Where Souls Spoil
Authors: JC Emery
Limited Edition
Bayonet Scars Box Set (Volume I)
Copyright © 2015 by JC Emery & Left Break Press
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
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Box Set Cover Design
by JC Emery
Ride, Thrash, Rev, Crush, Vow, and Box Set artwork
by Brenda Gonet at Gonet Design
http://www.facebook.com/gonetdesign
Timeline
created by The Illustrated Author
http://www.theillustratedauthor.net/
Formatting
by JC Emery
Editing for Ride, Thrash, and Rev
by Rae Bateman at Metamorphosis Books
http://www.metamorphosisbooks.com
Editing for Crush and Vow
by Michele Milburn
Editing for Where Souls Spoil & Hearts Rot
by Amy Shearer
Mature Content Warning:
The Bayonet Scars novels are a dark romance series which features graphic sexual content, violence, and foul language that is intended for a mature audience. Each novel features a different couple, though it's not recommended that they be read out of order due to the series story arc.
SERIES & TITLES BY JC EMERY
Men with Badges
Marital Bitch
The Switch
Bayonet Scars
Ride (No. 1)
Thrash (No. 2)
Rev (No. 3)
Crush (No. 4)
Vow (No. 4.5)
This is for you. For every time you cheered me on, told me to go write, reached out, and challenged me to do better—thank you. I wouldn’t be here without you.
xx JC
** VOW is not included in the above graphic. However, Vow takes place 14 months to Mancuso’s downfall **
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEATH COMES IN ARMANI. SALVATION COMES IN LEATHER.
Principessa to the Mancuso crime family, Alexandra knows a thing or two about living outside the bounds of the law. Suffocated by the future her father has laid out for her, she makes a choice she can't take back, changing the entire trajectory of her life.
Thrust into the dark and dangerous world of the Forsaken Motorcycle Club for her own protection, Alex finds herself faced with the last thing she needs right now: the man of her dreams. He’s sex in leather, the devil incarnate, and one hell of a kisser. But he’s also off-limits. Ryan Stone can be her friend, but he’s forbidden to be her lover.
Third-generation Forsaken, Ryan knows nothing other than life on two wheels, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He enjoys the many privileges that come with the patch, and the only laws he recognizes are the ones set-forth by his club. That is, until who he wants more than anything isn’t allowed on the back of his bike —or in his bed. Balancing his desire for her body, and need to keep her safe, Ryan tries to keep Alex at a distance. Finally having made a choice for herself, she’s done hearing the word “no” and will push boundaries even Ryan himself doesn’t dare cross.
Love is never more tempting than when it’s forbidden.
Dedication
For my mother—the toughest broad I’ve ever met.
Table of Contents
May (23 months to Mancuso’s downfall)
Ryan
When you're drowning, you don't say “I would be incredibly pleased if someone would have the foresight to notice me drowning and come and help me,” you just scream.
John Lennon
THE HOUSE IS dead silent except for the quiet murmurs coming from Ma and Pop’s bedroom. When Pop called and told me to get my ass over here as soon as possible, I thought he was fucking around. He wasn’t.
We’ve known that shit could go down for a long fucking time—or at least Ian and I have—so it shouldn’t be this big of a surprise. But it is.
“You good, brother?” I ask, looking down at Ian, who’s sitting in a chair at the kitchen table. He hasn’t said anything since he showed up a few minutes ago. The way he is now—wavy, light brown hair slicked back, skin pale, a thin sheen of sweat on the ridge of his brow—takes me back to when we were kids. We’d been brothers all of five minutes when the kid freaked the fuck out over Pop throwing his boot at the wall in a moment of frustration. He was so skittish and fearful of every fucking thing. He looks up at me, jerks his chin at the chair across the table, and then lets his eyes fall back down to the table top. I pull the chair out, cringing when it creaks and squeaks as I drag it out from under the table. Everything’s so goddamn quiet right now that the noise feels invasive.
“Just fucking with my head, ya know?” he says in a gravelly voice. His face is carefully blank, and his posture gives away nothing, but I know him too well to think this shit isn’t sending his ass sideways.
I nod and lean my elbows on the table and say, “I get that.”
“What Pop’s about to do? You good with that?” he asks.
I pause to consider the question. Am I good with it? I’m not entirely sure. I never stopped to wonder if I was or not, because I know how much this means to Ma. In my mind, she needs this, so we do it.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. Because it doesn’t. Pop made a promise he shouldn’t have fucking made. But he did, and here we are. I’m not about to let Ma suffer for Pop’s bad call. Ian looks up at me, an eyebrow raised, a look of disbelief on his face.
“Look, the shit that went down? The promises he made? It happened. Nothing I can do about that. The kid’s family,” I say.
With a nod of my head, I meet the man who I consider to be my brother in the eyes and say, “What we’re doing here is righting a wrong. It’s about fucking time that Mancuso got his.”
Ian’s face hardens at the mention of the man who once gave him nightmares.
“We run into him and I got a clear shot?” he says. I nod my head and smile wide because now he’s finally thinking shit over.
“You get a clear shot, you wound him,” I say. My body warms at the idea. “And carve out his eyeballs with your fingers.”
Finally, a smile spreads across his face, and a smirk plays at his lips. If anybody deserves the kill the guy, it’s my brother.
“You got it, brother,” he says. Feeling better about where Ian’s at, I stand from the table and stride through the living room and down the hall on the opposite end of the house, toward Ma and Pop’s room. The door to their room is at the end of the hall, just past Ian’s old bedroom and the hall bath. The door is open, giving me a good line of sight to what’s going on inside. Ma’s curled up in the center of the bed with Pop hovering over her. The last time I walked in on an intimate moment between the two of them, they were both naked and I had to blow a grand on coke just to numb the images of Ma getting drilled from behind. If I hadn’t made the mistake of telling Duke—that fucker—I might not be reminded of it on the regular.
“It’s okay, Mama,” Pop says. He kisses the top of her head and smoothes down her wayward hair.
“Should I talk to them?” she asks. He lets out a stilted laugh and groans.
“Nah, they can unload their shit on me. You step in the room, they don’t do it now, and next thing ya know I got guys losing their shit and getting themselves killed.”
“What if they say no?” Ma asks. I bite my tongue to keep the grunt that’s burning in my throat. Pop, Ian, Wyatt, and I already discussed this. If the club votes against it, then the four of us will go alone. It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the kid ending up dead.
“What did I promise you?” he says in a harsher tone than he was using just a minute ago.
“I know,” she says with a sigh. “It’s just…”
“No, fuck that. It’s not just anything. I make you a promise, I keep it. I ever give you reason to doubt me?”
She shakes her head and pats her eyes dry, saying, “No.”
“Then stop doubting me now. I’ll walk through fire for you, Mama. You know that,” he says and kisses her cheek. No matter how many loving moments I’ve been witness to between them, it still amazes me how much they love each other. Love like this, that stands decades and fights—that stands despite separations and parenting two bratty fucking punks—love like that? It’s as real as anything fucking gets. That kind of shit makes a man almost believe it can be replicated.
“Fucking pervert,” a deep voice says from behind me, and a heavy hand slams on my shoulder. I jump in place and throw my fist back without even looking to see who’s there. Spinning around, I see Wyatt, the club’s vice president, blocking my swing. He bursts into heavy laughter. Ma and Pop scramble from the bed and hurry over to us.
“Damn,” Wyatt says, looking Ma up and down. He whistles and smirks at Pop. “Your pervert son was standing here. Damn shame you’re dressed, babe.”
Pop laughs and looks over at me with a disturbingly happy smile on his face. Sick fuck. “Dude. She’s your mom,” Pop says.
I shake my head and throw my hands in the air. Ma pats me on the check and shakes her head. There’s a coy smile tugging at her lips.
“Don’t be such a grouch, Ryan,” she says.
I turn on my heels and leave the house, shouting behind me, “Come on, you nancies. We got Church.”
Despite the laughter and easy going demeanor when we leave the house, the moment we’re on our bikes and heading for the clubhouse, the mood shifts. Wyatt’s mouth forms a thin line, and his eyes harden. Pop is quiet pulling down the long dirt driveway and then he’s quiet as we enter the clubhouse. Ian is pretty much always quiet when we’re about to discuss club matters, so that’s nothing new, but there’s a fucked-up vibe emanating from him.
I round up the brothers as Pop and Wyatt head straight through the main room of the clubhouse and dart to the right down the long hall and to the chapel at the very end. All they know is that Pop’s called Church, but they don’t know why. We had our weekly meeting yesterday, so they know something’s up.
Inside the chapel, the boys are restless. Their eyes are darting around, and a few of them have figured out who knows what’s happening and who doesn’t. I keep my head down as I cross the room and take my seat next to Ian—the club’s treasurer—and Diesel, who doesn’t hold an officer position. Across from me is Duke—my best friend and our secretary. His eyes are wide when they land on mine, and he mouths, “What the fuck?” I try to ignore the question and let my eyes skim around the table. I would have said something to him had I the time, but I didn’t.
On the other side of Ian is Grady—the club’s sergeant at arms. He’s leaning over the table, hands clasped. His brows are drawn together. And across from him is Wyatt. As the head of the table, Pop sits closest to Wyatt and Grady. Neither Ian nor Wyatt are meeting anyone’s eyes, either. I hate this shit. It’s as uncomfortable as all get out. But Pop asked that we keep it on the down low until he’s made his speech so his men can hear from him first.
“I know you’re all sick of looking at my ugly mug,” Pop says from his seat at the head of the table. His grayish black hair is in need of a cut and keeps falling in his face no matter how many times he tucks it behind his ears. Even though the dude’s over forty, he’s still got the same build and coloring he had back when I was a kid. Ma has a theory that the reason he stays so young looking is because he’s mean and has practically pickled himself in being an asshole. By that same thought, she’s told me more often than I should be proud of that I’m never going to age beyond twenty-five. Don’t know what it says about her that she loves such assholes, but that’s Ma. The ornerier Pop gets, the more she falls in love with him. God only knows why.
“Years back, before half of you were even patched—back when Rage sat in this chair—I asked my brothers for something on behalf of my woman. She was a good woman then, and she’s a damn good woman now. I don’t regret taking on her shit and asking the club to shoulder that burden, and I’m fucking proud to wear this patch. Made a promise to Ruby, and in exchange for the club helping me to keep that promise, I did any fucking thing asked of me. Some of it fucked me up for a while, and some of it’s still fucking me up. But I did it. I’ve done my time, which took me away from my kids.” Pop’s eyes fall on me and then Ian before he looks over the room again.
“I’ve always put the patch first. My old lady, my boys—they understand that—but now it’s time I put them first. I gotta call in that marker.”
I look around the table to find that everybody is nodding, or at least mostly resigned to what they think comes next. It’s no secret that Pop put that marker in, and it’s no secret why. When each of us patched in, we knew the score. Each brother has certain things he needs. He takes care of his shit, does his time, and if he needs it, he can call in a marker, too. A member needs something, the club takes care of it. That’s just how we operate. But this shit? This shit’s out of our playbook.
“Ain’t no thing, Pop,” Bear says from the other side of the table. “Just tell us when and we’ll be locked and loaded.”
“We got this shit,” Grady says, nodding. Pop’s silence is unnerving. The boys are all starting to talk amongst themselves now. Chief’s gotta let Barbara know he’s going to miss Izzy’s choir performance and Stephen’s parent-teacher conference. Grady’s thumping the table, asking Chief if Barbara can watch his daughter, Cheyenne, because his mom is going to be out of town for most of the week. The rest of them are already talking firepower and logistics. All of them except for Ian, Wyatt, Pop, and me. Even Duke, who’s half-past pissed, is talking things over with Diesel.
Pop thunks down the gavel just once. His face is paler than it was minutes ago, and his shoulders are dropped, almost in defeat. The boys quiet down and turn to give him their full attention. He clears his throat and says, “There’s a complication.”
Family or not, my brothers aren’t exactly cool with the shit Pop’s asking of them. As Pop explains the situation, the tension in the room only increases. After a moment of pure silence and stillness from the room, absolute chaos erupts. Chairs get shoved back, fists get slammed into the wooden table, and insults are exchanged.
From across the table, I can feel Duke’s eyes on me. He shakes his head and mouths, “Prick”. His shoulders roll with anger, and his eyes look straight-up fucking deadly. Duke’s my brother almost as much as Ian is, but he wouldn’t understand this—the risk we’re willing to take and why. He wouldn’t be down with it, and judging by the way he drags his hand down his goatee with his blue eyes glaring at me, he doesn’t get it now.
“How’s that look?” Chief asks from my left. He leans back in his chair and looks around the room, carefully skipping over Pop. Voting down something this personal fucks with a club, but if the club decides it’s too dangerous, Pop has to respect that. Shit won’t be easy to let go, but we will.
“Blood,” Grady says. “That’s how it looks.”
“Since when did you grow a pussy?” Wyatt asks, look across the table.
“Ain’t about being a pussy, brother. It’s about being smart. This ain’t smart,” Grady says.
“She’s a kid,” Chief grunts out. “A fuckin’ kid.”
“I’m not good with this shit,” Grady says.
“If it was Elle…,” Chief says, trailing off as he references his eldest daughter. “Nothing else would matter. I’d want my girl safe.”
“It’s not Elle,” Grady grumbles.
“And if it was Cheyenne?” Wyatt says, speaking up from beside Pop. Grady’s body stiffens, and he shoots up in his chair with Wyatt doing the same right after him. Fucking pissing contests.
“It ain’t Cheyenne. It ain’t ever gonna be Cheyenne,” Grady barks out. A few of my brothers look to Grady and nod their heads.
Beside me, Ian clears his throat. Slowly, he lifts his head and meets everyone’s eyes. He lowers his gaze to the table and lets out a heavy breath. One word falls from his lips and it’s the only thing he needs to say—and the only thing I know he can say right now.
“Please,” he says. His voice booms with the pain of his request. I want to pat his back, but he’d damn sure feel like a bitch if I did. Instead, I mean mug my brothers, daring any of them to say shit to him. As Ruby’s biological son, he’s got a special place at the table right now because this vote is really fucking personal for him. It takes the brothers a minute before they calm down enough to start asking questions about Mancuso and his boys, and how this is all going to go down if we vote yea.
After a long, drawn-out discussion, and a lot of fucking bitching, the vote comes in. Ten votes, and all we need is a majority. It’s no surprise that Grady votes nay, but what does surprise me is that so does Duke, and Diesel. I breathe a sigh of relief when I mentally tally the votes. With Wyatt, Chief, Fish, Bear, Ian, and Pop and me—we got the club’s vote. Pop slams the gavel down, and I stand. Grady, Duke, and Diesel look pissed, but it’s over now. As I stride out of the room, I let the tension roll off my shoulders.
