Shadow, p.1
Shadow, page 1
Published by EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING ® at Smashwords
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2024 Winter Sloane
ISBN: 978-0-3695-1025-9
Cover Artist: Jay Aheer
Editor: Lisa Petrocelli
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 reading Shadow and Camilla’s story as much as I loved writing it.
SHADOW
Death Seekers MC, 4
Winter Sloane
Copyright © 2024
Chapter One
Shadow’s mind wandered as he fell into a deep sleep. Vivid recollections of Trish danced before his eyes like ghosts from the past.
In the dream, she was with him again, nestled closely behind him on his Harley, her arms wrapped securely around his waist. The roar of the engine echoed in his ears as they cruised down the open road, the wind whipping through their hair.
Trish’s laughter rang out, a familiar sound that warmed his soul, her long golden locks trailing like ribbons in the wind.
In this dream, Shadow could almost feel her presence beside him, her warmth seeping into his bones. He could almost smell the faint scent of her perfume, a delicate floral fragrance that always lingered in the air whenever she was near. He itched to reach out and caress her hair, to feel the soft strands between his fingertips once more.
They had shared countless moments like this, moments of pure bliss and freedom, where the worries of the world seemed to fade away.
They would go on spontaneous road trips, and plan their future together in hushed tones as they watched the sun dip below the horizon. He was planning on asking her to be his old lady, the night Trish died.
Shadow saw her standing on the side of the road, nursing a smoke, while he struggled to fix a broken tire. In the distance, a black sedan approached, its windows tinted and bulletproof.
The dream unfolded in agonizing slow motion as Shadow watched in horror, his heart pounding in his chest. The window of the sedan slid down with a sinister creak, revealing the menacing glint of a shotgun barrel. Time seemed to stand still as Shadow screamed for Trish to run, to escape the impending danger. But her fate was already sealed.
The stillness shattered into chaos as gunfire erupted and Trish’s form crumpled to the ground. Trish didn’t get up again. Shadow’s heart shattered into a million pieces that day.
The dream faded into darkness, leaving Shadow gasping for breath as he jolted awake, his body drenched in a cold sweat.
Shadow realized one of his MC brothers had been speaking to him. He blinked away the remnants of sleep, his mind still foggy from the nightmare that had gripped him moments ago.
He sat up in the back of Rooster’s pickup truck, the rough metal surface cool against his skin. Most nights, he would’ve been on his Harley, but tonight was different. Tonight, he was paired off with Rooster, tasked with driving the truck that would soon be loaded with stolen merchandise from the Blood Reapers MC, their rivals.
“Shadow, we’re almost there,” Rooster said.
“I’m awake,” he said.
Shadow rubbed his eyes. The memory of Trish’s laughter still echoed in his mind, a painful reminder of the love he had lost five years ago.
Even now, he couldn’t forget the ache of her absence, but as a member of the Death Seekers, Shadow knew he couldn’t afford to dwell on the past.
He had a duty to his brothers, a responsibility to see this job through to the end.
With a deep breath, he pushed aside the memories that threatened to overwhelm him, focusing instead on the task at hand.
The rest of the MC depended on him, and his crew worked like a well-oiled machine.
Shadow leaned out the window, squinting into the night to catch a glimpse of the motorcycles trailing behind them in a loose V formation.
Their headlights sliced through the darkness, casting long shadows on the deserted streets as they followed in the wake of the truck.
Ahead of them, the road seemed to stretched out endlessly into the desert, but Shadow knew they’d soon reach a lightly guarded compound that served as a storage facility for the Blood Reapers.
The Blood Reapers were a new group that had recently moved into the area. Unlike the Death Seekers, who traded solely in weapons, the Reapers dealt in a variety of goods—drugs, weapons, and even rumors of human trafficking.
It was one line the Death Seekers refused to cross but that wasn’t the reason Breaker, their prez, sent them here.
Three days ago, the Reapers had made a grave mistake. They made a hit on one of the Death Seekers’ storehouses, believing they could get away with it. They would soon learn that messing with the Death Seekers had consequences.
As soon as the compound came into view, a surge of adrenaline coursed through Shadow’s veins, electrifying every nerve in his body.
Without hesitation, the bikers behind him roared forward. In a swift and coordinated attack, they descended upon the compound. The guards at the entrance stood no chance against the onslaught. Before they could even reach for their weapons or sound the alarm, they were gunned down.
Rooster and Shadow arrived next, crashing the truck through the barbed-wire gate with bone-jarring force. Metal screeched and twisted as they forced their way into the compound.
Behind them, the rest of their crew followed suit, surging forward with guns and knives drawn.
Despite the element of surprise, the sound of their arrival had stirred some of the Reapers awake. Shadow could see them emerging from the other buildings, prepared to defend their turf.
Shadow checked the chamber of his revolver. Then he swung himself out of the truck and into the fray to join his brothers.
The air was thick with the stench of sweat and blood. When he ran out of bullets, he reached for his knife. Eventually, Priest, the enforcer for the MC and the leader of tonight’s crew, gripped Shadow’s shoulder.
“Reinforcements might arrive soon, we can’t waste any time,” he said. “You and Rooster check that building. It’s the largest one in the compound. If the merchandise is there, get more men and start loading it into the truck.”
Shadow nodded in understanding. He and Rooster set off toward the designated building. They kept to the shadows and dark corners to avoid engaging enemies prematurely.
They didn’t encounter much resistance, the intel they had received about the compound’s minimal security proving to be accurate.
Silently, they ducked behind a parked car as three more Reapers ran out of the entrance.
Shadow studied the building ahead. “We’ll go through the back,” he said, wanting to avoid additional trouble as much as possible.
Shadow and Rooster managed to slip inside without alerting a soul. Priest’s intuition was right. Shadow approached one of the crates and pushed the lid open, revealing the gleaming arsenal of weapons nestled within.
A grin tugged at the corners of his lips as he whispered, “Bingo.”
“I’ll call in more guys to help us with the motherlode,” Rooster said. With reinforcements on the way, their task seemed more achievable.
As Rooster made the call, Shadow continued to investigate the vast expanse of the storage space, his eyes scanning the room as he tried to estimate just how much they could carry with them. The sight of the stacked crates filled with weapons and contraband gave him a sense of satisfaction.
Shadow’s keen senses then caught something else—a faint sound, barely audible above the noise of the fighting outside. At first, he dismissed it as a figment of his imagination, a trick of the mind brought on by the memories of Trish that still haunted him.
Shadow heard it again—the soft, plaintive sound of a woman sobbing. His heart skipped a beat as he froze in place, his instincts on high alert.
Maybe it was nothing, just a trick of the wind or the creaking of the old building. Deep down, he knew better. The sound was real, unmistakable in its anguish.
Shadow’s heart raced as he followed the trail of sobbing, his footsteps echoing softly against the concrete floor. With each step, the sound grew louder, a haunting melody that tugged at his conscience.
He knew he should ignore it, that their mission was already a success, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to investigate further.
Approaching a corner where the sound was loudest, Shadow narrowed his eyes. He pushed aside a heavy crate, revealing a hidden latch embedded in the floor. His gaze lingered on it for a moment, uncertainty clouding his thoughts. Should he leave it alone, focus on the task at hand, and leave whatever was down there to its fate?
But then, unbidden, memories of Trish flooded his mind—her kindness, her unwavering belief in him despite the way of life he’d chosen. She had always seen the good in him, even when he struggled to see it himself. With a heavy sigh, Shadow knew what he had to do.
“Shadow, what’s keeping you? We’re almost done,” Rooster’s voice broke through his thoughts.
Shadow glanced up to see Rooster approaching. Rooster widened his eyes in surprise as he noticed Shadow’s discovery.
“What’ s in there?” Rooster asked, his voice hushed as he, too, caught wind of the sobbing emanating from below.
It was a relief to know that Shadow wasn’t imagining things.
“Help me open the latch,” Shadow said.
“We don’t have time for this,” Rooster said.
Despite those words, they knelt together beside the hidden door. They worked in tandem to release the latch. With a soft click, the door swung open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.
“You got a flashlight on you?” Shadow asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rooster nodded. It was one of the reasons Shadow liked doing jobs with Rooster. He always came prepared.
Rooster handed Shadow his small flashlight, the metal cool against his palm as he gripped it tightly. With a soft click, he switched it on, casting a narrow beam of light that pierced through the darkness.
“You still got any bullets left?” Rooster asked.
Shadow shook his head in response. He still had his knife and so did Rooster, but if there were more Reapers downstairs with guns, then they were done for.
“Me neither, but on the upside, no one came after us so far,” Rooster said.
“Rooster, Shadow, we’re leaving soon!” yelled a voice from somewhere inside the building.
Shadow tightened his jaw. He thought he saw a ghostly image of Trish standing before him. She looked down at the passageway, then back at him.
There was a hidden plea in her blue eyes. Shadow gritted his teeth. Shadow normally didn’t believe in fate or in spirits, but at that very moment, he truly believed Trish had brought him here for a reason. Backing out wasn’t an option.
“Five minutes!” Shadow called back.
Rooster and Shadow continued their descent. They found themselves in a dirty, dimly lit underground space. Shadow’s heart sank as he realized they had stumbled upon a prison of sorts—rows of cells lined the walls, their metal bars rusted and caked with grime.
Miserable faces of women peered back at them from behind their confines, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation.
A string of curses escaped Rooster’s lips as he took in the grim scene before them, his fists clenched in frustration. Shadow scanned their surroundings for any sign of danger.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed through the cramped space, causing Shadow to tense instinctively. He whirled around, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife at his side, ready to defend himself.
The man that appeared wore a leather jacket with the patch of the Reapers. Without a second thought, Shadow charged at him, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he tackled the biker to the ground.
The other biker went down easily, his surprised expression quickly replaced by a look of pain as Shadow’s knife found its mark. He stood back up.
Shadow waited for the telltale sound of reinforcements rushing to their aid, as he realized it was just them and the women in the prison.
Rooster gripped Shadow’s shoulder. “I’ll run back upstairs, get more guys to help us out. Meanwhile, try to see if that bastard you just killed has a set of keys on him,” he suggested, already turning to jog back up the stairs.
Shadow turned his attention to the fallen biker, his hands fumbling as he searched for any sign of keys. To his relief, he found a set hidden in the man’s inner jacket pockets.
He approached the nearest cell, the metal keys clutched tightly in his hand. As he inserted the keys into the lock and turned, nothing happened. It didn’t matter. He had a whole set of keys to try.
Chapter Two
Camilla Hernandez clutched the shard of glass tightly in her hand, her fingers trembling. Blood trickled down her palm, staining her skin crimson, but she paid it no mind. How long had she been debating, resting the sharp edge against her skin? Hours, maybe. Time seemed to pass differently in her prison, each second stretching out to eternity.
She had long ago given up hope that her brother would send his men to bust her out of this place, hope that someone—anyone—would come to her rescue. But as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into a month, she had come to accept the harsh reality of her situation.
No one knew she was here. No one would care. In the grand scheme of her brother’s empire, she was nothing more than a pawn, easily sacrificed for the greater good.
A shiver ran down Camilla’s spine, the cold seeping into her bones as she huddled in the dimly lit cell. With a resigned sigh, she dropped her makeshift weapon to the ground, the shard of glass clattering against the cold concrete floor. For a moment, she stared at it, her mind racing with dark thoughts.
She could use it on Rigs, the man who held all the keys to this prison, the man who had sneered at her with contempt as he spoke of his MC’s grand plans for her.
“You’ll end up making us rich,” Rigs had said with a chuckle. “Do you know how many buyers would pay to break Fernando Hernandez’s little sister?”
She could take him down with her, ensure he paid for the suffering he had inflicted upon her and the other women. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Camilla hesitated. What if her plan ended up backfiring? Rigs was bigger, meaner, and could certainly overpower her in a matter of seconds. He’d just toss her makeshift weapon aside and laugh in her face.
The sound of sobbing reached her ears. Camilla’s heart clenched in fear as she recognized the telltale signs. Rigs would surely pay a visit to the source of the disturbance.
If Rigs was in a foul mood, he wouldn’t hesitate to silence her permanently. With a trembling hand, Camilla tried to block out the noise, to focus on anything but the impending threat.
As she strained to ignore the cries of anguish, strange new sounds began to reach her ears— the muffled thump of something heavy hitting the floor, the murmur of voices in hushed tones.
Curiosity gnawed at her, pulling her toward the cell door despite the fear that gripped her heart. Pressing her ear against the rough wood, she strained to make out the source of the commotion. She wasn’t kept in the normal cells like the others, but in a special room—a fact that had always filled her with a sense of unease.
As she listened intently, her instincts screamed that something was amiss. The voices she heard didn’t belong to Rigs or any of his lackeys. No, these were unfamiliar. Intruders? Enemies of the Reapers?
A surge of adrenaline coursed through Camilla’s veins as she realized something had changed. If these intruders were discovered, they would surely face a fate worse than death at the hands of Rigs and his men.
And yet, a small part of her couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, these outsiders could be her salvation. If they had gotten rid of Rigs, maybe they had also taken care of the other Reapers.
Of course these men could be as bad as Rigs and his MC. The thought turned her stomach.
The jingle of keys reached Camilla’s ears and her instincts kicked into overdrive, prompting her to back away from the door with a sense of primal fear.
Her heart pounded in her chest as the hinges creaked open, her dimly lit room was flooded with blinding light. She winced as a flashlight beam pierced through the darkness, casting stark shadows against the cold stone walls.
When was the last time she had seen the sun, felt its warmth on her skin?
The thought lingered in the back of her mind as she squinted against the harsh glare, her eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness.
Finally, as her vision cleared, a whimper clawed its way up her throat as she caught sight of the figure standing in the doorway—a tall, muscular man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, clad in a leather jacket.
Another biker, she realized with a sinking feeling. For a moment, their eyes met, and Camilla found herself unable to tear her gaze from his. There was something about those dark-blue eyes, something that softened the hard lines of his face and made her pulse quicken with an unfamiliar sensation. Was it possible that this man, too, was a threat to her safety, or could he be something else entirely?
Seconds stretched into eternity as Camilla stood frozen, her mind racing with doubts and fears. Then, to her surprise, the biker tucked the flashlight away and extended a big, callused hand toward her.
“It’s okay, you’re safe now,” he said.
She stared at his hand numbly, uncertainty clouding her thoughts. Was this some sort of trick, a cruel deception designed to lure her into a false sense of security? Growing up in the Hernandez family, Camilla had learned not to trust easily.
