Zane (Reapers MC Book 11) Page 2

  “The hell you are. I’m not going to lose you too. I’m not . . . going to lose another one of you. I . . . I need to know everything, now!” He hollers out the last bit, showing his fury.

  Chains puts his hand up, “Whoa, Prez. Give her some time. She’s just—”

  “Don’t give me that. I know what she’s been through. But, if we don’t get on this as soon as possible, Octavia will be next. You want that to happen?”

  I’ve never seen Chains pissed at my brother, and I’ve known the man for at least fifteen years. “You’re gonna give her some fuckin’ time before you ask her anything. You wanna get a start on shit, then act like a Prez and go ask these business owners what the fuck happened. Go get security video, do that kinda shit.” Chains snarls, just as red and blue flashing lights appear behind him.

  Motherfucker, this couldn’t get any worse.

  A man struts up, with a woman walking beside him. It feels like the slowest moments of my life until he walks into the light. For once, we’ve lucked out when it comes to the law. The cop isn’t just any cop. It’s our half-brother, Troy.

  “We got a call there was a shooting . . . but, I don’t see any bodies,” Troy states, turning around to look at every brother in the club. Now is when I notice the twins didn’t ride bikes, they brought the construction van.

  Troy has a stressed relationship with the rest of us. His mom wasn’t a clubwhore, sweet butt, or club bunny like the rest of ours. She was a prestigious woman, our father’s criminal defense lawyer who he apparently slept with before he went to jail for the second time. Instead of allowing us, or my dad to be active in his life, she sent good ol’ Troy here to private school, made sure he went to church and all of that crap. Needless to say, Xander is not a fan of our goody two shoes brother.

  “Get the fuck outta here, Troy.” Xander hisses as he takes a step closer to him, glaring while he does it.

  The woman beside Troy pulls her taser and looks to him. Ah, she must be a rookie he’s training. Troy pushes his hand down on the taser, signaling for her to put it down. “Sir, he’s becoming hostile with us. I really don’t think I should put this away.”

  “Just do what I say, Capello.” Troy orders.

  “Sir, I don’t—” Capello replies, before I interject.

  “He’s telling you to put your fucking taser away because he’s our half-brother, so listen to your fucking partner!” I scream, rising from the ground I go into autopilot and walk straight up to Troy. I look at him in the eyes, “You wanna know what happened, Troy? You wanna know?”

  “Octavia . . . whose blood is that?” His eyes grow wider and I see the way he’s going into serious mode.

  “Our sisters’. Yara and Xia are dead, Troy. They were murdered in front of my fucking face tonight, and if it wasn’t for Yara’s quick thinking I’d be dead too.” I barely finish as everything comes rushing out of me. Every bit of pain breaks free like a burst of power from a supernatural creature. Tears are flowing in the current of a broken dam and I drop to the ground as the reality finally sinks in.

  My sisters are dead.

  I’m the last one left.

  They’ll never stop coming for us. Actually, they’ll never stop coming for me, not until I’m dead.

  I’ve never had the best relationship with Troy, but he pulls me into his arms and holds me as I cry my broken heart out. “I’m going to be next,” I cry into Troy’s chest, knowing I’ll be dead soon too. “They’re going to figure out they didn’t get me, and they’re going to kill me next.”

  “You aren’t going to die, Octavia. We’ll get these guys, and we’ll put them in jail.” Troy vows.

  Xander on the other hand is cackling from behind us, “No, you won’t. If I haven’t found them yet then what makes you believe you can?”

  Troy doesn’t say a word.

  “Octavia, you’re going to take Yara’s place. It’s the only thing that’ll keep you safe.” I pull away from Troy and look at Xander in disbelief. My sisters were just murdered in front of me and he’s already planning to ship me off to bumfuck nowhere and marry me off?

  “No. Please,” I beg him.

  Xander shakes his head, “Even if I wanted to, I can’t. Dad promised the Reapers MC a princess of the club. You’re the only one left, Octavia. You’re our only chance at getting another ally, and I hate to say it, but we need them right now. We don’t know who the fuck we’re up against.”

  “You don’t hate to say it. You don’t give a fuck about me. The only thing you care about is yourself,” I snarl, starting to lunge at him. Troy grabs the back of my arms, and Chains comes between us.

  “Prez, I think you should go. I can handle this.”

  Xander grumbles something out as he walks away and goes to the businesses in the area. A couple of the guys go along with him while two others head across the street. The only ones here are Troy, Capello, myself and Chains.

  “Come on baby, lets get you home.” Chains says, taking my hand in his own.

  “Uh, you can’t go. We need to question you.” Capello declares.

  “No, we don’t. We showed up to nothing, an empty street.” Troy tells her and turns. “We showed up and there wasn’t a thing here, not a soul.”

  She furrows her brows, “I don’t like this.”

  “Get over it. They need to handle this.” Troy says, starting to walk back to his patrol car.

  “Troy,” Chains calls out, and my brother stops. Capello on the other hand ends up going back over to the car and gets in. “Thank you for doing us a solid.”

  “I’m not doing it for your club. I’m doing it for her,” Troy motions to me. “Take care of her, Chains. Just . . . fucking watch out for her.”

  Chapter One

  Grief is like living two lives. One where you pretend that everything is alright, and the other is where your heart silently screams in pain.

  ~ Forever Missed

  Octavia

  Present Day

  “You gonna drink the whole damn bottle again?” Chains grumbles from a few feet away. We’re in the back part of the clubhouse where we have a smaller, private bar. The club is located in the center of Los Angeles, which means we maximize on the amount of tourists that come in this area. Behind the double doors, we have a fully operational bar, one where the club earns about seventy percent of our profits. It’s called ‘The Clubhouse’, which is pretty fucking basic and original.

  Back here we have a horseshoe shaped bar with a black faux marble counter. It sits six comfortably, but we can squeeze eight in if need be. I’m sitting back against the wall, obviously in the corner since it gives me the advantage to see who I’m gonna have to fucking deal with. Chains is usually the one to get on me about my drinking, but most days he lets it be.

  Tonight, we’re practically alone. Except for Fury, who’s one of our prospects, he’s behind the bar serving my drinks while his brother is out with some of the clubwhores managing the operational part of the bar.

  Licking my bottom lip, I glare across the bar at Chains. “Why are you even asking? It’s not like I’ll stop.”

  Chains’ nostrils begin to flare and I know he’s not pleased. “Fury, take that shit from her before she gets hurt.”

  Fury gives me one glance, and my expression is warning enough. I may not look like much, but I know how to break a motherfucker’s wrist, and I have no problem doing it. Fury and Agony aren’t your usual prospects, they’re identical twin brothers who must be in their early forties. They recently moved here from the U.K., wanting to be back in the club lifestyle they ran across paths with my brother. He wasn’t just going to patch them in, so they’re starting from the bottom and working their way up.

  “Don’t try me,” I hiss at the prospect.

  Fury looks over to Chains who doesn’t seem pleased in the least bit. “Look bro, I have no problem taking a drink from a woman— but Octavia isn’t a woman. She’s a damn monster.”

  Good, they’re starting to realize I’m like a fera
l cat. About damn time.

  Chains laughs, like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “She’s harmless.”

  “Sorry, Chains. I don’t agree with you. She’s part of this club, she can’t be.” Fury comes to my defense, and I give him a small nod of thanks.

  I take a swig of the vodka in my hand and put it on top of the bar. It must be the last straw because Chains gets off his chair, screeching the metal against the wood floor and comes waltzing up to me. He grabs the bottle of vodka and throws it down on the ground so loudly I’m sure people could hear us on the other side of the doors.

  “You need to cut this shit out. Surely you know that. You cannot keep drinking your pain away. It won’t make it better.” Chains has his hands on my shoulders. I’m kinda wondering if he’s going to shake me like a little rat dog.

  “Are you really telling me how I need to process my grief? I’ve seen that little baggie in your room with that snowflake powder. I’m not the only one here with problems,” I snarl, watching his eyes go wide. Chains prefers to keep his shit to himself. It’s not club knowledge how he occasionally dips into the darker side of things.

  He picks me up off the chair and slams my body against the wall, with his pressing up against me. It didn’t hurt, but it was forceful as fuck. His nostrils continue to flare as he gawks. “They’re all dead and you’re sitting here drinkin’ your life away. Is that what they’d want? Any of them? What would they be saying right now? Oh wait, I know. Porcia would tell you to cut the shit out, to waste your drinking on broken hearts. Gaia would come up here and drink with you so you wouldn’t be alone, tryin’ to help you in whatever way she could. Calla, she’d take you out, get you distracted somehow. Yara on the other hand, she’d wanna go key some cars with you and X—”

  He can’t even say her name.

  “She’d . . .” Chains clears his throat, “She’d want better for you, O’. You know it, and I do too.”

  “Say her fucking name,” I hiss, wanting him to hurt as horribly as I have these last few months.

  Every day I wake up thinking this has all been a dream, that it’s a mere figment of my imagination and like they can’t be gone. My best friends, my ride or dies. But they are, they’re all gone.

  Chains’ eyes redden and I see how they become glossy, indicating he’ll start crying. He fucking misses her too.

  I know neither one of us are okay, that we’re not coping with things properly, but is there a proper way to cope with this? At the end of the day, is there? The answer is no, there isn’t. “We don’t want the same to happen to you.” Chains mutters, looking defeated.

  “It already has. I haven’t been the same since they died.” I push past him, needing to get away from the close confines of his arms. I’ve hated being remotely touched since they were murdered. It makes me feel like ants are crawling all over my skin. It’s sickening.

  “Where are you going, O’? Zane will be here tomorrow.” He gently reminds me as I head toward the bar. I roll my eyes at the mention of my fiancé’s name. The man who was supposed to be marrying Yara, but who I’ve now been passed over to. All to keep an alliance up and running. I want to scoff, but I withhold from doing it. Otherwise, Chains won’t let me do what I want.

  “I’m going to party out there with some of the people from the club. You have a problem with that? It’s my last night as a free woman. Just do me a favor and don’t ruin it. I just want one last night to do as I please.”

  Chains sucks in a deep breath and nods, “Just be careful. You know the tourists can get a bit rowdy.”

  “They should really take notes from Fury. I’m a tough cookie, one who can handle herself.” I tell him.

  Chapter Two

  I sat with my anger long enough, until she told me her real name was grief.

  ~ Unknown

  Octavia

  I lied to him and I have absolutely no regrets about it. Tonight, is my final night of freedom before I’m shipped off to bumfuck nowhere. I stayed in the bar long enough to trick Agony and the girls that I was stickin’ around for a while. I had a couple slushie martinis with them, said I had to go pee and snuck out the front door.

  For the last three months, I’ve been a fucking prisoner.

  Xander wouldn’t let me leave the clubhouse, too afraid his precious alliance maker would be shot down and with it, the alliance our father contracted years ago. Speaking of him, my father that is, he hasn’t been seen in almost a month. He’s so good at just going around and doing whatever the fuck he wants. Honestly, it feels like he doesn’t even give a damn that his daughters are dead. But, that’s not too shocking considering most of our moms are clubwhores.

  The only prestigious one would be Troy’s mother, but if you ask me she’s more pretentious.

  I walked six blocks in four-inch heels until I decided fuck it, I wasn’t gonna walk three more until I arrived in my favorite club. So, I’m in some hole in the wall joint that I’ve never been to before. I planned to use this night as my last hoorah so to speak, making sure I had a couple hundred bucks in my bra with my ID. I didn’t even bring my phone along with me because I knew the second any of them figured out I wasn’t at the club, they’d try to use that ‘Find a Friend’ app and see where the hell I was. No way in hell was I going to let that happen. I want my freedom. They all know it’s the last time I’ll ever have it, but they wouldn’t ever give me a gift like this . . . because my brother deemed it so. He’s their Prez and they’ll always follow his command.

  The club I’m in is called ‘Sashay’. Not only was it the closest one I could see in eyesight when I gave up, but they had such dope music coming out from the entrance. Some sick remixes of Marshmello songs.

  I paid the bouncer at the front and sashayed my ass through that door. In a monochromatic silver-plated dress, any way I moved my body, it would appear a different color to the people surrounding me. I went up to the bar as soon as I went inside, ordered three shots of rail vodka and threw them back. I have a good bit of money for tonight, but it doesn’t mean I want to burn through it.

  I haven’t worked since the shooting because of Xander and his rules. It’s been driving me crazy, not being able to get my creative juices out. So, I’ve been editing old photos of shoots I did at the beginning of the summer.

  Worry About Me by Ellie Goulding and Blackbear pumps through the speakers. The lyrics flow through my head while I weave my body to the beat of the music. I shut my eyes, throw my hands up in the air and allow the music to distract me. I need it more than anything right now— to just be this woman in a club.

  I’m not Octavia Spencer.

  I’m not Breaker’s sister.

  I’m not the only remaining Raiders MC princess.

  I’m just a girl in a dress, a couple drinks in, dancing in a club.

  My shoulder length red hair falls back as I dip my head. I only open my eyes when I feel someone grinding their body against mine. Immediately, I turn and see someone who obviously isn’t a tourist. I’ve seen him a few times in the bars, and he’s just a plain tool.

  I weave out of the crowd and get off the dance floor. This guy follows me, though. “Yo, what’s the problem baby?”

  Furrowing my brows, I take in a deep breath. “First of all, I’m not your baby. My problem is I don’t wanna be gyrated on. So, let it go. Leave me alone.” Instead of waiting around for this guy’s response, I get out of the way and head back over to the bar. Ordering another two shots, I slam them back and go out on the dance floor once again.

  Everything is fine for a while. The DJ switches it up a bit but I practically die with excitement when Machine Gun Kelly’s ‘Bloody Valentine’ blasts through. It’s the perfect mixture of rap and rock.

  A sudden pressure pushes against my back, and again, this dude is swarming me. That’s it. I make my way out of the crowd and head for the sign that says restrooms. He won’t be able to follow me in the ladies’ room, and it’ll give me a chance to take a break. The line to the bathroom is
at least fifteen girls long, but I see a lit up green exit sign. It wasn’t my plan to get out of here this early, although I wasn’t planning on being annoyed by some dude who can’t take a hint.

  Making my way past the line of women, I push the bar on the door and walk out into an alleyway. The cool LA air is refreshing while the sounds of sirens and mixture of laughing people fills my ears. LA might be too much for some people, but it isn’t for me. It’s my home, every chaotic bit of it.

  I pull my zippo lighter from my right bra cup and grab a menthol cigarette with it. Lighting the bitch up, I take a drag.

  “Can I bum a cigarette off ya, baby?” You’ve got to be kidding me. Just from hearing his voice alone I know this is the same guy from inside.

  Turning in his direction, I’m losing my shit. “What the fuck is your problem? I don’t want you around me at all. I’ve made that fucking clear, numerous times, but still you follow me like some freaky ass stalker. So, let me be clear, stay the fuck away from me!”

  He sneers with his pearly whites and shuffles his fingertips through his dirty blonde hair. “You know, I’d love to do that . . . but I can’t, Octavia. Your head has a pretty penny on it you know.”

  All of a sudden everything changes. My heart beating in my chest pounds like it never has before, my eyes widen and my throat goes dry. This stranger isn’t just a stranger. He’s been hired by someone, someone who prefers me dead.

  “I had a feeling I didn’t get you the first time. Hell, it was my own fault. I should’ve turned your sister’s body over and checked for a pulse. I won’t let that happen today. Today will be different.”

  I don’t think, instead I react. Pulling my leg back I slam it in his crotch and run as fast as I can away from him. My heart pounds like a beating drum. I’m in full on survival mode, even tossing my heels off to run barefoot back out to the main road.