Crow, p.1
Crow, page 1
Copyright © 2022 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 Pretty in Ink Creations
Table of Contents:
Author’s Note
Common Terms
Playlist
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Devil’s Murder MC
Sneak Peek Sins of the Father
Sneak Peek Roulette Run
About the Author
Crow is the first book in the Devil’s Murder MC.
It’s filled with dark and gritty content, a supernatural twist, steamy scenes, and is intended for mature readers only. Some scenes may be disturbing to readers as well as references to trauma.
If you’re a fan of the Royal Bastards MC Tonopah, NV Chapter, you’ll find a surprise inside.
DEVIL’S MURDER MC motorcycle club with several chapters in various states within the U.S.
The Crow shifter ability/shared soul of every Devil’s Murder club member; a black feathered, predatory bird with enhanced traits
Murder a group of crows, an omen of death
The Roost clubhouse/bar owned by the Devil’s Murder MC
Bull’s Saloon second home to club members, bar owned by Lucky Lou
Hog motorcycle
Cage vehicle
Sweet butt club girl, also known as a muffler bunny
Mobbing Individual crows coming together to harass a predator by cooperatively attacking it
Pres president of the club
SAA Sargeant at Arms
Ol’ lady a member’s property, his woman, respected and cherished
Cut leather jacket with the sleeves cut off, member patches on the front and club logo on the back, sacred to members
Church an official club meeting
Chapel the location for church meetings in the Roost
Prospect someone interested in patching with the club, sponsored by a member
Rook former pres
Crow third generation club member, son of Rook
Dirty Death MC DDMC, rival motorcycle club
Sueco – Paralyzed
Stabbing Westward – Save Yourself
Atreyu – Untouchable (feat. Jacoby Shaddix)
The Warning – Choke
Ghost – Call Me Little Sunshine
Down – Stone the Crow
Korn – A.D.I.D.A.S.
System of a Down – Toxicity
Dope – Die MF Die
Motionless in White – Cyberhex
Dorothy – Black Sheep
Melissa Etheridge – The Shadow of a Black Crow
Tyler Childers – Nose on the Grindstone
Outlaw – Tell it to the Bottle (feat. Crucifix)
Crobot – Set You Free
Post Malone – Take What You Want (feat. Ozzy Osborne,
Black Label Society – Fire It Up
Jeris Johnson – Raining Blood (feat. ZillaKami)
Shinedown – The Crow & The Butterfly
Nine Inch Nails – Dead Souls (From “The Crow” Soundtrack)
DED – Love Song (feat. Maria Brink)
You can listen here on Spotify: Crow Playlist
From USA Today bestselling author Nikki Landis comes a new standalone MC romance and the first book in the Devil’s Murder MC series.
Crow, son of the former president of the Devil’s Murder MC, is determined to avenge his father’s death and repair the broken club left behind. Bad blood, bitter memories, and a territory feud threaten to tear apart everything his father built. He’s determined to return and take his place, hunting down those responsible for Rook’s murder.
Crow has a hell of a lot to prove, and it can’t come at a worse time. Stopping at a bar on the way back to reclaim his position in the club, he encounters a pretty petite redhead in a whole heap of trouble. His protective instincts kick in, and now he’s got more problems than he can handle.
Crow can’t resist helping out a woman in need, but this spitfire is way more trouble than he anticipates. Bella’s searching for her missing sister and desperate for help, even if that means getting close to a dangerous biker. For reasons Crow can’t quite figure out, she makes him want more than life as an outlaw.
There’s a rival club on their heels, a crooked sheriff, and innocent lives on the line. Taking her back to the clubhouse for protection sparks a whole shitstorm Crow doesn’t need. Bella insists he’s the only hope for finding her sister, and time is running out.
The feisty redhead isn’t backing down.
Neither is Crow’s enemies.
Nobody threatens the Devil’s Murder because the club protects their own. There’s a reason they’re called a murder, and their bikes ride on the dark wings of circling crows.
It’s an omen of impending death.
No enemy can outrun the Devil’s Murder.
CROW is a full-length, standalone bad boy romance. You’ll love this heart-pounding first book in the Devil’s Murder MC featuring take-charge bikers who adore and fiercely protect their women. CROW has no cheating, no cliffhanger, plenty of heat, and a guaranteed HEA along with a slight paranormal twist.
Hot, bone-dry air swept across the back of my neck as I rolled to a stop, the front tire of my hog resting ahead of the faded white line painted on the asphalt road. I paused at the intersection, obeying the order to stop at a red light though there wasn’t much point. The hour was late, and if I hadn’t already had a few beers and several shots, I probably would have blown right through the red light without a second thought. But now, legally drunk but not feeling any of the pleasant side effects of the liquor, I gripped the handlebars with my gloved hands and waited impatiently for the light to change.
There was no traffic, hardly even more than a few rolling tumbleweed to keep my ass company. I rode into town after nearly four hours on the open road, but this wasn’t a scenic tour on my bike. Riding back into Vegas wasn’t something I had ever intended to do again, and if it wasn’t fucking important, I wouldn’t be here. You could bet on that.
That was why I stopped at the bar outside of town and proceeded to drink as much as the sweet little blonde bartender would give me until closing. Probably would have taken her home and offered her a ride she wouldn’t forget if I weren’t so fucking torn up inside. Alcohol and sex only masked the problem anyway. The issue was my reason for returning to The Roost. My chest constricted as I thought of my father and all the shit of the last five years.
Fuck.
I scrubbed a hand over my face and closed my eyes briefly, opening them again as I caught the headlights in my mirror, taunting me as they’d done the day I left.
It was too dark to see the make and model of the cage, but I didn’t need to see to know Sheriff Taylor watched, his car idling on the road as if he dared me to turn around and face him. Didn’t matter what that asshole thought. I wasn’t a kid he could push around anymore.
The traffic signal swayed in a gust of wind as it switched to green, and I lifted one hand, leaving only my middle finger exposed.
Fuck off, Sheriff Taylor.
A dark chuckle left my lips as I sped across the intersection, my bike rumbling with a low, deep-throated vibration as I passed the closed shops and through the barren streets. Even Vegas had an hour or two when it shut down. Prostitutes and gamblers all had to sleep at some point. Of course, I was only on the outskirts of the city now. The strip never went silent. Flashing neon lights, the jangly music, and the whir of spinning reels accompanied by loud beeps and the chimes of slot machines, drunken revelry, and the lure of sex were only a few of the enticements that bombarded every visitor in the city of sin.
My destination led me in another direction. A place I avoided for as long as possible but could no longer put off. That tight feeling in my chest grew until I nearly choked on the lump that rose, lodging in the center of my throat. The gates of Palm Northwest Mortuary & Cemetery loomed ahead as I approached, parking in the empty lot as I glided to an unceremonious stop.
I stood, stretching my legs and back, gazing at the perfectly landscaped grounds of the lot. My eyes roamed over the palm trees, weeping willow, tulip poplar, sycamore trees, Nevada’s state plant sagebrush, and other blooms that offered pops of color in the moonlight, thriving in the sandy, dry climate. If it weren’t for the city lights, I could have enjoyed the starry night sky, but I knew if I rode out to Tonopah, I’d be able to see them for miles without anything in the way or obscuring the view. Maybe I’d visit Grim and the Royal Bastards soon and check in on the club. Knew quite a few of those rowdy fuckers, and it ha
A watery oasis surrounded by various rocks that included limestone, sandstone, and shale glittered like diamonds as gentle waves rippled the surface a short distance ahead. Grass and sand competed for dominance along the grounds, but the lawn was obviously mowed often and maintained well. Hell, it was fucking green in the summer. That said a hell of a lot, considering how hot and dry the desert was this time of year.
Fountains, numerous gardens, and other unique memorial art spanned the entire forty acres of land. Grass-level headstones of granite and bronze were organized in innumerable rows by the water. I strolled toward the fence and hopped over it, heading in the direction of the Freedom Garden. A tribute to veterans, this part of the cemetery honored military service men and women from all branches and their dedication and sacrifice to our country. I caught the flag billowing in the breeze and felt a twinge of emotion. My old man didn’t want me to follow in his footsteps or those of my grandfather, who served in the Vietnam War.
I never understood when I was a teen. Words like sacrifice and honor were concepts that I was only beginning to fathom. It would take another ten years before I matured enough to forgive my overbearing father for his mistakes. Such was the naivety and foolishness of youth. Now, it was too late to speak words that would never be heard.
As I trudged along the pathway in my boots, my steps were confident, only stopping when I arrived at the correct grave, marked by a single upright headstone in black granite. A Harley was engraved into the surface by laser, memorializing the final wishes of Austin Derek Holmes Sr. Everyone knew him as Rook, the president of the Devil’s Murder MC. I knew him as something much more intimate.
“Hey, pops,” I choked out, staring down at the space his body occupied, the smooth, freshly mown surface hiding the powerful, intimidating man I’d grown up calling father. “Bet you didn’t think I’d be back here so soon.”
The wind lightly whistled through the nearby trees, and I heard a rustling among the leaves, a slight flapping of feathered wings that accompanied the melodic sound.
“Raven ratted you out, old man. He told me about that conversation you had a week before you died. The one where you told your V.P. what you wanted in case shit went south.”
Lowering to a squat, I plucked the pocketknife from inside my cut and held it, my grip tightening as I mulled over my next words.
“I wasn’t here when you needed me.” My teeth clamped down as my jaw locked, and I had to force a breath through my lungs. “I’m fucking sorry I let you down. I should have had your six that day. Maybe if I had been here, I could have prevented your death. I’ll always wonder if being with you would have made a difference or if those bastards would have killed me too.”
Without fanfare, I yanked the leather glove on my left hand off, shoving it into the back pocket of my jeans. I flicked the knife open and sliced the sharp blade across my palm, forming a fist as dark droplets of blood seeped through the cracks in my fingers and dripped onto the grass below.
“I swear to you that I will find the assholes responsible for your death, and I will fucking end them. I won’t rest until every motherfucker involved pays for killing the president of the Devil’s Murder MC.”
My hand lifted, and I kissed my bloody fist, then pulled out a bandana and wrapped it around the wound, hardly noticing the sting.
“I’ll avenge you,” I whispered, standing to my full height, squaring my shoulders back as I felt something light drop onto my right shoulder, tiny talons gripping the leather of my cut. The weight shifted slightly and then settled, a single raspy caw bursting from the beak of the bird I called a friend.
My uninjured hand reached into my pocket, dug around for a penny, and then placed the coin on the cool, smooth surface of the headstone. Nickels and dimes created a long row down the length, proving the men who served with my father honored his memory. Spinning on my heel, I faced the emptiness of a future without my father and his gruff, loyal, steadfast leadership.
I’ll make those motherfuckers regret they ever heard the name of the Devil’s Murder MC.
Beady eyes stared from all directions as I noticed the crows crowding the branches of nearby trees. A few hopped along the grass. Several of the birds landed on the headstones of neighboring graves, but not a single crow touched my father’s final resting place. Dozens of the creatures had silently invaded the cemetery without ever making their presence known. Not that I wasn’t aware. They were only an extension of my body, like a limb with its own separate conscious thought.
Onyx feathers glistened like an oily stain blotting out the moon as more crows arrived. Each bird perched on the edge of its spot, keenly aware of every movement in the vicinity, even the wind. Expectancy hung heavily in the air as a few birds grew vocal, and caw caw...caw caw echoed in a regular pattern. The chatter increased before I ticked my head toward the sky, and the murder flew upward in unison, flooding the darkness as I headed toward my bike.
Black wings speckled the sky in a pulsing, rippling glide that spanned far enough to block out the twinkling stars and shy, hazy crescent moon. The murder followed closely as I straddled my bike, fired up the engine, and sped away from the cemetery with one destination in mind.
It was time I returned home.
Crow was ready to roost.
The ride to Henderson typically took twenty minutes, but I arrived in fifteen, struck by the familiarity of the town, the businesses, and the streets with the same unchanging neighborhoods. Fatigue hadn’t quite set in yet as I rolled to a stop outside Bull’s Saloon. The joint was open twenty-four hours a day and owned by a close friend of my pops. An old vet named Lucky Lou was known for his colorful language and reputation with the ladies. His father, Bull, had built the place nearly forty years ago, and Lou took it over when his old man passed on.
Normally, I’d ride on by and head straight to The Roost, but my heart wasn’t in it after visiting the cemetery. I wasn’t in the best mood, and I didn’t want to see the rest of my brothers until I had a chance to collect my thoughts and decide what I needed to say.
I never wanted the position of president. Made that clear when I took off, went nomad, and decided I needed to see a little more of the world. Pissed my pops off when I told him I didn’t want to lead the club and wasn’t sure when I would return. At the time, I was positive I had made the correct decision. That was before my father was gunned down in cold blood.
There wasn’t a thing that I wouldn’t give to go back in time.
My gaze swept over the interior of Bull’s Saloon as I headed toward the bar, taking a seat that faced the front doors and kept a wall at my right. To the left were tables, mostly empty. At my back, the entrance to the kitchen and a hall that led to the bathrooms. From this position, I could defend myself easily if something went down, and I’d see trouble long before it decided to head my way.
Being a member of the Devil’s Murder MC meant caution was an everyday part of life. Since Rook’s death, it was a necessity. I didn’t know who was responsible for murdering my father, but I sure as hell intended to find out. If I had to wade my way through the vermin and underbelly of this city and the entire state of Nevada to accomplish the task, I’d do it. And I didn’t give a fuck who I pissed off in the process.
A few patrons were scattered among the booths, and I noticed two men seated at the other end of the bar, deep in conversation. They weren’t loud enough to catch more than an occasional word above the music which was much too loud at this close to dawn. One of them—a burly guy with dark eyes and a long scar that dragged his lower lip down on the right nearly to his chin—kept glancing my way. A scorpion tattoo stretched across his neck as the tail ended abruptly beneath the grimy charcoal-colored t-shirt he wore.
Neither of the men wore a cut or any distinguishing paraphernalia, but they had the look of gangbangers or low-level mc, and both wore black leather jackets in the heat. Probably to conceal weapons. The kind of guys who slit throats and didn’t ask questions just took the cash offered and moved on. They killed without mercy and weren’t bothered by the havoc left behind.
Maybe the kind of assholes who went after my pops and my club.
I met the gaze of Scorpion and leaned back, folding my arms across my chest, staring him down and hoping he reacted. The fucker met my stare with a bored expression and then turned to his companion, both downing a few more shots.
