Chaotic Anger: The Seven MC Book 1

by Breck, A. R.

  Curling my lip, I grunt as I wipe my nose with the back of my hand. Face paint wipes away, smeared in red.

  I bring my elbow back, slamming it right in his throat. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for so fucking long.” I pant. “I can’t wait to see you take your last breath.”

  He sneers at me, blood coating his teeth. He spits a glob of red at my feet. “Ella siempre será mía.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t fucking speak Spanish.”

  He smiles a sinister smile in my direction. “Ivy will always be mine, whether you stick your gringo cock in her or not. She has been soaked in my seed. She has bred my heir. She is mine, Vice President, whether you agree with me or not.” He opens the door that looks like it leads to the basement, like he’s done with this conversation and with me.

  “Lilah might be your blood, but I’m the one she asked to be her father last time I spoke with her.”

  Fury, rage lit fury unlike anything I have ever seen on a person, lights up Santiago’s face. His skin turns from red, to white, to blue. He grabs onto my shoulders, shouting at me from an inch from my face. “Hijo de puta!” And pushes me.

  I reach out, grabbing onto his shirt as I fall into air. I realize I’m falling down the stairs.

  Bang.

  My back hits the stairs in an agonizing crunch. I spin once I’m airborne, pulling Santiago below me as we hit the next set of stairs. My head slams against the wall, then the stairs. Santiago’s does the same as we fall down the wooden stairs that lead to a cellar. A few steps from the ground, we separate by gravity, each falling onto our backs with a grunt.

  My body radiates pain from every limb as I lay on the cement ground. My head pounds and my body throbs, and I can barely get out a word as the pain nearly blinds me.

  “Z? Aziel, you in here?” I hear a familiar voice and turn my head to the side.

  A shadow appears at the top of the stairs, and Charlie’s worried face appears in the doorway. “Aziel, you down there?”

  I swallow down my pain and let out a gasp. “Yeah.” I grunt, hoping the echo down hear travels my voice up the stairs.

  “Shit, you okay? What happened?” He starts coming down the stairs when something catches his attention. “Hello? Who’s here?” He looks up the stairs. “Hold on, Z! I’ll be right back.”

  “Parece que moriremos juntos, Vicepresidente.” Santiago gasps.

  I turn towards him. “The fuck you say?”

  Santiago coughs, blood spurting from his mouth and across his cheek.

  “Aziel!” Charlie’s panicked voice comes from on top of the stairs. “Someone threw something in here… I-I think it’s a bomb or something. We need to get you out of here!”

  I look at Santiago with wide eyes, but all he does is stare at me.

  I glance back at Charlie. “Run, Charlie, run!” I groan.

  The childish, panicked look on his face rips my chest in two. He thinks for a split second, between club rules and his own life. He needs to know there is no choice. “Go, Charlie!” I roar, the words ripping from my throat with the pain ricocheting through my body.

  He gives me a sad nod, only a split-second worth before he takes off.

  Boom.

  A few seconds later, my world lights up, my body levitating off the ground with the explosion.

  And everything goes dark.

  * * *

  A cough tickles my chest, waking me and tearing from my chest in a violent spasm. I curl over onto my side, letting spit and blood spew from my lungs.

  “Ugh.” I gasp.

  Holy shit.

  I place my hands on the cement ground, looking around at the destruction around me. The walls have caved in. The ceilings have fallen down around me. Dust lingers in the air and creates a heavy film, making it painful every time I suck air into my lungs.

  The brick has crumbled around me, and the racks of wine that must have been against the wall have fallen, leaving a mess of wet glass all over the ground.

  I don’t know how much time has passed.

  I just hope that Charlie got out okay.

  I look around the room, searching for Santiago.

  There.

  I see an ugly as fuck looking pair of fancy leather shoes underneath a wine rack. Using my hands, I grip different objects as I drag myself across the ground on my stomach, doing my best to avoid the shards of glass. Another cough rips from me, and blood splatters across my palms.

  Well, that’s not good.

  It feels like my body has been through a stampede. My body feels broken and bruised, bloody and busted more than it’s ever been.

  But I’m alive.

  I make my way to the wine rack, grabbing onto the cold metal and with all my strength, pulling it off Santiago’s body.

  He lays there, staring at the ceiling. He blinks, and blinks again. Pain radiates in his stare. Blood coats his lips, and each breath he takes creates a whistling sound in his lungs.

  Sounds like his lungs are filling with blood.

  I sit next to him, pressing my back against the wall as I stare at him.

  “Sounds like you don’t have much time left.” I say to him. He says nothing, but his breathing picks up, making me realize he hears me.

  “I’m in pretty rough shape too, if you can believe it. Fuck, I feel busted up.” I cough and spit, ridding the dust that’s filling my lungs. It’s difficult to breathe in here. “But I’m going to make it home, you know? I’m going back to her.” I let enough silence ensue where he turns his head slightly, looking over at me. “Ivy. I’m going back to Ivy. She’ll be my old lady. I’ll be a good dad to Lilah.” His nostrils flare at that. “And someday, I’ll put a ring on Ivy’s finger and put a baby in her belly.” His lips move, blood dribbling out of them and onto the concrete below him. “And you’ll be dead. You’ll be dead and nothing but a sick memory for all of us.” I lean my head back and catch my breath.

  We sit there in silence for a while, saying nothing. Just breathing in pain and thinking of memories and what’s to come.

  Santiago’s breathing slows, and I can imagine he’s nearing death. The rattling in his chest grows louder, to the point I almost feel bad for the guy.

  No, actually. That’s not true at all.

  I roll over so I’m up on my knees above him. I want to be the last thing he sees in this world. I want to be the last thing on his mind.

  “I want you to know…” I wheeze, “Ivy… she has never been yours. She will never be yours. You’re nothing but an old, sick fuck who preys on kids. When you’re in hell and looking up at us, you’ll see that you’re forgotten. Your name won’t be spoken from our lips. Thoughts of you won’t even cross our minds. You’re about to take your last breath, and when that moment comes, that’s when you will cease to exist. Now, in the past, and in the future. You’ll never be, ever again.”

  A flicker of fear passes his gaze and mouth opens, as if he wants to say something.

  I stare at him.

  He stares at me.

  And when his chest expands with a sharp inhale, I watch his body still, his body relaxing into the rubble beneath him. I sit back against the wall, wincing with each movement. But once my back hits the cement behind me, I release the first real breath since I met Ivy. Since I rescued her.

  I don’t know how long I sit there, fading in and out of sleep as my body attempts to cope with the pain. It becomes too much at times, and I grunt and wince as the pain becomes unbearable.

  It’ll go away. It has to go away.

  After I’m not sure how many hours have passed, I hear voices from above, combing through the rubble.

  My eyes widen.

  Fuck.

  They can’t see me. If they see me, they’ll kill me. But they can’t find Santiago either. Because if they find him, they’ll take him.

  And I’m not quite finished with him yet.

  I grab onto his shoulders and drag him across the glass, into a corner that has been blasted out from the explosion. I
t takes most of my energy, and I’m past winded by the time I lay on top of him and lay one of the stray metal racks on top of us.

  The voices grow louder. It sounds like they are kicking things around and lifting things.

  They’re searching for something. Or someone.

  “Debiste habérmelo dicho.” A man with a raspy voice says, like he holds a cigar in his mouth all day long.

  “Se suponía que nos encontraría en el lugar.” Another one says. He sounds much younger.

  “¡Pero nunca apareció!” The first man shouts.

  “Se suponía que iba a agarrar a Ivy y salir de ahí.”

  “Obviamente pasó algo.”

  “Será mejor que lo encontremos. Tiene que estar aquí en alguna parte.”

  I don’t understand a word of what they’re saying, but their voices soon taper off as they move away from where I’m hiding.

  I lay on top of him for long after the two men leave. My empty stomach rolls laying on top of this disgusting fuck, but I don’t see any other choice.

  Once I’m in the clear, I roll off of him and pull my pant leg up, unsheathing the knife from my ankle strap.

  The dust has settled, and the air has the thickness of death to it now. They’ll be back, I’m sure, sooner or later. And next time I might not be as lucky.

  It’s time to get out of here and make my way home.

  “But first… my promise to Ivy.” I whisper.

  * * *

  I shuffle upstairs, hand pressed on the dilapidated wall, my other hand gripping Santiago’s hair, his severed head banging against each stair on my way up. It’s hard, and I can barely find the will to lift my feet to make it to the next step. But I don’t really have a choice.

  I’ve got to get home.

  To her.

  Once I make it to the top, I fall against the wall, breathing heavily as it feels like my lungs are polluted and my body screams at me to rest.

  Shit.

  What used to be an extravagant home is now in shambles. Black shadows darken the walls where flames used to be. The flames and fire are gone, but it’s left a charred skeleton. It’s night now, the sun having departed for the day. The moon shines bright over the house with no roof, giving me at least a smidgen of light so I can walk through the wreck. It’s smells of a disaster in here. Burnt curtains and furniture. Each step I make creates a crunch as I make my way to where the front door used to be.

  Dragging my feet down the hall, my eyes fall on a body, face down on the ground. What makes me pause, though, is the leather cut.

  On the back of the cut is a circular emblem filled with black flames and the words The Seven MC.

  Santiago’s head falls to the ground with a thump, and my knees fall to the ground beside the body.

  “Fuck no.” I whisper, pulling at the shoulders and flipping the body over, revealing an obliterated Charlie. Half of his face is blown off, along with the front of his chest. Muscle and tendons blackened by ash are exposed.

  I wince and roll him back over, covering the gruesome wounds. “I told you to run, kid. You just couldn’t run fast enough, could you?” I shake my head, anger and sadness making my already heavy chest become painful. This young prospect would have been a good member one day. He was loyal and always looking out for the club.

  “See you later, brother.” I pat his shoulder, then grab onto Santiago’s hair again and stand up with a grunt, making my way towards the exit.

  I pull at the tie, feeling like it’s choking me when it could very well be a broken rib or punctured lung. I drop it upon one of the serving trays the waitresses were holding. Underneath it sits a woman’s purse. Burnt, but still in one piece.

  I pick it up, shoving Santiago’s head inside. It barely fits, making the purse bulky and awkward. I grab the straps anyway. A purse will be better than walking with a literal head outside.

  I wheeze as I make it out of the house. The air is somewhat clearer out here, and I gasp, taking in as much of the dry, warm air as I possibly can. What I wouldn’t give right now for some cool, mountain air.

  I stop as I look behind me, seeing where the extravagant building once stood. Black streaks spread from the front door to the roof. The windows are blown out and part of the foundation is in complete shambles.

  I shake my head as I turn around and look for my next move. To the left leads downhill towards the tourist shops and hotels. That is closer to home. Off to the right is desert but going that way would mean going away from home. Straight ahead is more local houses, but I’m thinking once I pass this town I’ll be in the desert, and I’ll at least be headed for California. I just have to get out of this territory.

  Straight it is then.

  If they find me, I’ll be too weak to defend myself. The knife attached to my ankle won’t help me much. The gun in the back of my pants only has one clip in it. I might get a few hits, but my aim is shit right now.

  I stick to the shadows, holding the purse and quietly walking through alleyways. It’s got to be the middle of the night, considering the moon lies directly above my head. The lights are off inside the little homes and the only sounds to be heard are stray cats going through trash bins and the occasional car driving by in the distance.

  It takes me longer than it should to walk through town. I’m more injured than I realized, and walking even just a few blocks puts into perspective that I’m in the roughest shape I’ve ever been in my life.

  An hour goes by of sliding through neighborhoods and the town of Salvatierra. But once I’m past the last row of houses, the only thing that’s in front of me is desert. Maybe it’s a good thing, and maybe it’s a bad thing. I’ll be exposed, but I don’t imagine there will be many people over this way.

  I’m thirsty, though, and hungry. My body aches and my eyes are throbbing. Looking down at my shirt and hands, all I see is red. I made a mess taking Santiago’s head. My knife is good, but it’s not meant for dismemberment.

  My feet drag across the sand and dirt. They’re starting to protest these ridiculous shoes but being without them I’d only be in worse shape.

  I wish I could trust hitchhiking. I could make it home by tomorrow. But I can’t. I don’t trust a soul in Mexico. They might all be tied to Santiago. One wrong move and I’ll be dead.

  It might take me days, weeks even, to get home.

  But I’ll get there.

  * * *

  Fuck.

  I hope like hell it’s not a mirage that I see in front of me, but the abandoned looking gas station up ahead is exactly what I need right now.

  I’ve stumbled more times than I can count. I don’t know how long I’ve been walking, but I think the sun has came up and went down again. It’s barely risen now, the sun just beginning to peak over the hills in the distance.

  I can barely swallow at this point, it feels like cotton has filled my mouth, my tongue so swollen I can’t even open my mouth.

  I make it to the abandoned station, pushing open the glass door that has an ancient bell attached to the top. It barely rings, just makes a flat ping in protest before tunelessly rattling around. There’s inches of dust and grime covering every surface, and it looks like this place was already ransacked ages ago.

  My heart sinks with dread. I don’t think I’ll make it if I don’t get something to drink soon. I look around, hating that the windowless building makes it impossible to see. I lost my phone back at the house before the explosion. I’m shit out of luck.

  I don’t know what kind of shit might be crawling around here in the dark. Poisonous spiders, snakes, or other nasty ass critters that can kill me with one bite. That shit doesn’t bother me, but it’s also how I don’t want to bow out in this world.

  I fall behind the counter, seeing the cash register already busted open and emptied. Stray newspapers and other items litter the shelves and floor. Nothing of use. No food. No water. My arm sweeps a shelf underneath the register, blindly searching for something. Anything.

  When I hear a tink, I fr
eeze.

  My stiff fingers wrap around a glass bottle, and pulling it out, I see a half empty bottle of very, very old bourbon.

  This isn’t what I need. It’s probably going to be shit, anyway. But I’m near dehydration and can’t take much more. I twist off the rusted cap and guzzle down the contents, the liquid tasting off and not fresh in the slightest. I gag through the swallows, and only pull the bottle away from my lips when I’ve swallowed the last drop.

  My arm falls, and my fingers release the bottle. It falls to the ground with a crash, the glass breaking as if it was on its last leg.

  Gripping the purse in one hand, I stumble towards the bathroom in the back. The door has been broken off its hinges, and the bathroom is nothing more than a sink and toilet, the bowl empty and stained brown from rust and years of misuse. I turn the sink, frowning but not even surprised when nothing comes out.

  I glance in the mirror that has a large crack right down the middle, my eyes widening at the sight in front of me. The face paint from days ago is still on but smeared and wore off in some spots. Blood paints my face is other areas. I look like a sick version of the Joker, I realize. My dress shirt has blood splatter on it. I had to get rid of the coat yesterday. When the sun was at its hottest, it was unbearable to have that extra layer on.

  I drop the purse on the side of the toilet. Letting my feet slide out from under me, my back drops down the wall until my ass hits the dirty ground.

  Maybe I can just rest a few minutes, I think.

  I’m so fucking tired.

  * * *

  My body is numb.

  My mind is numb.

  Everything is numb.

  It’s been a month, I think. Maybe. I’m not totally sure, to be honest. The days and nights have melted together in one big nightmare.

  I ended up stuck at that gas station for close to a week.

  When I woke up hours later, the liquor spewed out of me violently. I couldn’t keep an ounce of fluids inside of me. I knew I wouldn’t have made it if I kept walking again, so I had to scour the area. I found a tiny town a couple hours away. Once it was nighttime, I was able to rifle through garbage cans and found a little water and even some leftover food to eat.