Page 3 of Bastard

Not the father and son part.

The power.

1

Present Day

I flexed my right hand. My red right hand. It wasn’t currently covered in blood, but it had been. Many times. For better or worse I became Red, the right hand of Savage. Devil’s Wrath’s real life devil.

I never thought Savage was a good name for Todd. It was like that saying dress for the job you want. He picked a name that sounded like the man he wanted to be, but he never actually did anything to earn. Instead it was me who did the dirty work. The name Red came along fairly naturally. Anything was better than Bastard.

Was I a terrible human? Maybe. The place in my gut where I should feel remorse or regret for the men I hurt or killed, was empty. There was nothing. Not even pride. For a while that worried me, but I think, in the end, it didn’t matter. Kill or be killed. I had no choice and therefore there was nothing to feel. I either became Red and had some power over my life, or I stayed the bastard stepson of Todd, beaten up and beaten down by the Chubbies until there was nothing left. If I had to do it all over again, I didn’t think I’d do anything different.

“You good?” Abel Riddick asked. He came with me to the Devil’s Wrath clubhouse while Storm and Home Run made sure Sam got settled in at the house we were renting. Her fame and celebrity reached a fever pitch and Dombrowski decided it was best to get her out of the public eye for a few days.

Even though my days would be just as busy with club business, it was a relief to know Sam was safe and didn’t need constant monitoring.

“Naw, I’m fine man.”

“Really? Cuz you keep rubbing your forehead like you’ve got a bomb ready to go off in your brain.” We turned a corner and Riddick scanned the sidewalk looking for trouble.

How far are you willing to go? The mantra had gotten a lot louder and annoyingly insistent. Like a constant pulsing chant. A nightmare in a horror movie.

“Feels weird to be back,” Riddick grumbled. “I guess I want out of this life more than I realized.”

“We all keep it boxed up, brother. If we didn’t it would kill us.”

Devil’s Wrath came into each of our lives differently, holding a different bargain for our souls. For me it was Sam. Since the club was always part of my life it was easy for Todd to single out the most effective way to manipulate me. Join and do as I say whenever I say it, or the pretty girl you love takes your punishment. Pretty straightforward, really.

For Riddick it was his mom. She had breast cancer and beat it, but the medical bills killed them. She had trouble finding a new job after she was healthy and they lost the house. Spades saw Riddick at a fight night and saw the potential. Offered him the money they needed if he’d come work for us. If Riddick steps out of line his mom’s house gets torched, or she loses her job, or worse.

It’s Todd’s entire way of living: always have leverage over everyone else and you’ll always be the most powerful man in the room.

How far are you willing to go, Jace?

All the way, baby.

I rubbed my forehead again, only this time I was aware that I’d done it a dozen times already. I had too much going on. Too many secrets. And no choice but to manage the load. Todd had to be kept happy and in the dark until Agent Steel was satisfied with the case I built. Every morning I spent a solid three hours on my personal clients. The only positive there was that I was already stretched pretty thin so I had a carefully curated clientele. My business was half private clients and half the future of Devil’s Wrath after Todd was gone.

And now our security business was booming thanks to one billionaire heiress by the name of Samantha Stroman.

“You want to go straight up or through the back room?” Riddick stopped just outside the Saloon, the bar we owned in downtown Tampa. The rest of the building was the current Devil’s Wrath clubhouse.

“Through.” I’d been out of town too much to keep a low profile. Red needed to be seen by whoever was out and about, especially those keeping tabs on the club. Wouldn’t be good for any other clubs to get the idea the Red Right Hand wasn’t around anymore.

“Your funeral.” He pulled open the heavy wood door, entering first. The bar was crowded, as usual. A mix of after-work business types getting a drink and letting loose before heading home, bikers, and wannabe bikers.

The hostess blushed at the sight of Riddick. “Good evening gentlemen. Will you be taking the back room?”

While Riddick did the talking I scanned the room. No Pythons in sight, not that it surprised me. Two Shadow Ghosts at the bar eyeballed me and then looked quickly away. A group of White Nights had pitchers of beer out on two tables. They were good guys. Embodied the MC life, not the outlaw life. Everyone else gave off civilian vibes.

“Is there anyone back there?” Riddick asked.

The hostess shook her head quickly and batted her lashes.

Riddick, to his credit, flirted with her enough to give her stories to tell, but not so much she’d get the wrong idea. “We’re just passing through.”

“Oh. All right then.” She chewed on her lip as we walked away, her eyes full of disappointment.

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