Hellbent (Four Horsemen MC Book 5) (30 page)

"So Shep is actually going to let you go through with this crazy shit, huh?" Duke crossed his arms, staring out over the crowd as he stood shoulder to shoulder with Pretty Boy.

"Yeah, he said something about, 'a man's gotta be responsible for his own fucking self' and told me to make my own goddamn choice," he lied smoothly.

Duke zeroed in on Shep helping himself to a plate of ribs. "You mind if I verify that?"

"Knock yourself out." He shrugged. If he timed this right, before Duke had a chance to hold that convo with the VP, Pretty Boy would already be in the ring. Cutting off Duke’s path, he headed towards Shep. He really didn't have the patience for a fucking silent treatment contest.

Shep nodded at him, but his grip seemed a little tight on the Styrofoam plate. "What were you talking to Duke about?"

"Just making sure he felt I was good to go for tonight." He smiled tightly, eyes on the meat Voo barbecue sauced with a paintbrush.

"And he said?" Shep asked.

"Said to tell you not to be a fucking babysitter." He grinned.

Shep moved away from the grill towards a quiet clump of bushes surrounding an old Chevy. He leaned against the tailgate. "So, where'd you crash last night?"

"Funny you should ask." He smirked, and aimed for a casual tone as he said, "Spent the night with Crash and the guys. Celebrating."

He nodded. "And tonight?"

Pretty Boy cleared his throat. "I think I'm going to stay at Hades for awhile. Voo's checked all his staff and they're clean, so now he's on about some ghost haunting his hotel. Though God knows what a ghost wants with fresh towels and the contents of a mini-bar. Told him I'd keep an eye out, see what's what."

"Just helping Voo out? Got nothing to do with … anything else?"

“What else would it have to do with?” He widened his eyes like he hadn’t understood Shep had been referencing the hot mess that was their relationship at this point.

Shep’s jaw locked.

Yeah, didn’t think you wanted to go there.
“I’m just lending a brother a hand." He straightened. "I oughta head towards the ring. Catch you after."

If Shep said anything in response, Pretty Boy missed it as roar of general displeasure moved through the crowd. The Raptors were here.

He headed for the ring, but through the excited crowd he lost track of his opponent until he ran smack into Manson's chest.  He stepped back, baring his teeth. "Watch where you're going."

"Sorry 'bout that," Manson sneered. He put a hand on Pretty Boy's shoulder, his breath reeking of cheap beer.  "You ready to get beat down?"

"Ready to laugh at your best shot." He bowed his chest out, adrenaline pumping through his veins, coppery in his mouth.

Manson turned to face the ring. Then he slammed his elbow backwards into Pretty Boy's weak rib. It cracked, the pain jarring through him, making his teeth throb.

"Fuck," he gasped, sagging to the side. Fetch shoved his way through, wrapping an arm around him to steady him.

"See you in the ring, asshole," Manson snarled, his jeering entourage parting a path through the crowd for him.

His head spun from the pain and the next thing he knew, he had been slung over Duke's shoulder and drug into the men's room. Duke dumped him on the floor and before he could orient himself, Shep had appeared out of fucking nowhere, all up on top of him and shoving him under the sink.

He caught a flash of metallic silver before Shep clicked the handcuffs around Pretty Boy's wrists, leaving him stuck to the pipe under the sink. Then the asshole sat on his goddamn legs and gave him a look. "Stop fucking squirming. The idea here is that you don't get hurt more."

"You've got to be fucking with me right now. I gotta get back out there!" Pretty Boy shifted, trying to dislodge Shep, but only managed to dislodge his rib a little more. He tried to hide a gasp of pain as he wheezed, "Fuck!"

"Lay. Still. Now." Shep held his gaze until he stilled.

"So you're just going to let that fucking gorilla win this fight by forfeit? Take the money and get drunk—go home and beat his son some more?" Pretty Boy shouted, face red.

"Shut the fuck up for two minutes." Shep glared at him. "I'm standing in for you."

"No fucking way." Pretty Boy heaved in a breath, straining to hide his pain and panic. Shep had trained him, he knew the man could fight. But this was Pretty Boy’s fight, dammit. And Shep wasn’t in the condition he’d been when he’d taught Pretty Boy how to dominate the ring.

"Manson's drunk. I can take him." The VP shrugged.

"Speaking of drunk, you've been on a two-month bender. You're not exactly at fighting weight. I've got a better shot than you."

"Fuck off." Shep shifted his weight on Pretty Boy's legs. "I'm sober today."

Voo walked into the bathroom, taking in the three of them. He exchanged a baffled look with Duke, then turned to Shep and raised an eyebrow. "Should I come back later, or …?"

Shep practically huffed, "He’s can’t fight right now—"

"Because you're sitting on me!" Pretty Boy protested.

"—and I'm taking his place."

Duke stared at Pretty Boy. “I’m gettin’ the impression you lied to me earlier about the VP signing off on you fighting tonight.”

Pretty Boy rolled his eyes. “I lied. So fuckin’ what?”

Voo sighed. "Axel and I were just talking about it, wondering if maybe we shouldn't let this one go for the sake of peace during the rally. And staying off FBI radar."

"Not this one," Shep growled. "This motherfucker goes down." When Voo looked at him questioningly, Shep summarized the situation with Manson's son and Etta. Then added, "Not to mention, the fucker knew Pretty Boy's rib was broken and cracked his goddamn elbow into it. I'm all for fighting dirty. But you mess with one of us—"

"You mess with all of us," Voo finished grimly.

“Damn right.” Duke headed for the door. “I’m going to go announce the change in fighters.”

"This is fucking stupid! Just let me out of the goddamn handcuffs!" Pretty Boy again tried to shake Shep off him.

"Stop. Fucking. Moving." Shep's hand shot out, fingers splaying across Pretty Boy's stomach, pressing him down to the floor.

Pretty Boy stilled, his body finding something much more interesting to think about than pain all of a sudden.

"You sure you're up for this, brother?" Voo asked, eyes searching Shep's face.

"Yeah," Shep said grimly. "I've spent the morning knocking the dust off with Duke. I'm ready."

“Why?” Pretty Boy swallowed hard. He might not be good for much else, but he could fight. Shep couldn’t even believe in him in the ring? “You didn’t trust me to get this done?”

“Just wanted to be ready to have your back,” Shep said softly.

Shep’s eyes had softened, but his lack of faith still stung deeply. Pretty Boy had to find a way up off this floor. A way to prove to Shep he wasn’t worthless.

"Shep—" Pretty Boy wheezed.

"Hold him for me, would you, Voo? He’s gotten out of too many pairs of handcuffs for me to think those’ll hold him." Shep stood and Voo dropped as if they'd choreographed the whole thing.

"For fuck's sake!" Pretty Boy shouted in frustration.

"Calm the fuck down." Voo grinned at him. "If you behave, I'll let you go out there in time to watch Shep kick Manson's teeth down his throat."

Pretty Boy stared pleadingly at Shep. "I can't let you do this."

Shep smiled. "You're a Horsemen now. We got your back. If we didn’t, what the fuck would be the point?"

And there was a Shep sum-up if he'd ever heard one.

Duke ducked his head in the bathroom. "You good, brother?"

Shep smiled. "Need to change."

"Get on it," Duke barked. "They're waiting."

Pretty Boy swallowed.

Shep put a hand on Duke's shoulder. "Just so we're clear, if I start losing it out there?"

“I’ll gladly step up and take your place.” Duke grinned. "Want me to make it quick? Or play with him?"

Shep's eyes held a dark glint. "Let's remind our friendly neighborhood Raptors what happens when you fuck with a Horseman."

"Oh, make an example of him?" Duke laughed. "You got it, brother."

Pretty Boy watched as Duke chugged a Gatorade and headed off to watch Shep beat the shit out of Manson. "I really didn't expect that."

"Why not? Duke would take him down just for fun if he was bored." Voo laughed.

"I just … always thought he hated me." Pretty Boy attempted a shrug in his awkward position. Duke had always treated the prospects like servants—when he bothered to acknowledge them at all. "Didn't expect him to have my back like that. If you can call leaving a guy cuffed on a bathroom floor having his back."

Voo smirked. "Like the good Shep said, that's the fucking point."

 Voo wrapped Pretty Boy’s ribs up and led him out behind the garage to the ring. Axel and Ryker sat on lawn chairs feet from the ring, their casual nonchalance a
fuck you
to the Raptors in the crowd.  Coyote had posted up in Chevy on a lift, having pulled some hacker crap to link the car stereo with the Seventh Circle sound system so he could play DJ. He had the place jumping with Sick Puppies' "You're Going Down." The crowd was bouncing, but Voo's wide shoulders was more than enough to shelter his ribs from any unnecessary jostling.

Ryker stood as they approached. "Take the chair, brother." Pretty Boy stiffened, not used to the level of respect given a full member. A chair next to the Prez, offered by Ryker? Word must have spread about his broken rib and Manson’s douchebaggery. Pretty Boy raised an eyebrow and Ryker added, "Sides, I wanna stand for this anyhow. Shouldn't take long."

Axel gave Pretty Boy a nod and he sank gratefully onto the nylon seat. He felt … included. Like he was actually a part of this family now. It felt so damn good, he didn’t trust it. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he scanned for Shep.

The blond biker stood in the closest corner, stripped down to a pair of gym shorts. The muscles under his Think on Your Sins tatt rippled as he flexed, loosening up. Shep had always been a calm fighter, patient enough to knock you out with your own mistakes. He had precision-level control.

But tonight, something felt different about his presence. There was something low and mean in his stance. "He gonna be okay?"

Axel laughed. "You know, growing up there was a reason Eddie made Cap teach Shep to fight. Ryker and I play-fought as kids, but Shep didn't understand play."

"Meaning?"

"He broke my arm," Ryker said ruefully. "He was fuckin’ horrified, of course. But there was a fuck-ton of rage in that kid."

Axel leaned back in his char. "You ask me, Shep didn't head down a preacher's path because of a calling. He was searching for something that could keep him in check. Cap forced the concept of control into his head. But that's not his natural style."

Pretty Boy swallowed. Sometime he forgot that he hadn't known Shep longer than all the Horsemen. Axel and Ryker were his cousins. They'd grown up together. He’d only seen Shep fight under controlled circumstances, usually holding back in his role as trainer. Except for the night he killed Jerry. "What's his natural style?"

"Watch and find out." Axel smirked.

Manson jumped over a sawhorse into the ring. "We ain't even got to round one and you're making substitutions? What the fuck is this horseshit?"

"What's the matter? Scared?" Shep sneered,
vicious
written on his face.

"You sore 'cuz I kicked your prospect puppy, asshole?" Manson slammed a fist into his palm, a mountain of mean and ugly.

"That's where you fucked up." Shep smirked. "He's a Horseman now."

The crowd roared around them, Horsemen from across the country cheering Shep's name. A think swath of Raptors shifted closer to their Prez's corner, shouting as if to cover the cowardly move.

Wendy had won the hellion fight to be their gratuitously sexy ring-attendant. She pushed to the side of the ring. Her clothes did a better job of showcasing her bared flesh than covering anything. Her long legs hung out of pair of daisy dukes that could have been painted on her ass. Her tits swung in a halter top airbrushed with flames, and a headband with twinkling devil horns perched on her head. 

Bracing her hands behind her on a sawhorse, she twirled her legs to the other side, shooting the throng of Horsemen behind her a flirtatious wink over her shoulder as Jag handed her a whiteboard with "Round 1" written on it. She waved it around as she strutted across the circle, then ducked out the other side.

Shep came out of his corner, slow and easy, muscles coiled with no extra movements. Manson was making a show of flexing, shouting and sneering. Shep just watched him from narrowed eyes. Pretty Boy's heart squeezed. Shep pushed too far held a lethal appeal. Dangerous whispered across the lines of his shoulders.

Manson took a swing and Shep ghosted right the fuck out of the way, footwork and focus on point. He jutted his chin out, waving Manson on, daring him to try again. When he took the bait, Shep dodged, spun and slammed his knee sideways into Manson's back.  He came around his other side and busted him in the jaw with his elbow.

Shep slid out of the way as another raucous shout came up through the crowd. Ryker had been right—everyone was on their feet, arms and beers in the air. The women hollering as loud as the man. If he didn't have the front row seat next to Axel, he'd be missing half this shit.

Part of him still grated under the knowledge that this was his fight Shep was finishing. The other part of him was just enjoying the show.

The blond bad-ass owning the ring up there circled round for another go. This time he dropped under Manson's punch and slammed the side of his fist into Manson's knee. A loud snap echoed through the night and the limb twisted at an unnatural angle. Manson slid to the ground, but Shep didn't seem interested in mercy. He brought his heel down sharp into Manson's ribcage and the guy cried out, spitting up blood and saliva onto the dirt.

Pretty Boy clocked Duke creeping up the side of the ring closest to Shep, all wary lines and muscles tensed for go-time.

"Get the fuck out of here," Shep growled at Manson, landing one more solid kick to the dickhead’s stomach.