Page 34 of Hell on Wheels

“You’re an ass—”

“Careful,” he warned.

My mouth snapped shut as I glared at the monstrous form of the devil. “You have an intriguing road name, young president.”

Road name? President?

“What?” I asked, confused by his abrupt change of subject.

“You’re a Devil Dog. AMaddog.”

Everything that happened overseas suddenly burst into my mind. The caravan. The attack.

Fuck. Not the past, not my failures.Not fucking now.

“The shadows call to you,” Lucifer observed, stroking the light stubble grazing his jaw. “They flock to you like moths to a flame. Interesting.”

I blinked. What the fuck was he going on about?

My vision blurred. The floaters were back with a vengeance. I squinted, hating that I appeared weak and lacking.

“Yes. It’s the right time. The perfect twist.”

Goddamn. I hated the way he could manipulate everything to his will.

“You have all that you need.”

The devil flicked his wrist, snapping a thick piece of parchment in front of my face. “Your band of brothers, for lack of a better term. This lists the men who will ride or die beside you. A club worthy of the Royal Bastards name.”

“I thought I was patching into Tonopah,” I replied dumbly.

“No. I have a different task for you. The Reapers fulfill a special bargain I’ve struck with each of them. But you, young bulldog, are a different breed. A mad dog with heightened senses and the ability to hunt with more precision than any of my hellhounds.”

Well, hell. I didn’t expect him to say that.

“As a token of my appreciation for founding this new chapter in Las Vegas, I have a gift for you.”

A gift? From the fucking devil? Sounded like a trick.

Wait. Lucifer wanted me to start a new RBMC chapter? What the fuck? Why?

Confused, I pressed on my temples. It was all jumbled together in my head. What did he mean? He said a new president for the founding chapter in Las Vegas. But who could I trust by my side?

“An excellent question.” He wiggled the list, bringing it closer to my face. “Read.”

The names presented were almost all familiar. I met several at boot camp. Some during active duty. One from high school. Two I’d never heard of before today.

The names began to dance on the page, swirling before my eyes. The script took on a life of its own.

Skeletor. Manic. Creature. The Jackal. Crusher. Dice. Hex. Slash. Tombstone. Snapshot. Testament.

The letters rose upward in splotches of black ink, floating on an invisible current of wind before rushing forward to slam into my forehead. I toppled over, losing my balance as I slammed to the ground, flat on my back. My tailbone smacked into a hard, jagged rock. Fuck.

Roaring laughter tumbled from Lucifer’s lips.

Asshole.

“You won’t forget your club members now.”

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