Ridin' for Hell (Royal Bastards MC) Read online

  Copyright © 2020 Nikki Landis

  All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover by Jay Aheer, Simply Defined Art

  Model: Robert Kelly

  Image: JW Photography

  Edited by Kathy Denver, iPublishGlobal

  Table of Contents:

  Dedication

  Author’s Note

  ROYAL BASTARDS CODE

  Playlist

  Prologue – Grim

  Chapter 1 – Azrael

  Chapter 2 – Trixie

  Chapter 3 – Nylah

  Chapter 4 – Azrael

  Chapter 5 – Azrael

  Chapter 6 – Nylah

  Chapter 7 – Azrael

  Chapter 8 – Trixie

  Chapter 9 – Azrael

  Chapter 10 – Azrael

  Chapter 11 – Nylah

  Chapter 12 – Nylah

  Chapter 13 – Azrael

  Chapter 14 – Nylah

  Chapter 15 – Azrael

  Chapter 16 – Trixie

  Chapter 17 – Nylah

  Chapter 18 – Azrael

  Chapter 19 – Azrael

  Chapter 20 – Nylah

  Chapter 21 – Azrael

  Chapter 22 – Azrael

  Chapter 23 – Trixie

  Chapter 24 – Azrael

  Chapter 25 – Azrael

  Chapter 26 – Azrael

  Chapter 27 – Nylah

  Chapter 28 – Azrael

  Chapter 29 – Azrael

  Epilogue – Grim

  ROYAL BASTARDS MC SERIES

  Sneak Peek Sins of the Father, RRMC

  Also by Nikki Landis

  About the Author

  Dedication

  It’s been a great pleasure to coordinate and connect with my fellow authors in the Royal Bastards MC. This project became so much more than Crimson and I ever imagined. When she first asked if I wanted in, I had no idea it would grow and become more than a simple series of books. The authors have truly embraced and supported one another, and it’s been like a family. The world has expanded and grown with Crimson’s vision but it’s the readers that have truly embraced this series.

  To all those who have read, purchased, shared, and loved the Royal Bastards – THANK YOU.

  I have a long list of people to thank and it starts with the authors in this MC collaboration.

  Thank you to Crimson Syn, CM Genovese, Elizabeth Knox, and B.B. Blaque for allowing me to use your characters and chapters in my book. I hope I do them justice. To Glenna Maynard, thank you for being a great friend and someone I can turn to no matter what I need. To Erin Trejo, Chelle C. Craze, K Webster, Esther E. Schmidt, Madison Faye, J. Lynn Lombard, Addison Jane, Izzy Sweet & Sean Moriarty, KL Ramsey, M. Merin, Sapphire Knight, Bink Cummings, Winter Travers, Linny Lawless, Jax Hart, Elle Boon, Kristine Allen, Ker Dukey, KE Osborn, and Shannon Youngblood – it’s been a wild ride and I’ve enjoyed our private group more than you know.

  Thank you to my beta and ARC readers who tirelessly support my work and spend hours reading my stories and helping find any errors or inconsistencies. My books are better novels because I have you all to share them with. So much love!

  To Kristin Youngblood – you’re the best PA I know. Your hard work and dedication to this project has not gone unnoticed. Thank you so much for all of the hours of support and endless help.

  To Crimson, my bestie and co-conspirator, love ya bunches. You keep me sane, make me laugh, and are my favorite person to discuss story ideas, plots, and how to torture characters. Our internet searches are insane. I truly love our collaboration with Jameson and Ian (Rael). Can’t wait for what we’ll do next.

  To Ryan, my husband who has stood by my side and taken up the slack when I was too busy writing to help with the house, kids, cooking, and cleaning. Without your help, this book would never have been completed. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  A word about the Royal Bastards Tonopah, NV –

  Beware. Tough subjects are covered in this series and not for the faint of heart. Limits will be tested. Comfort zones pushed. There will be characters and situations that contain dark content. I’m hoping you will read with an open mind and enjoy this story especially if you’re familiar with my writing style in other books. I always have some sort of paranormal or supernatural twist. Writing MC novels has been a fairly new endeavor for me and as with all new projects I’ve had my stressful moments. What’s resulted is a story and characters that I’ve grown to love, and I hope you’ll give them all a chance.

  This series deals heavily with human trafficking, 1%er motorcycle clubs, illegal activity, drugs, graphic sex, vengeance, and abuse. If this content offends you, you may not want to read this book. As with all of my novels, I try to give a glimpse into the lives of broken, imperfect people who make choices that often impact their lives in unexpected ways. I like to write about complex emotions and strong characters. You’ll find this is true in Ridin’ for Hell.

  What has resulted is a novel that stole a little piece of my soul.

  The human spirit is resilient. We can overcome almost any obstacle, persevere over nearly every adversity. Where there’s hope, there’s endless possibility.

  So, sit back, find someplace comfortable, and enjoy the ride!

  Nikki xx

  Author’s Note

  Ridin’ for Hell is the first book in the Royal Bastards MC Tonopah, Nevada Chapter (excluding the holiday novella The Biker’s Gift written to give a glimpse into this world and the characters). There’s dark and gritty content and is intended for mature readers only. I hope you enjoy the Crossroads, the club, and the members of the Royal Bastards MC. Devil’s Ride is Grim’s story and will continue the series in November 2020. There’s much more to come for Grim and his Reapers.

  ...

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  ROYAL BASTARDS CODE

  ...

  PROTECT: The club and your brothers come before anything else, and must be protected at all costs. CLUB is FAMILY.

  RESPECT: Earn it & Give it. Respect club law. Respect the patch. Respect your brothers. Disrespect a member and there will be hell to pay.

  HONOR: Being patched in is an honor, not a right. Your colors are sacred, not to be left alone, and NEVER let them touch the ground.

  OL’ LADIES: Never disrespect a member’s or brother’s Ol’ Lady. PERIOD.

  CHURCH is MANDATORY.

  LOYALTY: Takes precedence over all, including well-being.

  HONESTY: Never LIE, CHEAT, or STEAL from another member or the club.

  TERRITORY: You are to respect your brother’s property and follow their Chapter’s club rules.

  TRUST: Years to earn it...seconds to lose it.

  NEVER RIDE OFF: Brothers do not abandon their family.

  Playlist

  Life of Sin – Nick Nolan

  Crazy Motherfucker – Brother Dege

  Cross Off (feat. Chester Bennington) – Mark Morton

  Grave Digger – Blues Sarac
eno

  Blue on Black – Five Finger Death Punch

  Godzilla – Eminem

  Crazy – Royal Bliss

  Beat the Devil’s Tattoo – Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

  Not Afraid to Die – Written by Wolves

  Gg6 – Amaranthe

  Nightmare – Avenged Sevenfold

  Death – Demon Hunter

  Monsters – Shinedown

  Funeral for a Lover – JJ Wilde

  Panic Attack – The Glorious Sons

  Set Me Free – Avenged Sevenfold

  Deal With God – Crucifix

  Popular Monster – Falling in Reverse

  You can listen here: Ridin' for HELL Playlist

  ...

  Royal Bastards MC

  Tonopah, NV Chapter

  ...

  In this life, you reap what you sow ...

  Not everyone wants to run from their past.

  Some souls embrace the chance to hunt their prey and seek vengeance.

  And some bastards just like the carnage a little too much.

  There's a reason I'm the club’s SGT at Arms.

  I handle the hard shit.

  The jobs no one else wants to deal with because its messy.

  Thing is, I love to lose control.

  When I'm angry, my demons come out to play.

  And then the real fun begins ...

  ...

  Revenge is my only master.

  I’m the judge, jury, and merciless executioner.

  My enemies think I’ve forgotten about them.

  They think I hide behind my patch.

  I don’t.

  There are only two things I care about –

  Protecting my club and spilling blood.

  They call me Azrael, the Angel of Death.

  A one-way ticket to Hell.

  My Reaper is ready to ride.

  And where he goes, death and destruction follow.

  Prologue – Grim

  “Barb ain’t answering her phone,” Bulldog complained as he shook his head. “She said she was gonna make a decision today on whether or not she was leavin’ that asshole.”

  I shrugged, knowing she wasn’t ever gonna ditch his controlling ass. “Bill manipulates her. He’s been doin’ it a long time. She doesn’t realize how bad it’s gotten.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that. I know.” Bulldog was anxious and I didn’t blame him.

  I was anxious too. Barb was the widow of our brother Boone. He’d been killed protecting his family and the RBMC. We promised to watch out for his wife and kids and keep them safe. Couldn’t help but feel like we failed. Bill was an abusive dick.

  If he touched those kids, I would beat his ass. He’d answer to the club.

  Didn’t matter if he was a nomad with the Bloody Scorpions. No one fucked with the Royal Bastards.

  “I think we should ride by the house,” I suggested, feeling my stress level rise. What if he was hurting them now?

  “Yeah, let’s roll.”

  The ride didn’t take long. We pulled up and parked our bikes across the road to avoid confrontation if Bill was in a mood. I didn’t worry too much until I could hear a commotion coming from the inside of the house.

  “Leave us alone, you asshole!”

  “Ian!” Willow’s little voice followed her brother’s.

  Fuck!

  Bulldog beat me inside the door as we walked straight into a nightmare. Furniture was turned over, the rugs bunched over the hardwood floors. A lamp had been knocked over and was broken in several places, the pieces scattered along the floor. The place was dirtier than the last time I was there, and it didn’t make sense. Barb was a good mother.

  My head swung as I heard a squelching sound and found Ian Braxton, the oldest of the kids swinging a baseball bat. He’d hit Bill at least a couple of times from what I could tell, and the big man was on the ground, not moving. Willow was whimpering, her feet tucked underneath her as she clutched at her favorite stuffed bear. She was shaking and calling out for Ian.

  Bill’s head was trickling blood as well as the side of his face where a nasty bruise was beginning to form. The bat slid from Ian’s fingers as we approached and he glanced up, momentarily confused. He hadn’t heard us before now. Too pumped with adrenaline, I would guess.

  “You okay, son?”

  He nodded, backing up until he reached Willow. She stood and hugged her brother’s waist, her small frame trembling. Bulldog bent down to Bill, checking for a pulse. He didn’t find one.

  I held up my hands since the kids seemed spooked. “Name’s Grim. I was a good friend of your father’s. Boone and I were close. You look like him,” I observed as Ian stared right into my eyes.

  That boy was fierce and fearless. He was just as hardball as his father.

  “He was a badass,” Ian announced.

  “Sure was,” I agreed. “You seem to be taking right after him.” I ticked my head toward Willow. “Good job protecting your sister. That’s how it should be.”

  “Yep,” he answered, swallowing hard. “That’s what dad told me to do.”

  “I’m sure he did, Ian. You’re like his own personal Angel of Death.”

  The boy hugged Willow close, not bothering to reply.

  Bulldog walked into the bedrooms looking for Barb. I heard his anguished cry and then a string of curses before he walked back into the living room.

  Bulldog Jameson was a tough motherfucker but when he looked my way, I swear I saw tears in his gray eyes. He shook his head and I knew that she was gone.

  The kids clung to one another and I knew they would be inseparable for the rest of their lives. Ian and Willow Braxton were family. We’d take care of them. The RBMC looked out for its own. As I watched the two children, I couldn’t help thinking one was just a pure little angel of light, and the other . . . the darkness and avenging angel of death.

  Chapter 1 – Azrael

  “You don’t want to do this, bruh.”

  This piece of shit really had no idea how much I actually did want to do this. I fuckin’ lived for it. Breathed it. Inhaled violence, blood, and death in like oxygen just to make it from one minute to the next. I couldn’t function, couldn’t survive through the day without my sinister addiction. My need to rip things apart and destroy flesh was a basic and integral part of the gruesome monster I had become. Nothing else was nearly as important as the vengeance that focused every fuckin’ decision I made.

  Shit. I was created to fuck people up.

  And I got off on it like a goddamn drug.

  “My pres is gonna have your ass, motherfucker,” my prisoner yelled, spittle flying from his busted mouth. The drool was a mixture of blood and saliva as it dribbled down his chin. My gaze followed the movement of the fluid, almost gleeful at the fact that I was inflicting harm.

  “Oh?” I asked calmly, unrolling my bag of delightfully sharp steel toys. “I’ll remember that.” Pausing to scratch my jaw, I shrugged as he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t take it up the ass, boy. Maybe you do? Or your pres?”

  “Fuck you!” he shouted, wiggling his body and only succeeding in tightening the bonds wrapped around his thick, meaty wrists. The fucker really needed to lose a few pounds. His chubby gut wobbled every time he jiggled.

  “I’m not into men although I do have a club member who is.” Turning to Mammoth, I ticked my head in his direction. “Wanna a treat while I get everything ready?”

  Mammoth chuckled, folding his arms across his massive chest as he silently appraised the punk dangling like a hunk of raw beef and stripped down to nothing but a pair of boxers. A meat hook secured to the main support beam above held him firmly in place, his feet scraping along the ground with every movement, not quite low enough to stand and much too high to rest on his knees. It was uncomfortable on purpose.

  “I’d tear him apart,” Mammoth answered with glee. “He’d be shitting blood for a month.”

  Mammoth wasn’t gay but at six-foot-seven he was big as a fuckin
’ beast and rumor had it that he was packin’ some serious meat down below. Of course, that was conjecture spread among the little club whores or cookies who kept us all company. But the Scorpions MC member who was cussing us out earlier had paled with Mammoth’s words and didn’t know any of that shit.

  Mammoth never changed his expression, just kept those dark blue eyes focused on our prey.

  “Let me go!”

  A bold and pointless demand. He wasn’t leaving this room. At least, not alive.

  I was kind of hoping he’d piss himself soon with fear, especially once he realized he’d awakened to his last hours on this earth when the asshole climbed out of bed this morning. Mammoth’s lips twitched when our eyes briefly met, and I knew he was waiting for the same thing.

  We were sick fucks, no doubt about it.

  “How many years did you serve in Ely again?” Ely State was a fierce maximum-security prison in our home state of Nevada. Hell, the state’s only death row inmates were housed there. It was no joke.

  Mammoth smirked. “Five.”

  The Scorpion prisoner went completely still as he listened to our words.

  “I can’t remember what the conviction was,” I replied casually, running my finger over the edge of a large hunting knife. “Murder?”

  “That’s what the judge said,” Mammoth confirmed, his gaze never wavering from our prey. “Among others.”

  “They ever find the fucker you were convicted of killing?”

  “Nah,” Mammoth replied with a wide grin. “Too many pieces. Scattered them all over the state.”

  That was when our guest decided to start shouting as loud as he could. Gave me a fuckin’ headache. “Grab him,” I snarled as I walked over to a flat, stainless steel table that we used for interrogations. A high, load-bearing ability with a maximum weight capacity of 1,000 lbs. and guaranteed not to break. Or so the manufacturer boasted. It was for made for hunters with bulky, heavy prey like elk or human cadavers that were morbidly obese. I liked the idea of the second option.

  Glancing at Mammoth, I was reminded why we needed such an expensive table in the first place. He was over three hundred pounds of solid muscle alone and when he was holding someone down it was imperative the damn piece of equipment didn’t snap beneath the strain. That happened once. Wasn’t pretty. Took forever to clean up the bloody mess.