Fender: Soulless Kings MC

by Andi Rhodes

  “Riker doesn’t fuck around.”

  Riker has a contact that works for Bull and just got word that Bull is making a buy from another supplier. It’s the perfect opportunity to send him a message and take out the competition. Where the meet is set is on Soulless Kings’ territory and anyone who dares to conduct their business where they don’t belong deserves what’s coming to them.

  Piston cracks his knuckles before pulling the gun he keeps stashed at the small of his back and checking the clip. He does all of this as we walk, and when we reach the others and our bikes, he bends to do the same with the gun in his boot. Knowing Piston, he’s probably got a few knives hidden somewhere and there will be a third gun in his saddlebags, maybe a fourth.

  Riker’s straddling his bike, the engine running, and he’s wearing a huge grin which tells me he’s out for blood. He’s always out for blood. Joker’s next to him, and he’s playing with his butterfly knife while he waits.

  “What’s the plan?” I ask as I mount my own bike.

  “This is gonna be like a Sunday stroll through the park that them highfalutin people take,” Riker responds. “We crash the buy, take out the competition, and Bull gets the message. Pretty standard run, prez.”

  “Any idea who he’s meeting with?” It doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things, but I’m curious.

  “Nah, my contact didn’t know. He’s pretty low level in Bull’s crew, so he got me what he could. We’re heading south, to the abandoned warehouse at the edge of town.”

  I nod and then check my own weapons. This is the perfect distraction from the little problem sitting in our basement. Sure, they could handle this Bull situation without me, but I need to get the fuck away from this place, away from her.

  “Let’s ride,” I shout.

  As president, I’m in the lead position, with Piston to my right and Riker to my left. Joker, Gibson, Craze, Pony, Chaser and Trainwreck are following. When we clear the Soulless Kings’ property line and leave the dirt roads behind, we pick up speed and fly down the asphalt.

  The view of the Pacific Ocean fuels me as it always does when I cruise the Coastal Highway. I’ve spent hours, hell probably days, driving up and down the coast throughout my lifetime. It centers me, makes me feel like I’m a part of something bigger than our little corner of the world.

  When we near the turnoff for the warehouse, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I glance to my right, then my left, and notice that Piston and Riker’s shoulders are a little straighter and scowls scrunch their faces. They feel it too. Someone is watching us. This isn’t going to be a Sunday stroll in the fucking park.

  We all pull into the lot and park our bikes next to the big black Suburban. The SUV is a joke. Everywhere you’d normally see chrome, there’s gold. Flashy, ugly, arrogant gold. It’s Bull’s way of showing off his money. I’m tempted to smash out the windows and destroy his custom rims, but I hold myself back. If I do that, they’ll know we’re here.

  I’m the first to dismount and the others follow suit. We each double check our weapons, and my eyebrows raise to my hairline when I see Trainwreck pull a sawed-off shotgun from his saddlebags and what appears to be a mini hand-grenade out of his pocket. He kisses the hand-grenade, as if for luck, and shoves it back in his pocket. Holy fuck, this kid isn’t playing around.

  “You see that?” Piston leans in and whispers as he tips his head in Trainwreck’s direction.

  “Yeah, I fucking saw,” I growl. “This isn’t the time or place, but I’ll be having a conversation with the kid later.”

  Piston chuckles and steps away from me. We gather in a circle, and I give Riker the go-ahead to run things down one last time. He talks for a few minutes, and it’s hard to miss the excitement in his voice. Violence… it’s what he lives for.

  “Okay, are we ready?” Riker takes a moment to look into each set of eyes.

  “Uh, one question,” Trainwreck speaks up. He glances around nervously, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. This is not a man—a goddamn kid—who needs to be carrying the weapons he is. “Where’s the other supplier?”

  I glare at him and he ducks his head but only for a moment. He lifts it and stares me directly in the eyes, and his face is hard.

  “I can’t be the only person who’s wondering this.” He looks from one brother to the next. “Seriously? No one else thinks it’s suspicious that the only vehicle here is Bull’s?” He glances around the surrounding empty lot as if to emphasize his point.

  Well, shit. Maybe he isn’t as dumb as I thought. I have no doubt we’d all been wondering the same thing, but Trainwreck is a fucking prospect so he doesn’t get to question anything.

  “Doesn’t fucking matter, prospect,” Riker sneers, reminding him of his place. “We’re here. We go in, get the job done, and get the fuck out. End of discussion.”

  Murmurs of agreement fill the air, and we move to the entrance. We aren’t quiet about it either. Why would we be? We want our enemy to know we’re coming. We want them to wonder ‘who’s out there’. We want them to be scared. We want them to quake in their shoes and piss their pants. And the louder we are, the more fear they’ll feel.

  When we round the corner at the opposite end of the old production floor, two men are at the end of the hallway, guns drawn and pointing in our direction. Good. They heard us. They’re scared.

  Recognition flares as we stare them down. “Sonofabitch,” I mumble under my breath.

  “What’s up, prez?”

  “What is it?”

  Piston and Riker speak at the same time. The tension emanating off of them is palpable, and I have to wonder if they really don’t know. The bandana-wearing skull patch should have been a dead giveaway. Not to mention the black bandanas covering the heads of the gun-toting dickwads.

  “Fucking Black Savages.”

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Bull says as he comes around the corner that’s beyond Brick and Arrow, the two Black Savage fucks in front of me.

  “Late as always, I see,” Riker taunts Bull. “Good to know the Soulless Kings aren’t the only ones you’re willing to fuck over.” Bull bristles but says nothing. “You do realize though, that this is our territory and those yahoos,” he tilts his head toward Brick and Arrow, “represent our biggest rivals?”

  “Couldn’t help but notice that there were no bikes in the parking lot when we rolled up,” Joker adds his two cents from behind me. “What’d ya do? Have mommy drop you off for your play date?”

  Our crew laughs at the joke, but no one else thinks it’s funny. Both Brick and Arrow pull back the hammer on their guns, readying themselves to take us out. Idiots. We may not look like it, but we’re armed to the teeth. They won’t get more than one shot off before we spill their blood all over the floor.

  “Why are you here?” Bull asks in an attempt to redirect the attention back to him.

  “You mean besides to have a conversation with you?” Riker challenges.

  “No, I mean, how’d you even know I’d be here?” Bull pauses for a second. “And that other thing. The conversation thing.”

  “You’re not very thorough in your background checks, are ya?” Riker will not mention his contact, but he will let Bull speculate.

  “What’s he talking about?” Arrow turns his head to Bull and glares at him.

  “I have no idea. He’s just trying to scare me.” Bull’s tone is not confident, but he knows that the Black Savages are just as ruthless as we are, so he’s scrambling. “Everyone that works for me has been vetted. There are no holes in my system. I swear.”

  “See, Bull, that’s the thing.” Riker takes a step forward. “You’re so focused on shit that doesn’t even matter that you’re missing what’s right in front of your fat little face.”

  “What? What am I missing?”

  I step forward to join Riker and inject as much malice into my tone as I possibly can. “You’re now caught between both sides of the deadliest rivals in the state.
” I glance over my shoulder at my brothers and give a terse nod. All of them raise their weapons and get them cocked and ready. When I return my attention to Bull, a grin is tugging my lips. This is gonna be fun. “We were just going to show up here today, rough you up a bit, teach you a lesson, and then continue with business as usual. But now? I’m not feeling the least bit fucking generous.”

  Five seconds after I stop talking, my brothers open fire. Every bullet penetrates their singular target: Bull. With each hit, his body jerks, and when the gunfire ceases, he falls to the floor, a pool of blood flowing from beneath him.

  While they’d focused on Bull, I’d squeezed my trigger and put a slug in both arms of Brick and Arrow. Their guns are now lying at their feet and they’re shouting out their pain. I stalk toward them, signaling Riker to follow.

  When we reach them, I grab Brick and slam him against the wall. Riker does the same with Arrow. Both continue to wail and whine. It’s pathetic and there’s no way in hell they ever would’ve been patched members of the Soulless Kings.

  Fucking pussies.

  “I’m gonna give you both a chance to walk outta here. But only one.” My tone is hard, my body rigid with rage, as I growl in Brick’s face. “You two were out here, acting as guards when we got here, and that tells me that you weren’t the ones sealing the deal with dead man over there.” I tilt my head in the direction of Bull’s bloody carcass. “Who else is here?”

  “Fuck you,” Brick says through clenched teeth.

  “Wow, you really are that stupid.”

  I grip the butt of my gun and pull it out from where I’d tucked it back into my waistband. I shove the barrel into Brick’s thigh and squeeze the trigger. He hollers out in agony as he slides to the floor. I could kill him, but I need one of these fucks alive to take a message back to their club.

  “You gonna be that dumb?” Riker asks behind me.

  “Black Savages don’t negotiate wi—”

  A gunshot echoes around me, and I hear Arrow’s shout before he falls to the ground, clutching the fresh bullet hole in his thigh. Riker and I stare at both of them in disgust for a brief moment, watching them whimper on the concrete, before we head back to the rest of our crew.

  A slow clapping sounds from behind me, punctuated by heavy boots hitting concrete.

  I whirl around and standing there, smug as can be, is Leal, another fucking Black Savages member. The patch on his cut catches my eye, and I take a moment to read the rocker under the skull: President.

  Well, shit.

  “So you’re the shit for brains who’s trying to steal our business.”

  Leal quirks a brow. “And you’re the motherfucker who fell for it.”

  “What’re you talking about?” Piston demands as he comes to stand next to me.

  “Do you really think I need to poach your customers?” Leal crosses his arms over his chest. “I set you up. Bull was a means to an end, that’s all.”

  “What ‘end’?” I demand.

  “I believe you have something of mine.”

  Tension coils my muscles, and I can practically feel it rolling off of Piston.

  Charlie.

  “You’ve got forty-eight hours to drop her at the east entrance to Black Savages’ property. You don’t and we’ll have a repeat performance of four years ago.”

  “What makes you think we won’t just go back and prepare for war? Gotta say, I’m not quite ready to give her up yet.”

  “And that’s exactly what will get you killed, just like your parents.” Leal takes a step closer to me, and I point my gun at him. “Charlotte is a Black Savage. You’re a Soulless King. As long as you keep her, you’re jeopardizing the lives of every member of your club.”

  I can’t help the growl that crawls up my throat and passes my lips. I could kill Leal, right here, right now, but he’s causing more questions to flow through my mind, and I want answers.

  “Still think I’m gonna pass. I’m liking our fucking odds.”

  Leal shrugs. “Your choice. But know this… when we attack, we’ll have one more soldier on our side. She may have been clueless then, but her eyes will be wide fucking open this time.”

  With that statement, Leal shouts at Brick and Arrow to ‘get up’ before he turns and walks away. His men limp behind him, bitching with each step they take. When they’re out of sight, I glance at Piston before shifting my focus to the others.

  “Clean this shit up,” I order, pointing at Bull.

  I shove my way past them as they all get to work. My boots echo as I walk through the empty warehouse, and when I push through the entrance, I realize it’s gotten late.

  Leal’s words roll around in my head. What did he mean when he said ‘she may have been clueless then’? Did he just give me the answer to all my questions, the antidote to all my fears? I’m so lost in my head, I don’t hear the door open behind me or register that I’m not alone until Piston steps up to my right.

  “So…” Piston rocks back on his heels and shoves his hands in his pockets.

  “What?” I snap. I don’t feel like hearing his usual shit. Not now.

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Jesus, spit it the fuck out.” I glare at him and I’m sure he sees it, even in the dark.

  “Shit, Fen, have we all been wrong? This whole time did we get it wrong?”

  “Yeah.” I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds before letting it whoosh out of me. “Yeah, I think we did.”

  I stride away from Piston and mount my bike. I need to get out of here, to process this new information. I’m not a complete idiot, and I know that Leal could be fucking with me, but I don’t think so. There’d been a confidence in his voice, a cockiness that told me everything I needed to know.

  Charlie hadn’t set me up. She hadn’t sealed my parent’s fates. My brothers had been wrong.

  I’d been wrong.

  Chapter Eleven

  I missed you too.

  Charlie

  I’m bathed in darkness, but my mind must be playing tricks on me. My head is hung forward, and I’m staring down at where I’m certain my wrist must be. I shouldn’t be able to see it. I can’t see my hand, or the white zip tie, or the chair, so there’s no way I can be seeing the figure eight tattoo on my wrist. Logically, I know this, but right now I’m watching it glow.

  I wonder if this is my mind playing a cruel joke on me, making that tattoo the only thing visible.

  Light brightens the room, and I jump in the chair and slam my eyes shut. The throbbing in my head turns into a sharp pang, but I force my eyes to crack open so I can make out the little figure eight on my wrist. It’s still black.

  Metal clangs and the door to the room opens, but I don’t look up. I’m too fucking tired to play any more games.

  Footsteps sound on the concrete until a set of boots enter my vision. I know who it is by the way the oxygen seems to leave the room and the way my spine sizzles with his eyes on me, but I still don’t look up.

  I turn my head when a knife enters my line of sight, and the zip ties are cut, freeing me from the chair.

  “Does the torture you have planned next not require me to be tied to a chair?” I bite out, not moving. There’s venom in my voice, but there’s also an ache that I hope he can’t hear.

  Calloused hands cup my jaw and force me to look up into the stormy gray eyes that have haunted my dreams for years. I don’t see the anger I expect. I see regret. A lifetime of it.

  He says nothing for what feels like too long. He just stares at me, either trying to memorize the lines of my face or he’s lost in his own mind.

  “What is it, Fender?”

  He shakes his head and runs his thumb across my bottom lip, his eyes lowering there. “You didn’t do it, did you, Charlie?”

  I narrow my eyes. “No, I didn’t. That’s what I’ve been telling you this whole time. I—”

  His thumb pressing over my lips quiets me. He weaves a hand around the back of my neck an
d pulls me forward an inch.

  “I should’ve never let you go.”

  His thumb lifts from my mouth, and he replaces it with a brutal kiss. I struggle for a minute, lifting my hands to his chest and pushing against rock. When that doesn’t work, I sink my teeth into his lip hard enough that the taste of his blood mixes with my own.

  He yanks away for a second, running a finger over his bottom lip then holding it up to see the blood. When he looks down at me again, he only looks more hungry.

  “I don’t want you,” I lie when he grabs my hips and yanks me to my feet. Tears have welled in my eyes, and I fight the urge to sniffle with my runny nose. “You never meant anything to me.”

  He lifts me, and I wrap my ankles around him on reflex. My nails dig into his shoulders. He backs us into a wall and starts kissing my neck, probably thinking better of moving to my lips again.

  “I wish I would’ve let you die.”

  “Stop lying,” he growls. He holds me up with one hand while he uses the other to yank my T-shirt over my collar bone. He nips at my flesh there, and I let my head lay back against the concrete.

  I want to fight it, I really do. I feel like the moment I decided to come back to Oregon, I’ve been setting myself up to get hurt. By Fender, by my family, by everyone. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of caring what anyone thinks, and I’m sick of holding on to things that aren’t there anymore. Just when I want to let go, Fender’s holding on for me.

  “Stop,” I say, even as I’m craning my neck to grant him better access. He gropes my breasts and groans as he shoves my T-shirt up and pulls me forward so he can rip it over my head.

  He sets my back against the wall again and buries his face in my cleavage, my tits pressed together by my black, lacy bra.

  “Fender…”

  He stills, and he lowers me some so we’re face to face. His breathing is heavy, and he searches my eyes for something. The tears I haven’t yet let fall make him appear blurry.

  He closes his eyes and kisses me, softer this time. More like an apology than a demand.