Hellbent (Four Horsemen MC Book 5) (25 page)

Pretty Boy swallowed.

"Shit just got serious." Crash raised his eyebrows. "If we don’t make it—it's been nice knowing you guys."

It took them until noon to build the coffins, including laying down in them to test the dimensions. Voo was roasting a couple barbecue chickens, the smell drawing a strong grumble from their stomachs.  

But when they lined up to fill their plates, Shep stopped them. "The first Horseman you face is Famine. Sorry, boys."

They were given fuckin’ bread and water. Not even the fancy kind you see in movies—all crusty and white, tossed at a prisoner’s feet. Fucking sliced white bread. And Walmart brand bottled water.

Pretty Boy rolled his piece of bread into a ball, gnawing on it in an admittedly nervous gesture. Across the yard, the Horsemen were wolfing down chicken and potato salad, tossing back cold ones. As he watched, Shep wiped his mouth on a paper towel, clapping a hand on Voo's shoulder with an appreciative grin.

"What you staring at?" Crash nudged him with his elbow.

Pretty Boy swallowed the dry knot of bread. "Just spacing. Hungry."

"Yeah." He scratched his head. "What d'ya thinks coming at us next?"

"Fuck if I know, but it's not going to be pleasant," Pretty Boy said grimly.

Shep gathered them back up and took them out front where targets were nailed to posts around the parking lot. Stacks of tires marked out an obstacle course. "The second Horseman you face is War. Complete the course, on your bike, without missing a target. In under two minutes."

“Aw, hell no!”
Pretty Boy kicked at the dirt. “Really?”

"Son of a bitch!" Dash's gaze rapidly passed over the curves of the course, the angles to the targets. "What if we miss?"

"There is no missing. Do it." Shep folded his arms. "Or you bow out here."

"Practice run?" Crash asked hopefully.

Shep glanced back at Axel. "What say you, Prez?"

"That depends." Axel patted what must be his very full belly. "Voo—you bring any of that apple pie?"

Voo smirked. "Warming up in your kitchen."

"Bring me a slice and see if it puts me in a charitable mood." He grinned as Ryker snickered behind him.

"That's just cold, brother."

Pretty Boy sighed, wishing he could tell all of them to go fuck off. But he gritted his teeth and persevered. He was not going to let Shep down when he was this close. After the brothers had pie, they picked apart the course, making damn sure they made the most out of their one trial run.

Crash and Dash sailed through it just fine, Fetch almost took out a column of tires, but pulled it out in the end. Pretty Boy poised on his bike for his run and realized he wasn't packing.

"Uh ... anyone got a piece I can borrow?" He caught Shep's eye.

The VP walked over towards him, all lazy grace in low slung denim, the leather of his cut hugging his built shoulders. Shep wet his lips. "I got you."

He couldn't keep the smirk off his face as Shep pulled his Desert Eagle from his shoulder holster and handed it to him. "Thanks."

Shep swallowed as Pretty Boy got himself situated and cranked the ignition. "Have a good ride."

The engine revved beneath him and he took off, rounding the curves smoothly, speeding when he could. He hit the first three targets no problem, but as he was moving towards the last one, Shep busted out laughing and he nearly missed the shot.

He came through clean, though—just under two minutes. "Boo yah!"

"Great job, boys." Axel stood, a wide smirk spreading across his handsome face. Oh fuck, some jackassery was coming. "Now do it again. This time counts."

He wanted to punch Axel in his stupid, fucking mouth.

Respect the Prez.

He sighed.

Once they had all passed—again—they got dragged inside the garage to see Goat standing behind a makeshift bar lining up double shots.

"The third Horsemen is Pestilence." Shep's voice behind him made Pretty Boy jump.

Goat grinned and leaned against the bar, gesturing to the rows of double shots for each of them. "Come meet my best friends, boys—Jack Daniels, Johnnie Walker, Jameson and Jim Beam. And these motherfuckers are straight up."

One by one, they bellied up to the bar and downed the four shots. Pretty Boy went last. The liquor burned down his throat. He stumbled, his knees about to give as the alcohol hit his empty stomach and flooded his bloodstream. He coughed, "Holy fuck."

"Holy
fire,” Voo
corrected. He’d flipped over another four shot glasses, filling each with Bacardi 151.  In one slick movement, he flicked open his Zippo and struck it off his jeans at the knee. He took a long swallow from the bottle, then blew through the flickering blue flame, igniting the four drinks in a line. "Those were the Horsemen,
this
is the Apocalypse."

Pretty Boy caught Shep's eye as he downed the flaming rum. He staggered and Voo clapped him hard on the back. "You sons of bitches …"

Crash cursed. "I can't see straight."

"Stay strong, brothers," Dash muttered, face twisted in that half serious, half full of shit expression only he could pull off.

The members hustled the prospects back outside. Next to each of the caskets they had built this morning, a shovel had been thrust into the ground.

Pretty Boy swallowed. He had heard the rumors the Horsemen buried the prospects alive but … for fuck's sake.
He didn’t think it was real.
Fetch squeezed his shoulder, clearing his throat.

"Fuck. We're really going to do this, huh?" he whispered.

Fetch nodded.

Shep stepped forward. "Like we said, the prospects die today. Start digging."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Prospects are resurrected by a member of their new Family and inked accordingly.

~Four Horsemen Prospect Handbook

* * *

The sun set as the prospects finished digging the graves. Jag was whistling "Dig a Hole in the Meadow", keeping rhythm with their movements. Shep sat next to Voo on the tailgate of a white pick-up. He'd been silent as he'd watched Pretty Boy shovel dirt under the red-streaked sky.

His mind had gotten stuck, replaying last night on repeat—every raw, aching moment, every desperate clasp and hitched breath—until he squirmed in his seat. He didn’t know how to feel. He was in love with the man he was about to bury six feet deep.

"What's on your mind, brother?" Voo asked in his soft, lilting Creole accent.

Shep lit a smoke. "Grave-diggin’."

"Yeah, it's kind of hungry work," Crash said, pushing his shovel into the ground and stepping on the spade. "But it's done."

Shep stood and glanced at Axel for the go-ahead. When Axel nodded, he waved his hand and Voo, Goat, and Ryker stepped with him. They each stood before a grave. Shep swallowed as he met Pretty Boy's eyes across the chasm of dirt. "Strip."

"Pardon?" Fetch jerked to the side. "You gotta be fucking with us, right?"

"'Fraid not," Cowboy said. "Naked you came unto this earth, and naked you shall return to it."

Muffled grumbling and cursing followed. Pretty Boy straightened his shoulders. "Pull you shit together, bros. You gonna let a little nap in the dirt be what stops you?"

"Fuck no," Crash said grimly. He yanked his shirt over his head and unbuckled his belt. "Any of you who don't want self-esteem problems for the rest of your life, avert your eyes."

They followed suit. Shep tucked his hands behind his back, fists clenched as he watched Pretty Boy strip. Their eyes met and he bit his lip. He couldn't stop this. He had to let him go through this, and when he came out the other side, he'd be protected for the rest of his life. He'd have something to belong to.

He directed the prospects to lower their coffins and follow them down. They each stood, naked, in their coffins. Shep nodded to Pretty Boy.

"For they know!" he shouted.

"When their Shepherd is nigh!" they called back.

"Prospect in Charge will lead the prayer," Shep instructed. This part they had practiced, though the guys hadn't known they'd be in actual graves when they recited it.

Pretty Boy cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. His voice was steady, but Shep could sense his hesitation. "Now I lay me down to sleep, And pray The Horsemen my soul to reap. Should I die before I wake, let it be for my brothers' sake."

Crash, Fetch and Dash repeated it in unison.

"Tonight—if you survive—you rise from these graves Horsemen," Axel intoned. The brothers behind him raised their fists in the air, giving full-throated shouts of approval. "I can't tell you how long you'll be down there for. But if you turn chicken-shit, there's a bell hooked to your air tube. Ring the bell and you're out of the MC."

Pretty Boy looked each of his prospect brothers in the eye. They grimly nodded and settled in. Once they'd each lain down in the pine boxes, he and the other Horsemen jumped down to close the lids. A large circle was cut out of each of them.

 Shep caught one last look at Pretty Boy's face, a glimpse of brave face and wide pupils, before he started nailing the lid down—just a few nails. Ceremonial shit really. Still made him want to vomit, though. Axel and Coyote passed them down seven-foot-tall PVC pipes and they fixed them in the hole so the prospects could breathe.

Then they started toppling dirt back into the graves.

As they finished up, Axel threw his brother a beer. "You about ready to hit the road? We got to drop off that shit Mom put together for Royal. And I'd like to get back in time to catch some Z's before the opening ride."

Royal was a brother from another chapter, who’d happened to be a fugitive at the moment. Shep hadn’t gotten the full story yet, but it appeared he qualified as a brother in need.

"Yeah, I already got it loaded in a cage out front." Ryker took a long swig. A ‘cage’ was any vehicle that wasn’t a bike. "Long as I drive."

"You'd think I get out of some of this shit being Prez," Axel muttered.

"Family is a cross we all have to bear, brother." Jagger clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Damn shame Royal couldn't be here for the rally."

"Too much heat in town for a man on the run." Ryker shook his head. "You guys good here?"

"We're good." Voo rolled his shoulders. "Give Royal my love."

Axel tossed Shep a set of keys. "Lock her up tight for me, okay? Otherwise Dani will have my ass."

Shep nodded, his eyes still fixed on the soft dirt Pretty Boy lay beneath. He'd always assumed he'd take Pretty Boy into the Famine Family. He'd talked it over with Duke, gotten him on board. But now … he was having doubts. How he felt about Pretty Boy had to be written all over Shep’s face every time they got close.  No fucking way. And there was a damn good chance they’d run his ass out of the MC if they knew.

The rule in question was, “Don’t do gay shit to other brothers.” Shep had witnessed the club Joker had run back in the day, albeit from a distance. They were not gay friendly. And now? Hard to say. And once he brought it up, if the reactions didn’t go well, he wouldn’t be able to take it back.

His father’s voice whispered from his memory,
“No son of mine’s going to be a fag. I’m a man of the church.”

He'd spent the last five years working to get Noah under the protection of the Four Horsemen. Becoming a member himself, securing Noah the MC protected tattoo. Then yanking him into the fold at the first opportune vulnerable moment. He'd surrounded him with lethal, bad-ass motherfuckers who'd have his back.

Especially when Shep couldn't. When Shep failed.

Shep knew he was sitting up on a fence post, acting like he didn’t' have to choose. He thought he'd chosen a different path a long time ago, but maybe he'd always been stuck here at this crossroads.

The MC or Noah.

Voo passed him a beer as the sounds of Shep's cousins roaring off faded into the night. "You'll be digging him back up in no time, brother."

Shep smiled tightly, wishing Voo couldn't read him so well. He said softly, "No, Voo. I don't think I will be."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

You have no closer brothers than the Horsemen Family you’re adopted into.

~Four Horsemen Prospect Handbook

* * *

As the Texas dirt hit the top of his coffin, Pretty Boy twined his fingers around the air tube they'd built out of PVC. It was dark and too warm, the sound of dirt falling over him making him queasy. And he had no idea how long they would leave him down here.

But he didn't give two fucks. He'd stay down here however long it took. Because once it was over, Shep would dig him up. He'd be in the Four Horseman, in Shep's family of Famine, and they could spend the rest of their days figuring out whatever the fuck had been going on between them for way too fucking long.

Shep would never cut and run on the MC. Pretty Boy knew that with absolute certainty. So Pretty Boy could relax and stop worrying about when the rug would get swept out from under him, when he'd be left to fend for himself again. Shep would be here as long as Pretty Boy was in the MC.

He was pretty sure he'd grown up enough to not fuck that up too much and get kicked out. Basically, all he really had to do was not snitch to the Feds, right?

He winced, mentally apologizing to Cap.

The sound of falling dirt had stopped, leaving him in an unnerving silence. He took a few slow, deep breaths and forced his muscles to relax. Being so close to achieving his goal, Pretty Boy couldn’t help but think about the night it had all started. The night that had led to the mind-blowing, fucking spiritual orgasm he'd had last night with Shep. The night his dad had walked out on them almost kissing and everything had just spun out of control.

When Shep had finally left him in the yard with his dad, he hadn't known what to do with himself. He'd realized he couldn’t keep living in this house anymore. He'd been contemplating whether or not his mom's latest lover would be willing to let her shack up there long enough for him to figure them a permanent way out. His mind went right back there again.