Captured: Red Horsemen #1 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Raven Amor

  Dedication

  Ice

  Rae

  Rae

  Rae

  Ice

  Ice

  Ice

  Rae

  Rae

  Rae

  Ice

  Ice

  Rae

  Rae

  Rae

  Ice

  Rae

  Rae

  Rae

  Ice

  Ice

  Rae

  Ice

  Ice

  Rae

  Ice

  Rae

  Ice

  Ice

  Rae

  Ice

  Pre-Order Claimed!

  Acknowledgements

  About Raven

  Books by Raven

  Captured

  First Edition published in 2021.

  Text Copyright ©Raven Amor

  All rights reserved.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Editing by Imogen Wells

  Cover Design by TRC Designs

  Interior Formatting by TRC Designs

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means; electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover, other than that in which it is published, without the prior written permission of the author.

  Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  To my Tribe-love you, ladies.

  WARNING: Adult content. Explicit sexual content and violence. This a dark romance, don't expect a fairy tale.

  This is part one and ends in a cliffhanger.

  I walk over to the guy in the bar, not saying a word, but people move out the way as if I’m Moses parting the fucking Red Sea. I’m not biblical. Fuck, I would catch on fire if I ever stepped into a church. There isn’t enough holy water to save my soul. No, I’m the darkest myth brought to reality. The devil himself.

  Wayne turns just as I approach. “Ice, man?” I don’t speak to him but feel my lips curl back, baring my teeth. I feel the weight of my brothers beside me. I yank him off his stool before chucking him to the floor, lifting my boot, I kick him in the face. Blood covers the onlookers, who all start backing away. I bend down.

  “You think you can sell on Horsemen turf? Where’s Cane?” A garbled groan comes from his lips as blood spills over. When I see movement to my right, I drop Wayne’s head back down and smirk as Lance’s steps falter. I swing my fist, hearing the bone of his jaw crack. Fuck, is it made of glass? Before landing one in his gut, that has him bent over heaving, I lift my boot, kicking him to the ground in the same bloody mess as his friend.

  Two of their sidekicks try jumping over the bar, but Rev grabs one as I grab the other.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going,” I spit in his face, slamming my head into his, causing him to fall like a loose noodle. I watch Rev grab the other one, slamming his knee into his face before tossing him to the floor like a rag.

  When the sound of smashing glass has my head whipping to the side, I see Cane scrambling over the crates towards the back door. Jumping the table, I hear cursing behind me knowing my brothers hate their VP going ahead. It’s too late now; the blood is pumping too hard, and anger taints my vision like a bloodthirsty animal. I had a taste, but it wasn’t enough. I need to quench the hunger.

  Pushing the door open into the back alley, I know Cane is still here because I can sense him. Like the vermin he is and hiding amongst the trash.

  “Die like a fucking man,” I growl, my fingers hovering over my piece.

  When I sense the movement behind me, I turn to see Cane. His gun trained on me. “I’m not going to fucking die here in the same place as my old man.”

  “Should have thought of that before selling on our turf.”

  I watch as dark figures step up behind him, and before Cane has a chance to react, Rev and Cas have him on his knees, the gun on the floor.

  I walk up to him, picking it up, smirking at the irony as I squeeze his jaw until his mouth opens. I shove the barrel in, hearing the crack of his front teeth. My grin grows as he moans painfully around the metal as I force it down his throat until he is heaving.

  “You were going to shoot me? Kill me?” Snot and tears cover his face as he shakes his head. His eyes begging me for his life. Begging for a mercy I will never give.

  I turned my humanity off a long time ago.

  Pulling the gun out, a thread of snot follows. Relief shines momentarily in his eyes before I raise the gun, and he opens his mouth to plead. A shot vibrates through the alley as he falls back, eyes still open. I stand there watching the dark pool gather around him. The color drains from his eyes as his soul escapes, and I feel jealous. He is free. No longer held in this hell. A prisoner to his addictions and own mind.

  I look up at the old wooden sign, flicking my eyes to the wrinkled paper in my hand and making sure I have the right address. The shop is rustic, and a sheen of dust covers the window as though it’s stuck in a time capsule. I almost expect a group of cowboys to step out, tilting their hats in greeting. The only thing giving away it’s more modern is the black, gothic looking sign.

  Fuck it’s hot. The air burns like the fires of Hell as it licks over my skin and dryness from the dust coats the back of my throat. I take a breath, remembering why I am here.

  Pushing open the door, a brass bell goes off overhead. I almost laugh out loud at its delicate, tinkling sound. It is so out of place to the rest of the deco. The four walls are deep cherry in color with ebony frames of artwork. The floor is checked black and white and a black leather couch, that you can tell is used often from the permanent indents, sits against the right wall. A glass table sits in front with a few magazines that are covered with tattoo models and some black portfolios.

  I’m immediately drawn towards the artwork. It’s amazing, true artistry. Most of the work is dark, devils, grim reapers, and skulls. You cannot deny the workmanship in each of the designs. Whoever has drawn them has some incredible kick-ass talent. I can’t stop from reaching out and tracing the lines of a magnificent black and grey dragon with the tip of my finger.

  It wasn’t like most dragons other artist like to ink; it lacked the oriental style. It didn’t hold the bold lines, they were finer. Instead, it crossed over to a realistic style. The tattooist had used white to highlight the scales, smoothing out the transitions between the shades, giving it a 3D effect that made the dragon look like it was just about to take flight. Breathtaking.

  I turn, hearing a loud exhale, to see a girl, I’m guessing is around twenty. Her hair is dyed burgundy, tumbling around her shoulders and down her back. Blue eyes, the same color as forget-me-nots, and full lashes fan them making them pop.

  Her face is flawless, free of makeup and the color of porcelain. I am shocked to see she has virginal skin. Well, no ink that I could see. After only two days in the first shop I worked, I was under the gun having my skin branded. Now, I have a grey shaded skull covering my shoulder, with a red rose coming from its mouth and dripping with pearls and a butterfly. A grey clock with hands stopped at nine, and three blood-red roses. The date 18.10.17 is written in Roman numerals. A new piece that starts on my hip and curves around my leg is of a dreamcatcher and feathers. Down one side of my torso are the words ‘color in the dark world’ with watercolors splashed down my ribs.

  Some people try to hide their scars using ink to cover them. I use it to show mine. Every piece is a part of the story that I have lived and fought to survive. You can’t tell by looking at them, but I know.

  Her brow raises, an expression somewhere between pissed off and bored. Resting bitch face. I’m the queen of that look. Placing a hip against the desk, she pins me with a glare.

  “Look, it’s been a long day, so I’ll get straight to the point. Sketch is busy. He doesn’t want to fuck you.” She must see something cross my face, so she carries on, “Look, sweetheart, it isn’t personal.” She nods, waving her hand up and down my body. “Those tits and that ass. Still, it doesn’t matter.” She shrugs. “Don’t bother giving me your number. As soon as you leave, I will chuck it. He already has as much free pussy as he can get from the club. He doesn’t need or want some ink bunny,” she finishes.

  Ink bunny! I tilt my head to the side and take a deep breath. Trying to control my anger. I shouldn’t let her get under my skin, but I’m tired and edgy.

  I’m used to people judging me by how I look, the clothes I wear, and the ink branded on my skin. But an ink bunny? I’ve worked in enough shops to know the women she’s talking about. They hang around the shop and the artist like flies. Love the taste of ink and would fall into any of their beds.

  I bite my tongue, until I can taste the metallic undertones, to stop my mouth running away with me. I know she is only doing her job. I don’t want to argue with her. It isn’t her fault I had to pack up my life once again. That I just arrived, after driving almost nonstop for the last week across the country to get here. Finally, after years of running, I followed my mom’s last words to come to Harrison. In what? Desperation? Curiosity?

  “If you ever find the sun missing
from your sky, go there. Promise me.”

  Mom had grown up in the small, quaint town of Harrison, on the edges of southern Arizona. Surrounded by red sands and heat that made you feel like the devil himself lives here, and tall mountains that looked as if their peaks touched the sky. It wasn’t her favorite memory. Mom could never hide the pain that crossed her beautiful face every time she mentioned it. Her brown eyes would glass over and seem to be unfocused lost in a memory. That was when she would tell me to come here if ever the sun disappeared.

  My sun had fallen from its sky a long time ago.

  Maybe that was it? I missed its warmth and its light.

  I’ve become too familiar with the dark, and it has become my friend, my solace and protector.

  I bite my cheek from saying what I really want to, but she needs to understand something. “I’m not looking for any ink, and I am certainly not looking to hook-up with some guy called Sketch, or any other guy in fact...I am here for the job.”

  I wasn’t lying on both counts. I have all the ink I want, and I’m not looking to date anyone.

  My heart is still unscathed, but the rest of me is like a cracked mirror, with sharp, ragged pieces, covered in blood and soul. I’ve felt the type of pain that alters you in a way that you’ll never be the same. It leaves you no choice but to change, to guard yourself against ever feeling hurt again.

  Now, I live by two rules: Never trust anyone and move on within a couple of months.

  I stay away from anything connecting me to a place, and that includes relationships and friends.

  Here isn’t going to be any different. I’m going to follow my mother’s last words, then leave.

  The girl’s brows drop as she peers at me as if searching for the truth. Apparently, she doesn’t find it, as she crosses her arms over her chest.

  “What’s your name?” Her voice holds a bite, ready to call me out on my bullshit.

  I put my hand out, smiling. It is one a pageant queen would be proud of. It’s the same fake one I use to cover my face every day.

  “Rae.”

  Her brows go into her hairline, eyes travel up as if she’s missing something. “You’re Rae?” It comes out slowly.

  I nod as slowly as her words. Then a wicked smirk, one that spells trouble, lights her face and mischief fills those blues.

  “Be right back.”

  Before she disappears through a backdoor, she glances over her shoulder one more time and grins at me.

  I focus on the buzz of the tattoo machine, which I can hear, and it makes my fingers twitch. It has only been a week, but it feels as if I’m going cold turkey, withdrawing, and now, this close, my body recognizes that sound. It hums with the buzz, and I want to get my hands on it. I needed it, craved it, even.

  As a kid, I loved to draw. It didn’t matter if it were crayons, chalk or pencils, anything I could get my hands on that made a mark, I was pulled to. I loved the sharp lines, and how they became something beautiful. My mother used to say I saw the world differently, that I saw beauty in everything. I used to agree with her. Only, life has shown me how wrong I was. Now, all I see is darkness and pain. Beauty is just a hallucination. A facade covering depravity, and the truth of what happens in this world, the true evil that doesn’t just exist on movie screens but walks past you on the street.

  It wasn’t until a few years ago, when I stopped in Vegas, that the girl who let me crash with her happened to be going out with an artist called Rex. He saw some of my drawings I had left out by mistake after another nightmare. Said he saw raw talent in my designs and invited me to come by to have a look and see how it all worked.

  I hadn’t even considered tattooing as art, but curiosity had me turning up at his shop, Marked. I will never forget my first time walking in there, the smell of antiseptic, the buzz of the machine.

  It sent a thrill through my body, something I hadn’t felt since I was young and had opened a whole case of watercolors for the first time. I still remember my mom’s words as she handed them to me. ‘This world needs more beauty and color, my darling, and you are the one to do it’.

  As soon as I held the gun in my hand it was like something clicked inside of me. How it felt, vibrated through me, sinking into my bones. It felt like a part of me. It wasn’t long before I found out that my flare was old school and old English.

  Rex said he hadn’t seen work like mine since ‘Jerry the Sailor’, which is the biggest compliment you could have in the ink world. Famous for his tattooing of sailors, his work was amazing and is still recognized today.

  The buzzing from the machine stops, followed by the low, husky sound of a guy’s voice. I’m too far away to make any sense of it, but he doesn’t sound happy.

  After a beat, heavy booted footsteps make their way closer. Sketch, I assume, stops in front of the door, his arms crossing over his broad chest, his stance intimidating. I rake my eyes over him. I might have been off men, so far out of the dating game, I wasn’t even in it, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t spot a good-looking guy when I saw one. I had no doubt Sketch had women falling into his bed whenever he snapped his fingers. I could almost see why the ink bunnies had such a hard time staying away.

  His dark hair was styled in a faux Mohawk, with the sides shaved. Fire flames were inked on each side in black and grey with hints of oranges and yellows. More tattoos covered his arms, including a skull on his right hand and the words ‘Ride Free’ across his knuckles.

  Towering over me and the other woman, his height matched by a hard as stone body that looked like he worked out. My eyes gravitated to the trimmed beard covering his strong jawline as his teeth scraped across the lip ring, with a matching ring through his eyebrow. Intense, deep, chocolate eyes appraise me and dismiss me as something dark ripples through them, lurking just beneath the surface.

  This man has demons. There is an air of danger that drapes around him like a blanket. A part of me understands it and wants to run as fast as possible, not wanting him to see my own. But I keep my feet rooted to the floor, even as I feel my heartbeat race. My nails biting into my skin, causing pain to keep me here and stopping me from sinking into the past.

  Sketch takes me in. He undresses me with a single look as he scans me from my blood-red heels to my dark raven hair.

  Like he is amused by me, his lips curve as if I’m the punch line of a joke that nobody’s told me about.

  It has my spine snapping straight as I tip my chin out. I am not a weak girl. Not anymore.

  How would he act if he knew he was facing a murderer? The invisible crimson that unquestionably covers his hands, drenches mine too.

  “Sorry, sweetheart, but the job is gone.”

  Trust no one.

  “I drove all week to get here! You said it was solid,” I hiss through my teeth. I’m far from the girl I grew up as, no pearls and poised smiles, or polished words cover me. His tongue would have been cut out and shoved back in until he choked on it back home for lying.

  What the hell am I going to do now? I only know how to ink. I could wait tables for a while, but that wouldn’t keep me over. I need to feel the machine in my hand, the buzz flowing through my body. It’s what grounded me, kept me from falling down the rabbit hole I always walked the edge of.

  I only planned to stay a month or two. It was coming up to my parent’s anniversary. Maybe that’s what made me come here. Following lost whispers of my dead mother. God, I’m going fucking crazy.

  The thought digs in its claws at my insides, holding me in its grip, as memories flood around me. Still able to hear the drip of their blood, the copper smell so strong. The tear that ran down her face, the way her pearls turned red. I will never erase it from my memory. Remembering the promise I made to their lifeless eyes.

  Sketch tilts his head, looking at me the same way the redhead had earlier, like I am a puzzle to solve. What’s the matter with this town?

  “What’s your name?” I tilt my chin higher and force my feet to hold me steady as those dark eyes drill into me, searching, questioning the secrets he no doubt sees in mine, but ones he will never find the answers to.

  “Rae. I sent you my portfolio. You said that the job was mine. Rex recommended me.”

  Rex is the only one who has even come close to seeing beneath the veil I hide behind. He had barely peeked over the walls, but as soon as I realized what was happening, I left. We’ve kept in contact every few months, but that’s it. I never made plans to call, to see him again. It’s safer that way. Sketch’s eyes widen, brow rising, as the girl tries to hide a laugh behind a cough, making my eyes dart between them both.