Warlock (Black Reign MC 9)

Warlock (Black Reign MC 9)
Marteeka Karland
All rights reserved.
Copyright ©2022 Marteeka Karland

“You’re out of your Goddamned mind, Samson.”

“El Diablo says you’re the one for the job. He’s president. His word is law.”

“No fuckin’ way.” I missed the day when that particular growl of displeasure sent men scurrying off to do my bidding. Those days were over now. I was barely more than a prospect with this new club. Black Reign was similar to Iron Tzars in that they pretty much did as they pleased. They tried to look all badass and shit, but they catered to their women worse than even Bones. Especially the girl children. The boys learned to protect the girls and took their roles seriously. While I appreciated the sentiment, my wound was still too raw.

“Well, you’re free to leave. No one’s stoppin’ ya.”

“What the fuck, Samson? I’ve done everything this club has asked of me since I got here! Surely to fuckin’ God, there is someone else better qualified to do this!”

“Probably. El Diablo says he wants you.” Samson looked me up and down, shaking his head in disapproval. “God only knows why.”

“This is absurd. I ain’t doing it.”

“Stop being such a fuckin’ pussy, Warlock. Everyone takes a turn. Even El Diablo, though he loves it. This year it’s your turn. Low man on the totem pole.”

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Nope. You got drafted. Get used to it. You got a couple weeks to come to terms with the fact that you’re gonna be the Jolly Old Elf.” Samson, the bastard, grinned like a motherfucker. “You’ll be thankful when the kids get to the party. Besides, this is Dawn’s favorite part of the Christmas party. You don’t put on your best Santa Claus performance, El Diablo will have your balls.”

“He wants his daughter to not be disappointed, he needs to get someone else. I ain’t no fuckin’ Santa Claus.”

Samson shrugged as he turned to go. “You don’t wanna do it? You tell El Diablo yourself. It’s your funeral, pal.”

Fuck. I didn’t fuckin’ need this.

I snagged the freshly dry-cleaned Santa suit from the bar where Samson had laid it. The prospect snickered but quickly turned his back. Normally, I’d have punched the motherfucker in the face, but it didn’t seem worth the Goddamned trouble. Looked like I was stuck on Santa duty.

Fuck… fuck.

I stalked to the room I’d been given a month ago. The only things in the place were a few changes of clothes and a bed. I hung the fucking Santa suit on the bathroom door and sat on the bed, scrubbing a hand over my face.

When I’d come to this place, it was because Cain told me El Diablo had requested me. From what I’d gathered, it was more of an order than a request. I’d needed to get as far away from the Iron Tzars as I could and Fort Worth, Florida had seemed to fit the bill. Besides, I was curious about El Diablo and what he wanted with me. He was a legend in the MC world. Not because he was so flamboyant, though he could be that on occasion, but because of his secretiveness. The only thing most people ever heard about were the raucous parties held at Black Reign or the help they gave the community. Like this fucking Christmas party coming up. But those of us deep in the MC world knew El Diablo was much, much more than what was on the surface.

I lay back on the bed with a groan. I was too fucking old for this shit. With perfect timing, my phone rang. I knew without looking it would be El Diablo.

“I need a word with you, Warlock.” His clipped British accent always threw me off.

“Yeah? If it’s about the Santa gig you can shove it up your ass.”

His boisterous laughter set my teeth on edge. “Now, now. Everyone takes a turn.”

“Yeah? Get someone who’s been here longer than a fuckin’ month to do it.”

“Nope. It’s all you, my friend. Now. Come to my office. We need to have a chat.”

Fuck. I didn’t need this. If I wasn’t curious as hell, I’d get on my bike and… ride. Never come back. I’d disappear into the great beyond and never be seen or heard from again. But I was curious. A man like El Diablo didn’t request you join his club to be fucking Santa Claus.

I made my way to the president’s office. Club girls rubbed against me several times on the way. I was still the new fish, and they were all looking to land me. None of them were appealing in the least. Every time I looked at one of them, I saw Beverly. The woman I’d loved and had to kill. They were every bit as manipulative as Bev had been, but they didn’t try to hide it. That was something at least. Didn’t mean I’d ever give any of them the time of fucking day.

“What’s on your mind, El Diablo?” I plopped down on the leather couch in his office. I hadn’t bothered to knock, hoping to irritate the man a little bit. Of course, it didn’t.

“Warlock.” He grinned as he leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “How are you settling in?”

“Was doin’ fine.”

“I imagine you’ll feel much better about your situation after the Christmas party. It’s actually an honor to be chosen Santa.”

“I thought everyone took a turn?”

He waved me off. “That’s the idea, but there are certain members who wouldn’t be a good fit for the role.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And you think I will be?”

“Oh, absolutely. You need to find your footing. Find that… inner peace you’ve been searching for.”

For a moment, I couldn’t find my voice. When I did, it came out harsher than I intended. “Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?”