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  DEVIL SMOKE

  Copyright © 2015 Max Henry

  Published by Max Henry

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, including electronic or mechanical, without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Max Henry is in no way affiliated with any brands, songs, musicians, or artists mentioned in this book.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you are reading this eBook and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it to the seller and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Published: November 2015, by Max Henry [email protected]

  Edited by: Lauren McKellar

  Cover Image: Eric Battershell

  Cover Model: Don Allen

  Cover Design: Louisa of LM Creations

  Formatting by: Max Effect

  NOTE TO READERS

  Devil Smoke is fifth in the Butcher Boys series and needs to be read in sequence to be fully appreciated.

  If you haven’t already, please read the series in the following order:

  Devil You Know

  Devil on Your Back

  Devil May Care

  Devil in the Detail

  Devil Smoke

  PROLOGUE

  From the moment we’re born, we’re graded. How well we feed as a baby, how fast our tiny bodies grow, our first word, our first step. And all the while our parents wonder, is it enough? Are they doing enough?

  This fear of the inadequate, this need to fit in with what’s associated as ‘normal’ is passed on to us as children. We start school, join a sports team, and again we’re critiqued on whether our best efforts are enough. Did we get acceptable marks on that last test? Did we score a home run in the weekend’s game?

  Enough.

  Who’s to decide if we’re enough? Surely if you manage to get up each morning with your health intact, then that’s a success on it’s own? What is it about the human psyche that constantly seeks affirmation that what a person does is acceptable by the standards of their peers?

  I want to give you a fairytale about a man who carried the burdens of expectation with him day to day and found a way to shake them. I want to give you a fairytale about a man whose fear of inadequacy was shaken, and who found an acceptance of himself that allowed him to make choices without hesitation.

  But I can’t, because life has no magic eraser. Ailments of the mind are never cured, simply managed.

  No. All I can offer you on this gifted day, wherever you are, is the promise that this story—my story—can prove that sometimes our demons don’t need to be fought. That sometimes, the only way to win is to play the same game. That sometimes, all it takes is the comfort of a kindred soul for you to be able to dance in the dark, hand in hand with the monsters that have hidden under your bed since that day you first failed and weren’t enough.

  Because you know what?

  You are enough.

  So get up and fucking believe it.

  SLIDE

  Bronx

  “You don’t have to do this.” Ty leans forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. “Nobody’s forcing you to.”

  I hesitate with the card poised over the four lines of coke I’d been cutting, and sigh. “Man, you know as well as I do that the people you’re fuckin’ sending me in to slaughter with do this shit for breakfast. If I’m goin’ to have to get wasted, I want my first hit to be among people I trust.”

  He nods, and eases back in his chair. The scowl on his face tells me he’s still not convinced.

  I can’t expect him to understand. Ty was married to the stuff for years. It almost killed him twice. He’s worked hard to get himself away from the grip cocaine had on him, and here I am willingly sticking it up my nose when I’m the perfect example of health and wellbeing.

  Crazy.

  But it’s a necessary evil if I’m going to convince not only Eddie’s crew but also myself that I can be a part of their world.

  Hooch sits to my left, rolling a dollar bill into a makeshift straw. He inspects the job I’ve done cutting the powder ready to snort, and nods. “You want first rights?”

  I stare down at the stuff, and shake my head. “Nah, you go first.”

  He shrugs as though it’s my loss, and pulls the tray of goods towards him. A couple of deep breaths later, and two of the lines are gone. Hooch holds the bill out toward me, and I take it, eyeing the end that’s been stuck up his nose.

  “Brother, you can’t get squeamish about shit like that,” Hooch says with a laugh.

  “It’s better if you don’t think about where half the gear you’ll use comes from,” Ty agrees. “It’s not always clean, but when people are that far gone they don’t care. Best you can do is avoid it by carrying your own kit.”

  I scrub a hand over my face, feeling like such a newbie to all of this still. Give me a room loaded with iron and I’ll make myself at home, but throw me in to a room full of recreational drug users and I feel as green as the first day I stepped foot inside a gym—confused and not sure where to start.

  “Dive in, brother.” Hooch pushes the remaining lines my way.

  I ignore the pointed stare coming from Ty’s chair and lean over, sticking the dollar in my nostril and blocking the other to take the first line. The bitter taste hits the back of my throat, and I swallow a couple of times before switching nostrils and inhaling the last line. My nose tingles, and I wriggle it side-to-side trying to shake the creeping numbness. I glower at Hooch as he rumbles a deep laugh beside me, rubbing a finger under his nose as he does.

  Ty watches on, serious as a heart attack.

  “How you feel?” Hooch asks.

  I look around the room, at everybody going about their business like my body isn’t about to crack out some crazy reaction. I’ve been warned what it feels like. I was prepped on what to expect, but the unknown, the knowledge there’s no turning back now has me on a high of its own.

  “Not so different,” I say, leaning back in my seat.

  “Give it a minute.”

  Ty shifts in his seat, fingering the ankle of his jeans, all the while trying not to look at the gear still laid out on the table. He’s failing miserably at hiding the war waging within as he stares intently at the dollar bill that’s slowly unfurling itself beside the small metal tray. I’m just thankful Hooch had the foresight to make sure there was just enough of this shit for the two of us, otherwise my gut tells me we’d be wrestling Ty off the table.

  “Things still going good at the Lion?” Ty asks, rubbing a hand over his face with a grimace.

  “Yeah,” I answer, placing my hands behind my head. “Got given an invite to a party or some shit tomorrow. Details are sketchy on where it is, but from what I found out, Eddie’s supposed to be there.”

  Hooch elbows me in the side. “On the up, eh, brother?”

  I laugh, dropping my hands to my sides. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

  “How did you find that out?” Ty asks.

  “Old biker named Horse,” I say. “Dude’s at the bar most nights, so naturally I struck up conversation with him. Guy’s a hard shot, but he seems genuine enough. I asked about where people were scoring, and he t
old me about this crack house an hour out of town.”

  “Who does he ride with?” Hooch asks, crossing an ankle to his knee.

  “Unit called the Devil’s Breed.”

  “Based in Sioux City,” Hooch explains to Ty. “What’s he doin’ in Omaha?”

  “Not patched in anywhere. Guy’s a nomad.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “You ready for the next stage?” Ty asks warily. “You up to talking to Eddie?”

  I smile at my best friend, wondering why exactly it is he thinks I’m not. “Fuck yeah. I’m born to do this shit.”

  Ty narrows his gaze.

  “What?” I rise from my seat, grabbing a club slut around the waist as she passes by. “You said it yourself—I’m the best fit for this job. You changin’ your mind, man?” I run my nose up her neck, eliciting a groan from the slim brunette.

  Ty slides his gaze over to Hooch and shakes his head. “I think it’s hit.”

  Hooch laughs, throwing his head back. “Yeah, brother, I think it has.”

  I look between the two of them, my face aching with the smile I’m sporting. I don’t even know why I’m grinning, let alone what the fuck is so funny. “Why you assholes laughin’? Thought I had this shit nailed,” I say, gesturing to the gear on the table.

  “Yeah, brother,” Hooch says, still chuckling. “You’ve got it nailed all right.”

  I flop back into my seat, bringing the slut with me. Her bony ass digs into the tops of my thighs, her oversize belt that masquerades as a skirt riding up to her naked crotch. Feeling at ease in my skin and fucking high on life itself, I watch a couple of prospects argue over something at the bar while I run my hand up over her bare pussy. She writhes about on my lap, turning her head to kiss me, but copping my jaw instead when I turn away. Not after you for that, love. King steps in to split the two prospects up, and it’s not until I catch myself eyeing every glint of light that reflects off his watch while he gestures wildly at the pair, that I realize Hooch and Ty were right—the coke is taking hold.

  Nothing to it.

  “You feelin’ good?” Hooch asks.

  “She’s feelin’ good,” I say with a laugh, planting my hand firmly over the slut’s box to shunt her further up my lap.

  Ty stands abruptly from his seat and marches across to the bar in a right fucking mood. If the guy has an issue with me doing dust and fucking sluts, he should have thought about that before he volunteered me for the role. Fuck him. This stint with Eddie’s crew is going to be a piece of cake—too damn easy for a guy like me.

  I’ve got this.

  “What do you think?” Hooch asks, slapping me on the leg to get my attention. “Think you can pull this stunt off?”

  I grin at the guy, my fingers buried in the moaning slut’s cunt, and nod. “Of course I can, you tool. It is me you’re askin’.”

  “Thought you might say that.”

  He smiles at me and gets out of his seat to go join Ty at the bar. I kick my feet up next to the residue on the table and recline back, opening up the woman’s legs as I do.

  Ty’s got nothing to worry about. He’s given the job to the best man.

  I’ll show these fuckers how to take down a drug crew, single handed, and still have time to polish my boots.

  DROP IT LIKE IT’S HOT

  Bronx

  Rubbing the underside of my nose, I step through the front gates of the house the party’s being held at. Moonlight casts eerie shadows across the cars parked on the lawn, semi-blocking the path. The shit Hooch hooked me up with is taking its hold—I feel on top of the fucking world. Mentally dialing it in, I step up to the front door and shell out my house fee to the ’roided-up asshole blocking the entranceway. He steps aside, eyeballing me as I pass by. Fuck him. What the fuck do I care? I’ve made it in to one of Eddie’s parties, and tonight I plan on showing those assholes back in Lincoln why it is they picked me to do the job.

  A simple objective on paper, but one that’s laced with danger. I have to get close enough to Eddie to have access to his network of dealers. I need to be trusted enough to have a chance at that information. And once I have it, I have to make myself scarce before he realizes that somebody on the inside is bleeding the information to the Fallen Saints. The rest . . . it’s up to King. Once I’ve played my part I’m out, walking away from this and looking for a warm place to have a long overdue vacation.

  Somewhere to sit and think about what I want from the rest of my life.

  Heavy metal thunders out of huge speakers set up both inside and outside of the house, Slipknot singing something about the devil inside as I make my way through the open plan living area to hunt out Horse. Empty bottles line every available flat surface, overflowing ashtrays spilling their contents onto the carpet where they sit, and discarded food trays are stacked haphazardly on a lamp table jammed in one corner. A couple sits tangled in each other on one of the two sofas, several more people leaning against the available wall space while they talk. A blonde woman dances to a slow and sensual tune only she can hear in the middle of the room, providing a captivating show for two dirty fuckers sharing a pipe. All of ten people are in the place, and at least half are too wasted to move. The party’s everything I expected.

  I just hope there’s more.

  I make my way through the open doors and out onto the back deck, stepping out of the lights inside the house and back into the welcoming dark. A bonfire rages in the middle of the lawn, providing light for the people scattered around the yard in closed groups. A couple of young women dance around the flames while people of all ages sit on upturned crates and piles of scrap timber, drinks or smokes in hand.

  “Thought you’d show your face after all?”

  I jolt after a hard slap to the back, and turn to face Horse. “You think I wouldn’t?”

  “Never doubted you.” He gives me a shunt to the shoulder, which damn near throws me off balance all over again.

  The guy’s a unit: six-four on a quiet day, and built like a fuckin’ bulldozer. A mess of copper hair falls around his face, partly hiding the lines of weather and age that give away his years. Arms like tree trunks sprout from his well-worn T-shirt, scars lining the flesh in raised lines. He’s seen his fair share of violence over the years—that much is clear—but as rough as the asshole looks, there’s something that sets me at ease around him—probably the leather cut he wears which states his allegiance to the Devil’s Breed.

  Call me weak, but I’ve kind of developed a trust for the Harley-riding type during the last few months.

  “You thirsty?” Horse asks. “Let’s get you a drink, you lonely fucker.”

  He throws his arm around my shoulders and steers past a group of men who talk and drink in a tight circle, leading me toward a steel drum cut lengthways, filled with ice and cold brews. I take the drink Horse offers, and look around for something to pop the top off with. He chuckles, snatching the bottle from my grip and ripping the top off with his teeth.

  “Fuckin’ soft these days,” he mutters, handing it back.

  I take the drink and tip it his way with a grin before downing half the cool beverage.

  “Who you here with?” I ask, looking around the yard for more Devil’s Breed cuts.

  “My old lady,” Horse says with a grin. “Left the others behind tonight. Half the bastards don’t trust this lot anyway, so I’m hard pressed to get the assholes to front.”

  “Why do you come then?” Nomad or not, it’s unusual to see a biker out on his own amongst a crowd that’s seems more foe than friend given the stares he’s getting. Or is that because of me?

  “What can I say?” Horse looks around the yard at the mix of people enjoying the hospitalities. “They have good grit.” His expression falls and his eyes glaze over as he stares out into nothing.

  “You goin’ to introduce me to your lady, then?” I give him a gentle nudge with my elbow to snap him out of wherever he’s gone.

  “When she gets back from the john, sure.” Horse
shakes his head with a chuckle—about what, I’m not exactly sure. He reaches into the drum to get himself a drink. “You’ve never told me why it is I don’t see you with anyone,” he points out, tapping the top of his bottle into my chest before opening it. “Why’s a pretty boy like you always showin’ up on his own to the Lion?”

  I shrug, wondering if things would be any different if I wasn’t undercover. I’ve never had trouble finding a woman when I need one, but none of them ever stay. And certainly none of them leave on good enough terms for me to be able to call up for a night out. “Haven’t found a woman who sticks yet.”

  Horse makes a knowing grunt, and throws the hand holding his bottle out to gesture towards the house. “Here comes mine now.”

  I cut my gaze across the back yard to see a blonde woman in what appears to be her forties crossing the lawn toward us, a huge smile on her face. She looks every bit the part, decked out in black leather pants and with an off-the-shoulder leopard-print top underneath her leather vest. She throws her arms around Horse’s neck, giving him a kiss and providing me with a clear view of the property patch claiming her as his.

  “Bronson, this is my old lady, Molly.”

  I ignore the niggling feeling of dishonesty hearing Horse use the name Ty decided would be best for me, and nod in her direction. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.” Theory was, going by my actual name was too risky, so Ty thought it best to choose a name that sounds similar, saving me the hassle of trying to remember what I answer to. Bronson, Bronx, there’s barely anything between them, but enough to keep my anonymity.

  I hate it.

  Molly laughs and slaps a hand against my chest. “Please. I’m no ma’am. I’m not well behaved enough to be treated so ‘properly’.”

  “Got your hands full with this one, have you, Horse?” I tease.

  He smiles down at his lady. “In the best way.”

  A broken piece of my heart jabs painfully in my chest watching the adoration they have for each other. Playing pretend is one thing, getting smashed on coke is apparently becoming another, but I’m still the same guy at heart—a guy longing for that companionship that everybody but me has. All I want out of life is to be enough for someone to want to call their own.