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  The Omega Vampire

  By: J.L. Wilder

  Click to Receive a Free Copy of Brother’s Wolf (Full length)

  Table of Contents

  The Omega Vampire

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER 28

  EPILOGUE

  More Books by J.L. Wilder

  About The Author

  The Omega Vampire

  CHAPTER 1

  ALEX

  “Another?”

  Alex Cutter flicked his eyes up from the near-empty glass of whiskey in front of him, the ice long-melted and pooling at the bottom.

  “Gimme a sec.”

  He leaned to one side and yanked his leather wallet out of his back pocket, opening it. His stomach dropped when he saw what was inside.

  “Fucking hell,” he said, shaking his head.

  A few crumpled singles were all he had to his name.

  “Looks like you’re done,” said the bartender, a towering dude in denim and leather whose face was more beard than anything else.

  Whatever congeniality the bartender had for Alex faded when he realized he was no longer a paying customer but instead another barfly who didn’t have enough for his next glass of poison.

  “No, wait,” Alex said. “I’ve got enough for a bottle of, uh, whatever’s your cheapest.”

  The bartender gave him an annoyed glance, as if realizing he hadn’t rid himself of Alex just yet.

  “Come on,” said Alex. “My money not good enough for you or something?”

  “Nah,” said the bartender, taking another look at the pair of crumpled bills in Alex’s hand. “Just that our cheapest beer is two-fifty. And you’ve got two.”

  Alex looked at his cash again, counting both bills as though there might’ve been a chance he’d missed a hidden hundred tucked in there somewhere.

  “Fuck,” said Alex, frustrated as all hell. “Come on... Any chance you could show a little sympathy for a dude down on his luck?”

  “Sympathy?” asked the bartender. “Sure, have all the fucking sympathy I’ve got.”

  The bartender made motions as if he was dumping piles of some kind of invisible substance onto the bar.

  “There it is,” he said. “Tons of sympathy ... just for you. But if what you’re asking is for a beer without the money to pay for it, then nope. You don’t got the cash, you don’t get the booze. Simple as fucking that.”

  Alex was totally defeated. After the day he’d had, all he wanted was to get good and drunk. But after spending nearly every bit of cash he had on filling up the tank on his bike, it didn’t look like that was going to be in the cards. And that wasn’t even getting into where he was going to sleep that night.

  Part of Alex wanted to tell the bartender to fuck off, throw the bills in his face for good measure. But he realized he needed the money more than he needed the satisfaction of sticking up for himself, despite how much he figured the bartender needed a punch to the teeth.

  “Fine,” said Alex. “Just ... give me a couple minutes to get my bearings, figure something out.”

  “Whatever,” said the bartender. “But sort your shit out one way or another. You’re taking up valuable real estate.”

  Alex glanced at the scene of the dive bar behind him. Sure enough, the dingy, loud place was packed, mostly with bikers like him. But he was far from home; he didn’t recognize any of the patches and tattoos of the LA bikers. And that had been just what he’d been hoping for.

  Despite how isolated he felt, he couldn’t risk anyone seeing his face.

  Not after the shit he pulled.

  “Hey, bartender.”

  The voice that called out was silky smooth, seeming more suited for a TV commercial for a luxury car than the middle of a dive bar.

  “The man looks like he’s had a rough day. Put whatever he wants on my tab.”

  “Huh?” Alex asked.

  Alex looked in the direction of the voice. Seated to his right was a man who’d apparently been right next to him the whole time. Yet, somehow, he had not noticed this strange man.

  The man was strikingly handsome. Alex was obsessed with women, but even he could notice that the man to his right was a looker. He was tall, with porcelain white skin, sharp cheekbones and a solid jaw. His eyes were a striking golden green, his full lips blood-red, and his hair ink-dark. He was dressed in denim and leather, his arms covered in tattoos as well as his chest, which was totally covered by a tattoo of what looked to be a massive heart, something driven through the top. But his clothing was hardly cheap − it looked more to Alex like some combination of biker style and Italian chic.

  “Go on,” he said with a slight lip-curling smile. “Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

  Alex cleared his throat to shake himself from his shock and spoke up.

  “No,” he said. “Don’t worry about it. I can pay my own way.”

  The bartender let out a bark of a laugh at this, Alex shooting him a hard glare in response.

  “No offense, friend,” said the man. “But it doesn’t look that way from where I’m sitting.”

  “What the hell is it to you?” Alex snarled back, feeling his pride flare up.

  The man raised his palms.

  “Didn’t mean anything by it,” he said. “Just thought you looked like you needed something stiff.”

  Between the man’s fashionable look, and the strange emphasis Alex imagined he placed on the words “something stiff”, Alex began to wonder if he was trying to pick him up. But the longer Alex regarded this guy, the more he realized this wasn’t the case. But he was definitely strange in a way Alex couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  Moreover, he was right. Alex knew he needed to get drunker than he was, and this guy was offering him a way to do it.

  “Got other customers,” said the bartender. “You gonna take him up on it or what?”

  “No bullshit?” asked Alex.

  “No bullshit,” said the man.

  With one last moment of thinking, Alex turned back to the bartender.

  “Okay,” he said. “A−”

  “Whatever you want,” said the man, flicking his eyes toward the top-shelf stuff.

  “Shit,” said Alex. “Then, a Johnny Walker. Neat. And make it a double.”

  The bartender gave a nod, before turning his back to Alex. Moments later, he returned with a small glass of beautiful, amber-colored booze. It was the most heavenly sight Alex could imagine.

  “Cheers,” said the man, raising his own glass of red wine – red wine that looked a little ... off, in a way Alex couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  “Uh, cheers,” said Alex.

  They tapped their glasses. Alex sipped his booze, the rich liquor washing over him and making his eyes roll back in nearly orgasmic delight.

  “So,” said the man. “As I said, no bullshit. You want to have your drink in silence, along with a couple more, be my guest.”

  “But...?” said Alex, wondering what the catch was about to be.

  “But,” he said, “I’d love to know your story.”

  “Huh?” asked Alex. “My story? What’re you talking about?”

  Alex knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. Sure, he had a story. But how this man knew that he was hiding something, he had no idea.

  “Your patch,” said the man, glancing down at the empty spot on Alex’s vest where he’d ripped off his Iron Monarchs patch, a few stray threads still dangling off. “Recently removed. But you couldn’t remove that.”

  He then glanced to the Iron Monarchs tattoo − a pair of flaming, steel broadswords crossed over a crown − on Alex’s forearm.

  “So,” said the man, “I can assume that you recently left your motorcycle club. Or were kicked out. Your lack of money means it was a hasty decision, and your desire to get fucked up means that it’s still fresh on your mind.”

  “Shit,” said Alex, surprised.

  “And I can tell you’re new in town, on top of that.”

  “Really?” asked Alex. “How?”

  “Let’s just say, you don’t really look the LA type. No offense.”

  “None taken,” said Alex. “LA’s the last place I imagined I’d end up. Town full of phonies if you ask me. No offense.”

  “None taken,” the man said with another disarming smile.

  It was all so strange to Alex. Despite just meeting this man, there was something about him that was ... comforti
ng. Like Alex could tell him anything.

  “Name’s Liam Crowne,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m with the Hell Riders MC. A pleasure to meet you.”

  “Uh, nice to meet you, Liam,” said Alex. “Alex Cutter. Currently unaffiliated.”

  He took Liam’s hand, noticing right away just how cold it was, like ice water pumped through his veins instead of blood. It gave Alex pause, but he didn’t say anything.

  “So,” said Liam, sitting back in his chair, “what brings you to LA, Mr. Cutter?”

  The more Liam spoke, the more Alex knew there was something definitely strange about him. He struck Alex as almost from another time − or from no time at all.

  “MC drama,” said Alex, giving what he knew to be the understatement to end all understatements.

  “Likely more serious than ‘drama’ if you’re now no longer with your MC,” said Liam.

  Sure as shit right about that, thought Alex.

  “Bad drama,” said Alex. “The kind that almost got me killed. Still might.”

  Alex caught himself again, wondering why he was even speaking about the subject with a man he’d just met. Liam’s eyes flashed with interest.

  “Sounds intriguing,” he said.

  “You could say that, I guess,” said Alex.

  Liam nodded.

  “Go on,” said Alex. “I’d love to hear it.”

  Alex sighed, knowing that the smart thing to do would be to shut his mouth, finish his drink, and march the fuck out of there. But he felt odd, like he was under some kind of spell.

  “It’ll feel good to get it off your chest,” said Liam, an odd quality to his voice and presence, one that made Alex feel open and loose, as if he’d already had three more of the doubles in front of him.

  “I was the vice president in the Iron Monarchs,” said Alex. “Been with the crew since I was old enough to ride. Hell, even a little before that. Fought and bled with those boys - they’re family to me. Were family.”

  “Like any good MC,” said Liam, taking a sip of his wine.

  “A year ago, we lost our president,” said Alex. “This old-timer named George − the man who pretty much raised me like a son after my old man ran off.”

  “’Lost’?” asked Liam. “As in died?”

  “Killed,” said Alex. “Ambushed.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Some other crew ambushed him when he was alone, killed him right on his bike. Whole thing smelled like shit to me, and when it came out that Shawn, George’s right-hand-man, was all-too-ready to be the new fucking president, I knew something was up.”

  “Such things aren’t uncommon in our world,” said Liam.

  Alex nodded.

  “Shawn didn’t waste any time turning the Monarchs into his own personal club. Spent money like it was going out of style and helped himself to all the girls − even the ones that weren’t his. He was a fucking tyrant.”

  “And what did you do?” asked Liam.

  “Tried my best to hold the crew together,” Alex said. “Shit changed when I was doing some recon on the crew that took out George. Overheard them talking about how Shawn ‘made it worth their while’.”

  “So, he did conspire to kill your president?”

  “Almost definitely,” said Alex. “But the fucking thing was, I didn’t have any proof. But that Thursday, shit, the night before last, was when everything went to hell.”

  “What happened?” asked Liam, concern in his voice.

  Alex knew he should’ve stopped right there. But he didn’t; he couldn’t help himself.

  “We threw a party to celebrate a recent score. Shawn vanished during the thing, and I ended up having to go find him. Went up to his office in the club, heard some shit on the other side of the door. At first, I thought it was just fucking, but I realized right away it was worse than that.”

  Liam said nothing, total interest in his eyes as he leaned forward.

  “What was it?”

  “I heard ‘no’s’ and ‘stops,’ and I knew what was happening. I went into total autopilot, kicking the door down. Sure enough, the fucker had some barely-legal girl on his desk, in the process of ripping her clothes off and doing whatever the fuck sick shit he had in mind with her.”

  Alex swiped his drink off the bar and killed it in a single shot.

  “I just saw red. Flew at Shawn and started punching and didn’t stop. Only the girl screaming her lungs out snapped me out of it. When I came back, my hands were covered in blood, and Shawn’s face looked like fucking hamburger.”

  “So, you left.”

  “I left,” Alex said. “Shawn had it coming, but I’d still be punished for what I did. So, I grabbed what little shit I had, hopped on my ride, and took off for the West Coast. And here I fucking am, broke and not nearly drunk enough.”

  Liam said nothing for a moment, taking it all in.

  Finally, he spoke. ”If it’s any consolation, I think you did the right thing. Nothing worse than a rapist. Pure scum.”

  "True,” Alex said. “But now, I’m totally fucked. My plan was to come to LA, but I hadn’t thought further ahead than that. Just figured I’d blend in and lose myself.”

  “Then you came to the right city for that,” said Liam.

  Then a thoughtful expression crossed his face.

  “What?” asked Alex.

  “Nothing,” said Liam. “Just thinking about how I could use a man like you.”

  “A man like me?” Alex asked.

  “A man who isn’t afraid to do what it takes to get shit done. Could be money in it for you, maybe a lot of it. And it should give you a way to get back on your feet.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  Liam smiled a strange, almost sinister, smile. He finished his wine before reaching into his pocket, withdrawing a hundred, and throwing it onto the bar.

  “Come with me,” he said. “We have much to discuss.”

  CHAPTER 2

  ALEX

  More than anything, Alex wanted to know what the fuck he was doing. He’d barely been in LA a few hours and already, he’d managed to get talked into hanging out one-on-one with a strange man he’d just met.

  There was something about Liam, however; something that made Alex know that whatever his deal was, he was extremely powerful − a man it’d be good to have on his side.

  “So,” said Liam, the two of them walking side-by-side down the streetlamp-lit sidewalks of Silver Lake, the bars and shopfronts casting neon lights all around them, palm tree leaves hanging loosely overhead. “Where to begin?”

  “Guess you’d be the one to tell me that,” said Alex. “I still don’t know what the hell’s going on. This could be some kind of set-up, for all I know.”

  “But you know that’s not the case, right?” asked Liam.

  Sure enough, Alex could feel that he could trust Liam.

  “You’re free to leave at any time, of course.”

  Alex let out a dry laugh.

  “Not sure where I’d even go,” he said. “Unless you’ve got a decent overpass in mind I can sleep under.”

  “Got something better for you in mind than that,” said Liam. “Something much more ... fruitful.

  “Then let’s hear it,” said Alex, “because this is all a little vague for my liking.”

  “Yes,” said Liam. “Of course.”

  He glanced away, as if trying to figure out where to begin.

  “My ... organization.”

  “Your MC?” asked Alex.

  “Yes,” said Liam. “The Hell Riders. We’re an ... extremely secretive group. Very powerful, but our members prefer to stay in the shadows, only working at night.”

  “As in, literally?” asked Alex.

  “Literally,” said Liam.

  “And you want me to be in your crew?” asked Alex. “Just like that?”

  “Oh, no-no-no,” said Liam. “Not at all. No offense, I’m sure you’re a loyal person. But membership in our club is very, very exclusive.”

  “Sure,” said Alex. “Then what do you want me to do?”

  The two men continued on, Liam seeming to gather his thoughts.

  “We have several bikers in the city that we work with on a ... call it a contract basis. Certain jobs that we can’t do, mostly during the day. Mostly guard duty, some pick-ups, some drop-offs − things like that.”

  “During the day?”