MC's Viking Warriors- Bolt #4

Bolt

Hello my lovely readers,

I'm so excited to begin this story, I hope you are looking forward to reading it!

To avoid confusion, the beginning of this book will be set 12 years before the event of the rest of the series. Meaning Bolt is 18 instead of 30 and Juliette is 16 instead of 28.

Enjoy and thank you for reading! Xxx

The bike roars under me, I've been on it so long I can scarcely remember the sensation of unmoving ground. But I can't stop, I have to run, I have to escape.

Cruel words whisper in my head, the hellhound burning its way into my soul until all I can hear are my screams and his vengeful growls.

I have to escape.

I will escape.

A crappy looking bar appears in the distance and I know that it will be secluded enough to give me some time to get a bite to eat, maybe even some sleep... if the beast will leave me alone long enough that is.

The engine underneath me finally silences its roaring and I stand from the seat with a groan. I can feel that my thighs are chafed and bleeding from days on my bike.

How ironic it is that my survive also inflicts pain. But that's always the way it is with me, the thing I need to live hurts me the most.

Once I shove open the rickety bar door the disgusting smell of cheap booze and sweat fills my lungs, sweat and sex. Fucking disgusting.

As soon as my ass hits a disgusting stool a grinning blonde struts towards me and tracing her hands over my chest.

"Don't fucking touch me." I snarl, she pauses before smirking and lets her hands trail further down my chest.

In one movement, I have her by the wrists, in the next she's on the floor and whimpering.

I didn't even push her that fucking hard.

The hellhound sniffs at her pathetic form before I turn back to the front of the bar. There's a heavily tattooed middle aged man standing in front of me now, he watches the blonde walk away with a look of disgust on his face.

"Nice job man, she needs to learn no means no." He says with a smile, I scoff slightly but don't engage in further conversation. I came her to drink, not for pussy or conversation.

I order a whiskey, my father's choice of drink, and swallow it easily. It's like drinking liquid fire and I relish in the burn. That is until the liquid morphs into blood, filling my throat and mouth, choking me.

Gagging slightly, I pause and take a deep breath.

Don't be so fucking pathetic, drink it. Drink it all.

Reluctantly, I listen to the snarling cackle in my head and finish the glass. Once the glass is empty the iron taste leaves my mouth and alcohol is all that remains in my mouth. Not blood. Not blood.

"Is there a room I could have for the night?" I finally ask the bartender, it took me a good few moments of controlling the raging ear in my head before I had the strength to speak out.

"Yeah." He replies with a smirk and points at one of the benches around the bar. "Go crazy."

How fucking dare he.

The voice rages in my head, it's insulted and angry. It wants blood.

Glancing over at the clock I see that it's gone midnight and I need to be on the road again as soon as possible, if that means sleeping on a sticky bar table then so be it.

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I'm on the road again before the sun has even kissed the horizon, I fly down endless roads. Searching for peace, or losing myself. I don't know which and I don't care.

What I need is a town, a place I can disappear into like a ghost, like I've been trained. That bar was small fry, not enough people to hide among. That's all I need for him to lose the trail.

After four days of travelling, probability dictates there must be a town soon. There must be.

But what if there isn't... he'll find you. He'll make you pay for it, they all will.

Tensing, I ball my hands as tight as I can around the handle bars relishing in my screaming muscles as they tire and flair in pain. The more they protest, the harder I hold on.

Just when the words and the buzzing become almost overwhelming I start to drive through the outskirts of a town, I don't yet know if it will be useful enough for me, but it's something. It's a start and that's all I need.

As the minutes fly by under the wings of my bike it becomes clear that this town is exactly what I have been fleeing towards. It's big. Big enough for me to hide and lose myself in, but not big enough to merit anyone who would know me.

A motel arrives on my left and I throw the brakes on, so fast they squeal and protest. I need some time to mend it after days of such heavy travel but more than my bike, I need a few days to mend myself as well.

The motel owner hardly bats an eyelid at my request for a room, he makes no comment about my biker appearance which is unusual in a small town, that is unless there are already bikers here. If that's true I need to be careful, very careful.

Most clubs don't take kindly to rogues appearing on their territory and I don't want to end up cornered. Not again.

We would rip them apart easily, you know we would.

I swallow hard and push the words to the back of my mind so they are just whispers, just whispers and tendrils.

"Just whispers and tendrils. Nothing. Just whispers and tendrils." I whisper over and over again as my fingernails dig into my palms. The more I repeat it the dimmer the words get.

I just need to survive, as long as I'm alive I can keep him harnessed to me... if I lose myself...

It can't happen again.