Hawk devils murder mc, p.1
Hawk: Devil's Murder MC, page 1
Copyright © 2023 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
Model: Sam Miller
Image: RplusM Photography
Table of Contents:
Author’s Note
Common Terms
Playlist
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
Sneak Peek
About the Author
Author’s Note
Hawk is the third book in the Devil’s Murder MC.
It’s filled with dark and gritty content, a supernatural twist, steamy scenes, violence, biker slang, torture, kidnapping, and references to SA. Mature readers only. Heed the CWs and proceed with caution. Tough subjects occur in this book, please don’t read if they will cause you discomfort.
I hope you enjoy Hawk and Callie’s story.
Common Terms
DMMC Devil’s Murder Motorcycle Club. One-percenter outlaw MC with several chapters within the U.S. Founded in Henderson, NV 1981.
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.
Kraa An intense cry from a crow, fueled by strong emotion.
The Roost Bar & clubhouse owned by the Devil’s Murder MC.
Bull’s Saloon Second home to club members, bar owned by Lucky Lou.
Mobbing Individual crows assembling together to harass a rival or predator by cooperatively attacking it.
One-percenter Outlaw biker/club
Pres President of the club. His word is law.
Ol’ lady A member’s woman, protected wife status.
Cut Leather vest worn by club members, adorned with patches and club colors, sacred to members.
Church An official club meeting, led by president.
Chapel The location for church meetings in the clubhouse.
Prospect Probationary member sponsored by a ranking officer, banned from church until a full patch.
Full Patch A new member approved for membership.
Rook Former president, son of Jackdaw.
Crow Third generation club member, son of Rook, president.
Hog motorcycle
Cage vehicle
Muffler bunny Club girl, also called sweet butt, cut slut.
DDMC Dirty Death MC, rival motorcycle club.
Playlist
Crows – Saliva
Make Believe – Memphis May Fire
Punching Bag – Set It Off
Wait in the Truck – HARDY & Lainey Wilson
San Quentin – Nickelback
Welcome to My House – Nu Breed & Jesse Howard
Better Days – Cryptic Wisdom & Matty Beats
Black Vultures – Halestorm
Hometown Hurricane – Atlus
Unlive (with Yelawolf) – Jelly Roll
U Turn – Nu Breed & Jesse Howard
Son of a Sinner – Jelly Roll
You can listen here on Spotify: Hawk’s Playlist
Hawk, Sergeant at Arms of the Devil's Murder MC, is loyal and cutthroat when it comes to his club. As a protector of his brothers, enforcer of the bylaws, and security, Hawk takes his position seriously, especially now that his president has been murdered by the Dirty Death MC. He won't rest until the blood of his enemies has been spilled, and justice served. He'll make damn sure that Rook is avenged and his son Crow doesn't meet the same fate.
But Hawk didn't count on the feisty, outspoken, desperate girl needing to rescue her sister from the dirty politician wreaking havoc in Nevada and the escort service that trafficked her out of the city. Callie is willing to do anything to bring her sibling home—even offer herself to a playboy biker who refuses to be shackled with an ol' lady.
Hawk never gave a damn about anything other than his club and brothers. Living free and wild without attachment kept his life simple and easy. Now, he's falling for this sweet girl and willing to invest in more than one night in his bed. Callie has him twisted up, ready to go to war to save her family and hoping to claim the innocent, curvy blonde he can't get out of his head. When she disappears, he knows he's the only one able to save her. Can Hawk protect her when everything comes crashing down, or will his need for vengeance risk both their lives?
Chapter 1
Five years ago—
“Hey, you good to ride, brother?”
“Shit. I’m dry as the fucking desert. I slept most of it off after Mara and Molly wore me out.”
A loud guffaw followed my words as Rael slapped me on the back. “Shit, Hawk. You’re welcome at the Crossroads anytime.”
“Only if the twins keep me company again,” I joked. Sort of. Those two blondes sucked me off and rode my dick until they drained me. Goddamn.
“Don’t be a stranger. You need anything, man, hit me up.”
“I will. See ya around, brother.”
I swung my leg over my bike, dropping onto the seat.
I craved a smoke, but I needed to get on the road. Rook wanted me to return as soon as I finished up in Tonopah.
The ride to Henderson would take a few hours, and I was itchin’ to get back to the Roost. Not that the RBMC hadn’t shown me a good time. Shit. The Royal Bastards MC threw a hell of a party, and the rager was still going strong. Loud rock music blared from speakers inside the clubhouse, and the skunky smell of weed and cigarettes blended with sweat, leather, and whiskey. Damn tempting to stay another night. My cock twitched just thinkin’ about it.
“Come back and kick it anytime, Hawk. We’ll have a drink, smoke, whatever. Take your mind off shit for a bit.”
That meant more than I could put into words. “Hell yeah.”
The longstanding friendship between our clubs, specifically my pres Rook and Rael’s pres Grim, had been close for years, birthed from mutual respect. Rook met Grim twenty years ago when he was a new member of the RBMC, and Rook became our pres, taking the reins from his father, Jackdaw. They formed a friendship that grew into a fierce brotherhood. The Crossroads welcomed our club like its own. A home away from home. Loyalty like that was a beautiful thing.
My fist bumped the air as I rode outside the gates, merging onto Hwy 95. Moonlight shimmered on the asphalt surface as the miles disappeared beneath my tires, peeking behind wisps of fluffy gray clouds. The kind of moon that lit up the road surrounded by millions of twinkling stars. Best star gazing in Nevada.
Caw...caw.
My chin lifted, and I spotted the crow. His inky wings blotted the moon as he glided on a current of wind. He was never far behind me, watching, waiting, vigilant. Nothing was as loyal as the crow.
I had been riding for over two hours when I tensed, catching something on the road ahead. I felt weight drop on my left shoulder. A soft caw echoed close to my ear.
“I see it,” I assured him, sensing his unease.
Alerted to possible danger, I knew I could reach my gun within a few seconds. My headlights spotted an object on the highway. As I grew closer, I realized someone weaved unsteadily on their feet, crossing in and out of the median, stumbling once before regaining stability.
The crow flapped his wings. His round body bounced in agitation. He opened his beak and squawked as I rolled the throttle, squeezing in the clutch and downshifted, slowing my momentum to a crawl.
Caw...caw.
“I know. I see her.”
Trying not to spook the woman on the road, I slowly pulled up next to her, blinking as I took in her appearance. Tight jeans hugged her ass, and long legs, but her athletic shoes were splattered with a dark substance. As my gaze slid over the torn T-shirt she wore and the dark red bloodstains, I clenched my teeth. A scrape on her lip had split the skin open, revealing a gash next to a huge purple bruise on her jaw. Her left eye had swollen almost completely shut, surrounded by angry skin mottled red and purple. Her long brown hair ended in tangles, sticking up in odd places. Several scratches and additional bruising covered her bare arms.
I didn’t doubt she’d been to hell and back again.
One arm wrapped around her waist as she winced, shuffling her feet along the dirty asphalt. She didn’t stop walking, staring straight ahead, focused on some unknown destination.
“Hey, honey,” I greeted her, trying not to yell above the rumble of my engine.
Her head turned as she blinked, noticing me for the first time. I couldn’t begin to imagine the demons she fought, choking on a sob she fought and failed to subdue. She almost collapsed before her body swayed, too overcome by trauma to function much longer.
She opened her mouth to speak, the truth hungering for exposure, but she didn’t say a word.
The defeated expression on her face hit me hard, but it was the haunting sadness in her brown eyes that forced me to act. She carried a lifetime of sorrow on her shoulders and couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Years of being torn down had taken a toll and stolen her smile. No woman should endure and suffer as she did, broken and beaten by a man entrusted to protect and love her instead of using her as a punching bag.
I never could condone violence against women. Had my reasons why but it didn’t change the facts.
The piece of shit that did this to her was gonna bleed for hurting her, and it fed the monster inside me to know that I would be the one setting him straight.
“Where is he?” The gruff tone of my voice must have spooked her because she startled, moving a strand of her hair out of her eyes with a shaky hand.
“Home.”
“You’ll show me.” I didn’t ask. Didn’t need to know specifics. I sure as hell wasn’t going to accept anything other than doling out a little of his own medicine to this asshole. “Hop on.”
She blinked a few times before slowly climbing on behind me, holding onto the leather material of my cut like a lifeline. No, I didn’t think ridin’ on a Harley scared her, not after what she’d been through. It was probably adrenaline, shock, and pain from her injuries combined to wreak havoc on her body and emotions.
Over the next few minutes, she gave directions, leading me to a tan-colored double-wide mobile home in Indian Springs. A pickup truck was parked in the driveway with truck nuts. The plastic dangling scrotum was affixed to the bumper, sending a clear message. I snorted, not the least bit surprised this fucker suffered from small dick syndrome.
The bike slowly came to a stop as I rolled in front of the house. She didn’t say a word, lifting her hand to point at the front door. Chipped green paint greeted me as I cut off the engine of my Harley and stood, placing the keys in her hand.
“If shit goes south, make sure my bike gets to the Devil’s Murder MC. Rook will know what to do.”
Her mouth popped open before she nodded. “Where do I find them?”
“You ever heard of Bull’s Saloon?”
She blinked. “Yeah, I think so. The biker bar outside Vegas?”
“That’s the one. Talk to Lucky Lou.”
As I slipped on my brass knuckles, I ticked my chin in her direction. “Wait here. Stay with my bike.”
She drew in a ragged breath, wincing from a wound I probably couldn’t see. Beneath the bruises and scratches, she hid a slew of injuries and numerous scars. Years of abuse I couldn’t begin to erase, even if I did prevent any further violence.
“Okay.”
I didn’t ask her any questions. There wasn’t a need. The motherfucker that did this to her would learn not to place his hands on a woman in anger because I was breakin’ every last one of his fingers to make sure that lesson hit home.
The front lawn was a bit overgrown as I walked toward the door, pounding my fist over the surface once I reached it. No one answered, and there wasn’t a sound to prove anyone was home. I knew better. Annoyed, I lifted my foot and kicked it in, watching with satisfaction as the wood splintered and the frame cracked. I stomped over the threshold with one purpose—retribution—a reckoning.
The devil was comin’ to exact a little justice.
If only I could have done that for my mom.
“What the fuck!?”
I didn’t pause as the man on the living room couch stumbled to his feet, knocking over a couple of beer bottles as they crashed to the floor and shattered into dozens of tiny pieces. He didn’t notice the glass slicing into his feet as he slurred, threatening me for entering his house.
In the corner, I spotted a 12-gauge and knew I couldn’t let him get close enough to use it.
I’d studied Brazilian jiu-jitsu after my old man used to knock me around as a kid. The self-defense martial art and combat sport based on grappling, ground fighting, and submission holds had grown from a necessity to a passion. I loved the flexibility and burn of my muscles, the flood of adrenaline when I pushed my body to the limit. I stopped being a punching bag the day I stood up to my father and blocked the hit aiming for my head, shocking the hell out of him.
To this day, I never let a man get the best of me or gain the advantage. I learned to watch my opponents and anticipate their moves. That skill proved useful when I patched into the Devil’s Murder. I earned my place in the club with blood, sweat, and loyalty and never looked back.
So when I saw this motherfucker move toward his weapon, I never had to think about what to do next. My body moved without conscious thought.
I let the hammer drop.
Lunging in his direction, I lifted his leg, knocking the abusive fucker off balance. He crashed to the ground, groaning as I swung my fist. The brass knuckles I wore grazed the left side of his face as his head bounced off the carpet. I swung a few more times, enjoying the splatter of blood and his swelling face. Motherfucker deserved a hell of a lot worse.
I whipped my gun free, pointing the barrel at his forehead. “We’re gonna get something straight, asshole. You lift a finger to hurt another woman, and I’ll be back.” I pointed to the patches on my cut. “You see these?”
He squinted, nodding as he read the Devil’s Murder MC.
“I’ll return with my entire club. Trust me when I say they won’t find anything left of you to bury. I know everywhere in the fuckin’ desert to scatter your body for the crows to feast.”
“Fuck,” he spit, turning his head while he groaned. “That bitch isn’t worth it.”
His remark pissed me off. “You don’t ever lift a finger to hurt a woman again. Got it?”
His hand rose, and he flipped me off. “Fuck you.”
Really? This guy was dumber than I thought. Did he think I was messin’ around?
His attitude needed an adjustment. I called the crow, grinning wide when I heard him rush inside the house through the open front door, flapping his wings and scolding the bloodied man on the ground.
“I guess this lesson is gonna be learned the hard way.”
I stomped on his right hand, feeling several of his bones snap. He screamed as I pistol-whipped the side of his head, watching with satisfaction as his eyes rolled back.
“Lights out, bitch.”
Yanking my knife out of my cut, I bent down, carving wife beater into his forehead. With any luck, it would leave a scar.
Caw...caw.
“Yeah. Yeah. You’re getting your turn. Take his eye.”
Backing away, I stared down at the bloody message forever etched into this prick’s skin. Maybe that would stop his abuse.
The crow hopped on his chest, quivering with excitement. His beady eyes blinked before his head tilted to the side. Another caw escaped.
“No. Only one eye. Don’t kill him.”
The crow protested, hopping around as he berated me for denying him justice.
“Hey. We’ve been over this. We don’t kill unless it’s necessary.”
The crow’s puffed chest deflated. He turned around, shaking out his onyx feathers.
“Just the one eye,” I reminded him.
All I got in response was a short, exasperated caw.
Fucking cranky ass bird.
I dropped to the floor, picked up the limp left hand, and snapped the rest of this asshole’s fingers.
There. A matching set.
“Have fun wiping your ass, you abusive fuck.”
The crow tittered, perching on the man’s nose. He stared me down.
“Okay. Fine. I’ll leave you to peck his eye in peace.”
Damn.
Mumbling about the crow’s ridiculous need to feast without an audience, I stomped outside, pausing to pick up a pack of smokes off the end table. I ignored the blood staining my fingers and plucked out a cigarette, lighting up as I sat on a chair. The tiny porch didn’t have much furniture, but I managed to plant my boots on the worn metal table, waiting for the cops to show up. Made me smile as I inhaled to know I stole them.
“Is he dead?”
The young woman watched me smoke an entire cigarette before speaking.
