Into the Flames: Royal Bastards MC: Liverpool Chapter, #1

By Jessica Ames

Enjoy this dark motorcycle club romance from USA Today Bestselling romance author Jessica Ames...
 

GENEVIEVE

 

I've never played by the rules. Women don't run gangs, yet I'm the leader of the biggest one in Liverpool. No one knows I've stepped into my father's shoes and that I'm making changes. Taking on the Royal Bastards MC is not a good idea, but I want the wealth and power they have. I want my family's legacy to live on long after I'm gone. Doing that means making difficult decisions. I didn't expect the Royal Bastards to retaliate so savagely.

Now, I'm prisoner of their President, a man who goes by the name of Mouth. He's dangerous, vicious and he wants to make my father pay for crimes I've committed. Can I survive his wrath?

 

MOUTH

 

This prissy woman is a thorn in my side, but she's the only way to exact my revenge. Crossing the Bastards is an instant death sentence, and when I'm done with Genevieve, her father is going to beg for mercy I won't deliver. I'm not someone to cross without retribution and mine will be swift. I will destroy The Dockland Gang and every person associated with them, including Desmond's pretty little daughter. She's a doll I want play with and I will break her down piece by piece, because now that she's in my control I'm never letting her go.

 

All books in this universe can be read as standalones, but are better enjoyed read in order. This is a dark romantic story with a guaranteed happily ever after. It does have some strong language, graphic violence and content that might be triggering.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Ames
• Release date: Jan 16, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224903238

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MOUTH

Past…

It’s not the smell of the blood that makes me choke, but the piss.

Its acrid stench clings to the air like a poison clogging my lungs, and I have to breathe in through my mouth so I don’t puke. Shadows shroud the room. The only light comes from the single bare light bulb swaying in time with the body hanging from a meat hook in the ceiling. It casts a weak glow that barely illuminates the scene before me, making it look more sinister.

I try not to let my gaze drift to the strung-up man, but he’s a hard presence to ignore. The gasps and wet breaths coming from his mouth punctuate the air like gun shots, and the blood slick across his chest shimmers in the slither of light coming from the weakly lit bulb.

He’s dying, I’m sure of it. He’s not the first life I’ve seen snuffed out, but something tells me my presence this time means things are going to be different.

Go on, boyo.

I’m pushed further into the room by Red Eye, club secretary and my godfather. He’s a huge man, with shoulders as wide as a bus and a permanent scowl etched onto his face. The patch covering his right eye gives him an ominous edge that scared me when I was younger. I turned sixteen a week ago and it still scares me. When the injury first happened it used to ooze blood, which is how he got the name.

He doesn’t show an inch of leniency as he shoves me towards the macabre scene, his hand on my back a forceful presence. I don’t fight it. There’s no point. They want me to see what is happening and they won’t be satisfied until I have.

Gabriel… come closer. My father’s voice is gentle, deceptively so. There’s not a single soft edge to him. If he wants me here, it’s for a reason, and that reason is not going to be good.

Even so, a tingle of excitement ripples through me. Is this where they finally make a man of me? It’s something the brothers have talked about for years. I need to become a man to be welcomed into the club. I’m still too young for that. Prospects have to be eighteen, but I’m Carter Green’s son, and that means the rules don’t always apply. I’d give up school in a heartbeat to ride with these men.

I focus on the leather vest on my father’s back—his club kutte. Royal Bastards MC arcs over the back, with the Liverpool, England rocker underneath it. The insignia of a bearded skull wearing a crown surrounded by motorcycles with wings sits in the middle of the piece. The material is worn and scuffed, moulded perfectly to his frame. A second skin that he never takes off. From the moment I was old enough to understand what that piece of material means, I’ve wanted it on my own back. The club is everything to me. It’s loyalty, it’s honour, and it’s brotherhood. I want all of that and more. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

Gabriel. He says my name with an edge this time that tells me to move.

I do as my father commands and step towards him. My hands tremble a little, nervous energy zipping through me. What is he going to ask of me?

Is this a test?

Will I pass it?

With my father, everything is a game.

He peers down at me and I don’t feel any warmth in that stare. Like Red Eye, he’s a big man with a scruff of beard covering his face. There’s a scar running from his left eye down to his chin. A scar he got fighting against The Dockland Gang. Those fuckers hate our club. They run territory that spans from Crosby to the Royal Albert Docks. Our patch runs adjacent to theirs and we clash a lot.

I hate them too.

Not because I know them, but because any enemy of the club is an enemy of mine. It’s one of the first lessons I was ever taught. Come against one brother, come against us all. Your only job is to protect your brother’s back. Trust has to be earned, but once it is, it’s unshakable.

My father peers down at me and offers me a knife.

Take a hit, he invites me.

I snap my gaze to his. He’s never done that before. He’s never given me the means to take a life. I take the blade, and the weight of it in my hands, the feel of the handle against my skin, makes my heart start to pound. Usually, I’d watch him kill. Does he really want me to take this man’s life?

This is going off-script and I have no idea how to handle that.

I glance at the man hanging from his wrists. He’s naked from the waist up. Rivers of blood stain his skin crimson between the welts and gashes.

What did he do? I ask. I don’t know why I care. It doesn’t matter, but in this moment, I delay doing what is being asked. It’s one thing to watch a death. It’s another to be a part of taking a life.

Not important, kid. What’s important is doing what you’re told without question. Part of being a Bastard means don’t ask, don’t tell.

I soak up his words like a sponge, needing to know everything about how to succeed in this world—a world I desperately want to be a part of. Do I have to kill to ensure that?

Whatever it takes.

The president patch, which sits on my father’s chest, is destined for my own kutte if I play things right.

Stab him. The callous calmness of his voice takes a moment to settle over me.

I stare at the knife in my hand before letting my gaze drift to the hanging man. He lets out a wet gasp of air and something that sounds like a plea. I know I should feel sorry for him, but I don’t. This isn’t personal.

I don’t hesitate. I slam the blade into his stomach, low on his left side, and leave it embedded in his skin. I’m amazed by how easily it slid in, and how little I feel about it.

The man wails, a spirit broken by hours of torment. It should resonate with me, but it doesn’t. He’s the enemy.

Good boy, my father says, and I hear the pride in his voice as he squeezes my shoulder. You have to find your own style.

My own style?

Of torture.

A ripple of excitement goes through me again. I feel powerful. Unstoppable. I hold this man’s life in my hands and that is a heady feeling.

You want me to torture him?

He’s going to die no matter what. My father’s eyes flash dangerously. He crossed the club. His life is forfeit, but how he goes matters. A bullet to the back of the head would be quicker. Easier. Cleaner. But it’s not nearly as satisfying.

I understand what he’s saying. The man stood against us and that has to be punished. Killing him isn’t enough. We have to ensure he feels the agony of his actions. He should spend his final moments begging for a mercy that will never come.

Can I be the one to deliver that?

I don’t know.

I’ve never tortured someone before, though I’ve seen it done. I’ve watched Red Eye carve at a man, seen my father get his hands dirty more times than I can count.

I steel myself, knowing I need to do this, knowing I can’t show any weakness to these two men. I will never live it down if I do.

Torture has a certain poetry to it, my father says quietly. One touch can ignite a thousand pain receptors. Choose your weapons carefully.

He gestures to the cart, which is filled with knives, screws, pipes, and pliers.

My fingers hover over the choices and after a moment, I pick up circular instrument. I have no idea what it is, but it interests me.

It goes in the mouth, Red Eye says.

I glance at my father for instruction and he places the vice in the man’s mouth. Blood drips over the edge of it as he winds the screws until the man’s lips are stretched open around it and I can see rows of white teeth. Little tombstones.

My father hands me the long nose pliers. I aim for man’s mouth, but I’m not going to be able to reach. I’m tall for my age, but this man is a good foot taller than me.

Red Eye grabs an old bottle crate and puts it on the floor. I step onto it and it gives me just the height I need to see into his mouth.

Slowly, I slide the pliers through the hole and grab one of the back molars. Removing a tooth is not easy. I twist and pull at it while the man whimpers and sobs through the ordeal. There’s something exciting about what I’m doing. I don’t know what it says about me, but I enjoy the sounds he’s making, the pain I’m inflicting. Darkness swirls in my belly as I continue to inflict damage on the man.

I don’t think the tooth is going to come out, but then a final tug and I feel it slide free. Blood pours from his mouth, dripping down his chin in a macabre waterfall of red.

He chokes on it, coughing, tipping his head forwards so he doesn’t drown on his own fluid.

You did good, my father says, squeezing my shoulder like I just won a football game at school.

But I’ve tasted the darkness, and I want more. I need to chase that high again to feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins.

I shake my head. I’m not done yet.

The bloodlust roars through me and I feel powerful as I lean down and grab a knife. Then I carve a fucking smile onto his face, ignoring his screams, focusing only on the warmth of his blood as it seeps over my skin.

That’s how I shed the name Gabriel Green and became known as Mouth.

CHAPTER 2

GENEVIEVE

Past…

Every Sunday morning my father takes me to breakfast. It’s a ritual he never misses, no matter what business dealings he has. That time is carved out for me and has been for as long as I can remember. The place we go to is a small café not far from Seaforth Dock in the city of Liverpool. It’s run down, the chairs uncomfortable and old, the plastic peeling off the table, but Erica, the owner, makes the best full English breakfast on the planet. Sausages, baked beans, toast, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, and bacon crammed onto a plate that is too small to hold it all. Sometimes, she sneaks me and Dad a hash brown or two.

This Sunday is no different.

My father wakes me early and our driver, Abner, takes us to Erica’s place. As always, I feel happy at having him to myself. No bodyguards—at least not inside the café—no business dealings, no craziness.

Just us.

And Erica.

I take a forkful of food, enjoying the flavours. My mother encourages me to eat healthily, worrying about my weight constantly, so our Sunday outing feels like a rebellion. I eat as much as I can to spite her.

How’s the food? my father asks, even though he already knows the answer.

It’s never anything but delicious.

So good, I tell him with a smile.

I love my father. I know he’s not perfect. Who is? But I’ve never wanted for anything in my life. If I need it, I get it. He has this unwavering strength that I hope to one day possess.

I watch as he picks up his coffee mug and takes a sip. It’s like rocket fuel. I can smell it from where I’m sitting. I’ve only just started to get a taste for it, but the stuff Erica serves is not the same as what comes out of the coffee machine at home. I don’t know if I like it more or less.

Make sure you eat it all, he tells me.

I smile because I know he worries about my weight for different reasons to my mother. He thinks I need to eat more.

As I glance at him, I see the similarities between us. There can never be any doubt I’m his child. We both have the same inky black hair and cornflower blue eyes that see more than they should. I’ve always seen more than I should.

I might be only eighteen, but even at this age, I know exactly who my father is.

He’s the head of The Dockland Gang, and he has territory that reaches from Crosby all the way through Bootle and down to the Albert Docks. His crew is made up of people who are feared by outsiders, but to me, these people are family, men I’ve known all my life. Men who have protected me and my family for as long as I can remember.

They’re also thieves, drug dealers, and murderers.

I may be young, but I know the reputation they have. They are all shrouded in a darkness that haunts their eyes. They’re men who have seen and committed atrocities in the name of my father, Desmond Fletcher, and most would lay down their lives to keep him in the position of boss.

Dad has never tried to shield me from the vileness of our world. He wanted a boy—a son to continue his legacy. He got me. A daughter. He shouldn’t teach me the secrets of his business—it’s not how it’s done in our world—but he does. He doesn’t want me to be unaware, some stupid airhead who doesn’t see the danger. I’m his only child, and though I don’t believe my father is capable of emotion, of feeling—how can he be and take lives the way he does?—I know he loves me, and me alone. Not even my mother is afforded that, which is why she hates me.

I got you a present. He fidgets and I can tell he’s nervous about giving it to me. That makes me smile.

You did? I ask, trying to hold back my excitement.

My birthday was last month, but it’s not outside the realms of normal for him to buy me little gifts. He does often. To outsiders, it might seem like he’s trying to buy my love, but he doesn’t need to. He already has it.

He hands me a small box wrapped with a bow.

If his enemies could see him handing it to me they’d probably laugh themselves sick. The great Desmond Fletcher brought to his knees by a slip of a girl. It’s why I never go anywhere without an escort. He worries I’m his weak link, that I can be used against him. It’s also why he taught me to shoot from the moment I was old enough to hold a gun, why he insisted I take self-defence classes, and why I can use a knife like it’s an extension of my arm. It pays to be prudent and alert. I could be taken at any time and used to bring my father to heel, something that can never happen. My father’s business is so successful because he’s so ruthless. He’s surrounded by men he trusts, no chinks in the chain, aside from me.

We both know that, and though there are measures in place to ensure my safety, I know worrying about it comes between him and sleep.

I take the box and carefully peel back the paper. I’m not sure what to expect, but the luxurious packaging tells me all I need to know. Carefully, I open it and get my first glimpse. The platinum bracelet inside looks expensive and it is gorgeous. I’m sure it cost my father a small fortune, but it’s not the first time he’s bought me something pricey. I know it’s purchased with money funnelled from his illegal empire, from backhanders he takes to enable heroin, cocaine, and other narcotics that ruin lives and destroy communities to move through the port without being intercepted. That should bother me, but it doesn’t. This is our life. My father is a businessman, no different to those suited pricks who sit in their ivory towers, orchestrating the world’s economy. They’re no less corrupt. At least my father is honest about his intentions.

Oh, it’s beautiful! I say as I finger the links of the chain.

He leans across the table and helps me put it on my wrist. The diamonds embedded in it shimmer as the light hits it.

I love it, I tell him, unable to stop the smile from crossing my lips. What’s the occasion?

No occasion. I just thought you’d like it.

He goes back to eating, so I pick up my fork and continue too.

Something happening outside catches my attention. I glance up and see Brennan, my bodyguard, holding a hand up to keep a man back. Unlike Brennan, who is wearing a white open-necked shirt and a black overcoat, this man has a leather vest on his back and a patch covering his eye.

A biker.

I catch sight of the name Royal Bastards arced over the back of the black leather vest he’s wearing and my heart starts to pound. Even though I know I’m safe, even though I know my father will protect me, I can’t stop my anxiety from ratcheting up a notch.

There are a few motorcycle clubs in the city. Most are weekend riders trying to make a name for themselves, but the big players in the city are the Royal Bastards Motorcycle Club and an all-female club that operates just out of city centre. I know the name Royal Bastards well because they own the territory next to ours. My father has always warned me to stay away from them, and for good reason. They’re ruthless, and they would use me against my father if they were presented with the opportunity.

I keep to The Dockland Gang’s area, occasionally venturing into the city centre with friends—with Brennan on my heels—but I know better than to cross with the Royal Bastards. With chapters of their organisation spread across the globe, they’re a powerful force, one we would be stupid to ignore. From what my father has told me, we have an uneasy peace with them, though I don’t know the details of the deal that ensures that. I just know they use the port, controlled by my father’s men, to move product—at a price.

The biker is with a second man who is younger, maybe in his early twenties, with deep chestnut brown hair shaved close to his head and a hint of scruff covering his chin. My gaze trails along his jawline that looks carved from stone, even in profile, and his stance is filled with confidence. He doesn’t move, but his gaze slides in the direction of the window and heat fills me instantly. I don’t know if he can see me through the glass, but I struggle to draw in a full breath. It’s like looking into the eyes of a fallen angel. Beautiful, but deadly. Forbidden fruit begging to be tasted, even though I know it will poison me.

The intensity of that gaze makes me squirm, makes me want to look away, but I don’t. I meet it with challenge, unwilling to back down. I’m Desmond Fletcher’s daughter—not some damsel who can’t take care of herself. I’m not scared of some leather-wearing biker either. I’m used to being around dangerous men. I’ve lived my entire life surrounded by them, but this man is something else. There are demons dancing in his eyes, the promise of violence too in the tight set of his shoulders, yet I’m drawn to him, like a moth to the flame. Inexorably, I will get burnt by his fire, but that doesn’t stop the place between my legs from pulsating with need. I’m tapped in the head to even give him a second glance, considering his ties, but my heart thumps louder as he continues to stare.

I’ve crushed on boys before, even dated a few, although those relationships came to a halt as soon as they discovered who my father is, but this is different. I doubt this man would care about the great and powerful Desmond Fletcher. I doubt it would even be a consideration. Just looking at him, I can tell he’s sin wrapped up in trouble. As he