Hellbent (Four Horsemen MC Book 5)

By: Sara Rayne

A Four Horsemen MC Novel



BOOK FIVE




Chapter One

Your brother's back. Watch it. Have it.

~Four Horsemen Prospect Handbook


* * *

The first time Shep laid eyes on Pretty Boy, he was covered in blood and fury. He'd been beat to hell and back. Now, more than five years later, Pretty Boy stood in a dirty basement, squared off against a guy roughly the size of a fridge—looking a helluva lot less bloody, but just as pissed off.

Pissed off looked good on him.

From the mean-ass glint in his sharp green eyes, to the careless flick of black hair falling down his pointed cheekbones, Pretty Boy had earned his road name.

Not that Shep would ever admit he gave a damn how the guy looked. But just now, he couldn't take his eyes off him.

Pretty Boy balanced on the balls of his bare feet on the gritty concrete, dingy fluorescents flickering across the crowd circling the fighters. The silver thumb ring he always wore caught the lights, flashing in Shep's eyes. They were stripped down to boxer briefs, naked fists and gnashing teeth. This underground fight was no gentlemen's match. No hits were too dirty; no refs required. Money passed through bookies built like bouncers.

Pretty Boy slapped an open palm across his bare chest and waved his opponent on, all come at me, bro swagger. And the huge-ass, dock-working dipshit stupid enough to square off against him took the bait. He barreled forward like a runaway freight train and nearly bulldozed over a member of the crowd when Pretty Boy bobbed and weaved right around him. He landed a kick in the middle of Dockworker's back that sent the guy sprawling to the floor, teeth chipping on the floor and blood dripping down his chin.

He recovered quicker than a heavy fucker like that should have been able to, rounding on Pretty Boy with a meaty fist to the jaw. Pretty Boy took the hit like a pro, swaying, but keeping his feet. The next one snapped his head to the side, the sound echoing over the cheering crowd.

Shep bit back a growl, shoulders hunched into his cut like it could stop him from seeing this fight happen. He wished it could.

Pretty Boy recovered, the sneer on his face stretching into a grin. He jerked his chin, daring his opponent to hit him again and seeming to shudder with satisfaction when he did. He cracked his neck, rolled his shoulders, and Shep could see the crazy flare in his eyes. Pain had a way of lighting Pretty Boy up like it was his religion. That supplicant fervor crackled around him. Pretty Boy was all in now, genuflecting at the altar of bruises and broken bones.

With a vicious swear, Shep forced his gaze away. He grabbed the flask from his inside pocket and let the whiskey burn the blasphemy from his lips. Pretty Boy was a lot like the Jack tucked in Shep's jacket, all distilled damnation in too shiny a package. Especially in the middle of a fight.

Shep had to look, couldn’t stand the sounds of flesh hitting flesh without knowing what was happening.

Pretty Boy moved like a force of nature, landing a bone-cracking kick to the ribs with cyclonic speed. The other guy curved in protective posture and Pretty Boy came at him with a vicious uppercut to the chin that snapped his head back. Pretty Boy turned again, and brought his elbow right into the guy's nose. Blood spattered across the crowd. Dockworker's eye swelled, a mixture of bloody drool and teeth sliding down his chin as his bottom lip split. Pretty Boy spun into a roundhouse kick to the jaw, sending the guy to the floor hard enough to shake the dusty rafters above.

Knock out.

Pretty Boy looked up, eyes scanning the roaring crowd. He raised his hands over his head in victory, soaking in his audience's adulation. His bowlegged fighter swagger, shoulders spread, chest out, fists clenched and all amped up from the ring drew another chorus of appreciative cheers from the crowd. He was loving this, feeding off this, Shep could see it all over his smirking face.

Shep took a step farther back into the shadows before he was spotted. Neither of them were supposed to be here. prospects were supposed to clear their illegal activities with him first. And Shep wasn't supposed to follow Pretty Boy around, wasn't supposed to treat him any different from the other prospects. But he was different.

They had a past.

A shared history.

And the tug in his gut every time Pretty Boy walked into a room? It was just the memory of what they’d been through back then. Nothing else. He could almost make himself believe it.

Also By Sara Rayne

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