devil
Call MC. His old lady, Jasmine, was tall, thin, big fake tits, dark skin,
darker eyes, jet black hair, a body to die for, and a pussy always wet and
eager. Nash used his power to impress her and she used her body to get
everything she could ask for in life. Which meant trouble. All the fucking
time. Nash lived his life in a constant fight because of, and for, Jasmine.
    If that were me, I ’ d put a gun to the bitch ’ s head and tell her to make a
decision.
    But Nash didn ’ t have a heart, balls, or a
brain.
    I crept up the steps to a sleazy
motel in Brocke, where everyone came to fuck and deal drugs, and counted four
doors down and stopped. This place had no name and kept the sole purpose of
having the junk here. That meant prostitutes, druggies, dealers, bums, hippies,
where businessmen brought their mistresses or came to live out fucked up
fantasies. It was an array of nasty shit.
    In the back of my mind I was a little
excited. Hoping to find this Crash guy setting up a big drug deal. So I could
put a bullet in each of his legs and call Nash to come in and meet him. Then we
could not only stop the drug deal from happening within Brocke, but we could
find out who was supplying this Crash guy and then go after him. That ’ s how you did it. You attacked
and attacked … and then
fucking attacked. The second you gave up or even pulled back, the shit would
flood right back into Brocke.
    While I respected Nash and his
ability to keep the shit in this motel, the shit shouldn ’ t have been in Brocke