Page 4 of Blood Revealed

2.

Blood, a.k.a. Raif

Seven years ago…

“Check out over there.” I use my chin to point in the direction I want the brothers to look. There’s a hot chick, one of the hottest I’ve seen in recent times, talking to a trucker. She’s not dressed like a prostitute. Instead, she’s wearing skinny jeans, flip-flops, and a pink T-shirt tied at the hip, which means she’s a runaway. Long, lightish brown hair swishes across her back as she jogs to the passenger side of the truck. Tiny waist, rounded ass, and legs for days. Something about this scene doesn’t sit well with me.

She can’t be older than my little sister, Liv, and I’d blow a gasket if my sister tried thumbing for a ride. This chick is either naive or desperate, neither of which is acceptable when you’re young, hot, and thumbing for a ride. My gut says trouble’s gonna find this girl and my gut ain’t been wrong yet.

Chaos and Boss, my two best friends and brothers, look in her direction. Brothers of the cut, not by blood. Though I hardly remember a day without Chaos by my side. We grew up together, prospected for the Lords together. His eyes harden when he sees her—the only thing hard on his face. The man looks like that fucking quintessential golden surfer boy. I’ve teased him enough about it over the years. But he’s like me, my little sister was like his little sister. The three of us always hung out, and when my dad pulled me away for club business, Chaos looked after Liv on his own. I was born to be a Brimstone Lord. It was my dad’s club until a fat fuck with a chip on his shoulder cut him down in his prime. Rival club.

That was the night my fate was sealed. With Chaos by my side, we took out the fat fuck and several of his men then headed south, leaving behind my sister and the club in Chicago to hit up one of our more southern chapters in Kentucky.

“What do ya wanna do?” Boss asks. I’m tough. Chaos’s tough. But this guy has no idea what’s about to hit him if Boss gets involved. The man’s built like a bull moose. A Viking reincarnate. We were sent down here by the club’s new president, Duke Elis; Duke’s brother, Rex, led the club until about a year ago when he was cut down in his prime. Fucking Horde. The only good Horde is a dead Horde. But Duke’s good people and needs us to make sure we still got friends now that the club’s gone a different direction.

What do I want to do? Hundred-million-dollar question. We need to head back toward home and make any necessary stops along the way, but I can’t shake the feeling that if we don’t intervene somehow, that chick’s gonna end up on a flyer hanging on the bulletin board in Walmart.

“Let’s follow, but hang back enough so he doesn’t get spooked and do something foolish, hey?”

“Then let’s mount up,” says Boss at the same time Chaos pats me on the back. We mount and watch but don’t fire up because nobody’s going to ignore the sound of a Harley. So three Harleys? We’re getting looks.

We let the truck roll out, turning right toward the interstate before we start our bikes. This distance shouldn’t alert him to our presence.

Boss, Chaos, and I keep three to four car lengths back and follow the rig heading northeast. We ride a few hundred miles before exiting the interstate when we cross the border into Missouri.

Tons of bikers in Missouri—hell, the Lords even have a chapter here, which means a group of bikers getting off the interstate behind him wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

Still three to four car lengths behind, we slow down as the rig turns into a gas station. This meanswepull into the gas station to fill up and grab coffees.

The kid behind the counter gets a pep to his voice when I walk up to pay for my shit. He couldn’t be more than seventeen—his mousy, oily brown hair, and pimples help me pinpoint that.

“You’re a Lord?” he asks, even though the huge patch taking up the whole back of my cut has been visible this whole time I’ve been walking around in here.

“Yup,” I answer back to the kid while keeping my eyes fixed on the rig as I slide three twenties over the counter to pay him.

My brothers, already having paid, stand to my left sipping on their coffees.

“How do you become a Lord?” the kid asks. Knew this was coming and maybe I’m wrong about him, but he doesn’t look tough enough to survive the Lords’ world. The life would chew him up and spit him out. Still, I’m not one to rain on someone else’s parade.

“First up, gotta have a bike,” I tell him to both Boss’s and Chaos’s unsubtle snickering.

“Know that,” the kid says back.

“Contact the Lords chapter and be prepared to eat a lot of—shit! I yell that last and take off running because that fucking trucker pulled out of the gas station, turning back on the highway.

He’s pulled a little farther than four car lengths ahead, but we keep him in sight. After another forty-five minutes, my gut gets that pitching feeling again. This dude is seriously up to no good. When he turns, he turns onto an old road trucks don’t go down. Even if he needs to rest, there are stops for that.

We hang back in the treeline to wait. The truck eases over to the shoulder of the road and he cuts the engine. The cab begins to shake and those weigh as much as a car, then there’s a scared-shitless scream and I don’t stop to think, leaping off my bike to bolt over to the truck, ready to kill that fucker—Boss and Chaos at my back.

She’s fighting for her life inside that cab. Taking her here, there’s no way he only has rape on his mind. It’s the perfect, out-of-the-way place to commit a rape and murder—and be able to dump the body without fear of it being found for months or even years, if ever.

I wrench the door open, startling the fuck. He twists to look at us and the girl uses his lack of attention to jam her knee into his gut. The brothers open the door on the other side.

She and I lock eyes and I see the fear, desperation, and cautious thankfulness pass through hers in a heartbeat.

Boss rips the fucker out of the truck by his shirt collar, pulling him across the girl. I reach my hand out to her and she takes it without hesitation. She falls into my arms and I set her straight.

“Stay,” I order. She nods, allowing me to get in on the fun of ending the fucker. I don’t relish taking a life, but some people forfeit their right to live among the populous.

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