Sweet Torment

By Angelique Voisen

The apocalypse came and went, but hell is just about to break loose in Wolf County.

Everyone knows the rules. Those who mess with the biker Sweet, always end up in the dirt. Ruthless, unchained and free, Sweet screws the way he rides...until he meets Phoenix.

A vicious player arrives in town and the Hellhounds need to keep the bloodshed to a minimum. The Collector takes young men captive, breaks them to see them burn, and Phoenix is his brightest star yet. Rules exist so Sweet could break them, but taking Phoenix for his own might mean his end and the end of the club.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evernight Publishing
• Release date: Feb 5, 2016
• ISBN: 9781772337075

Angelique Voisen

Angelique Voisen writes LGBTQ erotic romances and likes experimenting with different sub-genres. Her stories are often set in exotic settings and may include blades, fangs, kinky magic systems, and happily-ever-afters. Visit Angelique at www.angelvoisen.blogspot.com

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Published by Evernight Publishing ® at Smashwords

www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2016 Angelique Voisen

ISBN: 978-1-77233-707-5

Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

Editor: Kerry Genova

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION

To my readers, I hope you enjoy Sweet and Phoenix’s story as much as I loved writing it.

SWEET TORMENT

Hellhounds MC, 3

Angelique Voisen

Copyright © 2016

Prologue

Past

The world burned. Not consumed by a literal fire, but the T-11 virus devoured and left everything it touched in cinders and ashes either way. Smoke curled. Haze festered. Spread like wildfire from one state to the next. North America and South America followed, and then entire continents.

Order and civilization took a hard fall, and Sweet laughed while it happened. Born in a time the supernatural were hunted down like animals, how could he not?

Sweet and Reaper crawled from the worst part of town after their human drug-addicted mother died and they had no idea who their fucker shifter father was. They learned fast and hard. Built their lives brick by brick, but the tables were finally turned.

Some called the virus the Silent Killer, most called it the Fall. Later, the survivors would scavenge information. Piece together the puzzles of the initiative and learned the T-11 was supposed to target members of the supernatural community and kill them. Instead, it killed some humans, turned the rest to monsters, left some insane, and others intact.

The engine of Sweet’s bike purred underneath him, coaxing him to ride faster. Go on full throttle.

Slow down, you crazy bastard, Reaper yelled behind him.

Sweet knew he should. Instead, he ignored his brother and kept the lead. Visibility became a trying task on the roads with the leak of the T-11 haze, but he didn’t care. Adrenaline sung in his veins. Wind whipped at his face. Sweet felt high, although he hadn’t taken any extra boost over the past few hours.

Along the road, Sweet spotted abandoned vehicles and the ruins of a smoking roadhouse where a couple of infected humans probably went bonkers and torched the place. Not the first time Sweet saw the effects of the T-11 firsthand. After Denver collapsed and its mortal denizens wrecked everything in sight before turning on each other, Sweet and Reaper decided to avoid cities.

This is a fucking golden age we live in, brother, Sweet yelled over his shoulder.

Some men, even the better ones, cowered, caved, and broke under the yoke of the apocalypse. Not Sweet or his brother Reaper. Blood was always thicker than water, and they stuck by each other no matter what.

To get by, they took odd jobs. Fought in the MMA underground circuit for a while, but in truth they were nomads. They restlessly rode from one town to the next, dodging hunters, who seemed to swell in numbers with each passing day. They killed some of the bloodthirsty fuckers but that ended when the few became the many.

These days, folks no longer gave a fuck about the war between humans and the supernatural. Everyone wanted to get by. Survive.

Reaper said nothing, but Sweet heard the rumble of his hybrid piece of shit on wheels. Then again, his brother didn’t speak unless he deemed it necessary, but Sweet could sense his disapproval.

They’d never been close when they were kids. Getting the bite bound them together. Sweet losing his mate and never coming back right made that bond tighter. Reaper chose to be Sweet’s silent shadow, although Sweet never asked the silent fucker to. Sweet supposed without Reaper to anchor him, he’d probably be back in the dirt.

Minutes dragged to hours. Days. Weeks. The long road became harder. Tougher. Their supplies and gas dwindled, although they could rely on changing to their second forms to hunt for food. The shit grew old. Sweet eventually gave in.

Where’s this supposed fucking piece of nirvana, this last place of heaven you mentioned that’s run by a bunch of crazy bastards? Sweet asked.

They killed their engines and parked their bikes on the side of the empty road.

He couldn’t remember how much time had passed. Red waste rose on either side of them. Sand as far as the eye could see. Lingering in ramshackle towns or refugee camps wasn’t an option. Most of the groups that took control of these places often saw Sweet and Reaper as a potential threat. They moved on.

Was the world still riding the aftereffects of the T-11? He thought living in chaos had its merits. Sweet wanted to raise hell, but where would he get his kicks if the rest of the world wanted to lie down and die?

West. Maybe a week’s ride from here, Reaper said. I know one of the Hellhounds there. Every member of the club has a dirty past. Viper says if we’re willing to do the work, we’ll have no problems getting patched in.

Sweet snorted. I never imagined us settling down.

Eventually, we’re going to run out of road, Reaper said in that fucking annoying quiet voice of his that grated on Sweet’s nerves. Stay in the Wastelands and die or live with others like us. Your choice.

Sweet looked away, disgusted, about to mount his bike and ride away when he caught sight of the ghost. Hunger and thirst might have made him hallucinate, but he saw Luke, as clear as day standing in the distance.

The human looked the same way he died, wearing Sweet’s battered leather jacket, two sizes too big for him, and wearing a sad little smile as if he knew a secret he didn’t want to share. Perfect grin on tempting lips Sweet liked to see swollen. Perfect until the drunk driver ran him over.

Sweet never denied his nature. He lacked what some men possessed in abundance—decency, morals, inherent goodness, yet Luke took that all in.

His breath caught in his throat. Those couple of seconds, Sweet made himself vulnerable, susceptible to reason.

You fucking left me. You have no right haunting me, Sweet said hoarsely. Phantom Luke tilted his head and slowly lifted his arm to point west. To Wolf County, where monsters ruled the last piece of heaven on earth.

Made your decision? Reaper asked.

Yeah, you smug bastard.

Pissed, Sweet swung a leg over his bike and checked his gas. The tank was half-empty, but if they were lucky, they could probably trade some if they were heading back to what passed for civilization these days. Worse comes to worse, they’d dispense their bikes, human skin, and run in their second forms. They’d eventually get to Wolf County.

Sweet clutched his handlebars, calmed his breathing before revving up his bike and kicking a storm of dirt.

He had no fucking clue why one glimpse of Luke could sway him, but Luke came to him for a reason. Someday, he’d find out why. Today, they rode out of the waste and headed west.

Chapter One

Present

Sweet took a long drag of his cigarette and glanced briefly at the club rent boy servicing his cock before returning his gaze to Reaper. Only two of them in the Hellhounds clubhouse now, along with the prospects and old timers.

No matter how hard Sweet tried containing the rage festering inside him, it kept threatening to spill over. Consume him. Make him want to do something he’d probably regret later on, like screw up the club’s fucking carefully planned operation.

Serious enough business that the club leaders left loose cannons like Sweet out. The assholes sure had balls putting Reaper and him on useless guard duty. Sure, Sweet would rather raise hell rather than be helpful, but it still galled him they had been left here with the newbies and walking skeletons.

Calm the fuck down, Reaper snapped.

He offered Sweet a cold bottle of beer, but Sweet shook his head in annoyance. Resigned, Reaper took the easy chair beside the leather couch Sweet reclined on. In the background, rock metal pounded from speakers. Lazy afternoon sunlight streaked through the club’s newly repaired windows. It didn’t take long for the Hellhounds to rebuild after the last attack on the town.

Fucking blows me why our bastard president would want to meet the asshole who sent those slavers with the armed rigs weeks ago, Sweet muttered.

Rina, one of the club whores, boldly stalked over to his brother. She showed him a glimpse of bare pussy underneath the tight leather fabric that passed for a skirt before spilling into his lap. Like Reaper, Sweet