by Jadyn Chase
They all wore their red bandanas and their patched vests. They clasped their hands behind their backs and none of them gave me the slightest hint of consideration when I appeared.
Roman pivoted to one side to create an opening, and I pushed myself through it to enter the circle. The silence oppressed me to a nervous wreck, but I made my way to the center. I shuddered when I looked around me. What were they going to do to me?
Roman swiveled to close the ring. Now the shit would really hit the fan. Carlos let go of his hands and shrugged his shoulders confronting me. “This is a special session to consider the initiate for acceptance into Los Diablos. This woman seeks to join our family and tie her fate to ours. All in favor, say, ‘Aye’.”
A chorus of Ayes thundered around the room. The noise rocked me on my heels before I steadied myself.
“All in favor,” Carlos called, “say, ‘Nay’.”
No one moved. A shimmer of excitement went through the circle. Their eyes took on a warmer glitter. Could they be happy about this?
Carlos took a deep breath. “The initiate is accepted.”
He retreated into his place. Now what? I couldn’t stand much more of this.
Roman took a stride forward. He approached and halted in front of me, but his features gave me no comfort. “Initiations call for a ritual beating by all the patched members of this club to show the initiate’s commitment to our way of life. We only allow exceptions when an initiate has already gotten injured in battle protecting our kind. The scars from those injuries take the place of the scars the initiate would get during the initiation. Therefore, we can forego the beating now. We just need to mark you with a symbolic injury to show that you have been initiated.”
I followed all this on an emotional rollercoaster, but I almost collapsed in desperation when he pulled out his blunt battle knife. He clenched it in a white-knuckle grip and his voice dropped to a rumble. “Hold out your right hand.”
If anyone else told me to do that, I would have run screaming from the house. I couldn’t argue with him, though. My arm obeyed him even if my mind didn’t want to.
I extended my right hand and he caught it. All at once, I was holding hands with him, with Roman, with the man I loved. I hitched my wagon to his star and that meant Los Diablos. I was his, and that meant I was part of his family.
He rotated my hand to expose the knuckles. He pressed his blade against the skin on the back of my hand and I braced myself for the worst. He jerked the knife back, but he barely grazed the skin. He sliced a small one-inch scratch and a tiny ooze of blood sprang from the cut.
The instant the edge left my hand, the whole group erupted in loud, throaty cheers. They rushed me all at once slapping me and Roman on the backs. Someone draped a heavy leather vest over my shoulders.
I got lost in the confusion until Roman hauled me toward him. He took a gauze square out of his pocket and covered the wound. His face beamed down at me from above and the room faded to nothing.
The men continued their boisterous swirl around us, but none of that mattered anymore. He looped one arm around my shoulders and kissed me. I was with him.
He used his bulk to plow a pathway through the bodies to the hall I just walked down. He stopped at the threshold. His face beamed glorious happiness, but he didn’t kiss me again. He gave me a shove to propel me away.
I bowed my head and hurried to the master bedroom. I opened the door and walked into a different wall of bodies—female ones. Dolores snatched the vest off my shoulders. “Come on, chica. Get out of those clothes. We don’t have much time.”
I submitted to their hands. Rita started brushing my hair and braiding it. I guess I didn’t get my clothes off fast enough in the confusion, so Dolores and Maria took over. They tugged my shirt and jeans off and pulled a satin slip over my head while they chattered to each other in Spanish.
I twirled in eddies of excitement and confusion. I went from one intense, life-changing ritual straight into another. Could I do this? The women didn’t give me a chance to question.
Anna emerged from the mayhem and ran to my side. “Do I look all right, Maya? Does my dress look all right?”
I touched her glistening black hair. “You look beautiful, Anna. You’re a perfect flower girl.”
Her cheeks flushed with pleasure and she settled her basket of rose petals on her arm. She got all businesslike in her role as flower girl.
Dolores zipped my dress up my back, and she and Maria shoved me into a chair in front of the dressing table mirror. Someone moved in and started doing my makeup. I stared at my reflection in the glass. Every moment that passed changed me into a different person, but I didn’t have much time to consider what that would be. I made my decision. Now the tides of Fate would carry me to its conclusion.
Someone banged on the door. “Ten minutes!”
Dolores stood back, suddenly motionless. Quiet settled over the room until Rita touched my shoulder. “You’re ready.”
I blinked. I hardly recognized the woman in the mirror. Was that really me? Could a patched member of Los Diablos really look like that? I got to my feet and shimmering ivory folds of satin and lace tumbled to the ground. Pearls and handstitched smocking decorated the bodice and the puffed sleeves ending at the elbow.
Dolores fixed a comb in my hair. Then she laid the gauzy veil over my face. A cloud of cosmic mystery covered the world.
Rita took my hand and escorted me to the door, but everything took on a mystical cast. Nothing seemed real.
Rita opened the door and Anna preceded me into the hall. She walked out with stately importance scattering rose petals on the carpet. They formed a flowery walkway leading me to my future. I trailed her to the living room. My billowing skirts dragged in the petals and their scene drifted to my nostrils.
I turned the corner to find the living room completely transformed. None of the men from the initiation wore their regalia anymore. They all wore black tuxes with perfectly polished black leather shoes and gleaming black satin ties. Not a scrap of red remained in sight anywhere.
Under a flower-bedecked arch between the living room and the kitchen, Roman waited for me in an exquisite tux. His cheeks glowed and his eyes sparkled. My parents occupied the place on honor on the other side of the arch, and my heart wrenched when I saw them. They never needed to know all these people belonged to a dangerous motorcycle gang or even that they were all dragons—all but me.
Roman’s mouth twisted when he caught sight of me. Anna tossed her petals in all directions and made a mat of flowering beauty in front of her father. She probably would have continued all day, but she ran out of petals.
When she finished, she retired to her father’s side. He draped his big hand over her shoulder and hugged her against his side. That was my cue. I walked along that aisle of flowers to the arch and took my place in front of Roman. He put out his hand and I grasped it for dear life.
My father stepped forward between us and his voice quavered with suppressed emotion when he spoke. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God to join this man, Roman Santiago, and this woman, Maya Christiansen, in the bonds of holy matrimony. If anyone can raise any objections why this man and this woman should not be joined together as one flesh, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
No one spoke. They never would. I never had to worry about Los Diablos raising any objections to me sharing Roman’s life. I was one of them, now and forever.
Scorched
1
Isabel
The smash of breaking glass startled me out of a sound sleep. I bolted upright and stared into pitch darkness. A cat hissed in the street beyond my window, but I couldn’t see anything.
Another crash shattered the stillness, followed by several loud thumps. My heart leaped into my throat when heavy footsteps clomped up the stairs to the apartment door. I scrambled out of bed in a flurry of activity, but not fast enough.
The front door slammed aside. The knob punctured t
he sheetrock and made a hole—another hole. This apartment suffered the tortures of the damned since I moved in, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now.
A monstrous figure blocked out the streetlight from outside. Two massive shoulders occluded the opening, and big hefty tree trunk legs towered from the floor. I gaped at the horrific sight, but I couldn’t move. Terror petrified me to the spot. I couldn’t breathe.
Just then, he collapsed in a flaccid rubbery blob wobbling across the living room. His knees caved so he could barely hold himself upright. He staggered to the couch and pitched across it. His skull thumped against the couches arm, but he didn’t seem to notice. Fumes of reeking alcohol assaulted my nose even from this distance.
I did my best impersonation of a marble statue. Maybe he didn’t see me in the dark. Maybe I could slip away unseen before he noticed me. Maybe….
“Where’s my dinner?” he boomed out.
I jumped and whipped around. Dinner? The red clock next to the bed glowed, 3:30 AM. He’d been gone for over seventeen hours and he came in at this time of night asking for dinner?
He lunged upright faster than I expected for someone that drunk. Then again, he drank almost every day so he could hold his liquor better than most. “I said, where’s my dinner!”
I didn’t say anything. I learned a long time ago not to say anything to him when he got like this. I scurried to the kitchen and pulled open the fridge. The light pierced the darkness.
His hand flew to his eyes. “Aaargh! What are you trying to do, you filthy whore—blind me? Turn that thing off!”
I shut the fridge, but now I had another problem. If I couldn’t open the fridge, I couldn’t make dinner, could I?
My mind when into a whirl. I had to think of some way to placate him before this turned against me. I moved down the counter to the coffee maker and took hold of the pot. I ran it under the tap to fill it up.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he thundered from the couch. “I said make my dinner, not coffee. I don’t want coffee.”
“Sorry,” I stammered and shoved the pot back into its place.
I had an idea. I returned to the fridge, cracked the door, and slithered my hand inside. I pressed the light button double-quick to turn off the light. I held it down while I retrieved a pan of enchiladas.
I got the fridge closed without too much light escaping and put the tray on the counter. I took out a plate intending to heat up some of the food when, out of nowhere, he grabbed me from behind.
I didn’t see him coming. That was what came of turning my back on him even for a fraction of a second. He might be drunk, but he wasn’t dead yet. Nothing would make him less dangerous.
He seized me by the hair and wrenched my head back hard enough to make me scream. “You stupid fucking bitch,” he snarled into my ear. “I told you to have my dinner ready when I come home at night. What part of that are you too stupid to understand?”
My hands flew to my head. “Please, Diego,” I cried. “I didn’t mean to.”
“You didn’t mean to,” he sneered. The stink of rotten alcohol burned my sinuses. “You never mean to do anything. That’s always your excuse. How many times do I have to tell you? I want a hot meal on the table when I come home from work at night. What does it actually take to get that through your head?”
“I’m sorry, Diego.” I heard my voice rising to a shriek. His grip pulled hair out of my scalp, but I couldn’t break free. He overpowered me by brute strength. “I would have, but I didn’t know….”
“You didn’t know.” He snorted. “You didn’t know because you’re too stupid to know anything. You’re too stupid and ornery to do anything I say. Tell me this. What’s the use in me keeping you around if you can’t follow the simplest instructions? All I asked is to have a hot meal on the table when I come home from work. Is that too much to ask? Is that too complicated for your idiot brain to comprehend?”
“Diego….” I began.
He cut me off by kicking my legs out from under me. He smashed his steel-toed boots into my knees and dropped me. I hit the floor and he yanked my hair to flip me on my back.
The instant I landed, he pounced. His enormous fist came flying out of the clear blue sky. Before I could stop it, he pounded it into my left eye. My cranium bounced off the tiles and stars exploded in my head.
Sheer instinct took over. This shit happened way too often nowadays. I got so used to it my arms went up by themselves to protect my face and head. His third strike punched into my shoulder. Pain splintered through me from all sides, but he didn’t care how much I tried to defend myself.
The second I got my arms up, he straightened and started kicking me. I pivoted onto my side and his toes crashed into my ribs and back and legs. He braced both burly arms against the counter to give himself extra support.
“You stupid fucking bitch!” he roared between kicks. “I’ll teach you to do what I tell you. You make my dinner. Do you hear me, bitch? When are you gonna learn? Huh?”
I didn’t hear much between the drumming impacts pounding me all over. My skull throbbed and my body screamed in pain, but my mind shut down. I retreated into a hollow, silent void where nothing could touch me. That was how used to this I got.
All at once, the fog blasted apart. He must have noticed his kicks not producing the desired effect. He could be surprisingly astute when he was blind drunk. He slapped both hands on my shirt and hauled me to my feet. He whipped me around and slammed my back against the fridge.
Now I had no choice but to face him in all his spitting, grinning horror. He pulled me off the cold metal and shoved me back one more time. The fridge rocked on its pedestal.
“I’m talking to you,” Diego bellowed. “I told you to make my dinner.”
I tried again to lift my arms, but his powerful biceps blocked me. His lips curled back from his teeth in a hideous mask of deadly hate. His black eyes narrowed to slits and his dark hair hung loose and menacing around his chiseled features.
“I’m trying to….” I stuttered.
He slapped one meaty palm across my face and backhanded me going back the other way. When I jerked to get away, he delivered two more sharp strikes to get my attention. “If you can’t make yourself useful around here, I’ll just have to get rid of you. I’ll get myself a decent woman who knows how to treat a man. Is that what you want?”
I opened my mouth, but I never got a chance to say anything. He spun me away from him and crammed my face down on the counter. My ass pointed back toward his hips. So that’s what he really wanted.
To my horror, he didn’t do that. Instead, he leaned over me and lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. When I opened my eyes, a shiny, sharp blade gleamed in front of my face. “Is this what you want? This is what we do around here with useless women like you. You’re too lazy and stupid to pull your weight. The kindest thing to do is to get rid of you. Then you won’t drag some other poor vato down with your slack-ass attitude.”
I froze staring at that knife. He moved it to my cheek and rested the tip just beneath my eye. He dragged the needle edge down my cheek to my lip. Did he cut me? I couldn’t tell. It hurt enough, but I was too blinded by fear and adrenaline to tell.
All at once, he grabbed me by the hair again. “I’ve had enough of you. I would rather come home to an empty house than to a woman who doesn’t respect her man. You never respected me….”
I didn’t hear any more. I had to get out of here. He really planned to kill me. I had to stop him. I never should have let this nightmare go so far. Now I might not get out of here alive.
He yanked me off the counter. For a fraction of a second, his grip on my hair slackened. That would have been the perfect time to break free, but at that moment, he bumped my foot with his boot. He didn’t mean to, but he knocked me off balance. I slipped and fell to the floor, and my hair pulled free from his fingers.
For one heartbeat, I knelt crumpled and devastated on the icy floor. He stood behind me
seething with murderous power. That was the moment I should have bolted for the exit. The apartment’s front door loomed before me. The streetlights lit up the night outside. The fresh air beckoned me to a cleaner, more forgiving world than the Hell inside that apartment.
The next instant, Diego laid hold of both my shoulders and wrestled me to my feet. He turned me around to face him. He still crushed his dagger handle in one iron fist and clubbed me across the cheek with it. He flailed that fist back and forth two more times, and his knuckles pulverized my face to smithereens.
Through the haze of confusion and panic, I watched in slow motion as he turned the knife around in his hand to aim the point toward me. The next time that knife flew, he wouldn’t hit me with his knuckles or the handle. The blade would penetrate my body and that would be the end of me. I saw it all as clear as day.
The world slowed down enough for me to raise my hand. His arm sailed through space and collided with my wrist. The weapon flopped, but he didn’t drop it. The realization dawned on his addled mind that he missed his target.
He fell back one step and kicked his booted foot at me. I couldn’t move fast enough to stop it. His heel smashed into my solar plexus and I pitched backward scrambling for my balance.
The blow sent me hurtling through the door onto the landing outside. That inviting summer air hit me, but it didn’t welcome me the way I hoped.
Diego stormed after me. Before I could do anything, he swung and punched me one more time in the side of the head. I spun like a top and folded over the railing. I found myself teetering between Heaven and Earth. I stared down at the concrete parking lot two stories below.
I pawed at the railing for any shred of hope to stop myself falling to my destruction, but before I could do that, my heart sank when Diego caught me again. He bent over to take hold of my hair for the last time. I wouldn’t get away now.
