The Hunters Rage Read online

  The Hunters Rage

  Book Two of Rage MC

  Elizabeth N. Harris

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely co-incidental.

  This book was written, produced and edited in England, United Kingdom, where some spelling, grammar and word usage will vary from US English.

  Elizabeth N Harris

  The Hunters Rage.

  Book Two of Rage MC.

  © 2020 Elizabeth N. Harris

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any informational storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  Cover by JanFillem@janfillem, courtesy of Unsplash.com.

  Contents

  Author’s Foreword.

  Dedication

  Prologue.

  Chapter One.

  Chapter Two.

  Chapter Three.

  Chapter Four.

  Chapter Five.

  Chapter Six.

  Chapter Seven.

  Chapter Eight.

  Chapter Nine.

  Chapter Ten.

  Epilogue.

  The Hunters Rage Characters.

  Authors Byword.

  Author’s Foreword.

  During writing this book, I did research on the injuries a person can survive. I needed Artemis’s injuries to be believable. While Artemis’s injuries may seem extreme and unrealistic to survive, I was shocked to find out that they sadly weren’t.

  Men and women have survived worse injuries than Artemis. I cannot imagine how they coped and rebuilt a life, but they did. The urge to live was so strong they wouldn’t give up.

  To my own horror, I read some awful real-life stories and spoke to a few people. The people that survived worse injuries than Artemis, the people who survived nightmares, picked themselves back up and fought to live, for those who still suffer PTSD, you have my utmost respect and will always be in my prayers.

  Elizabeth.

  Dedication

  To Michael, Jordie, Connor, Jack and Alex.

  Love you always, Mum x

  To Mr White, My old English Teacher at Mayesbrook Comprehensive School, Lower Site. I’ve no idea where you are now, but you’re the first person who believed in me! I’m afraid Sir, that the Attic’s Secret is still a work in motion, even thirty-four years on! Maybe one day I’ll publish it!

  To my Taekoran, no more needs to be said.

  Elizabethnharris.net

  [email protected]

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/483099482281750

  Sign up for my newsletter

  Prologue.

  February 2003

  I gazed out of the truck’s window as it sped out of town, Thunder and Misty sat in the front, not speaking and not paying me much attention. I wrapped my arms around my slight bump for solace. I desperately wanted to ask how Ace was, but I didn’t know them well enough. Just enough that when Misty approached me in the bar and said Ace had been injured, I’d dropped everything and followed her.

  Thunder had been waiting outside in a truck, and I’d clambered into it without a second thought. Thunder belonged to Rage MC, that’s all I needed to know. Lost in thoughts, I patted my abdomen when I felt what I now realised was a kick. For the last five months, I’d sensed something off with my body and last week I’d noticed I’d a potbelly.

  Worried I might have something wrong, I’d visited the doctors that very morning. I’d let the doc run the tests he required. In sheer panic, I’d listened as the doctor told me, congrats, I’m pregnant. I lingered in complete denial, so he’d taken me to another room, where he’d performed a scan and established I was twenty-eight weeks pregnant.

  How the hell had I ended up pregnant? The question kept running through my mind. I’d never been regular and long breaks between periods weren’t unknown for me, but we never had unprotected sex. I took the pill, I should have been protected. It didn’t matter now. At the clinic, I’d seen little arms waving around on the screen and fell into instant love.

  Ace would be okay eventually, no doubt of that. His sixteen-year-old girlfriend becoming pregnant wasn’t on his short-term plans. In fact, having fun and settling in an apartment with me, were Ace’s short-term plans. But Ace would support me, he loved me, and I knew deep inside me that Ace would be over the moon. Well, once the shock wore off, I thought ruefully.

  When I’d stumbled bloody and battered onto Rage’s forecourt five years earlier, Ace and Drake had been the ones who discovered me. Curled tight into a ball and scarcely conscious, I cringed from away from the two of them. They’d taken me into the clubhouse trying to reassure me. One woman, Marsha cleaned me up in a room and then delivered the blow to those outside, I’d been raped.

  In my barely conscious state, I’d heard loud shouts and several thuds against the wall. Voices telling someone, ‘Brother calm down’ filtered through the door. Huddled in a ball, afraid, there’d been another explosion of shouting and hot temper and then silence. The door opened, and a kindly looking older man entered.

  Backing against the wall in sheer panic, I’d tried to escape. He explained he was a doctor and had been called to help me. In terror, I’d refused to let him near me, and Marsha had to return. I was an eleven-year-old child who’d been raped and savagely beaten. I trusted no one.

  Marsha calmly walked up to me in her biker-chic clothing and perched on the bed and gazed at me as I huddled in the corner. Slowly and tenderly she’d started speaking and persuaded me to allow the doctor to examine me and conduct a rape kit. The doctor seemed compassionate and explained everything he needed to do before doing it.

  Marsha asked who’d harmed me and eyes wide I told her nothing. Just kept silent and hoped to god, no one returned me to my stepfather. If I refused to talk, they couldn’t send me back, it was childish reasoning, but it worked. Several hours ago, Mom had passed out in a drug haze. And my stepfather made the move he’d been planning for the last six months.

  Sly touches between my legs and grasping my burgeoning breasts, I developed early to my embarrassment, he’d started making approaches. Tonight, with Mom passed out, he’d beaten me into a near stupor and then raped me several times. When he collapsed drunk, I fled.

  Shocked, I ran to Mom, who roused herself enough to tell me I’d gotten what I’d been begging for. I ran away then. Grabbing money, I limped from the hovel I’d called home. No idea where I ran too, for what felt like hours I kept going. Before crumpling bloody and miserable on the forecourt of Rage MC. Unaware I’d fallen on Rage.

  The doctor gave me an injection and then left the room, and I overheard voices roaring. Someone kept yelling, ‘Who rapes a kid?’ At the raised voices I’d headed back into the corner and Marsha had to cajole me out. Sweet Marsha rocked me in her arms until sleep claimed me. Several hours later, I woke up and looked into the eyes of the most magnificent boy ever.

  Black hair fell in a sleek curtain to his shoulders, and glittering green eyes watched me. The tall, lean boy, aged fifteen or sixteen, kept an eye on me. His shoulders gave promise of a broadness yet to develop, and his legs were long and muscular already. The youth had a strong jaw, chiselled cheekbones, and resembled the movie star Lou Diamond Phillips, I’d recently seen him in the film Young Guns.
>
  Those green eyes didn’t leave my face as he strolled towards me in slow movements. He sat on the bed and held out a hand. I gazed at it and with no expression, he leaned forward and picked up mine.

  “I’m Ace. How do you feel princess?”

  “Hurt.” I whispered hoarsely.

  “Wanna talk?” I shook my head. Ace tilted his chin towards the door and nodded once, “the brothers won’t let anybody hurt you. Can promise that.”

  With a vicious shake of my head, I refused to communicate, mesmerised by eyes that hadn’t yet left mine. Ace’s mouth puckered in what I believed was anger, and I flinched, pulling my hand back.

  “What’s your name?” Ace asked, switching tactics and retaking my hand.

  “Kayleigh.” I whispered back. Ace leant forward, and a ferocious expression crossed his face. This time I didn’t recoil.

  “No fucker will hurt you again, princess. No one. Kill ‘em first.” Ace muttered. I nodded, agreeing with this fierce Native American warrior. Who looked like at that moment, he’d kill anyone who crossed his path and said a nasty word to me.

  “Come here.” Ace held an arm out and slowly curled my battered body into his. I looked down surprised when something clunked against his stomach and saw my wrist in a bandage. I then understood what I hadn’t yet taken into consideration.

  My left foot was in a soft cast, ribs taped up and rubbing my head, I felt stitches and stitches in my cheekbone. My right shoulder was sewn up, and pain laid heavy between my legs. The doctor must have returned and tended to me while I slumbered.

  “Don’t want to go back.” I mumbled to Ace.

  “Adrian might kill me next time.” His arms tightened and then loosened.

  “Kitten, you’re Rage’s now. Marsha won’t force you to go anywhere you don’t wish to.” I nodded, thinking how nice to belong to something. “But you’re gonna have to help. Can’t just keep you here without knowing who to fight. I won’t let you go, princess, you’re mine.” Ace added, oddly, I thought.

  Deep breathing, to stave off panic, I told Ace everything. How Mom married a man with an enormous fat beer belly. How I succeeded at school, although Mom and Adrian were generally drunk or in a drug-filled haze. When Adrian began to touch me aged nine, and Mom called me a liar. I told Ace everything about those harrowing hours last night.

  Ace listened and kept hold of me, keeping me safe, even though I knew I wasn’t. Intelligent and way smarter than most my age, I understood that these people couldn’t keep me safe. I realised that if I got sent back, Adrian would continue his abuse.

  Ace lay down and tucked me into him. At first, I was stiff, and then I relaxed and fell to sleep. The next time I woke, I was alone and several minutes later, tumbled back to a peaceful slumber. Sleep being the healer I required. The time I woke after that, I’d found myself tucked back in alongside a warm hard body.

  I knew without checking it was Ace. Evidently, Ace had appointed himself my protector by his actions. For a child who’d never had protection, Ace became my world. I latched onto Ace with the pent-up love and need, a rejected, abused child mustered.

  ◆◆◆

  That began my life with Rage. They were an MC, I discovered several days later, which meant loud men and louder women. Marsha and another girl, Silvie, who was seventeen looked after me, brought food and clothing. Ace constantly hovered in my presence. I’d been there four days when Ace visited early one evening, informing me he was going out for a few hours. Ace promised to be back as soon as possible and left me with the women.

  I’d nodded and dozed off waiting for him to return. When Ace did, he climbed into bed and held me tight. Sleepily, I noticed that his knuckles were bruised and bloody but said nothing. I’d enough awareness of MC’s not to comment.

  The next day Marsha and Ace walked in and informed me that Mom had signed papers that had been drawn up to sign away custody. Marsha and her man Fish now had guardianship of me. Fish was sergeant at arms of the club, and I’d met him often. They offered me two options. One I could live with them, and they’d take care of me, or I could stay at the clubhouse.

  Fish, a tall, broadly built man with a bushy beard and shaggy hair had been kind to me. He was quiet and never had much to say, but when Fish spoke, everybody listened. Fish was twenty-one and Marsha the same age as him. He wore the biker uniform of faded blue jeans and a Harley tee. Fish tamed his hair by wearing a bandana, Marsha teased Fish loads about it.

  Ace stood silently, and I sought his opinion. He told me I could choose, and when I asked where he lived, I hated the answer. Ace lived a twenty-minute ride from Fish and Marsha. How could Ace protect me from so far away?

  I elected to live at the club under Marsha’s vigilant eye. Ace spent most of his free time at the clubhouse. If Fish and Marsha left the clubhouse, Marsha got there every morning at seven am and didn’t leave until ten pm. Marsha and Fish had no children. They often stayed at the clubhouse, as Fish always had stuff to do.

  A few days later, I met Drake, a calm talking, husky-voiced brother, who was Rage’s Vice President. Drake was twenty-four, older than the others. It’d been Drake, I learned, who’d been shouting the night they found me.

  Ace had been locked in a room that first night and not allowed out until he’d regained control of his temper. Both Ace and Drake had strong morals, and what happened and didn’t happen to a child was part of that. Ace was working towards prospect, which was a trainee biker brother in the making. In other words, Ace was moving towards being a badass.

  Ace would apply to the club at sixteen. His father was an enforcer at the club called, non-imaginatively in my opinion, Apache. Apache’s father had ridden with Rage MC and perished in questionable circumstances. Apache and his son were Rage MC through and through.

  The offer to stay at the MC surprised me because Bulldog the President was an absolute bastard. I feared Bulldog, he was dangerous, but even Bulldog had a line no one crossed. No one raped and beat a young child. So, Bulldog doing the one nice thing in his life, let me live at the clubhouse.

  Life settled, each day Fish arrived at seven am, if he wasn’t already there. Fish made sure I’d eaten and then popped me on the back of his bike and took me to school. Marsha moved me to a local school in Rapid City, one only ten minutes away from the clubhouse. Fish gave me ten bucks for lunch and then picked me up at the end of each day.

  I fast became a curiosity to my new classmates. I kept my head down and worked hard. The other kids had questions, which I avoided, and many of them stuck their nose up at a biker’s kid being in the class. Fish and Marsha hadn’t fooled around and had got me into one of the best schools in Rapid City. Fish picking me up stopped any bullying, who’d want to mess with a mean-looking biker?

  After a few weeks, I came home from school one day and found Marsha and Silvie had decorated the dingy room I’d been sleeping in. The walls had been painted black and purple, which they’d discovered was my favourite colours. They’d bought a comfortable bed, a mattress and a wardrobe and drawers for clothes. They’d managed to fit into my space a narrow table and chair with a laptop perched on top. A night lamp sat next to it softly casting out light.

  Marsha replaced the naked bulb in the room and hung a girlie beaded light. Voile swatches of cloth hung carelessly around my room, gathered up and looking elegant. A poster of the MC’s patch stuck to one wall and two canvas pictures of motorbikes, Harleys I discovered later. The room was far nicer than anything I’d ever been given before, and I burst into tears at the kindness.

  Life continued, and I was content. I lived at the end of a hall away from the common room where the MC gathered. I stayed out of their way, so I didn’t irritate Bulldog and some others I’d become distrustful of. Fish and Marsha, Apache, Drake, Ace and a couple of others became my circle of people. Slick (who was twenty when I’d been found) helped me study, and Gid helped with math as I hated math, and so did Slick.

  Silvie and Marsha became the main staples of my life. The wome
n constantly bought me things, hair stuff, knick-knacks, jewellery and clothes. Half of the women at the club were honest, kind people. Marsha was one of ten old ladies. Other women, who regularly dated one biker, were called biker bunnies. Women who wanted a relationship but didn’t have one.

  The rest were bitches. SKANKS, yeah, I stated it in capitals because they were nasty. These women slept with any brother indiscriminately and without hesitation. They didn’t think any male off-limits, even those who’d claimed an old lady.

  This caused tension. Most of the brothers who’d claimed an old lady put them in their place. But a couple had roving eyes. Marsha put the skanks in their place a lot. There’d been catfights, but Silvie usually got me out of the way. The skanks hoped to score an old lady position, but realistically they were perceived as easy pussy.

  I learnt the hierarchy of the club quickly and the rank of the old ladies. Bulldog didn’t have an old lady, Bulldog screwed when he wanted and who he wanted. But he wanted no ball and chain around his neck, he often said. Bulldog wasn’t nice or attractive. Disdain within my circle grew for the brothers who cheated on old ladies.

  Apache had no woman. Tragically, his old lady died, and Apache had let nobody take her place. For Fish there was Marsha and only Marsha, no one else existed. As far as Fish was concerned, no one came close to the goodness and beauty that Marsha portrayed. As we got older, Ace grew into the promise of his body. Women started noticing, but he never went there. Perversely, Ace’s disdain made him even more interesting to the skanks.

  Silvie confused me. She wasn’t much older than me. She knew Marsha and Fish well, and Silvie happily waded into several catfights. A few of the brothers turned their wandering eye towards Silvie. But a word from Fish or Drake forced them to leave her alone. Silvie was a wonderful person, yet she came across as lost. Drake and Fish both took Silvie under their wing and made it clear they protected her.