Hellraiser (The Devil's Own #2) (7 page)

“Hella?” she asked absently. “Please don’t kill me!” Her tone turned desperate. “You’re only fifteen, Hella. You don’t need this hanging over your head. Please, I’ll give you your money and you’ll never hear from me again.”

After pouring some of the best crank you could find on the street into her little glass pipe, I took the Zippo and pulled the curtain open. “No worries, babe, but I’m going to need you to smoke up.” Her eyes lit, morphed from fear to hunger. I clenched my jaw, handing it to her. “Smoke up, babe,” I coaxed her. She took the pipe in her mouth, lighting the bottom and waiting until enough smoke had formed in the bowl before inhaling the foggy poison. She held it in, tilting her head back before blowing out. I sat and watched as she took hit after hit. Each time she inhaled, her eyes peaked more. She was amped by the tenth toke and I took the pipe from her. “Hey!” she said playfully. My plan had worked; bitches like her were too easy. Her eyes twitched, her skin prickled with her now-awareness. I smirked, placing the pipe onto the bathroom bench. “How’re you feeling?” I asked, picking up the pipe and smashing it in half so the bowl broke away from the pipe. “I feel good… awake. I need to party.” She laughed hysterically. How fucking dumb could she be? Underestimating me would be the biggest, and last, mistake she would ever make. After setting up the heroin, I took out one of the syringes from the bathroom cupboard and sucked the liquid up. Returning to the bathtub, I gestured to her arm. She held it out for me. “I knew you’d understand, Hella,” she said, her eyes shutting as I pumped the heroin into her blood. I needed her awake and aware, but sedated, hence the cocktail of drugs. Once every single drop had been taken, I walked back to the kitchen counter and waited, setting up what I needed for my next activities. When she had gone quiet, I walked back to the tub, her eyes zoning out on the roof and her head tilting back against the tub. I placed my hand around her cheeks and pushed the bowl from the pipe into her mouth. Her eyes didn’t move from what they were doing, though her body tensed. I slammed her mouth closed and took the needle I had threaded. I waved it in front of her eyes and she began to stir, her head swaying in slow, distant movements as I lowered the needle down to the corner of her lip. Pressing roughly, the pop of her skin breaking as I pushed that first thread through rippled throughout the silent bathroom and a groan exited her mouth as the first bead of blood trickled over her chin. I stopped, dropping the needle and walked out to the living room. Spotting the old boom box, I picked it up and took it back to the bathroom, turning on a rock station. Slipknot’s “Killpop” filled the empty silence. I cranked my neck and rolled my shoulders before returning to the tub. I ran my eyes over Genna’s body, her fingers trembling with fear with what’s to come and the fact that she can’t do shit about it. I smirked, kneeling back down and picking up the needle to continue the task. Continuing the stitching on her mouth, each time I stabbed the needle into her soft lips, the same pop would vibrate against my fingers. Sweat was trickling down my forehead, and every time the blood would slip over her lips, it reminded me of the innocent blood of a virgin, my dick hardening in my pants at the thought. Once I formed the finished knot, her tears had streamed over her cheeks through the blood that was smeared over her mouth between the thread. I pushed off the tub and walked back to the counter, picking up the scissors and walking back. I bent down, cutting her little dress off of her down the middle until it sprawled off her body. I tilted my head at the skin and bones in front of me, my lips tightening. “Lucky you’re so skinny or I’d fuck you before I kill you.”

Her weeping was coming in silent waves and I chuckled. “I haven’t even started.” She froze, her bloodshot eyes going wide. I picked one of the knives from the counter and stared blankly at it. “There’s something about knives…” I sat down on the side of the tub and pressed the tip of it just below her sternum. Pressing down roughly, I traced the sharp point all the way down the middle of her stomach, over her belly button, until I hit the top of her pelvic bone. The thin line remained with no change until the wound split and the white tissue under her skin was replaced with thousands of beading blood spots that filled the gaping slit. A bloodcurdling scream escaped her throat and I smiled, looking down at the cut. It was decent—for a kitchen knife, anyway. I removed my hoodie and placed it on top of the closed toilet bowl before picking up the seven butter knives I found in the kitchen. I walked back to the tub and took the sharp knife again, stabbing seven holes down the inside of the cut, moving around the blood which was spilling out of her. Her skin was white, her eyes were drifting closed, and I knew I was on limited time—but I needed her to feel everything. Picking up my speed, I placed each of the butter knives into each incision I had made in the wound, stretching the cut wide, displaying her stomach and internal organs. Blood. Blood was everywhere. The pulsing of her stomach proved she was still alive. I carried on, taking the lighter fluid and Zippo. Her eyes were flicking open every two seconds, her shoulder slacking in defeat. I poured the lighter fluid onto her organs before flicking open the Zippo, her Zippo, and throwing it into her stomach. I watched as the flames grew and until the air was filled with burnt bodily fluid and contents. The smell was sickening and would stick to my skin well after I departed, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t take my eyes away from the burning light in front of me. Once the smell of burnt flesh conquered the smell of burning internal organs, I turned the faucet on the shower until the flames died out. Her lifeless eyes peered up at me, already setting into the colorless black marbles of death. I stepped back, collected my hoodie, and left the bathroom. I walked to the window that was in the living room and climbed onto the fire escape before removing my gloves and making my way down the metal steps. Jesus, what the fuck is it about knives?

Melissa

The next day, I jump out of bed and walk into the kitchen, putting water on to boil when Beast walks in in all his big monster glory. He’s terrifying to anyone who isn’t Meadow.

“Hey,” I mutter, looking over his shoulder and hoping Meadow comes behind him.

“She’s asleep,” he says, answering my silent question. I turn around, taking a mug down out from the cabinet. I twist open the coffee. “What’s your story?” he asks, his head tilting.

I shake my head, spooning two spoons of coffee into my mug. I fear this day is going to be long. “What do you mean?” I pour the hot water into the mug and lift it to my nose, inhaling the bitter scent of my sanity.

“I mean,” he continues, walking towards me and leaning on the breakfast bar, “I know a hot mess when I see one. What are you hiding?”

I take a sip of my coffee, my eyes narrowing before I place it back onto the counter. “You were right about Meadow, but not me.” I smile up at him before shifting my eyes away from his dark, penetrating glare. The man could unnerve anyone with those eyes. They can see right through any bullshit and that doesn’t sit well with me.

“Keep telling yourself that. They say the unassuming ones have the most to hide. Just keep Meadow away from your shit.” Then he walks out the door and my finger flips up behind his back. He wasn’t wrong; I have my share of skeletons in my closet, but unlike Meadow, I’ve made friends with those skeletons.

After Meadow wakes up, we decide to be a little mischievous and take the four-wheeler that I spotted in the garage to the clubhouse. It’s about a twenty minute walk, so there’s no way I’m walking in the clothes I’m wearing—a one-piece strapless dress that hugs me faultlessly. Hella and I bump heads too much, and after Beast’s heated warnings this morning, I need to let loose a little more while looking and feeling good. I didn’t want to be here. This was Hella and Meadow’s idea. Everything is intense and my nerves shake with the fear of anything from my past coming to the surface. I’m sick of feeling. Feelings either get you killed or laid, and I’d rather the latter.

“I’m actually excited!” I clap my hands in glee.

Meadow pushes the key into the ignition. “Don’t get too excited, I might kill us.”

I laugh, swinging my leg over the back and pushing my body against hers. She revs the engine like I’m hoping Phoebe taught her how to do before we zip forward, the dirt and gravel kicking up behind us. I laugh, swinging my head back and watching as the little white weatherboard house that we’re staying in begins to fade into the distance.

We skid to a halt in front of the clubhouse and, just our luck, there’s a crowd of Devil’s outside standing around their bikes along with some walking out of the clubhouse. When Meadow cuts the engine, I swing my leg off and pull my lip into my mouth, attempting to hide my smirk. Beast storms over, the vein in his thick neck pulsing in frustration. I laugh to myself, pulling my skirt down before noticing Hella walking up behind Beast, the look in his eyes feral. I roll my eyes and walk towards the clubhouse. Although my dress pushes my boobs out slightly, it’s not revealing enough that I’d be on dangerous ground for a nip slip. It’s tight and clings to my upper thighs, but it pushes my boobs up slightly enough to see the small curves shadowed on my chest. I opted for tennis shoes too—you know, for comfort.

I walk straight past Hella, his head following my body as I stroll into the clubhouse and make my way to the bar. Flopping down on the barstool, I smile at Old Fella (that’s what they call him here, I don’t even know if that’s his real name) and come-hither my finger. “Something strong, please.” I smile innocently.

He chuckles. “Ain’t nobody fooled by that pretty face, darling,” he says with a wink. “Whiskey on ice, coming right up.”

“Ohhh, whiskey?” I taunt him, wiggling my eyebrows. “You trying to get me drunk, old man?” Innocent flirting never hurt anyone, except it did hurt me—once.

His eyebrows rise. He shakes his head, his old hand coming up, flicking his fingers towards the door over my shoulder. “Nope, but I fear you may need it.” Meadow and another girl walk through the door. She has long, inky black hair, tattoos over her arms, and sun-kissed olive skin. Her toned body illustrates how often she visits the gym, and her deep green eyes sparkle with mischief.

Great, this should be fun.

Hella

We pull in to Redmoon, the strip joint we own, and I hang back a little longer, removing my helmet. Beast pauses, walking back towards me. “Everything good, brother? You’ve been a little off your game lately. A blonde have anything to do with that?”

I scoff. “Nah, nothing to do with her.” Bullshit. “I need to talk to you about something though, something that doesn’t fucking add up.”

Beast nods. “Yeah, what is it about?” I swing my leg off my bike and flip my cap on. I pull my wallet out of my pocket, flip it open, and hand it to him. He looks down at the picture and then looks back to me. “What the fuck? That looks like…”

“Yeah, I know.” I take the wallet back and slip it into my pocket.

“How’d you get that?”

We start walking towards the big black doors that open into Redmoon. We poured a lot of cash into establishing this joint, and we’re fucking glad we did, because it brings in enough cash to keep the club afloat plus some. The girls we have are all of the highest quality. There’s around twelve girls and they run their own shit here. Shelby, Beast’s former dick-warmer, and the boss bitch around here keeps them inline and makes sure everything is as it should be. Don’t fucking like her much—I don’t know why, but I don’t.

We push through the doors, the midafternoon daylight streaming through and lighting up the dark interior, which is only dimly lit by neon lights that line around the place. “I knew a man once.”

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” Beast mumbles as we make our way to the stairs that lead to the private rooms. “You need to lose whatever shit you have with Melissa. That sort of drama we can’t deal with right now, and you’re not thinking straight when she’s around, brother. You’re fucking distracted because you’re too busy pissing all over her.”

I stop in my tracks and cock my eyebrow. “First of all, fuck you, I don’t give a fuck what she does. She’s Meadow’s friend. I would think you’d want her to be safe. Second of all, I’m not fucking distracted. I could fuck a thousand bitches and still be ready to cock my glock when needed.”

We continue walking up the stairway when Frost comes to the top of the stairs, looking down to us with an AKA in his hand. “Hella, yeah, Layla is having another episode.”

Fuck.

I stomp up the stairs and push Frost out of the way. Layla is curled in the corner of the room, her knees drawn up and her body rocking silently. Her dark brown hair falls over her shoulders everywhere and her eyes are smudged in black, her makeup running down her face. I walk towards her, my steps heavy and careful. “Layla? Babe, it’s me.” Her rocking halts, her head that was curled down towards the ground slowly lifting, and when her eyes meet mine, she launches off the ground and wraps her little five-foot petite body around mine. I pick her up with one hand until her legs are wrapped around my waist and her arms are hooked around my neck. I nudge my head to Beast, who’s watching us with careful eyes. Everyone in this room knows the deal with Layla. I fuck her regularly, yeah, but she’s not a club whore. She works at Redmoon because her stubborn ass won’t listen to me and get out. Aside from our bedroom bullshit, there’s nothing else that has ever gone on between her and me. She’s like my annoying little sister—who I’d fuck regularly. I care about little in this piece of shit world, but when I first saw Layla, I took her under my wing instantly. She needs saving though, and I can’t, and don’t want to, be that man for her. I can’t even save myself, let alone anyone else.

“Brax, I lost control.”

“Yeah, I know, babe,” I soothe her before placing her back down to her feet. Layla and her sister Asha have been working here since they were sixteen after Shelby found them under a bus stop with their bags, homeless. They worked the tables and bar until they were old enough to upgrade. She has panic attacks every now and then. Their parents were killed along with their little sister, who was five at the time. House fire, everything burned to the ground, though we’re still not sure why it happened, but it’s not our business. Unless Layla or Asha become old ladies to one of the brothers, they’re not Devil’s business, and as much as fucking Layla is about one of the craziest fuck sessions I have ever experienced—the bitch matches my kink—I have zero interest in her for anything past that. Her panic attacks consist of her thinking the room she’s in is filled with smoke so thick that she can’t breathe, and it basically escalates from there. I’ve only witnessed it one other time apart from today, and I managed to calm her down before fucking the shit out of her. It worked, which is why Frost thought to get me just now.

“You gonna be okay now? Or do you need some dick to help you pull through?” I smirk down at her.

She shoves me playfully. “I’ll be fine, perv.”

“You sure?” Ripper steps up in front of her, cocking his head. “I mean, I’m up for a crazy fuck.”

I roll my eyes and laugh. “Calm down, young one. She may be little, but she will hand your ass to you. I don’t think you’re packing the right equipment to handle her.”

He smiles at her. “Shall we test that out?”

Layla cocks her eyebrow, her hand flying up to his chest when he steps toward her again and I step back, stifling a chuckle. “No, homeboy, no. Sorry, you’re not my type.”

His hand comes up to his chest in mock hurt. “Oh, I’m hurt, baby. What does that mean? I’m everyone’s type.”

“Not mine,” she states matter-of-factly, rubbing the dried tears from under her eyes. “Sorry, the whole boy-next-door thing doesn’t do it for me. You remind me of my ex-boyfriend from high school. He was a cocky linebacker.” She scans him again. Ripper smirks, his eyes darkening and his stance shifting. Her expression becomes unbalanced. She flicks her fingers over his face. “Everything apart from that smirk and those eyes which, I shit you not, sort of terrify me. How old are you?”

Ripper laughs. “Old enough.”

Rolling my eyes, I walk towards Beast to see if they’ve loaded the van with the guns we needed to pick up.

Shelby enters the room, her suit prim and her blonde hair dropping around her jaw in a clean-cut halo. Her eyes dart to Layla and then to Ripper. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I’m okay now,” Layla reassures Shelby.

“Good, we have a full house tonight and I need to call in all the girls.”

“Anything special?” I ask, looking at her.

Her eyes look away from mine before she shakes her head. “No, just a full house. As you know, the Blood Razors are coming through tonight, so no doubt they’ll be hungry.” My eyes darted to Layla, shaking my head. I couldn’t give a shit who she fucks, but it’s still fucked up to witness. The girl is like one of those porcelain dolls that sit on mantle pieces, only she has cracks over her body; she’s broken.

I bring my hand to Beast’s shoulder. “Let’s ride, brother, before I steal one of Shelby’s girls.”

He looks to me as we start walking out. “That might not be a bad idea. Give Melissa the push she needs.”

The fucker is right. When we were in The Army, we did everything together. I was a recruit. Beast was born there, for their purposes only, but we were brothers from day one and, I hate to say it, but he’s always been right. It’s why he’s International President. It’s why he’s feared, because not only is he staunch in the way that he carries himself, but he’s fucking intellectually smart, too.

Melissa

“What are you thanking me for?” Meadow asks Jada. I stab the ice cubes in my glass with my straw as they continue to get to know each other. It turns out the tattooed beauty is like a sister to Beast and Hella, which is strange since I can’t picture Hella having a soft side with anyone, much less a girl. I feel like stabbing myself in the eye with my straw when jealousy starts to simmer deep inside of me.

“For caring about Beast that much,” Jada replies.

I pick up my drink, downing the rest of it. Their conversation dies out every now and then when my own thoughts begin swimming in my head. I didn’t think it was possible for me to hate someone as much as I hate Hella. I wish I could say I don’t know why, but I’d be fooling myself. I could name five reasons off the top of my head.

One, his cocky smirk.

Two, his asshole walk.

Three, he’s an asshole.

Four, he’s a cunt.

And Five? He has the biggest dick I’ve ever seen. And it’s pierced. This is a very good reason to hate him because it’s exactly why I
don’t
hate him. I rid my head of all thoughts of Hella when I realize I’m not making sense before sliding my glass across to Old Fella. “Another, please.” I flash my most innocent smile at him.

He winks. “Of course, pretty girl.”

At least
he
thinks I’m pretty. Maybe I should take him home tonight because no one else will touch me here, much less look at me.
Too far, Melissa
.

I take my drink just as Jada answers a question Meadow asks. “It comes naturally. Not by choice, trust me. Those men give me nightmares, but I care about them both.”

“So, I have to ask,” Meadow begins, looking at me for support. I cringe, bringing my drink to my lips before she continues. “Have you slept with either of them?”

Jada laughs casually, as if she was just waiting for that question. “I get that you’d want to ask that, and I admire that you’re not beating around the bush. Beast, no, not slept in that way.” She pauses. My body tenses when I feel her eyes on mine.
Poker face, Melissa
. She continues behind a light chuckle, “Hella? Yes. Everyone with a decent set of tits has been under him.”

My body stiffens again and Meadow flinches, feeling my sudden lack of comfort.
Your poker face sucks
.

“Anything serious?” Meadow inquires casually.

Jada bends over the bar and around Meadow to look straight at me. “No, nothing serious, first time was a huge mistake that happened when we were younger. Second time was a few years ago, one weak move on both our parts. Trust me, we both laughed afterward. He was my first, that’s all. He’s like a brother to me now.”

Note to self: Meadow’s poker face also sucks.

I smile, my eyes darting around the room. “Oookaayy…” When Jada rolls her eyes, I know she didn’t buy my brush-off. They begin talking about The Army and I zone out again, looking at my task at hand: getting drunk.

“Did Beast tell you what my specialty was in The
Army?” Jada asks.

“The power of persuasion and seduction.” Meadow nods.

I think I was safer back in Westbeach, at least I knew the wolves I was running with.

Jada smiles. “Yep. So, no, I’ll be fine. I have plenty fighting experience and I’m not too bad with a Katana.”

“That’s your weapon?” Meadow asks.

Jada nods her head. “Yeah, it is. One of first Commander Nines trained me. Did Beast tell you about them?”

“Shots!” I yell at Old Fella. It’s a good thing I’m not a lightweight or I’d be flat on my back by now. That probably comes from my dad letting me drink when I was twelve. He was teaching me how to play poker when I could pick up a deck of cards, probably hoping to pass down the gambling gene. Nope, no gambling here; just the alcohol gene by the looks of it. My dad always gambled. It was his thing. My family wasn’t always a messed-up broken home. He was a good man once. He looked after his family and worked hard when me and my sister were growing up. His gambling started small—poker night on Friday nights with his buddies. But once he lost his job at the local sawmill, everything went downhill, which was on my twelfth birthday. He was never the same after that. His gambling increased from the stress of trying to provide for his family. Along with that came the drinking, which only got worse. He went from beers to whiskey overnight. I basically lost my dad on my twelfth birthday because he was a completely different man after that. It was hard for my mom to watch her high school sweetheart who she had built a family with waste his life away over something that they could have possibly fixed together, but my father was weak. He wasn’t strong like my mom. 

“Melissa, calm down.” Meadow pats my knee, referring to the drink in my hand.

I widen my eyes at her. “Don’t judge.”

She widens her eyes back at me before looking back to Jada, who had begun to explain The Army’s commanders. “There were nine. They were called The First Commander Nines because they have been there from the very beginning, cooking up this charade. Each commander had a weapon of choice and they would rotate us around for a trial period to see which was our strongest suit. It worked because even though we eventually all had our chosen weapon, we were all still trained in other aspects.”