Claimed by the Hellbound Rider

Godspeed Hellbound

Devil POV

The floor of the bar was sticky under my boots as I headed to my usual spot. Conversations dropped off as I passed through, but I ignored it like always. Most of the town kept their distance from me, and that's how I liked it. I just wished they'd stay the hell out of Inferno.

Which was asking a lot, since Inferno was the only decent watering hole within thirty miles. Say what you want about bikers; we know how to keep a bar running.

I pulled out a stool and took a seat. The exhaustion of an eight-hour ride settled deeper into my shoulders as I acknowledged Penny, the pretty little bartender Riot had hired about three months back. She knew her stuff and didn't take any s**t from the patrons, so she was okay in my book. She finished pulling a pint for one of the town regulars, then headed my way.

Tossing her towel over her shoulder, she was already reaching for a glass as she asked, "What can I get you, Devil?"

I smirked. "Whiskey, straight."

She nodded, the bottle already in her hand before I finished my order. She tipped it into the glass, and the amber liquid poured out. Sliding it to me, she leaned against the scarred wood. "You look beat."

Shrugging my shoulders, I tossed the alcohol back and let it burn. "Long day."

Someone hailed her from the other end, but she filled my glass once more before she left. I turned, letting the scent of tobacco and bad decisions ease some of the strain of the last few days. Being the Rider's enforcer was a good gig, but some jobs went a little harder than others.

My eyes drifted to the plaque hanging beside the clubhouse door.

Respect the Patch.

Respect the Territory.

Brotherhood above Blood.

No trafficking. No predators.

No harm comes to women or children here.

We handle our own.

We protect our own.

And God help anyone who threatens either.

The words smoothed something inside me I hadn't realized was ruffled. Chasing after one of your own would do that to you, I guess. I still couldn't understand why Bowie turned against us, why he sold us out to a rival club.

Then again, I guess it wasn't my job to understand.

The door to the clubhouse swung open, and laughter rang out as two club girls stumbled out, Riot behind them. He had a grin on his face as he draped his arms around the girls and walked them up to the bar. At least they were fully dressed this time.

Penny fixed their drinks, then came back my way and filled mine again. Riot's eyes widened when he saw me.

He tossed his shot back, said something to the girls, then strode over.

"Devil. Didn't know you were back. Prez know?"

This time, I sipped my whiskey instead of shooting it. Then I nodded. "Called him on my way in."

He kept his eyes on me, searching my face for some sign of how things went. He wouldn't find any. Until Prez and I debriefed, no one would. And even after that, only those who needed to know would hear the story.

Finally, he snorted, relaxing and clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Glad to have you back." He turned back to the girls. "You want to join us?"

"Not tonight."

He was already walking away, not expecting a different answer.

It was finally late enough that the locals were packing up and leaving, which only suited my mood. I settled back into my spot, idly spinning the tumbler in my hand. My cut creaked as I shifted, reminding me I needed to spend some time cleaning and oiling it. After a week of riding through what felt like weather from every season, the leather was as stressed as I was.

I couldn't shake this nagging feeling that something was off. Something was coming. I tried to push it away, put it in that same box I put everything else once a job was done, but it refused to stay there.

Chairs crashing against the floor had me spinning around, scanning the space for the problem. Two townies, obviously drunk, were squaring up. Just what I f*****g needed tonight.

Penny was already reaching for the bat behind the bar, but I caught her eye and shook my head. She didn't need to get involved in this, risk getting hurt. Not while I was here, anyway.

Riot was caught up in whatever the girls were doing to him in the corner, but that's okay. I didn't need him for this. A couple of drunk civilians was nothing, even if it wasn't on my bingo card for the night.

I stood, finishing my whiskey and setting the glass on the worn bar top. Then I made my way to the idiots who hadn't even managed to land a punch on each other yet.

"That's enough." My voice was firm, low and heavy, but it couldn't break through the fog alcohol had plugging their ears. Townie One swung wide, his fist blowing past Townie Two's ear. Townie Two took advantage of that opening and finally landed a solid hit to One's gut.

By that point, I'd reached them, and I pushed them apart. "Enough!" I roared, placing a hand on each chest. "You know better. No one fights in this bar."

Townie One snorted. "A biker bar with no fighting?" The words were slurred, his eyes glassy. "Where's the fun in that?"

Grabbing them both by their collars, I shouted over to Penny. "They pay their tabs?"

She nodded, her hand still on her bat, but her shoulders were loose and she had a smirk on her face.

"Good," I muttered. Then I walked them both to the door.

"By the way, OUR biker bar doesn't have fights. You want to bleed, you do it outside." I tossed Townie One out, and he stumbled, landing in a puddle when he finally lost his footing. His checkered blue button-up was covered in mud. It was an improvement.

Townie Two had been silent the entire exchange, and I finally looked at him properly. His eyes were wide, his face white. When my gaze met his, he stuttered, "Y-y-you're the D-D-Devil."

I grinned, but by the way he started trembling, I don't think he appreciated it. "I am. And you're banned. Get the f**k out."

With a shove, he landed next to his friend. They could fight all they wanted out here. It wasn't my problem anymore.

I pushed back through the doors, and Penny had a refill waiting for me. "I could have taken care of that," she said quietly.

"I know. But you shouldn't have to. And you won't, if I'm here."

She started to say something else, but my phone started blaring out the opening notes from "Simple Man." I went rigid. Only one person had that ringtone set, and he didn't have a reason to be calling me.

"Kane," I answered, stepping away from the bar to a quiet spot in the hallway.

"Hey, Roman. Long time." Cross's voice carried over the line, and I flashed back to the last time I'd seen him. We'd been in the back of a transport plane, coming back from Iraq.

"Yeah. What's going on?"

He sighed. "I need your help."