BENT AT THE ALTAR: Broken Lions MC

by St. Rose, Claire

  Even though I have been riding past his shop almost every day and seeing the lines out the back for our supplies, he’s sending me less and less money. And not only that, I am starting to see young guys -- like the two I took out on my last visit -- frequenting his shop wearing what look to be Bonebreaker colors. In other words, this ride ain’t just going to be one of my regular check-ins. This is going to be rough -- for somebody.

  The boys peel off to the exit, and I count the numbers ahead of me, making sure everyone is in line. This exit is the last stop before Bonebreaker territory and stepping one foot over is grounds for being shot on sight, at least while the war is going on. Mack out front senses the danger I’m feeling as he slows down, his engine purring at the stoplight, and we all follow -- all except for Leo, who is revving his ancient, beat-up bike like it’s a battle cry.

  It doesn’t matter how quiet we are able to make ourselves. Brandon has heard us from down the highway. When I get off my bike, I see the two hired help plus two more men stand by the office entryways. Their arms are crossed tight over their chests as they block the inside from our view.

  This is my job, my guy, so I take the lead. I call out past the men standing us down to where I know Brandon is just out of my eyesight, “Brandon, you lousy motherfucker, tell these dumb sons of bitches to back the fuck off!”

  The two new men laugh heartily to each other as they point at our group of six. The other two, the ones I’m acquainted with, have more terrified looks on their faces. They know the consequences of daring to try to match up with me. They know what’s about to happen.

  I take a few steps towards one of them and peer over his shoulder. In the darkness of the repair shop, I can make out a man standing over a large, black metal box with a huge padlock on it. He pushes it underneath a car as he takes a large deep breath in and stands. “What do you want, Noah? It ain’t our time to pick up the cash yet. I’ve got nothing for you.”

  I gesture to the four cars waiting in the back of the shop. There are passengers inside counting money, itching their palms, and sweating profusely. Junkies. “By the looks of your business, I’m going to say you’re doing just fine. Where’s the cash?”

  He studies me with one eye, straddling his body to the side, “I don’t have your money, Noah. You can’t force me to turn over something I don’t have. That wasn’t in our contract.”

  I hear the scuffle of gravel behind me as Mack comes storming from his spot on the flank. He shouts at Brandon, “Who do you think you are, you little piece of shit? You’ve got our money, and you damn well know it. And if you’re holding our money, we don’t have a contract. No protection. No deals.”

  Brandon throws his arms up, motioning to his men. They step back, grabbing bats and car tires. My men do the same but with switchblades. No one moves as each of us wait for the first sign of aggression. I call out towards Brandon who is walking into his office, “We know who you’re working with, Brandon! You must be a goddamn fool if you think you can deal to the Bonebreakers with Disciple coke. And mark my motherfucking words, as soon as I dispose of these two little bitches, I’m coming for your ass next!”

  One of the largest of the two newbies looks at me and laughs. “Oh, Grandpa!” he shouts as he swings his black metal tool towards my head.

  I duck, missing it by centimeters. I plunge myself at his stomach and chest, my blade just missing his skin. He flies backwards into the ground as I pummel my fists into his face. Blood pools near his ears as I feel his chest start to slow beneath the weight of me. Weakly, I have mercy on him, and I stand up to observe what I’m left with.

  All around me, I hear the shouts of my men, wild, guttural, maniacal. This is what they came to do; this is what they live for. Blood, destruction, mayhem -- it’s all part of their calling card. Mack and Leo work the bruised and battered body of the other new henchman while our other two enforcers-in-training have it out with the two younger boys. I watch in horror as the smallest guy manages to slam his bat into one of our men in training. He looks up, his mouth full of blood, and the bastard winds up to take another swing.

  I dart after him, managing to grab his arm before he can land another blow. I take his bat and toss it way out of sight. I’m about to land a fist to his gut when Leo runs up, his small pocket knife pointed upwards, driving it into the boy’s side.

  Leo screams, “That’s what you get, son! That’s what you get!” He falls to the ground, clutching himself by the waist. I can see the red oozing out of him through his fingertips. Leo grabs me by the shoulders and spins me around.

  The four men are done, and the garage is completely unguarded. I whisper to Leo, “I’m going in, but Brandon has guns in there, at least he did the last time I paid a visit. Go cover me.” I slink in through the garage doors, my boots treading lightly on the smooth concrete. The last thing I want to do is get ambushed by Brandon. It’s better to know your killer than be surprised, so I call out to him in his hiding place, “Brandon! This is your last fucking chance. You give us our money, all of it, and we let you go. We spare your sorry ass. You already crossed us once when you tried to take me out a few weeks back, but now you’re dealing with the Bonebreakers. That’s not gonna bode well for you.”

  “Fuck you Noah! The Bonebreakers are protecting me now, you stupid fuck. You touch me or their business, and you’re going down!” He’s shouting at me from somewhere to my left.

  I spin around and see it: the black hole of a gun. I duck quickly behind a car, just barely missing the first shot. He shoots another, this one landing on my shoulder, cutting through my leather jacket. The searing pain from my shoulder wounds hits me instantly as I slump back down to my hands and knees. I try to inhale, concentrating on Opal. If I’m going to die here in this shitty little shop by that double-crossing bastard, I’m not going to be thinking of him. I’m going to be thinking of my daughter. In my head, I whisper a goodbye to her as I hear Brandon laugh to himself. I shut my eyes tightly---

  …

  …

  Click. Click. Click. I hear the sound of a man pulling a trigger over and over and over again. I can hear Brandon’ breathing pick up as he stands in complete and utter disbelief. He slams the handgun onto a wooden surface before darting off. I listen helplessly as I hear him pass me and then hop into one of the cars near the back of the shop. It speeds off, the tires squealing and screeching.

  I use the car I’m ducking under to stand to my feet. I notice how absolutely useless my arm is as I remove my jacket. The leather is sticking to the wound, but I manage to peel it off and tie my bandana around it. This will have to do until I can have the club’s doc take a look at it.

  In the distance, I hear the familiar roar of a motorcycle rev up and take off after Brandon. He’s not going to catch him, at least not during the day. But at least he’s trying. The rest of my men are still patrolling out back, searching for Brandon’ hidden stash of weapons and drugs.

  I don’t join them. Instead, I walk slowly towards a large tank of gasoline and fill up a couple of red plastic containers. I head back towards the end of the garage where Brandon just sped up and I splash the first canister on the ground and on one of Brandon’ antique hobby cars. The crude, chemical smell tinges my nostrils as I pour the second in Brandon’ office and in the front of the building.

  When I’m finished with the canisters, I go back to the tank of gasoline and twist the nozzle on the siphon to the left and then set the hose down on the floor. The puddle of the clear liquid grows quickly as I walk through it towards the front entrance.

  Leo is outside smoking, talking to one of the junkies. The men in the car are laughing as Leo points towards the garage and at the pile of the four bodies still lying on the ground outside the shop. My stomach turns as I try to process this scene. Leo should have been there. He and the others should have had my back like I asked. But instead he’s having a chit-chat with these coke heads?

  I’m more than angry as I pound my boots in his direction. He turns to s
ee me grasping my hand to my shoulder. He shakes his head disappointedly as he says, “You let that bastard get away.”

  I stop inches from his face, staring him down before I bark back, “Yeah, Leo. Today he fucking got away.” I pull him towards me using the collar of his jacket. “Go do your own fucking job, and then we can talk about who let who get away. You understand me?”

  Leo nods a few slow times before I let him go. He hops towards his bike, leaving the other three men waiting for my orders. I point towards one of the enforcer trainees, “You got a light, kid?”

  The young boy quickly feels the pockets of his blue jeans before pulling out a bic lighter, “Yes, sir!”

  I point back towards the building, instructing him, “Go light it up, kid.”

  “What? Light it up?” He stares at me unsure of what I am saying is real. This kid hasn’t even gotten his feet wet before us Disciples probably told him to be an accessory to murder and now arson. I feel for him. Hell of a start.

  I take the lighter out of his shaking hand and pass it to one of the other trainees, a young gun who’s been around for longer. He’s part of Leo’s legion, so I know he’s more up to this type of job. His wicked grin before walking fast towards the garage proves my theory to be correct.

  But as I watch him click the lighter on, something dawns on me. I run towards him, holding his arm as he attempts to throw the flame inside. “Wait a minute kid, there’s something I need to get.”

  I run back into the garage, the heavy scent of gasoline filling my nostrils, causing me to gag. I eye the cars one by one till I see it, tucked under the back of one of a red Chevy truck lowered to the ground without its wheels. I duck down and grab the black metal case, the one I saw Brandon hide before he went off. Whatever he was trying to keep from us was in this box, and I’m not going to let this burn down with the rest of his building.

  Once I’m safely out with the box in my hand, the enforcer throws the lighter into the garage. Within seconds, there’s a whoosh sound followed by a storm of heat. From a distance, I watch as a skeleton of a car bursts into flames, taking the same red truck with it. It only takes a minute or so before the entire place is crashing to the ground in a heap of ashes, rubble, and fire.

  Chapter 15 FAYE

  “I still don’t understand why I need to know this damn stuff, Miss Harvey.” Opal is twirling her curly brown hair with the ends of her pencil as she chomps down on a piece of gum she won from my purse. She looks up at me, totally uninterested, “It’s just a bunch of dead guys.”

  “Yeah, it’s a bunch of dead guys -- a bunch of dead guys who fought for our country.” I hold out my hand in front of her mouth. It’s our signal. The new rule is that for every time she curses, I get to take away the gum. Go five minutes without a bad word uttered, I give her another piece. I even have my phone’s timer set up for it.

  “Oh come on, Miss Harvey! It’s just ‘damn.’ I’ve said much worse than that!” She throws her arms around her chest in a dramatic pout.

  I know she’s heard worse. I have no doubt that the expressive vocabulary that she uses is all inherited from her surroundings. Looking around the kitchen with the black garbage bags and plywood boards covering the windows and the floor tiles literally peeling up at its edges, this place is a breeding ground for low class.

  But still, this is Opal’s home. And in the few weeks I’ve been stopping by to help tutor her, I have seen her more at ease than ever. As much as I hate it, she’s comfortable here. She even feels safe here regardless of the gunfire, strange women, and men carrying around knives and drugs.

  I reach out my hand towards her mouth, still insisting she follow my rule. She looks at me, rolls her eyes, and spits it into the palm of my hand. She returns to her books for a brief second before being interrupted by one of the club members passing through for a beer.

  He tussles Opal’s hair as he says, “How’s it going Opal? Where’ your dad at?”

  I’m asking myself the same question. Since I turned Noah down, I haven’t seen him or heard from him. He hasn’t stopped by to see me tutor Opal. He hasn’t even made it into the classroom to talk about her progress despite my notes and letters. But, secretly, I’m grateful. The less I see him, the less I think of him and his body pressed against mine. Without him around, I can actually be the professional teacher I know I can be.

  “Ah, he’s on a run somewhere. I think it’s to Brandon’ repair shop or something. He took Leo, Mack, Azul, and Teddy Bear with him a couple hours ago. I thought he was supposed to be back by now, though.”

  I clear my throat as I turn to the man at the refrigerator, “What’s a ‘run’?” I shouldn’t ask. I know better. Getting myself involved in this motorcycle club stuff feels like a death sentence. The more I know, the deeper I get in, but any insight into Opal’s world is becoming more and more important to me as I become attached to her.

  The man pulls back the tab on the gold can of his beer, sending the frothy liquid down his hand. He eyes me as he licks the remains off. And then, he smiles widely. “You’re a curious one, aren’t ya? Most girls around here are an ‘ask no questions’ type.”

  I turn back to Opal who is laughing, too. Both are in on this joke that I’m clearly not getting. Opal fist pumps the guy as he walks past her back into the living room where I can hear the other men hollering and crying out over their never ending card game.

  “What was that about? What was he talking about?”

  “Oh, Miss Harvey,” She puts her hand on mine as if she were the teacher in this situation, “He’s saying that the dumb broads that come over here aren’t here because they’re interested in being in a motorcycle club. They don’t give a shit what’s going on.”

  “Opal, come on…” I press the reset on the timer again as she sighs, clearly annoyed with me.

  “Look, Miss Harvey. All I’m saying is those whores in the living room are good for one thing and one thing only…if you know what I mean.”

  “Opal, do you know what you mean?” I’m absolutely disgusted, but I know I’ve got to hide it. This here is nature versus nurture, and I’m coming up against an entire culture shock. But, boy, is it shocking.

  “Sex. It’s like the girls my dad brings home. I never see them again unless they’re some club skank who gets around. There’s been a couple of them. One of them had breakfast with me once. That was nice. But he usually uses them and then kicks them to the curb before I go to school.”

  Opal returns her focus to her textbook, using one of my highlighters to circle a passage. But I’m too shocked to move. I had a suspicion. Well, more than a suspicion. I could have guessed at all this if I was being honest with myself. I knew I wasn’t Noah’s only girl. The way he bedded me was all the proof I needed that he wasn’t going home alone most nights. But the fact that Opal knew was something entirely beyond me.

  A few minutes tick away as I fall into a deep, dark hole of thoughts. What else does Opal know? What has she seen? How could this be normal for her when the rest of her friends at school are going home to moms and dads who put dinner on the table and talk about their jobs in offices and cubicles?

  More to the point, what exactly am I supposed to do about this? There are just so many things that both Opal and Noah have said to me that have crossed the line – hell, they’ve crossed multiple lines, every line imaginable. They were so far into that gray area that I spent most nights after my tutoring sessions contemplating if what Opal said put me in legal risk if I didn’t report Noah to child protective services. Does sleeping around with strange women count? How about sleeping with me?

  My stomach is tied up in knots as I try to work this out. Luckily, Opal has hit the five-minute mark of no cursing. I pull out a stick of gum from the inside of my purse and toss it to her. She dances in her chair as she chows down. I ask her quietly, “Are you hungry, Opal?”

  She answers so nonchalantly, as if I should be able to read the situation more clearly, “Yeah, duh. I don’t get to eat until my d
ad comes home, and who knows when that’s going to be!”

  I look up at the clock. It’s nearly 7pm. Some students in my class would have been getting ready to go to bed at this point, not be waiting for dad to throw a frozen dinner on the table. I stand up and head towards the refrigerator. Inside are stacks and stacks of cans. It’s an endless supply of beer and liquor.

  “Where’s the food, Opal?”

  “Dad brings home dinner most nights. It’s Friday, so he usually stops at this chicken place, Mr. Clucky’s. It’s good, but I always get a stomachache afterwards…”

  I interrupt her, “Does he ever cook for you? Like, does he make you anything homemade?”

  “Besides putting a frozen waffle in the toaster sometimes, no? But why would he? He gets the food for free. It’s all people on his routes.”

  “Opal, I really want to understand it here. What are routes and what is your dad doing tonight? Can you explain to me like I have no idea what your dad does?”