Washed In Blood (Heaven's Guardians MC Book 1) Read online

  WASHED IN BLOOD

  Heaven’s Guardians MC - Book 1

  by: ASHLEY LANE

  Copyright©2019 Ashley Lane

  Washed in Blood – Heaven’s Guardians MC - Book 1

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. For permission requests, write to the author at the address below.

  [email protected]

  Cover Design

  Pink Elephant Designs

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  Editing and Formatting

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  Nothing but the Blood of Jesus

  Words and Music by Robert Lowry (1826-1899), Published in 1876

  It is the blood that makes atonement for the soul.

  Leviticus 17:11

  DEDICATION

  For my husband, Michael.

  You save me every day.

  I love you.

  And to my Deddy.

  Thank you for preordering my book.

  Please skip the end of chapters 10, 13, and 16.

  CHAPTER 1

  Twenty years earlier

  An ear-piercing scream breaks through the haze surrounding me and dread fills the pit of my stomach. Doe? An animalistic roar escapes the confines of my chest as I tear through the destruction surrounding me. Fuck, baby—where are you? “Doe!” Her name leaves my lips as a desperate plea, but I jerk to a halt when I realize the cops and paramedics around me are unfazed by my outburst.

  I scan the room, spinning, frantically searching for her—for any sign of what’s happening. A flurry of activity surrounds me, yet no one looks my way. My mind spins, a hurricane of thoughts, images, voices. The fuck is going on? A wall of police block the entrance to the living room and I move closer to them, stepping over shards of broken glass as I go. As I get closer, their hushed mumblings become clear and my mind whirls as their words filter through.

  “Six 9mm rounds to the chest, kid never had a chance.” A detective in a wrinkled suit stands by the door jotting notes in a small spiral notepad.

  “Any idea what time the coroner is coming?” a huge tank of a cop asks.

  The detective shakes his head before looking down at something in the middle of the police huddle. “Nah. Let the paramedics call it. Injuries not compatible with life. The girl took one to the upper chest, they’re loading her up now.”

  Kid never had a chance. Injuries not compatible with life. My heart pounds against my chest and I look down to see my hands are covered in thick, crimson blood.

  A phone rings, and when the officer steps away to answer it, I’m allowed my first glimpse at the carnage lying before me. On the living room floor, my lifeless body is littered with bullet holes; the carpet beneath me, saturated with blood that pours from the wounds in my chest. The same pattern from the spray of bullets bloodies my shirt. No. NO! Th—this can’t be happening. This isn’t how it’s supposed to end!

  The living room has been torn apart. Frames that were once hanging, have come to a mangled rest against the floorboards. Shattered and broken, right where they belong. The images of smiling, happy children behind the glass were nothing more than the printed result from an internet search. Lies to add to the facade of a nonexistent happy family. Furniture is overturned and ripped cushions are scattered across the dirty carpet along with piles of debris.

  A commotion outside distracts me from the demolished room. As I approach the door, her tortured screams grow louder and despair courses through me. Girl took one to the chest. God, please. No. I drop my head, steeling myself for a scene I know is going to rip my soul to shreds. With one last deep breath, I attempt to calm my racing heart before I grip the door knob. Head down, I step outside.

  Chaos surrounds me as police struggle to get handcuffs onto the wrists of my murderer. My foster father bucks wildly against the officers who attempt to subdue him. “It was self-defense! Little fuck attacked me first!” My body trembles at the lies coming from his mouth.

  That piece of shit. He’s trying to pin this on me. He—he fucking raped her! And he’s trying to pin it on me. I take a charging step forward, but the sounds of Doe’s screams cause my body to freeze. I turn in time to see her tear stained face being loaded onto a stretcher. The top of her shirt is stained with blood, but her arms are extended toward the house as she fights the paramedics. Stop fighting them, baby, please. Let them help you, God please. “No! Please! Save him, you have to save him!” Tears threaten my eyes, my heart breaking with her pleas. She wants them to help me, but I’m already gone. Drawn like a magnet, my feet take me toward her, but like trick rooms in a carnival house, the world around me melts away.

  What the hell is going on? All traces of my foster home and my street are gone. Instead, I’m in the middle of a ramshackle warehouse. The walls are lined with closed doors; I have no idea which way is out. I start toward the closest one when my eyes catch on a door several paces away. It’s cracked. Logic tells me to run, find an exit and get out, but a haunting whisper urges me to stay.

  Careful of the broken down pieces of machinery, I make my way to the door and press my fingertips against it. I wince when the hinges creak loudly as the door swings open. Mold and decay linger in the air and my shoes stick to years of filth and waste that coat the floor. A small, barred window is covered in a layer of dust and grime so dense, I can’t make out what’s on the other side. In the far corner of the room, a single chair sits facing an old metal bed where a worn mattress lies atop a rust covered frame. From the ceiling, a dim light bulb hangs from a thick cord, it sways slowly back and forth even though the air is eerily still.

  Hesitantly, I walk toward the bed to get a closer look. Bile rises in my throat at the sight of the deep crimson stains absorbed into the mattress. My eyes catch on a pair of handcuffs hanging from the bed frame. Jesus Christ. The hell is this place?

  Frustration builds as I attempt to piece together where I am, and what the fuck is going on. Gripping my hair, I tug harshly and turn back in the direction of the door. My body freezes, fear holds my muscles captive. In the chair that was empty moments ago, now sits a man, and he’s staring right at me.

  “Hello, Kingston.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my chest heaves as my fight-or-flight kicks in, triggered by the fear pumping through my veins.

  The man is wearing a crisp black suit complete with a black shirt and tie, he looks like a made man. His square jaw and high cut cheekbones contribute to his malicious appearance. Finally meeting his eyes, I suck in a breath and find his sinister gaze already fixed on me.

  “Wh—who are you? How do you know my name?”

  Still and unmoving, he eyes me. I shake my head hard. Is he real? He must be a figment of my imagination.

  “I assure you I am very real indeed.” When he answers my unspoken question, my body goes stiff. “Do you know what happened today, Kingston?”

  My lips pinch together. I know what happened. First, I found out my girlfriend was raped by our sick fuck of
a foster father, then I was murdered. Now I’ve lost my fucking mind.

  “I died,” I grit out, though I don’t quite believe it yet.

  Hands clasped in his lap, he nods. “Yes. You died. But more than that, you died defending an innocent life, isn’t that right?”

  I scoff. “Yeah, but what did it get me? I was supposed to fucking protect her, and I didn’t. I failed, now I’m dead.” Regret and self-loathing threaten to choke me. “I—I don’t even know if she’s going to be okay. She could…” I can barely finish the thought. “She could die, and it will be my fault,” my voice cracks. I don’t know who the hell this weird, creepy dude is, and here I am pouring out my heart and soul to him. Shit, I’m losing it. You’re fucking dead, King. This isn’t real. I squeeze my eyes and count to ten hoping that when I open them, he’ll be gone.

  Nope, still here.

  His crystal blue eyes glow, taking on an ethereal sheen. A slight smirk plays across his lips. “You caused me to lose a bet today, Kingston.”

  My jaw clenches. What the fuck is he talking about? “What do you mean I caused you to lose a bet? Dude, I don’t even know who the hell you are.” Frustration builds as I pace the filthy floor.

  He stands, his torso bending in a slight bow before he takes his seat again. “Forgive me for not introducing myself, my name is Azrael. You can think of me as a liaison of sorts.”

  I narrow my eyes, skeptical as he continues, “Many years ago, a prophecy was foretold. A boy, not a child, yet not a man, would face a choice. No matter the path chosen, the outcome would have a ripple effect that would alter the lives of countless others.”

  A growl vibrates in my chest as my fists tighten, fingernails bite into my palms. He’s speaking in fucking riddles and I want answers. “I don’t understand what the hell this has to do with me.”

  Ignoring my outburst, Azrael stands from his seat and paces toward the blood-stained bed. “At the time, we were only seeing in black and white, dark and light. I wagered the darkness within you would ultimately win. If that had come to pass, today would have had an extremely different outcome. Surprisingly, something we weren’t anticipating happened. Instead of one overpowering the other, light and dark joined. They fused together to become a burning inferno of fierce, protective rage.” He continues pacing before he stops in front of the window and faces me, obviously waiting for me to comprehend what he’s saying.

  I open my mouth to speak, but a shocking pain radiates through my chest and takes me to my knees. Clutching at my chest, I groan as shockwaves tear through my body, causing my heart to stop momentarily before it starts thumping again. When I drop my hands, they’re coated in blood—my blood. A faint beep echoes through the barren room; I search for the source of the noise, but silence takes over.

  Unfazed by my condition, Azrael continues, “I was sent here today to inform you that He is not finished with you. He has plans you have not yet fulfilled.”

  From my position on the floor, I gaze up at him, the noises surrounding us grow louder by the second. Voices float through the air and the faint beep returns, louder this time.

  Azrael starts for the door, and panic surges through me—I still need answers. “Wait! Who? Who isn’t finished with me yet?”

  He waves a hand through the air, wisps of smoke trail from his fingertips. “Your meaning will become clear in time. For now, it’s important you remember these four things, Kingston. Not all Demons you encounter in your life will be bad. A Bullet doesn’t always hit its intended mark. Stay vigilant for Angels, and always keep a Patch close, you never know when you’ll need one.”

  As the room fades, the commotion inside my head becomes so loud my vision turns black around the edges.

  “Just as a shepherd leads his herd, you too shall lead. Find them, guide them. Be patient, Priest, and you will be rewarded. Until then, Guard Heaven…” With those cryptic words, he opens the door, flooding the room in white light.

  I bring my hand up to my eyes in an attempt to block the glare, but at the same time electricity courses through my system, forcing me back into reality.

  “We’ve got a rhythm!”

  “At least we were able to save one of them,” someone says.

  “Damn. The girl?”

  “It was just too much. Her body couldn’t take it. We were able to save the baby. She’s a micro preemie, only twenty-six weeks gestation, so she has a tough road ahead.”

  I fight to open my eyes, but my body is too weak.

  Her body just couldn’t take it… Darkness pulls me under, and I pray it’s death coming back to take me with him. There’s nothing left for me here. Because like a flame needs oxygen, I needed her. But now she’s gone, and so am I.

  CHAPTER 2

  WILLOW

  Present Day

  The pain in my stomach started as a dull ache, now it’s a persistent stab. A glaring reminder of how long it’s been since I last ate. Three weeks ago, my only goal was to escape. Get out and start over. I didn’t realize how hard the starting over part would be.

  My reality check came when countless applications were filled out to no-name diners and seedy motels, only to be denied the second they found out either, A: I had no form of identification, or B: I was pregnant. That’s right, folks. Forget that I’m a hard worker, willing to work any shift for almost any pay—a bun in the oven equals a boot out the door. So here I am, Willow James, twenty years old, homeless, pregnant, and on the run from my abusive husband. Ready my mother of the year award, will ya? God, how did this become my life? I don’t even know how to be a mother. How could I? That’s what happens when you’re born to a sixteen-year-old orphan who dies in childbirth, leaving you an orphan yourself. I was doomed from the start. But I was also a fighter. Born at twenty-six weeks, doctors didn’t expect me to live. Despite the odds, I survived.

  So, how did this become my life? Not willingly, that’s for sure. I’m no stranger to being homeless. As soon as I turned 18, I was out the door and thrown to the wolves. Not a dime to my name, I had the clothes on my back and what little I could fit into my backpack. The first week was the hardest. Being alone at night, sleeping under bridges… it’s definitely a place I never wanted to wind up in again, but here I am. By the end of the second week, I’d come to learn that living on the streets was more about who you knew, rather than what you knew.

  Making friends when you’re homeless, even with other homeless, isn’t an easy feat. Everyone was protective of their territory, and I was an outsider. So instead of risking my life trying to make friends, I decided to go at it alone.

  Back then, I opted for the traditional homeless route. I loitered outside grocery stores and popular interstate exits, begging anyone who would listen for a scrap of change. But I soon discovered most people were cruel and unforgiving. They’d sling hateful slurs or snide comments, not once thinking I had no other options. It was a rare occasion for anyone to look at me, let alone throw me a shred of food or spare change.

  I was the rabid dog everyone avoided for fear they’d catch some deathly disease. Women clutched their purses close to their chest as they averted their gaze, not daring to meet my eyes. Mothers pulled their children closer as though I was some kind of sick and twisted predator, ready to pounce on unsuspecting victims. But men were the worst. They’d approach me with a kind smile and cash in hand, seeming every bit the helpful stranger. But as soon as my hand would reach for the measly dollars, they’d snatch them away and ask me how bad I wanted it.

  After six months on the streets, I had a change of luck. One night as I was scouring the trash cans behind an old ‘60s themed diner, I was cornered by three college kids who’d had one too many at the sports bar down the street. After my time on the streets, my body had withered away to almost nothing, I never stood a chance against them.

  My saving grace was the owner of the diner, Mr. Warren, who heard my screams. He acted fast, told his wife to call the police while he grabbed his baseball bat and ran outside just as the punks
were pulling off my pants. He lost his mind, screaming like a wild man and swinging his bat at them as they ran away. Mrs. Warren took one look at me and broke down in tears. Without knowing me at all, they took me into their home. They fed me, bathed me, and gave me a place to sleep for the night. It was more than I could have hoped for. The next morning, I woke and gathered my things, ready to leave. I was stunned when they offered me a job. Four months later, Vince walked into my life and swept me off my feet. He charmed my desperate heart, and I became a puppet on his string. Six months later, we were married and moving to New Mexico for bigger and better opportunities.

  The minute the ink was dry on those papers, Vince peeled off the mask he wore like a second skin and revealed the devil underneath. Still, I longed for what a life with him could mean. I was more than willing to endure the fires of hell if it meant finally getting the things I’d dreamed of all my life. Love, children, a family of my own. I thought we could make it work. If I tried hard enough, I could change and be who he wanted me to be. All I needed was a little time.

  Then, everything changed. The day I missed my period, I knew I was pregnant.

  At first, I was excited to tell Vince I was having a baby. Color me a fool, but I thought a baby could be the answer to it all. The answer to a thousand whispered prayers in the dead of night. But instead of a blessing, it was another curse better left unsaid. Telling Vince about the life inside me was one of the worst mistakes I’d ever made. He was livid. Positively enraged. It took five pregnancy tests to prove I wasn’t lying to him, but still, he was convinced the baby wasn’t his. Who else’s would it be? I was hardly ever allowed to go anywhere without him. How he thought I had the chance to screw another guy was beyond me. It pissed me off and caused me to forget my place. A place he had taught me was right where I belonged… beneath him.