It’s been a long time since I posted anything and quite honestly I don’t know why. Maybe I was scared, hell, who knows maybe too much shit has been going on. But here I am, typing to you, my readers, my haters, my admirers— yeah, right! Like I have admirers, stop with the fantasy, Wulfy, and on with what you are really saying.
What everyone wants to know about.
What everyone has been waiting for.
Where to start.
This book, these characters are far more complex than I first anticipated.
Hades story is not an easy one to tell.
It’s been hard, long and difficult road. Hades is different, multifaceted and deep.
As a writer, I never know beforehand the journey the characters will take me on, some scream clearly (like Colt who never knows when to shut up) and their stories comes easily.
Others are more reluctant to speak. I never anticipated him to be such a… complicated soul, he doesn’t speak easily to me. I have to force him to tell me his story.
And with Daddy Hades being who he is, and having to paint a villain in such away that the readers can sympathize with him, it’s not an easy feat to accomplish.
Hades is not done being written yet.
I can confirm that his story will be split into two and the first one will end on a major cliff hanger. It still needs to go to my editor too… I’m even considering to have it published with a publisher if they would take a chance on him, me, us. Not sure if that would be a good thing or not.
I have predictions for reviews already — it was to long, there was too much going on. Their relationship don’t make any sense, it’s too cruel, too violent. This is not the Hades we saw in Of Gods and Monsters: Menoetius. This book made no sense— a lot of that is what I am predicting.
I’m terrified of releasing Hades, as I am with each and every book I bring out.
I’m sorry if I disappoint, it’s really not my intention, but I believe in, to give my readers something more than just a story that’s been rushed to get finished out and be published. I want to give you more than just characters on a page.
I don’t write fluffy-sweet, sticking to the rules characters. I write charters people can relate to, can feel for, and even hate if they want. I write a complex story sometime focusing more on plot than the actual romance.
I’ve tried to make Hades as dark as I could, only to realize; one person’s version of dark is not the same as the next, not the same as mine.
But Hades also has a beautiful undertone, no darkness can exist without its light.
Aside from Hades I’m trying to finish ACID for the M/M Romance group’s Love is an Open Road Event. It will be short, fucked up and completely different than any of my other work.
Apart from that, Neon White E4 and E5 will be coming out soon then—big breath— I will be releasing my first ever Queer Horror fiction story, The Wulf Chronicles, I should advise that this is not romance (there is a romance going but it is a sub genre of the book) it’s something I’ve been working on since ’09. And if of any of my stories this one is maybe the closest to my heart than any other.
Stay strong people, be patient with me, you will get Hades before the year reaches it mid mark, that much I can promise you.
As for now I’m gonna go back and curl up with a book its weekend anyway and even authors needs to take a breather sometime.
But before you go … here’s the first whole chapter of Hades… Keep in mind it’s not been by my editor yet.
“I’ll make Colt Maxus look like a fuckin’ fairy princess.”—Breno Hades el Oscuro.
The cage loomed over them, bars casting elongated shadows like claws on the floor stained russet with fresh splatters of red for posterity.
Like some deranged beast, his skin pulsated with carnal pleasure as his raw-knuckled fist ripped through the air, impacting the face of the nameless lump of meat in front of him. The piece of shit’s nose and lips exploded, teeth bursting out onto the floor, while he was choking on his own blood filling the back of his throat. The prison fighting ring had only one rule—the fights needed to be bloody, dirty and violent.
It frightened him, this thing he had become. A seven foot, three hundred and fifty pound roid-infested spawn of Evangelion and Hercules, as if they’d had a fuckfest and hemorrhaged out a kid. When he stepped into the ring, Hades fucking ceased to exist; he became something else. A monstrous creature, ripping men apart and crushing bone along the way to get what he craved: the sweet taste of pain. Palpitating, surrendering pain—a living breathing entity. Hades needed to feed the savage within. Inflicting agony in the most brutal of ways, satiated something in the beast. But what terrified him most was that this creature had lived inside for a long time, and now that it was here, it was here to fuckin’ stay. ’Cause in its genesis, Hades el Oscuro was devoured like a bitch cleaning up its afterbirth.
Tears of sweat lapped down the rough skin of his neck and dripped from his beard and hair. Others mapped the scarred-over tattoos on his back, the ink on his massive shoulders, his heaving chest, charting paths down his abdomen and clinging to his body hair. He was bleeding in too many places to care and intoxicated with too much hatred to feel. All while his muscles throbbed and trembled, jacked up on juice.
Adrenaline coursed a mantra through his body, completely in sync with the crowd’s clamor. Slaughter. Maim. Destroy. Kill. Shouting, spitting and rattling the railing, like fuckin’ animals. It started slow, increasing in tempo with a single chant that signified it was time to deliver the killing blow.
The muscled fucker across from him wouldn’t be ended with a snap of his neck. He was fighting his inevitable death hard, swaying from side to side, eyes like fuckin’ stone while he held up his fists.
If the monstrosity inside could feel, he would grant him an easy escape.
Hades popped his vertebrae, grunting as the muscles contracted in his face and spat out a glob of blood that had pooled in his mouth. He lunged forward with a snarl, spittle and plasma spewing from his mouth, and grasped the fucker’s head, the man’s hands shot straight for Hades’ throat. The crowd’s shouts and cheers erupted in a violent frenzy of roars and an engorging upheaval. Hades forced his thumbs into the man’s eyes, heard the fucker scream out as blood and membranes popped like egg yolks in his sockets. Hades bared teeth, gripping the skull hard, feeling the putrid eye innards running down his fingers. He slammed his forehead into his opponent’s temple and, with all his strength, twisted his body around, using the momentum to send his rival off his feet and into the air. Hades’ muscles convulsed in sharp agonizing spasms as he tossed the man’s frame—just a sack of muscle and bones now—over his shoulders, raised him over his head, and slammed him into the gore-covered concrete floor. He wasn’t sure if the resulting crack was from the force of the man’s skull meeting stone or the vicious hold he had on the guy’s large head.
He stood silently, the fucker’s eye guts dripping from his hands, the temporary makeshift fluorescent spotlights, bright and sharp, outlined his physique and highlighting his deranged glower behind the strand hanging before his eyes. Vapors of steam visibly danced as they rose from his body, the intense cold of the winter air colliding with his heated flesh.
The horde of human scum surrounding the sealed off Death Cage went into a fuckin’ euphoria of cheers, banging on the bars and tables. Hades couldn’t give a fuck. He wanted to get the fuck out of there and back to his cell. Movement behind him, and the increasing cheers of the prisoners, confirmed his victory again. Fat fingers grasped his wrists, pushing his right hand into the air, one…tw—fuck it.
Hades released a carnal roar, fisting the guard’s shirt and slamming his knuckles into the man’s fat face. The overseer was only there to confirm the other opponent’s death. He dragged the man a few feet and then proceeded to throw him across the ring. The crowd fell silent as the man landed against the rusted bars, seconds later cheers erupted when the fucker slumped and lay unmoving, blood running from his nose and mouth.
The roars became a distant echo as he moved his heavy bulk towards the sealed door, where shaking hands, belonging to fucked-up faced guy, attempted to use a small blowtorch to detach the metal gate. He was taking too motherfuckin’ long. A vicious growl rumbled from Hades chest as he kicked against the metal with his boot. The gate snapped back, and the man screamed. The flying gate driven straight into the man’s hands, his blowtorch rising up and further rearranging the idiot’s face. Hades stepped out of the cage and glared down at the man, his cries of agony nothing more than the annoying buzz of a fly. He sent his boot straight into the cunt’s nuts when he passed him, further penance for taking his fuckin’ sweet-ass time getting the cage open.
Hades held out his wrists to the guard standing at the entrance, next to the warden, Knight, wearing seventies style aviators while dangling a cigarette between his grinning lips.
“You’ve earned yourself some cozy dark time in the hole for slamming Lewinsky in the cage, el Oscuro,” Knight growled.
Hades bared his blood stained teeth in a sly smile. He flared his nostrils as the guard slapped cuffs on his wrist and bend over to shackle his ankles. Hades was tempted to send his knee into the man’s face. He seized Knight by the shirt instead, yanking him forward. The guard at his feet jumped back, pulling out his night stick. Two more came running from his right, three from Hades’ left, Tasers ready. Hades snatched the cigarette from Knight’s lips, sucked in a deep drag, shuddering as it filled his lungs—cheap Chinese shit—and blew the smoke into his face. He killed the coal on his tongue, not minding the quick scorch, when the first set of volts rocked through him from his back. His muscles locked, forcing him forward and crashing to his knees.
Hades’ body convulsed in spasms of pain, muscles rippling and twitching as electric charges coursed through him. He felt the point of Knight’s boot bite into his side while the fucker’s voice droned overhead, “Put the dog in solitary, don’t be too gentle about it either. Let it fucking starve.” Knight spat, the glob landing on Hades’ face.
They say fear controls men—till some fucker scrapes together the guts and slices off its head.
For fourteen years Hades had danced to the strings of the Dragon’s Tongue, taking over the Cerberus Motorcycle Club when Old Devil Eyes’ reign as King ended. At twenty-two he’d become a badass motherfucker, fuckin’ Hades the King Kage of the United fuckin’ States.
He had power. Rivals feared him. Men who would cut off a man’s cock and force feed it to his family just for looking wrong at them. All fucking bowed to Hades.
But greed destroys men.
It corrupts the soul, blinds a man to his own familia and stains the heart black, makes people fuckin’ dumbfucks.
The dragon had never been greedy in the past.
They’d come into existence at the turn of the first century, during Japan’s Heian period, hiding behind powerful leaders throughout the ages: emperors, kings, queens, governments, even other crime syndicates. Very few believed the Dragon’s Tongue truly existed, that the Uroboros seal burned into the flesh of their higher ups—the Kages—was just a show to induce fear of a ghost organization. They were a myth, a murmur on the wind, letting fear of the unknown play in the dragon’s favor.
The Dragon’s Tongue valued the merits of what an individual could bring to them, more so than the money, drugs and weapons they could obtain. They believed their true power lay in their people.
The only sure way the Dragon’s Tongue was going to hold onto control in the States was by bringing in the upper-hierarchy lords of the crime world. The dragon didn’t bother with the little sideshow punks, gangs and mobs trying to step up and wet their feet in the forbidden wine. They left Hades and the other Kages to deal with them. Made them the shadows the dragon hid behind. In turn, they gave them each a large enough piece of turf to control and a fat cut of the fuckin’ pie, so the Kages didn’t have to fight for it amongst themselves.
The only ones unaccounted for were the Russians. They were like an infestation of greedy swine wanting the entire monopoly of the crime world that was so acutely balanced between the different sets of power. It wasn’t easy to achieve the delicately impartial dominance among the different crime kings. A hell of a lot of blood had been spilled before an agreement was reached, and even then, a hell of a lot more blood and bodies had fallen before some form of respect was erected between them. It was a secret peace, only shared with the top men in each cartel. The dragon stood first among them all, a world dominator who lit their enemies aflame and devoured them whole.
The Dragon’s Tongue was not impenetrable, though. As mammoth as their network of crime and influence was, it all led back to the Dragon himself, Mr. Orochi. Greed had finally infected the Dragon’s Tongue and was slowly rottin’ it from the outside in. Its poison tipped claws were slipping. Like a snake being attacked by a nest of ants, the serpent was deliberately being torn apart. The Dragon’s Tongue was going to fold; Hades had seen it coming for years, could fuckin’ feel it on his inked skin, like a tattoo being done with the Tebori technique. The Russians being the biggest red ants among the players wanting to gain total ground in the crime world. He also had a suspicion about who the fuck was behind it.
To cut off the dragon’s head, you needed to be the one who could get the closest, and there was something screwed up, mentally fuckin’ wrong with that fucker. Hades knew the shithead was going to send the dragon up in flames, war and gut-matter would be splattering over the earth like a fuckin’ bloodbath.
And it had. Far and fast. In every direction.
Now the King was nothing…better known as perra del diablo—the Devil’s fuck bitch.
For four fuckin’ years he’d been living behind bars in an isolated cell that knew no light, walls, that Hades came to know intimately, decorated with the claw marks and masterpieces, its previous animals left with their fingernails and rusted blood in their burst of madness. A beast confined amongst other rapacious monsters. Kept on the edge, starved and violated, driving him to an aggravated rage, just so he could fight in a steel cage, where only one was allowed to leave. Forced to sleep on a cold, hard, piss-saturated floor that made his bones ache and muscles hurt to the point he wanted to scream himself to sleep. Roaches and rats were his constant companions in the bowels of the prison where his cell was located. Hades was sure as horseshit, this place was so filthy it was harboring fuckin’ cholera-infested Ebola. He was only let out for four hours a day to the gym after which they would hold him down and drive a shot of roids into his system. The shit wasn’t the same stuff Hades used to supply Maxus with—this was fuckin’ “radiation” in liquid form—placing a major strain on his heart muscle, burning in his veins as it flooded his body and jackfuckin’ his already obsessive sex drive to maddening levels. They would leave him restrained and naked while his cock ached for release. Oh, he was given release—Knight would hit Hades’ sac with a rattan cane until cum exploded from his cock. Force Hades to lick it up too.
But Knight wanted Hades bigger and wanted it fast. Wanted Hades hurting to the point of berserked vehemence. If he didn’t train his tired body, they would beat him till he couldn’t move, only to drench him with ice water and force him to work out his tender frame followed by a freezing cold shower.
Hades assumed it was fitting for the life he chose as a Cerberuen, being held as a fighting dog. Knight had kept him isolated, his star fighter, deprived of all human touch and contact except for the sting of volts, spit and beating fists and boots from those bitching Chihuahua puppies Knight called guards.
Then there was the dark time in the hole.
A single cell. Like a closet. Barely high enough for Hades to stand up-right, needing to bend his knees, with his feet in running drain water. His shoulder squeezed tight into the slimy walls, still dripping with fuck knew what. Forced to stand for twelve sometimes twenty four hours with the constant stink and tap-tap-tap of the water dripping on the back of his neck. He would shiver and scream, to keep himself awake. Slam his fist raw against the steel door to drown out the voices in his head. And when they would open the door, Hades would just fall forward, his muscle clamped tight from the cold, crashing to the floor, too exhausted to care.
But even the cruel treatment couldn’t compare to the torment that shredded Hades heart… Not even seeing the hurt in his club brothers’ eyes after being in the business and riding with them for years, or feeling the knife cut into his back, to scar over and destroy the Cerberus dog tattoo that was their club colors before Hades entered prison. Nor was it the heartache that fucked him up as he longed to hold his mamá in his arms again, see his nephews drive his sister crazy, which would have been a God sent blessing he didn’t fuckin’ deserve. It was best that his own family assumed their piece of shit oldest son’s body was rotting someplace six feet under.
None of that shit was anything compared to the memory haunting him each time he found the darkness behind closed lids. A memory that Hades held close to heart, no matter the ruptured pain it clawed into his chest each time he thought about him. That voice so raspy, gruff and hellfuckin’ sexy…
Dios, was he ever the sad sucker for a nice, young piece of ass. His gaze had cut at the sound of asphalt giving way and Hades stared at the dream walking past him, hell-bent, going straight for the bar’s entrance. He released a loud grunt pulling the boy’s attention to him. The kid was cocky in his safety response when he asked, “You wanted something, big guy?” but took a step back.
The boy was nervous, all big brown eyes and soft, pink lips. Sí, Daddy Hades definitely wanted something, my fat tongue in that sweet-looking mouth. He’d stepped closer watching the boy’s nose flare, Adam’s apple moving slick under the pale skin.
Dios, he was just…beautiful.
Hades flexed his arms while eating the kid up with his hungry gaze. Those nervous eyes glanced at his biceps giving Hades the perfect signal to stalk closer and grip the boy’s chin with his right hand. “You, Bello,” Hades had said in a dark, graveled voice. The boy visibly shuddered in front of him. Hades knew he was big, scary and…he was no pretty princesa. He didn’t even try to fool himself when it came to his looks. He was a fuckin’ ugly motherfucker, scars, bald head and muscles heavily covered in ink. But it was there, always. That softer side he would show, a nurturing instinct that stuck out its head when it came to the smaller, younger, weaker men he was attracted to.
“Easy, easy,” he’d said, bringing his left hand up to stroke the boy’s cheek. The kid had caught Hades’ hand, stopping him. A shiver raked down Hades spine at that touch, soft fingers rubbing gently on his callused palm, petting the beast. The boy didn’t seem to even realize what he’d been doing as fear glazed his eyes, while he stood frozen. Hades knew that kind of fear, it wasn’t because of Hades’ intimidating bulk or appearance, it was… “It’s just a kiss. A pretty little thing like you never been kissed?” Hades stroked the boy’s cheek with his right hand.
“No,” he’d whispered, lips trembling.
Hades bared his teeth and rumbled a grunt from his chest that could have just as well said mine!
“Guess Daddy Hades should teach you how.” Hades brought his lips to the captivating creature’s, traced them with his tongue, feeling his dick swell in his leathers. His PA pulled at his cock head, giving him that jolt of sharp, pleasurable pain. Hades took the kid’s mouth, tasted him and drew him closer, pulling the boy’s smaller body up into his arms. He deepened the kiss that had his world spinning so fast he didn’t know when or if he wanted it to stop.
He brought Beo back to the bar three weeks later. The kid wanted to get happy and have a good time, and who better to have a good time with than Daddy Hades, at least Hades could keep an eye on him, make sure he’d be safe and not succumb to the claws of predators. It all lasted up until, after too many stolen sips of beer sneaked from Hade’s glass and lips, Beo leaned in next to Hades, pressing his face into Hades’ neck and took a deep breath, followed by a very tipsy, very satisfied sigh.
“I want you.” It was something of a mix between alcoholic-lust, pure want and puppy-love in Beo’s voice. It brought Hades world to a very fast and dangerous stop. ’Cause, how could Daddy Hades deny a request like that? Especially from the sweet twenty-year-old nibbling at his neck?
Summer rain had never tasted as good as it did on Beo’s skin, never smelled so motherfuckin’ sweet. And when it came to fuckin’ him, after Hades had his tongue stuffed up that beautiful, sweet hole, Beo wanted it bare, naked—Fuckin’. Little. Shit—Daddy Hades gave it to him, shutting all and any warnings off in his head about safe sex.
The devastating, sad truth about the life of criminals: those you love are your biggest weakness, your most vulnerable liability. And Beo had Hades in a way no boy ever had him before. And who could blame Hades for loving Beo Moon. Hell, who fuckin’ couldn’t love that boy?
Hades poured every ounce of love he had left in him, into that night, spilling his seed inside Beo while taking his virginity on his Fat Boy. The result of it: Hades made love for the first time in his life. He made love to someone he loved…someone he wanted with every part of his soul but would never allow himself to have. Beo fuckin’ licked my nut milk off my lips too, when I sucked it out of his tender hole and shared it with him.
The day Beo stormed Maxus’ office, that shit tore Hades a new one. Standing there, manhandling Maxus and asking about Beo’s baby butter, Hades was hiding the fuckin’ train wreck happening in his heart. He left wanting to get as far away from fuckin’ New York City as his Fat Boy could take him. He needed the open road, to feel the power between his legs, needed to fuckin’ forget. Only he couldn’t ’cause he and his brothers still had a problem to take care of. And then there was goddamn Wendigo pushing Beo, after having picked him up on the side of the road, straight into Hades’ arms. Hades knew something was wrong with Beo, watching the boy he loved thinning and pale, left his heart a shredded mess. But those words, those fucked-up words, were like volcanic ash in Hades’ lungs.
“I’m sick… I’m dying.”
Dios, Jesús, motherfuck and fuck.
Hades lost it for the second time in his life.
“A veces la gente llora, no porque unas personas son débiles…Sino porque llevan mucho tiempo siendo fuertes.” His papi told him once—Hades had cried when the man was declared lost at sea, and Hades cried when Beo had told him about his shit. Sometimes people cry, not because they are weak…but because they’ve gone a long time at being strong.
While holding Beo in his arms, not knowing if it might be the last time, Hades felt like useless crap, like the fucking piss and fecal matter stinking up his cell. Ever since that fuckin’ night six years ago, when he’d stole a kiss from an innocent kid with the most beautiful brown eyes and sweetest motherfuckin’ lips that made Hades’ dick pop its shit…ever since he’d danced with him, made love to him weeks later… Ever since Hades met that little motherfucker, his heart wasn’t working right. And what had it gotten me…
Fucking nada, but nearly six years of wanting what I wouldn’t allow myself to have. Only to get a bitch slap in the face when Beo fuckin’ chose that cunt Maxus, another self-righteous tyrant over me! The old Hades might have stood for it, the new one would have cut fuckin’ Maxus right in his goddamn office.
Hades peered up in his cell and clenched his fist around his aching hard shaft, biting back the sting as his raw knuckles protested. Anger bubbled in his blood, pain radiating from his aggravated flesh while he braced himself against the wall with his left hand.
Years of pushing him away and keeping him at arms’ length, ignoring my own bleeding heart to keep him safe from my dark shit.
The carnage inflicted from the fight and Knight’s issued beating pulsed through him. It throbbed from each blow his muscles had received, with each violent stroke he gave his cock.
Only to have him run straight into the arms of another fuckin’ monster, one with some fucked-up crazy going on in his head.
Hades grasped his dick at the base, fisting it hard enough that he knew there would be bruises. He gritted his teeth as his skin flared with pain and tingled with pleasure.
I thought I had made fuckin’ peace with that shit the night I went to go see Beo in hospital. Promising him that Maxus would be free of a crime-infested lifestyle. Fuckin’ safe!
He snapped his hips forward and thrust his cock through his callused fingers, fuckin’ his hand brutally.
I took the fuckin’ hit from the dragon for losing one of their top connections. Got beaten to a pile of blood and bruises.
Each flex, twist and movement of his body, followed by ragged grunts, set the searing muscles under his skin on fire. His legs shook under him, thighs quaking. Whether it was from pure exhaustion or the pain riddling through him, he didn’t know, he didn’t care—they came in equal measure with full velocity, as he pumped his cock.
Beo wasn’t mine, he ain’t never been. I need to stop bitch-licking my wounds, always scraping that shit back open again.
Hades’ chest rumbled as the growl erupted from him, feeling his climax clawing closer. Splinters of pain tenderized his already swollen muscles when he arched forward, curling his toes.
I am a fuckin’ Cerberuen, while one head is lickin’ the wounds, there are two more ready to fuckin’ bite back and tear shit to shreds.
As much as Hades wanted to wring Beo’s little neck and gut Maxus open leaving his innards to spill out and his body to rot somewhere in an alley, he could never bring himself to do it. Hades knew why; he would be breaking Beo’s heart—as much as he hated to admit it—Colt Maxus would be good to Beo. He’d take care of him.
Me… I couldn’t…to drag him into the Cerberuen lifestyle, watch it dislodge his soul, tear and rip it to shreds, and lose that precious boy to this kind of life? I’d never forgive myself for that. I didn’t need to add another thing to that list.
Hades grunted and closed his eyes, his chest pulling tight. He was fine staying here, dealing with his shit of a prison life, till some anonymous bitch had sent him an envelope of photos.
Hades had taken one look at that shit and wanted to curl up and die at how happy Beo was, how fuckin’ handsome he looked under those LED lights wrapped around the tree branches. Stung like a sledgehammer to the balls when he saw the beautiful glow on Beo’s cheeks while he married fuckin’ Maxus. All after Hades had declared that nobody would penetrate the steel door bolted shut. That there wasn’t a motherfuckin’ boy born who he would allow to twist his gut the way Beo had.
He smashed his fist and forearm against the wall, snarling, nostrils flaring while his dick spewed jizz onto the filthy floor.
He slammed himself forward, drained, aching and heaving on the hard, cold concrete wall. His ragged grunts of breath his only company as he crumpled and lay in his own cum and disgust, knowing they’d return soon to administer another shot, another beating before a workout and another dance in the fuckin’ ring.
He murmured to himself, “But you can’t force someone to love you, Breno.”
No matter how motherfuckin’ much you love them back.
But like all things in life, everything has a season. Hades could almost taste the turbulent storm rising. Soon the fuckers would need to be reminded of their place and that Hades wasn’t known as the King for nothing.
The cell door screeched like a banshee going down on Hades’ ears, sharp light stung his eyes sending his head into a throbbing shit storm two days later.
“Thought it was time I came and dug you out of Hell.” Bale Munroe’s voice bounced off the walls in Hades’ cell.
“’bout motherfuckin’ time you showed up, asshole.” Hades spoke in horse toned voice, his throat raw from screaming in the hole.
“Hades, shit’s been tight.” Munroe glanced to his left and stepped into the cell, coughing from the stench. The fucker, covered his nose and struggled to get his words out as he spoke.
“Feds were onto me, asking questions, sending in a goddamn special agent to oversee my case. I was even placed on probation while everything went down.”
Munroe’s tall frame moved, dropping a gym bag on the floor. “There’s clothes, get yourself dressed. Can’t do much about a shower for now.”
Hades pushed himself off the floor, cringing at the flare of pain shooting up his back.
“Tell me something.” Hades sped past the gym bag, seized Munroe by the sac with one hand, shoving him hard against the wall, a palm to the man’s chest as he stepped in close, breathing into his face. “Did you have a fuckin’ swell time while I was rottin’ in here, being kept as a fuckin’ pussy bitch?”
Munroe clenched his jaw, avoiding Hades’ gaze or it might have been Hades’ breath that caused the fucker to crane to the side, veins jagged on his bald head as he painted the motherfuckin’ floor with his dinner. Hades held the NYPD’s Deputy Chief up by the balls, increasing his grip before he released him and slammed his knee in the man’s gut, letting him drop to the floor.
“Jesus, Hades,” Munroe coughed, grabbing his crotch, “What the fuck? I did everything I cou—” Hades stepped on the man’s hand making him cry out in pain.
“Not good enough, fucker!” Hades sneered down at him, knuckles popping at his sides while he worked the crick out of his neck, stretching it left and right.
“It wasn’t that fucking simple,” Munroe spat.
“Not that fuckin’ simple…” Hades grabbed Munroe by his lapels, pulling him up and off his feet. “What wasn’t so motherfuckin’ simple about just taking the agent out and shutting up the Feds, huh? You got the brothers’ contacts, not to mention the other Kages. I’m sure if the fucks put their thick skulls together they could have come up with something.” Hades released the man, knelt before the gym bag and unzipped it. He pulled out a pair of black briefs.
“Last I checked—shit’s too fucking small!” Hades stripped them off and chucked the briefs at Munroe’s face when they didn’t want to go higher than Hades’ thick thighs “—you’re still on my goddamn payroll.”
“Hades, that agent…” Munroe fell quite, a silence Hades wanted to murder with his bare hands.
He glowered at the man, watching the fuck’s face shadowed by his hand over his eyes in shame, embarrassment, God knew what.
“I fell for the man. Hard.”
Hades bared his teeth. Someone needed to take the fuckin’ piss pistol out of motherfuckin’ Cupid’s hands, hold the little shit down and plant a bullet straight down his pee slit.
“He helped me get you out of here,” Munroe’s hazel eyes met Hades’ dark gaze.
Hades just grunted, pulled on the tight-as-fuck jeans, buttoned them up to the third button and slipped on the skintight shirt.
“Sorry,” Munroe said as Hades growled at the flip-flops. “These are the only pieces of clothing I own I thought would fit you. They don’t make things for big fuckers like you. No offense.”
Hades slapped a flip-flop over the man’s bald head. “Talk about yourself, asshat.”
Of all the Dom’s at The Bark, Munroe, Hades and Maxus were the tallest, with Hades towering over the two of them at seven foot one. He figured they had the same problem he had, having the majority of their clothing made for them, and the fact that Hades was a motherfuckin’ behemoth of muscle didn’t help at all. He heard the t-shirt protest when he flexed his arms.
Munroe stepped out of the cell holding the gym bag’s straps and shoving the briefs into it as he waited.
Hades groaned at hearing the sticky sound of flip-flops resonating with every step, and his motherfuckin’ nutz weren’t happy being squeezed half to death either.
Hades snapped at Munroe; his gaze fixed on the back of the fuck’s head not caring to look at the guard at the door. “I want a joint and a goddamn STD test, the whole works. Who the fuck knows what shit I picked up in here.”
“Anything else, Your Royal Highness?” Munroe bit back while the guard opened the door for them.
“Yeah, I want a fuckin’ ice cream…no, wait make that ice cream dripping off some sweet motherfuckin’ little’s mouth while he licks it from my cock…or better yet…” Hades felt the tremor rush through his muscles, the magma searing in his blood. “I wanna watch ice cream spew out of Beast’s asshole while I pound the fucker into the dirt, into a fucking pulp…”
Hades grasped Munroe by the back of the neck, leaning close to whisper in the man’s ear. “And I want Allan Knight, stuffed, on a platter with garnish and shit, and an apple in his mouth, roasted alive, Deputy Chief.”
Munroe met Hades’ gaze as he turned. “That, my old friend, I will help you do with my own bare hands. Gladly.”
The heavy New York clouds loosened their hold, and the rain thrummed down upon his skin, disrupting the quiet night. Hades looked up into the dark sky, never had the dim night looked more beautiful. The filthy smog air of NYC never smelled more delicious than it did at that moment.
Beast was going to fuckin’ die, torn to shreds and then some.
He climbed into the black Mercedes, turning his attention to Munroe. “Who knows I’m out?”
Munroe shook his head, “None of your boys know, thought you would want to keep quiet until you knew what you were going to do.”
Hades ran his hands over his beard, he needed a shave and to motherfuckin’ soak in a tub for the next year and a half.
“Take me to my condo.”
Munroe grasped the steering wheel, the car springing to life, all blue lights and shiny shit sparkling like fuckin’ Knight Rider when the car fuckin’ spoke.
“Good evening, Mr. Munroe, what is your destination for the night?”
“Fuck me, the NYPD has money to throw around, or is this what you do with the cut I give you each month?”
Munroe chuckled as the automated voice snapped something about improper language use. “Present from Mommy and Daddy.” Munroe pressed something on the LED screen shutting the bitch up. “She doesn’t do well with crude talk.”
Hades gave a huff, bumping his knee on the dashboard of the small space. He felt the seat gently slide back giving him more room.
“Hades,” Munroe gazed out of the window his eyes dark, his face hard, “I know this is none of my business, but… I got intel on Khaiton.”
Hades’ body froze, each muscle going rigid and tight as wrath surged through him. The rage rush from hearing that name had him lusting for Russian blood, balling his fists.
Hades stared at night traffic through the rain, but he didn’t see it. All Hades could see was Khaiton’s head with Hades’ big hands around the man’s cranium, increasing his grip and pressing until it exploded like a fuckin’ underripe watermelon.
Khaiton was the man behind the Russian cartel, pulling strings and issuing orders. He was the one that helped take Mr. Orochi out, brought the dragon down, and turned the delicate balance of power in the States inside out. It wasn’t so much about revenge, or getting even over the Dragon’s Tongue’s downfall, or about reclaiming what Hades once had—including the power. It was about brotherhood, about loyalty to a man that had become a second father to Hades. To a group of men that had been the only true brothers Hades had ever known.
He closed his eyes, remembering that day fourteen years ago, the day he grew some real motherfuckin’ man hair on his balls. That day, Hades and Cracker had fuckin’ front row seats watching bodies pop with bullets. Like piñatas ripped apart and candy flying everywhere, only it wasn’t motherfuckin’ candy, it was blood and scrap metal, glass and wood, and fuckin’ bone and brain guts, all while Hades pissed himself under the table. Watched Old Devil Eyes spit his last breath, telling Hades he was passing the fire on to him, making him promise to cut every motherfuckin’ Russian down.
Happy fuckin’ times.
Nineteen goddamn years he’d known Cracker, the old, gray-bearded biker. The man’s bad was all in his fucked-up knuckles. Cracker ain’t got the nickname because he goes off like a firecracker; when the brother was popping them busted up knuckles, you knew the bastard was starving for blood. No matter if the bones in them had been shattered and were now being held together with steel pins, he’d still go at someone’s face till there weren’t nothing but brain pulp left. The brother had been with Hades since Old Devil Eyes’ time and had stuck around until Hades went to prison.
Hades didn’t know the current state of his club, whether or not the brothers kept going without him or were waiting for him to take back his throne of bones. And now that the Dragon’s Tongue was out of the picture, they were nothing more than a regular old MC.
Knight had made sure Hades was kept in solitary, preventing him from receiving any visitors. Wendigo was too young to take over and Cracker too old to be dealin’ with that shit, man had a weak heart when it came to stress. It was why Old Devil Eyes never passed the baton on to him.
“I want that intel, and see what you can find on Beast. Last I heard the fucker was cruising along the West Coast working for Ardal, and—”
“Ardal MacNamara is dead, Russians blew the Irish Mob apart.”
Hades grunted, “Guess that fuckin’ Leprechaun luck didn’t go so far.”
“From what we gathered, Khaiton’s cleaning house, picking off the last remaining stragglers of the dragon, one by one. Cartel by cartel. Hell, the Feds aren’t complaining, Hades. They’re just damn glad they don’t have to get their hands dirty. Taking out one is better than taking out all of them.” He shrugged. “Why not have the cartels murder each other?”
“Yeah, easy piss peasy, you boys say. Let the dirty fuckers take out their own trash.” Hades turned in his seat and combed his fingers through his greasy hair, “but here’s what you boys ain’t getting. The Russians are made from a different cut of meat, they’re gonna be more trouble than what this bloodbath is worth.”
Hades drummed his fingers on his thighs. He looked down at them, sticky and dirty from cum and blood, the underside of his short bitten nails, black, disgusting him.
He peered out the windows as a new torrent of rain washed down around them. “When the dragon was in power we made sure the shit we dealt: drugs, whores, money, whatever was done in controlled measure. Give a little here, withhold a little there, get ’em addicted so they come back for it again and again and again. The Russians don’t give a shit. They’re as dumb as dirt. They’ll sell as much as they can, as fast as they can. They don’t think about tomorrow. End of the day, you’re gonna have crack whores and druggies popping out of every fuckin’ hole within five miles of you. Leads to violence, ’cause the Russians aren’t supplying fast enough to the dealers, people will be murdering each other left, right and center, stealing to get their next fix. Body count’ll go up, STD and infection rates will skyrocket, homelessness will quadruple, it’ll be like a fuckin’ virus invasion, screwin’ up our world.”
Hades fixed his gaze on Munroe’s reflection, watching the slow swallow of the man’s throat. “We might be the bad guys here, copper, but we’re the good motherfuckers, si, amigo.”
“Si.” Munroe gave a short nod. “You still want that ice cream?”
“That would be a fuck yeah, Chief.”
Of Gods and Monsters: Hades© Copyright 2014 By Wulf Francú Godgluck.