The Riot (Hell's Disciples MC Book 5)

The Riot

Rock

Hell’s Disciples MC

5

Oregon Chapter

Jaci J

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any place, event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

This book is for
Christina Gragg
.

You’re the biggest book lover
ever
and I love it.

Because you love a good alpha book boyfriend.

And because you’re simply amazing!

The more books I write, the longer my, ‘Thank You,’ list gets, and there are so many people to thank.

My sister
Marki, Dana, Margreet, Silla, Sam, Lena, Chris, DM, Brook, Bonnie,
and every single reader and blogger out there,
THANK YOU!

Without you all, none of this would be possible.

“Way Down We Go” - Kaleo

“Tennessee Whiskey” - Chris Stapleton

“Love On The Brain” - Rihanna

“Miserable” – Lit

“The Eagles” – Hotel California

“Bitter Pill” – Gavin James

“Me and My Girlfriend” – 2Pac

“Piece of My Heart” – Janis Joplin

“Masterpiece” – Disclosure ft. Jordan Rakei

“Weekend” – Mac Miller ft. Miguel

“Underneath It All” – No Doubt ft. Lady Shaw

“1Hunnid” – K Camp ft. Fetty Wap

“Tuesday’s Gone” – Lynyrd Skynyrd

Love. War. And a motherf@#&ing riot.

Rock

I care about three things. My brothers. My club. And Ellison.

I’d go to war for all three of those things.

I’d die for them. Bleed for them. Kill for them.

Forced to fight for all three of them I have to make a choice …

Ellison or me.

Ellison

My best friend. My f#@k buddy. My everything.

Through the good, bad, and ugly, Rock is all I’ve got. 

There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. Nothing.

Backed into a corner I do what I do best …

I fight through it.

Rock

“Fuck! I’m
gettin’ a cramp.”

“Then roll the fuck over.”

“I can’t.”

“Well what the fuck am I supposed to do, rub it for you?”

“Fuck you. I’m gettin’ too old for this shit.”

“Shut the fuck up, will ya. Let’s just do this so we can get the hell out of here.”

Me and Buck are lying on the roof of an old factory on the outskirts of town— sniper style—trying to get into the perfect position. After an hour like this, I’m really starting to feel my age. The edges of the shingles are digging into my skin, while my back muscles burn from resting on my elbows for so damn long.

“Asshole. Ain’t no one here but us, which means shit can’t get done, you idiot.”

It’s three in the morning, and twenty degrees out. I’m cramping in all the wrong places, and we’ve been at this for hours.

I’m surprised Buck could pull himself away from home long enough to do this shit in the first place. Figured he forgot he was part of the club with his head shoved so far up Lennon’s ass. A little over a week ago, he got Lennon back, and he’s been MIA ever since. Not that I’m not fucking happy about it. For a year he was up
my
ass, bored and lonely, annoying the piss out of me, but now? I’m surprised the asshole even answered his phone yesterday.

“Tell me again why we’re here?” I ask as I adjust my leg to the left.

“Tyler said Chrissy told him…”

He begins telling me the details of all the drama, which I’m not even remotely interested in hearing. I’ve got enough of my own with Jess out of town, blowing up my phone, asking for money every other day. Not to mention the club drama we’re all dealing with. I don’t need the whole story, just the basics.

“Hold up. Who the fuck is Chrissy?” Swear to Christ, Tyler’s got more women than he does sense. That man is fuckin’ his way through the phone book.

“Some bitch he’s fuckin’, the one that works at the bar. You know, the one with huge tits?” That’s not ringing any bells, but then again, I don’t spend a whole lot of time listening to Tyler brag about where his dick’s been.

“What bar?”

“The grill. You hear they got new pool tables down there?” I’m surprised he’s heard anything with his ears muffled by Lennon’s thighs lately.

“Nah, I didn’t. That’s cool as—”

Wait, we’re getting way off topic here. This is what little blood flow does to ya. “So what’d Tyler’s piece of ass say?” Buck sets his riffle down. I give him the side-eye as he rolls over and stands up. “The fuck ya doin’?” We’re in the middle of a goddamn story here.

“Man, I’ve gotta stretch.” He walks a few feet away, cracking bones and popping cartilage as he goes. “Anyway, Chrissy was working when she heard some Raiders braggin’, talkin’ about how they’re gonna come down on us this time,” Buck snorts, shaking his head at the idea. I have to agree. They’ve been nothing but a pain in our asses.

“And what does that have to do with us being here?” Who gives a shit about what they’ve gotta say; talk is cheap.

It’s been a year of hiding in bushes, creepin’ around corners, and watching every asshole not wearing a Disciples cut. I can feel this shit reaching its boiling point.

“Guess those Raider fucks are finally mergin’ with the Ryders. Dan got confirmation.” Now that’s somethin’, but it still doesn’t tell me why I’m lying here on a roof, freezing my ass off.

“What confirmation?”

“Fatty from the Ryders, down in Cali told him. He’s thinkin’ about pullin’ his guys and jumpin’ onto our ship.” Of course they are. When this shit blows up, they’ll wanna be on our side. The Ryders and Raiders are just diggin’ themselves a deeper hole by starting this shit, and anyone close to it will be sucked in with them.

“Jesus. They’re really gettin’ on my fuckin’ nerves.” We outnumber them here in Oregon by a handful, and we’re bigger in the whole grand scheme of things. We’re also smarter. There’s a reason we’ve outlived all these little clubs. With the Ryders letting the Raiders join them, it means blood will be spilled, and we intend for it to be theirs.

“The Raiders are thinkin’ there’s strength in numbers, and mergin’ with the Ryders will put them on top. They wanna squeeze us out and get their hands in the pot,” Buck says before flopping back down into his stomach across from me. Rearranging his gun into position, he grumbles, “Dumb shits.”

“Maybe here at home they’d be bigger,” I add, “but we’re country strong.” And I mean the
whole
fuckin’ country. We’ll bury them all. “There’s no way in hell they’ll get over on us. They could add a couple hundred people, and it still wouldn’t mean a goddamn thing. They started this by killing one of ours, which only pissed us off and put us in a position to kill every one of those sons of bitches.”

“Yeah, well, they’re stupid enough to think that size is the only thing that matters.”

So we’re here to let ‘em know they’re stupid? You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Lookin’ to collect a little more information. Wanna pick us off a Raider, maybe even a Ryder, and dig
a little deeper into their plans.”

“Fuck yeah. I’m all for that shit.”

***

I can hear ‘em before I see ‘em. Spend half your life on a bike and you know the sound; that shit is ingrained. The deep vibration of pipes echoes off the brick of the alley, eating up the silence.

“We’ve got company, brother.”

About time. “How you wanna do this? Brains on the pavement, or blown out knees.” I ask Buck, adjusting my scope. There’s no margin for error here. I get one goddamn go at this.

“Breathin’ but bleedin’,” Buck states. I can do that.

Headlights light up the wet pavement, making the dirty puddles glow in the alley below when they swing in. With all the filth, overflowing dumpsters, and broken furniture lining the small path, it makes for the perfect place to shoot a couple motherfuckers, but it also gives them plenty of cover to hide. This has to be just right.

Four bikes come into view.

Showtime
.

I hold up four fingers and Buck nods. Getting into position, I look through the sighted scope, watching one Raider, two Ryders, and Mike, ride into view.

Mike
.

He’s not a pain in the ass, he’s a goddamn festering wound. I don’t give my deep hate to just anyone. I usually save that shit for the deserving, and Mike is right there at the top of my list. He deserves every ounce of shit he’s about to get.

I watch, waiting for them to roll to a stop. Part of me is itching to shoot wildly; blow the motherfuckers away. Bloody is how I like it. There’s something wild in me, deep inside, that thirsts for a bloody end to anyone in my way. The years of living like a fucking maniac have made me what I am—a bloodthirsty animal. I’m working on this patience shit, as painful as it is, but I plan to master it, even if it will physically hurt not to kill these pieces of shit, right here, and right fucking now.

They pull in two by two, making it unlikely for us to get all four in one pop. After the first two fall, the other two will try to run. This location may not be the perfect spot for this, but it’s where our intel has led us. Oh well, nothing we can do about it now. We’ll have to make due with what we’ve got to work with.

Kickstands hit pavement and it’s game time.  Buck gives a slight nod, and I’m right there with him, ready to do this.

Pulling the trigger is like breathing; natural and automatic. I don’t even have to think about it anymore. My breathing slows, my finger flexes on its own accord, and my vision narrows routinely. There are no second chances.

My finger flexes as I squeeze the trigger.

It’s said that the average bullet travels about twenty-five hundred feet per second. That’s about seventeen hundred fuckin’ miles an hour. The bullet usually hits its target before you even hear the shot. You really don’t have a chance in hell once the trigger is pulled, and in this case, that bit of information is dead on.

Two go down quick. A bloody hole mars the Raiders’ leg, and it fills me with excitement. Even from here, I can see the blood quickly soaking through his jean-clad leg. Clutching at it, he rolls around in a brown puddle of sewage sludge.

Nothing makes me feel this good.

Back at my scope, I watch Mike and a Ryder hit the deck, and disappear around the building.
Fuck
! I was looking forward to blowing his head clean off his body, but there’s always next time. Next time it’s really gonna hurt, and I’ll make damn sure of it.

You ever hear the noise someone makes when they’re in pain? I’m not talkin’ about a deep cut or broken bones, I’m talkin’ like being stabbed repeatedly, appendages getting cut off, or being shot…that kinda pain. No? Count your fuckin’ blessings, ‘cause it’s rough. They sound like cartoon characters. They get loud, their words become nonsensical, and their cries are almost inhuman. Some go silent after a while, passing out from the pain, while others scream and cry until they die. I’ve never been shot, but I’ve heard the agony in their voices, and from the sounds the Ryder’s making, shit’s gotta hurt like a motherfucker, but to my ears, it sounds oh so sweet. The pain of my enemies feed the beast.

“Nice shot, shit stain.” Buck grunts out as he gets up, slinging his gun over his shoulder.

“I may have had someone show me a thing or two…but yeah, that shit was all me.” Buck is the goddamn man when it comes to guns and shooting. He’s taught me a few tricks, but I’ll never say that to the cocky prick.

“Time to collect,” he says deviously, rubbing his hands together.

Walking to the edge of the roof, my stomach growls. “Fuck, I’m hungry,” I mutter to myself as I crawl down the old rusty fire escape after Buck.

“You’re a fuckin’ freak, man.” Buck shakes his head while walking around the side of the old building. “You’d eat while cuttin’ fingers off, wouldn’t ya?” It’s not a question. He knows I would. I’ve mopped up buckets of blood while eating, ‘cause when I’m hungry, I’m
hungry
.

“After we’re done here, I want some damn breakfast.”

“Jesus, brother.”

“I’ve gotta eat.”

“Fine. Let’s get these shitbags loaded up and to the club. When we’re done, I’ll take your fugly ass out to breakfast.”