Teaser, please keep in mind, my editor hasn’t even lay eyes on this neither has my betas so I apologize now for all the grammar and spelling shit.
He remembered stumbling out of the warehouse, half dragging his useless leg behind him, naked, and landing in the moist dirt. He looked up, straight into eyes filled with a hellish green fire. A gun pressed against Maxus’ head where he kneeled a couple of feet ahead of Hades. Hand held against his right shoulder, his crispy white dress shirt decorated red with blood, some his own, the rest—the two men Colt had shot as Hades had learned later in the hospital.
The man with his fingers in Maxus’ hair glared down at Hades, his light blue eyes cold, wearing a smile he might as well have stolen from Lucifer, ready to welcome Hades into Hell.
Blood, snot and spit gushed from Hades’ mouth as he heaved for breath, dirt and sweat burning his eyes, raw cuts on his stomach and back spitting in a sepsis of pain.
He glimpsed the man’s cut-off, barely able to read the patch of the club’s name on the right breast.
Hades grunted into the dirt. He knew that face, those light blue eyes, that golden hair and thick grizzly beard; Ian fuckin’ Kyzar, aka Dead Walker, recruited to be the Sergeant at Arms of the Watchers’ MC. Scar had picked his men good. Fuckin’ good.
“We didn’t come all this way to steal the Russian’s prey, and have your Latino ass lay there and die on us.” DW’s voice was so smooth and cold it could seduce Death himself, like Hades’ remembered it to be. The man was ten years Old Devil Eyes’ junior, if Devil Eyes was still alive which would place DW at forty-five. Hades just lay there, too tired and exhausted to do much else. If only the Watchers knew Khaiton’s intentions were never to kill Hades. That shit would have been far too easy for the Russians, and with DW confirming it, Hades understood then it was Scar’s boys who had sent the Russian’s family reunion into a fuckin’ tailspin of chaos. But he was still trying to understand why Maxus was here. His brain pounded like a pocket full of unwanted change, rattling around in his skull while he lay in front of Hell’s door. So why was he wasting thought on these insignificant fucks? Rex was all that mattered to him, the only thing that had kept Hades clinging to the life he had by his teeth in that perdition.
A sharp splitting fire roared through Hades’ nerves when a rubber sole gnawed into his left hip. A painful scream bolted from his raw throat, sick sound of bone scraping bone beneath his flesh, crunched under the boot’s weight.
Maxus was shoved down, cheek rammed into the dirt next to Hades, his breath washing Hades’ face as he flared his nostrils.
“You two cupcakes take care of each other.” DW barked, then leaned over pressing that metal dick right into Maxus’ cheek, “If Breno dies, I’m coming for you, fucker. You better make sure he keeps pissing till Scar gets out of the Big House. Big Pappa got plans for Daddy H.”
DW wasn’t quite done, Hades knew the man never left a job without adding another tail to his already bloodthirsty reputation. Hands grabbed him and flipped him on his back. It was night, the stars smiling above him or it could have been the spots dancing before Hades’ eyes.
The flash of silver, the sharp smell of fuel and then came the low rumbling of a blowtorch being set a light above him.
Before Hades could even will his exhausted frame to move, a hand grasped his throat hard, choking his windpipe while a heavy ass took nest down upon his chest. Boots stepped on his right wrist, a knee pressed into his bicep, pinching skin, holding him down, another pair of feelers gripping his head, a third pair his right arm. While two other nameless fucks pinned Maxus’ struggling frame to the soil, leather fingers muffling his mouth.
“No.” Hades’ voice, a harrowing sound, spat past his lips.
DW sneered, pushing out his tongue and licked his old lady’s gunpowder-gray barrel, an 1860 Colt, the only lady that would ever get close to DW’s cock. Hades should know, DW was the man that taught Hades how to kiss, suck dick and ride and fuck ass.
The piece was a vintage original, dulled from age, scarred and scratched, couldn’t fire to save a man’s life, but it was DW signature bitch.
“DW, please.” Hades coughed while the man’s fingernails cut into the flesh of Hades’ gullet.
“An eye for an eye, blood for blood, a brother for a brother,” DW growled, those words stung Hades… rocking his heart and mind. It was Old Devil Eyes’ secret mantra, only bestowed upon those who turned their back on their brothers. Hades’ gaze caught the light as DW offered his old lady’s barrel to the flames flaring from a blowtorch. Hades swallowed, tears pissing from his eyes as the revolver’s tip glowed an ominous hot yellow-orange. “Lucky them Russians hadn’t jumped one us. Hold the man’s right lids,” DW snapped at someone.
Dirty smeared fingers peeled Hades’ right eyelids from one another. He shook under their weight, his body a pulsing storm of pain, exhaustion, and dread. His heart a dying animal fighting for its last breath.