King, p.1
King, page 1
KING
Ruthless Heathens Series Book Three
E.R. Hendricks
Copyright © 2024 E.R. Hendricks
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: E.R. Hendricks
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Authors Note
Glossory
Chapter One
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Triggers and Content Warnings
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Follow Me/links
To My Readers!
For those of you who continue to support me, this is for you!
Authors Note
King is the third book in the Ruthless Heathens series, an interconnected series with different
characters in each book. You must read books 1 and 2 first. The books get progressively darker with
each new story. Please check the trigger warnings (in the back) before proceeding as some content may be difficult
for some readers.
Glossory
“Toma la siguiente salida, tengo que hacer una meada rápido” = take the next exit. I need to shit real quick.
“Te acabas de ir, cabrón. El Jefe se va a enojar porque tardamos tanto en volver. Él está esperando a los americanos.” = You just went, asshole. The
boss is going to be mad that we took too long to return. He’s waiting for the Americans.
“Bienvenidos a tu nueva casa, mis weritas.” = welcome to your new house, my white girls.
“¡Oye, Oye! Cuidado con las mercancías. El Jefe no le gustaría que te quiebras algo de sus juguetes lindos.” = Hey, Hey Careful with the merchandise.
The boss won’t like it if you break his pretty little toys.
“Vamos, vamos” = Let’s go, let’s go.
“El Jefe” = the boss
“Señor, están aquí” = Sir, they’re here
“pequeña cosa” = little thing
“Chiquíta” = little girl
“Rapido” = Fast
Chapter One
KING
I’m getting too fuckin’ old for this shit.
I slouch back in my chair at the head of the table, lighting up a cig, as my thoughts drift to Wren. They tend to do that more and more these days. Girl’s got me by the balls and doesn’t even know it. Fuck, I’m twenty-three years older than her! It’s disrespectful where my thoughts of her drift to when I stroke myself to sleep most nights. The last thing that pretty young thing wants is some old-ass man chasin’ after her tail, but I haven’t felt like this about anyone, not even Elana.
The thought of my deceased ex-wife sours my whole mood. I can’t help but feel like I failed Elana. I wasn’t there when she needed me, and it cost her her life. She was the VP’s daughter, while my father was the president of the Ruthless Heathens. We both grew up in this shit, knew all the rules, spoken and unspoken, but we didn’t give a fuck. We were young and in love. Didn’t wanna hear a goddamn thing about what anyone else had to say ’bout it. But Elana was always too good for the club. Her innocence and sense of adventure had her climbin’ the walls and beggin’ to get out. That all finally came to a head a few years after we married.
I had become pres after my father finally passed down the torch, and she saw her life headin’ in a direction she wasn’t wantin’ it to go. So, she fled, flew the coup. It wasn’t until six months later when I received the divorce papers in the mail that I realized we were done for good, that love wasn’t enough. In the end, I granted her her freedom. She wanted out, and I was already locked in, with no desire to leave the club or my brothers behind.
And now it was happenin’ all over again, like a sick fuckin’ nightmare on repeat. Wren got caught up in all my bullshit. With the girls still spread out throughout the world and no way to find out where, we were up shits creek. And now I’m finding out that the Devils are in bed with the fuckin’ cartel. Shit’s startin’ to pile up, and I ain’t got a big enough shovel. I run my rough, calloused hands down my face as a sense of dread forms in my chest.
“What the fuck are we gunna do?” Racket spits, never able to hold his goddamn tongue. I give him a look, and his jaw clenches shut. I know quite a few of my guys have become fond of the girls, and it’s eatin’ us all up that we can’t find ’em. I watch as the ash from my cigarette flakes off the end and drops onto my lap, trying to rein in my wayward thoughts.
“Goliath is on his way back. Once he gets here, hopefully he’ll have some information for us that we can use.” I slam my fists on the large oak table that my guys are sittin’ around, my anger gettin’ the better of me. I close my eyes, takin’ another deep lungful of my cig, letting it slowly seep out from my lips before suckin’ it back in. I don’t say another word until I’ve pulled in two more lungfuls of that sweet, sweet nicotine. “Fingers, you got any info for us?” I ask, my eyes locked on the man in question.
“I was able to dig up some info on the old pres, Gage. Guess his great-great-whatever had run our territory back in the day. My guess? The fucker was tryin’ to start a war, hoping he could reclaim the shit his great-grandaddy lost.” He shrugs as he shakes his head. My thoughts drift back to every conversation I ever had with my pops. Then it hits me.
“Shit,” I grunt. “Now that I think about it, I do vaguely remember Pops talkin’ about how him and the Devil’s old pres had some sort of agreement, deciding to let bygones be bygones. That musta been Gage’s daddy,” I huff as I stroke a hand down my beard, tryin’ to tame the coarse rogue hairs. “So I’d say your guess is pretty damn close.” I shoot a look over at Fingers.
“How did Gage’s dad die?” Racket asks, the question hanging in the air for a moment, no one able to answer. Rapid clicking starts up as Fingers gets to work, presumably looking up obituaries and death records. I’m not sure they even bothered reportin’ the death. You do that, you’re just asking for some pig to come snoopin’. It’s why we handle our own shit. Less messy.
“All right, so obviously no death record,” Fingers says, echoing my own thoughts. “Not a huge shock there. But I was able to dig up a deeply buried police report of a mass shooting around where their clubhouse is.” He nods his head in the direction of the screen before turning it around for us all to see. My eyes scan over the words, taking in the most important info. At least ten dead, bullet wounds to the chest and head. Report claims it’s a homicide. “It’s lookin’ like our boy Gage decided to take out the competition,” Fingers says as he turns the screen back and flicks through a few more things. “They brought him in for questioning, but it never went any further. Looks like the case switched hands before goin’ cold.” Racket lets out a derisive snort.
Splice is uncharacteristically quiet next to me; my eyes slide to him as he runs his fingers through the short beard on his chin, like he’s contemplating somethin’. “There is a lot of loose ends, and shit ain’t addin’ up. It feels like every time we turn, something else pops up, and none of the pieces are fittin’ together,” he growls, frustration paintin’ his face. I nod, feel the same goddamn way. That’s exactly why Splice is my VP, not just cuz we’ve been friends since he was just a young’un but cuz it seems we are always on the same wavelength.
“Yeah, but at least we are gettin’ somewhere. This lil’ bit of information tells us at least why Gage was tryin’ to start shit. But the question now becomes, with Gage no longer there, why are they still trying to fuck with us?” I say, more speakin’ out loud than expecting an answer.
Bein’ the pres of the Ruthless Heathens has always been in my blood. My father was pres, and his father was pres, but I’m not sure we’ve ever faced something on this big’a scale. My elbows rest on the table as I hang my head, working my fingers through the front of my hair. This shit’s gunna give me a goddamn ulcer.
“Fuck off,” I finally shout, needing a goddamn minute to get my shit together and not wantin’ the guys to see. Without a word, the guys rise and exit the room we hold church in, making their way back out to the main area and the bar.
I blow out a breath. I hate this fuckin’ feeling. This helpless bullshit is for the fuckin’ crows. I can’t deal with it. My father literally bred me to be the president and take over his spot once he was ready to “retire.” I’ve never had a problem managing the club or even handlin’ the business aspect of it. I was always well prepared. The guys looked to me to be solid and stable. To know when, where, who, and why. It’s how it’s always fuckin’ been. But what I wasn’t prepared for is for everything to go ass over tits in the matter of two goddamn weeks. It probably didn’t help that I now had a girl to worry about on top of everything else. Elana knew the score. She stuck close to home and stayed outta trouble, knew not to ask too many questions, and never go anywhere without at least a prospect— until she left for good, that is. I had n’t gotten that far with Wren. Even though she ain’t my girl, I can’t help but think of her as mine.
I can’t get over the feelin’ that I was given a second chance to make shit right, to right the wrongs that I was too young and dumb to fix the first time ’round, and I’m fuckin’ it up all over again. It’s eatin’ away at me like a mutt with fleas. I always have a plan. The guys trust me and rely on me to be on my shit, and now I feel like on top of failin’ Wren, I’m failin’ them.
I push away from the table, takin’ one last drag of my second cigarette before puttin’ it out in the ashtray that rests on the table. I pace behind my chair, walking back and forth like it’ll somehow give me some answers. I focus on all the shit we do know. Sporty was the filthy fuckin’ rat; Gage most likely killed his own father plus those most loyal to him in order to take over as pres. The girls are to the wind. The Devils are in bed with the fuckin’ cartel, and the Devils are still sellin’ our goddamned drugs. I can’t help but feel like I’m missin’ a key piece of the fuckin’ puzzle, and if I could just get it, all the other little pieces would click into place.
I grunt. My black leather boots clomp against the concrete floor as I march over to the door, pushing it open too hard in my frustration. The door swings out before connecting with the wall, probably leavin’ a sizable dent.
Without lookin’ back, I make my way down the hall that leads to the basement. We have a few different rooms down here. One is Goliath’s domain. It’s where he likes to keep his victims. Another room is for storin’ the drugs and guns before we can make a run, and the last one is a gym. All the guys like to keep in decent shape, and it’s not like you can just get a membership to fuckin’ Family Fitness or some shit when you look like us. People tend to get wary when you look like you’ve done hard time. Which, to be fair, most of us have. So I set this up for me and the guys for such occasions like this when you just need to fuckin’ hit something as hard as you fuckin’ can. Release that built-up energy that even a warm pussy can’t always fix.
Fuck, that just reminds me that I haven’t gotten my dick wet since I met Wren. The little redheaded she-devil in leather and lace. Goddamn, she makes my dick so fuckin’ hard. She’s a feisty, fierce little thing with an ass for fuckin’ days. I close my eyes as I picture it. The way she would strut around in front of me at the cabin. She had a thing for stealin’ my shirts an makin’ ’em into fuckin’ dresses. Half the time, they only reached midthigh, givin’ me a fantastic view of that big peachy ass. The way it would bounce and sway as she walked was pure fuckin’ torture but in the best fuckin’ way. Girl had me bricked up ninety percent of the time.
I groan, my fist striking out to hit the bag. Before I know it, I’m working combos and sweat is beadin’ on my forehead. My heart is thumpin’ in my chest as I punch. Left, left, right, cross, jab, jab. My knuckles burn as they hit the solid leather of the bag, my callouses splitting as they connect. I take measured breaths as the pain helps me to focus, allowin’ my head to clear for the first time in what feels like forever. I need to formulate a plan, get this shit under control before one of my men ends up dead, or worse, one of the girls. My men knew when they signed up for this that it wasn’t going to be all whiskey and pussy, but those girls, they didn’t sign up for this. They just got caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Beth… Fuck, Bones is goin’ absolute apeshit without his girl. I don’t think the fucker has slept since she’s been gone. Shit… I don’t think half of us have slept since the girls have been gone. I ain’t sure how, but those girls have managed to wiggle their way under the skin of some of the toughest men I know. I can’t help the small chuckle that pushes past my lips as my fist continues to connect with the bag.
As much as my thoughts want to drift back to Wren, I won’t allow it. Not only is there no fuckin’ chance that girl feels anything even remotely for me, I ain’t even sure what I feel for her. I mean, I’m old enough to know what lust feels like, but I ain’t sure what else this could be. I mean, I loved Elana, but I guess a part a’ me always knew that shit wouldn’t last. I mean, she never wanted to be a part of the club, and it was all I wanted to do. I guess a soft part of me wanted to hope that she would change her mind; that she would love me enough to stay. I can’t say I blame her for leavin’, though. I know this life ain’t for everyone, and that’s another reason I won’t hold on to Wren. I won’t trap her like I did Elana, won’t force anyone into this world that ain’t two hundred percent committed, not just to me but this life.
I shake those thoughts loose as I make my way over to the bench, tossin’ on a few plates before layin’ down and startin’ my reps. Maybe I can just fuck her outta my system, maybe that’s all I really need; just get my dick wet and I’ll finally be able to think of something other than the sweet, tight little cunt I’m sure Wren has. The one I caught glimpses of when the lil’ tease would bend over in the cabin, the shirt lifting to show off the tiny thongs that barely covered anything. I groan as I blow out a breath and rack the bar, my arms feelin’ like Jell-O and my chest screamin’ from the weight.
Tonight, I tell myself as I sit up and use a towel to wipe the sweat from my face and neck. Tonight, I’ll grab one of the sweetbutts, let her ride my cock like a fuckin’ rodeo clown, or maybe let her choke on my cock as she swallows down every goddamn drop of my cum. Then I’ll kick her out and finally be able to get some rest without my thoughts turnin’ to the one girl that I can’t possibly have, the one girl who wouldn’t want me even if I could. Tonight, I’ll be free from all the weird mixed-up feelin’s swirling around in my chest that I’d rather just pretend aren’t there.
Then I’ll be able to think clearly and get my shit together before this all blows back in our faces…
Chapter two
WREN
Willow huddles closer to me as the driver, Santiago, pushes another girl into the back of his fancy Town Car. Thing is starting to look more like a clown car than the flashy thing I’m sure he bought it for.
“What do you think they are going to do with us?” Willow whispers softly as she leans in as close as she can to my ear, her black hair disheveled and covering most of her face from the fight we put up. But with our hands strapped behind us, she can’t move it out of the way. I’m sure mine looks similar.
“Honestly, probably sell us again.” I close my eyes as I whisper back, not wanting to see her reaction when I tell her the truth. It’s not that I want to scare her or even hurt her more than I know she already is. It’s just… I can’t lie to her. Willow reminds me a lot of myself when I was a few years younger. I can tell she hasn’t exactly had the easiest life growing up. You can always tell. Like senses like, as they say. It’s almost like we have a kind of aura around us that just screams, I hate the world.
A huge part of me wants to soothe and comfort her, knowing that we may be separated and that by the time we reach Mexico, it may be the last time I see her. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t bring myself to lie to her face and tell her that this is all going to be sunshine and rainbows, that we will escape and find a way back home when I know the odds of that happening are slim to none. She deserves better than me just blowing smoke up her ass. We might both be scrappy, but there’s no way we can go up against these big-ass bastards. They’re almost the same size as King and the guys. Well, minus Goliath.
That dude looks like he eats people for breakfast. I suck in a sharp breath. The air smells like sweat and aftershave, and I quickly blow it out, regretting taking such a big inhale.
My thoughts try to drift to King. I shake my head. I can’t let my mind drift to him, I can’t. I can’t bother with hope. Hope is for people who are lucky enough to have good things happen to them, and that isn’t me. I learned from a young age that hope is something that only exists for the rich and people in fairy tales. Even if the guys are looking for us, there is no way they would be able to know where we are once they separated us all. Unless they somehow figure out a way to be everywhere at once, I know that it’s impossible. Plus, why would they bother even looking for us? Beth, sure, she was already a part of the gang. But me, Willow, and the rest of the girls? We just happened to get caught up in the group.
