Psycho

  By

  Ellie R. Hunter

  Copyright

  Ellie R. Hunter

  A Savage Game of Love

  © 2021 Ellie R. Hunter

  Self-publishing

  ellierhunter@hotmail.co.uk

  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 information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

  Blurb

  Lies. Betrayal. Obsession.

  Louis “Psycho” Mitchell is revered as cold, unhinged, and at times, soulless.

  His reputation proceeds him and as the Enforcer for The Road Wreckers MC, reputation is everything.

  The club and his brothers are what keeps him grounded and able to get through life.

  Evie Hemingway just wants a normal life. To raise her son, be able to pay her bills, and stay out of trouble.

  Reckless decisions led her down a path she had no business being on and now she’s chasing a quiet life with her son.

  Evie isn’t ready for her world to collide with Psycho’s, yet she has no choice, Psycho has set his sights on her, and he always gets what he wants.

  Passion and obsession are about to consume them both and limits are going to be pushed.

  Can someone as pure as Evie find love in the darkness?

  Can someone as twisted as Psycho live in the light?

  Will they find the balance they need to survive each other and be the family they’ve both always wanted?

  Prologue

  The dim light flickers overhead, casting shadows around the cold, damp basement. The longer I look at the congealing blood surrounding my mark’s feet, the more it resembles the shape of a bear. My last mark’s blood resembled a horse.

  Maybe I spend too much time staring at blood.

  The bitter, copper scent would cause most people to puke, but not me. To me, the scent smells sweet, especially when I’m the reason it’s seeping from a body. Crouching down, I run my finger through the pool and stare at my red stained fingertip. It amazes me how every person is different, but when it comes to blood, we all bleed the same. Wiping my finger off on my mark’s trousers, I stand up and grab the knife from my tool kit.

  Rotating the six-inch blade between my fingers, I circle the guy in the chair, listening to every raspy breath he’s trying to take.

  His torso is slashed all to hell.

  His left arm has been sliced open from elbow to shoulder.

  His ribs are black and blue, and caved in on the right side.

  And his face… well, is unrecognisable.

  I’m the guy people call when they need someone dealt with efficiently and discreetly. My fee is high, but you get what you pay for. If you want a job done properly with no comebacks, you have to pay the price.

  The client who hired me runs the local underground gambling scene, and found he had a grass in his midst, hence why the rat is now in my presence. I’m not aware of the ins and outs of his crimes against my client, but in our world, a grass is the worst thing to be. There’s only one conclusion, and that’s death.

  Me fucking around, making him bleed, is all on me, though. My client just said he wanted the grass gone. But I’m not going to waste an opportunity to unleash the darkness I work so hard to keep reined in.

  “Please.”

  I chuckle. That one pleading word that gets me every time. Please what? Please let me go? Please stop fucking me up? Please let me live?

  It never washes with me. If anything, it spurs me on to fuck them up even more. The prick probably can’t remember the last time he used it, and now he’s on repeat, throwing the word around like it means something. Like it’ll save him.

  Dropping the blade on the table in the corner of the small basement, I run my fingers over the tools I brought with me and stop on a screwdriver. Grinning, I pick it up and turn to the bleeding sack of shit.

  “Can you guess where I shoved this the last time I used it?” I say, remembering it clearly.

  One of his eyes is swollen shut, but he watches me closely through the slit of the other, his lips pursed firmly together. To be fair, I wouldn’t want to guess where it ended up. But still, I tell him, “The last guy tied to that chair had an experience like no other. I can still hear his screams when I shoved it in his dick like it was yesterday.”

  Even though he’s covered in blood, it’s obvious he’s scared shitless. Dragging a chair across the basement, I set it in front of him and take a seat, tossing the screwdriver from hand to hand.

  “I’m getting bored, so I’ll be ending your life soon enough. Regardless of who you’ve pissed off, I don’t care for grasses. I think you’re the fucking lowest of the low, and I’d have fucked you up for free.”

  “I didn’t—”

  I hold my hand up, stopping him. “No, no, I don’t wanna hear it. You’ve already been through the worst, and I’ve got somewhere else to be soon. So, let’s end this, yeah?”

  It’s at this moment, a calm sense of acceptance radiates from him. It always gets to this point, where the mark finally accepts his fate. They know there’s no going back, no changing the outcome.

  “So this is where we part ways. I’d say I’ll see you around, but…”

  Leaving the rest unsaid, I drive the screwdriver into his neck and sit back, watching the life drain out of him. Death doesn’t bother me in the slightest. People assume I’ll kill anyone, but it’s not like that. The type of people I hurt, and occasionally wipe from existence, are people who aren’t missed by the so-called normal people of society.

  The second his head falls forward, hanging limply, I know he’s gone.

  Deciding to take a breather, I stare at the blood trickling out of his neck and down the front of his chest. Once I toss his body into the river, my job will be done, and I’ll wait for the next one to come. There’ll always be another job. As sure as the air I breathe, there’s a guy who’s making the wrong decision, and their fate will fall into my lap.

  And so it goes.

  Chapter One

  Psycho

  Eastford Prison. A place where the corrupt and troubled are kept away from society, banged up behind bars, guarded twenty-four hours a day, and looked down upon. An authority deeming them too dangerous to walk free amongst civilised people. It’s such a joke. The truly dangerous creatures are walking past you every day, drinking in the same pubs as you, eating in the same restaurants, shopping in the same supermarkets. They’re even running the country.

  The judge deemed my sister too dangerous to remain free and sentenced her to ten years, eight of which she’s already served. She was found guilty of grievous bodily harm charges against her wanker of an ex-boyfriend and her bitch of an ex-best friend. What else was she supposed to do when she walked in to find them fucking in her bed after she had spent the day working to provide for his lazy arse? I hated him from the second she introduced us. I knew he wasn’t good enough for her, but she pleaded with me to leave him alone. That she loved him, and he made her happy. All I wanted was for her to be happy, so I promised not to hurt him. I just wish she hadn’t acted in the moment and came to me. I would’ve made them both disappear with no comebacks.

  So what if she took a cricket bat to the both of them and put them in the hospital? They caused her more pain than she inflicted, and they got to walk free. Moral laws are a hundred times worse to break than the laws of the land. They are in my mind, anyway.

  Lexi Mitchell, my twin sister, and I, share the same inner darkness. But where mine creeps around you like an invisible cloak of death, hers is fire and in your face. I’ll take my revenge from the shadows, whereas she’ll take hers and turn it into a show. I don’t agree with her tactics, but I don’t judge her, either. She knows I’ll always be at her side if she needs backup.

  I sit down opposite of her and lean back in the plastic chair, failing to get comfortable. I hate everything about this place. I hate even more that I have to leave here without her.

  Her dark hair—so much like mine—is piled up on the top of her head. And her dark eyes—again, so much like mine—light up with joy at seeing me.

  “You’re looking tired, big brother,” she smarts. I’m only six minutes older than her.

  “It was a long night.”

  One hour of patchy sleep doesn’t count, and I smother the yawn trying to escape. “I put a few quid in your account. Try not to spend it all at once.”

  Rolling her eyes, she mutters a “thank you.” Every month, I top up her commissary account and make sure she has enough to keep herself as comfortable as possible while she’s in this shithole.

  “What’s new in the world? Tell me something exciting. I’m suffering this week.”

  My sister has her off days, and sometimes, they can drag into weeks. It’s not the prison setting; she’s been like this since we were kids. One minute, she’d be the life and soul of the party, and the next, she’d slump into a depressive state and turn into “zomb
ie mode.” Only I could ever understand her—what she needed, when she needed it—without her having to speak a word. It’s hard to do while she’s in here, though, but I’ve managed. So far, so good.

  “Nothing much. You know, same shit, different day. What’s been happening in here?”

  Her voice fades into the background as the sound of a chair scraping against the worn-out tiled floor captures my attention. Instinct has me scouting the room for the source, and I zero in on a disturbance between another prisoner and her visitor a few tables over.

  Luxurious, dark brown hair frames the most beautiful, freckled face I’ve ever seen. But it’s her eyes that hold me for a moment, until my gaze drops to her full, plump, pink lips. I force myself to tear my eyes from her and to the woman seated opposite of her. She must be her mother. You can see the similarities clearly enough.

  “You can’t take him away from me!” the beautiful woman screams, jumping up to her feet and slamming her hands on the table. The older woman flinches and pushes back in her chair as the screws come rushing over. Grabbing her arms, they haul her away like she weighs nothing.

  Upset and angry over something she didn’t wish to hear, she’s the most stunning creature I’ve ever laid eyes on. Maybe it’s the pain etched in her features that makes her so. Whatever it is, I can’t keep my eyes off of her.

  “No, no, no,” she chants as she’s dragged toward the door.

  I look back to the mother, who stands gracefully, her head held high, and casts her gaze around to everyone watching their explosive display. She’s then escorted through the door for visitors, and before I can search out the beauty again, the prisoner door closes, shutting off her cries.

  The room again comes alive with conversation, the show forgotten, but not by me.

  Knowing my sister and who she is within these walls, I ask, “Who was that?”

  Tilting her head, her eyes narrow with suspicion. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Answer me.”

  Two stern words are all that’s needed for her to answer the damn question.

  Sighing, she sits back in her chair. “Her name is Evie Hemingway. She’ll be out in a couple of weeks.”

  “What’s she in for?”

  My sister makes it her business to know everything.

  “Shoplifting. She got eight weeks from Ramsey.”

  Judge Ronald Ramsey, the most despised judged in the land, is notoriously known for being heavy-handed in his sentences. But to me, he’s nothing but a man squeezing every drop of power he can to make himself feel superior to us mere peasants.

  I’ve not had the pleasure of standing before him, but I’ve known plenty of people who have, none of which walked away without having to serve some amount of time.

  “Is she a junkie?”

  Junkies around here are known to shoplift to get their next fix. In my opinion, they’re scum. Weak and untrustworthy. They’ll do anything—and I mean anything—to get their next fix, slithering through the streets like leeches.

  “No. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was her first time pinching something. She doesn’t belong here, and keeps to herself. Hell, I haven’t even heard her speak a word until now.” Leaning on the table, she moves the conversation along. “Anyway… How’s Dad?”

  “How would I fucking know?” I bark.

  The man is a waste of space, time, and breath, and I have no desire to find out how he’s doing. The day our mother left, he turned on us. We were a constant reminder of what he had lost, we were told, as he pummelled us with his fists. Lex and I only had breakfast before school if we stole it from the shop. We only had dinner if we could scavenge enough change to walk down to the local fish and chip shop. He was never a dad to us. In the end, he only kept us around because our child benefit payments helped pay for his drink, and he could claim the social benefits.

  “He’s missed the last two visits, and he isn’t answering my calls. I’m worried. I know you have no time for him, but I’m asking you to check in on him, for me.”

  “Not gonna happen, Lex.”

  She knows better than to ask anything of me where that man is concerned. My sister used to be a timid, sweet girl, until she had to grow up too early and realised the world wasn’t going to protect her, only me, and in turn, herself. But since she’s been locked up, she’s all about trying to build a relationship with him. Me, I wouldn’t even flinch if he dropped dead in front of me. I’d just step over his body and get on with my day.

  “Time!” a screw calls out.

  “Find out everything you can on that girl Evie Hemingway.”

  I don’t like the smirk on her lips as she asks, “Why?”

  “Because I fucking asked you to.”

  Her laugh disguises the sadness as we say our goodbyes. She’s the only one who gets away with laughing at me. Anyone else would come to regret it in the most lethal manner.

  “I’ll see what I can find out. See you in two weeks, big brother.”

  “Take care of yourself, Lex.”

  “Always do.”

  “Come on! Visiting hours are over!” a guard hollers. Getting to my feet, I head out of the prison and light a cigarette the second my feet hit the pavement.

  I hate leaving her here. If I could break her out without her having to live a life on the run, I would in a heartbeat by taking out every screw that got in my way without remorse. I get it’s a job to them, a way to provide for their families, and survive this thing called life, but I don’t have to like them.

  Collecting my cut from my saddlebag, I slide it over my shoulders. As soon as I do, the sense of belonging washes over me. My life and loyalty are with The Road Wreckers Motorcycle Club, and everyone I cross knows who I am by the patches I wear.

  Bringing my motorcycle to life, the roar of the mighty engine gains the attention of everyone heading for their cars, or to the bus stop up the street, and I pull away from the prison.

  Chaos, my president, the first man I ever respected and trusted, will be waiting for me, so I head toward the clubhouse. Eastford is a seaside town, small and full of darkness, but it’s home. I ride along the seafront and take in the vast ocean in all its glory, thinking of the beautiful Evie Hemmingway. I want to know what set her off, what words her mother spoke to bring her to tears. I want to know everything about her, and I will find out one way or another.

  The prospect manning the gate sees me approaching and slides the metal gate open to let me through. Chaos stands off by the garages and walks over as I park up.

  “How was Lexi?”

  “She’s fine. Getting on with it.” I keep the stunning Evie to myself and climb off my bike. “She said our old man hasn’t been to see her. You heard anything about him recently?”

  I’m not blind. I know Chaos has family watched, even the members who aren’t cared about.

  “He got into a scrap the other night down at the Honey Head. As far as I know, he’s still alive and kicking.”

  So the useless piece of shit is just ignoring Lexi. Though I’m not surprised, it irks the hell out of me she even bothers with him. She knows better than this. She knows the only person he can be relied upon is the cashier down at the local off licence.

  It's fucking pathetic.

  Sometimes I wish the drink would just finish him off. End his life so Lexi can bury the past, where it should’ve been left a long time ago. I’ve asked myself several times why I don’t take him out myself, and not once have I come up with an answer. It would make it easier on Lex. She’d even understand why I did it. But a part of me will never give him the satisfaction of showing him how much I hate him. How much he shaped who I am today, and not for the better. He’ll never see my face, hear my voice, or feel my rage upon him. The day he takes his last breath is the day my sister can truly bury him and move forward.

  Chapter Two

  Evie

  The only part of my cell that doesn’t repulse me is the one photo I have of my son, Thomas. Clutching it in my hand, I run my fingertip over his cheek and along his smiling lips.