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Shadow:Satan's Fury: Memphis Chapter

By:L. Wilder

Shadow:Satan's Fury: Memphis Chapter
L. Wilder


It was always the same.

Night after night.

As soon as I got in bed and closed my eyes, my mind would start drifting back to my childhood. It wasn't something that I liked to think about, but I just couldn't seem to help myself. With each moment that passed, I could feel myself being pulled into an old familiar nightmare-one that I'd had many times before. A cold sweat washed over me as all those old childhood feelings of fear and helplessness came rushing back, causing my pulse to race and my breath to quicken. I'd tried to fight it. I'd tried to force my mind in a new direction, but I couldn't stop those dreadful memories from flooding back, haunting me as they forced me to remember a time I was desperate to forget. I'd tossed back and forth, trying to shake myself free from the nightmare's hold, but it was no use. No matter what I did, I'd find myself back in that house, listening to those gut-wrenching cries of anguish and feeling completely helpless to make it stop.

"No. Please. I don't want to."

I knew she was petrified. I could hear it in her voice, and it made my blood run cold.

"You know what will happen if you try to refuse me," he growled.

"But you promised. You said the other night was the last time."

"I lied," he answered with an evil tone.

I could hear her struggling with him, and her pleas pulled at me as she cried, "Please. Just stop."

I had no idea what was going on behind that door; I just knew I had to do something to make it to stop. I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob, my heart pounding in my chest as I eased the door open and stepped into her room. My mouth dropped open in disbelief when I found him, our guardian-the man who was supposed to love and protect us, holding her down on the bed. His pants were unbuckled, and it was clear he was hurting her. After losing my parents and sister, she'd become the only real family I had, and seeing what he was doing to her enraged me. I charged forward as I shouted, "Get the hell off her!"

With a surprised look in his eyes, he turned to face me. His shock quickly turned to fury as he pulled himself off of the bed and started towards me. Before I had a chance to react, his hand was at my throat, his fingers cutting off my air supply as he tightened his grip and spat, "You got some nerve coming in here, boy."

She scrambled out of the bed and rushed over to us. As she reached for his hand, she begged, "Let him go. He doesn't know any better  …  he doesn't know!"

"Well, he's about to fucking learn!" I could smell the bourbon on his breath as he slammed me against the wall. "You're living in my house  …  under my rules, and it's time for you to learn exactly what that means!"

He released his hold on my throat, only to pull back his fist and slam it ferociously into my jaw. I had no time to protect myself before he struck me again, plowing his fist into my stomach. Air rushed from my lungs as I dropped to the floor with a loud thud. I prayed that someone would hear, that someone would come and stop him, but no one came. He laughed as he kicked me continuously in my ribs and back. As she pleaded with him to stop, I curled into a fetal position and covered my head with my hands, but it did little to shield me from the powerful blows of his foot into my side and head. Ignoring her, he kept kicking and punching me over and over again. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, he dropped his hand to my head and grabbed a fist full of hair. He pulled me towards the closet and shoved me inside. Barely lucid, I fell to the floor amongst the clutter of shoes and clothes. The taste of copper tinged my taste buds as he slammed the door in my face, locking me inside. I flinched when I heard him growl, "Don't make a fucking sound or I'll slit your fucking throat!"

Just as the real horror was about to begin, the nightmare ended.

Gasping, I sat up in bed, relieved to see that I was in my room  …  in my bed. I ran my hands over my face, trying to wipe away the remnants of the dream, but it still clung to me, unwilling to release its hold. For some sadistic reason, it wanted me to remember, forcing me to relive the hell I'd encountered during the years I'd spent in that foster home. It wasn't fucking fair. I was just a kid. I was supposed to be loved and protected, but all I'd found was pain and suffering. I hated those fucking people. I hated them with every fiber of my being for the things they'd done to us, especially that last night-the night that permanently marked me. That night I lost a piece of my soul, leaving me utterly broken, and since then, I'd never been the same and knew I'd never be again.                       


I was destined to live in the shadows, but thankfully, I wasn't destined to live there alone. After years of living in my own personal hell, I became a member of Satan's Fury and found a place where I truly belonged-a place where I would be accepted for who I was. My brothers could see the good inside of me, where I could only see darkness. My inner demons were constantly pulling at me, frantically trying to take control, and every day I fought to keep them at bay. But the fight was over. I'd just been voted in as the club's new enforcer, and those inner demons were about to take the reins.


It was after midnight, and Murphy and I were feeling pretty unsettled as we headed into Frazier-a part of Memphis that most people avoided, especially at this time of night. For us, it wasn't its history of crime, the dilapidated houses, or the graffiti-lined streets of this area that had us feeling uneasy. Hell, we were used to that. Instead, we were concerned about the call, Gus, our club's president, had gotten from two of our handlers. Apparently, they'd run into some trouble and needed our help, but before they could tell him what was going on, the line went dead. That didn't sit well with Gus. He was a man who prided himself on knowing what was going on at all times, especially when it came to his club. To make matters worse, it wasn't the first call he'd gotten over the past few weeks. In fact, there had been several. A couple of our boys had been jumped and robbed while others had come up missing altogether. That shit just didn't happen. Even though our runners didn't wear a patch, they were our guys, under our protection, and everyone knew it. Whoever was fucking with our boys knew what they were doing, and there would be hell to pay.

Murphy pulled up to the curb and killed his engine. After I did the same, he turned to me and said, "Let's go check it out."

Eager to see what the hell was going on, he got off his bike and started down the dark, abandoned alleyway. As the club's sergeant-at-arms, it was Murphy's job to ensure the safety and security of the club, and he took his role seriously. Knowing that two of the men under his watch might be in danger had him on edge. I followed him down the alley, and as we headed further into the thick of darkness, an eerie feeling had me reaching for my .45. Even though we were downtown, it was quiet-too quiet, and only the low hum of rap music could be heard as I pulled my gun out of its holster. Just as we reached the second dumpster, I saw them-Spencer and Mayfield. They were two of our best handlers, and they were both lying on the ground with bullets in their heads. "Fuck."

Murphy quickly turned, and as soon as he saw our boys on the ground, he roared, "Goddamn it!"

He rushed over to each of them, checking for any signs of life, but it was clear they were both gone. "Murph  …  we need to call Gus."

Knowing Gus was going to be on the warpath when he heard the news, Murphy sighed as he reached for his phone. I listened as he described what we'd found, and even though I was standing several feet away, I could hear Gus's reaction as his voice blared through the other end of the phone. Once they were done talking, Murphy put his burner back in his pocket and said, "Gus is sending Gunner over with a couple of prospects to pick up our boys and clean up this mess."

I nodded, then started walking further down the alley. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I hoped to find something that might help us figure out who'd killed Spencer and Mayfield. I'd just made it over to Third Street when I saw Boon Franklin sitting in his car. He was one of those guys who was always into something, and when he saw me walking towards him, his face grew pale. In a blink of an eye, he'd started his engine and sped off. Clearly there was something up, so I walked back to Murphy and informed him, "I just saw Boon Franklin parked around the corner, and he took off as soon as he saw me."

"Boon Franklin? That's a name I haven't heard in a while. Who's he running with these days?"

"Not sure. Might be worth finding out because something tells me, one way or another, he's behind this."

Turns out I was right.

It hadn't taken Riggs long to track him down using his cell phone, and once they ran him down, he and Blaze brought him back to the holding room at the clubhouse. Gus left it up to me to find out everything I could about his involvement with Spencer and Mayfield's deaths. I stood in the corner smoking a cigarette as I watched him whimper and whine like a wounded animal. I'd been working him over for around four hours and he'd yet to talk, but I wasn't worried. I was just getting started. By the time I'd gotten done with him, he'd tell me exactly what I needed to know. Without moving from my spot, I growled, "I'm not a man who likes to repeat myself, Boon."