by Andi Rhodes
“You don’t fucking deserve to call yourself a Black Savage. You don’t deserve to call yourself a man.”
“You won’t get away with this. I’m your president.”
“Not anymore, you’re not.” Donovan throws Leal back to the ground and turns to me. “I don’t like you, Fender. Hell, I’m not even a big fan of Charlotte, but I don’t condone what’s in that picture.”
“It’s just a damn picture!” So he knows exactly what Donovan handed me. “She’s my—”
Charlie whirls around on Leal and stands next to his head, staring down at him. “I’m not your anything. I might fight for there to be less death and bloodshed, but I won’t fight to stop your suffering.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Don’t make me regret letting you live. Don’t push me.”
“If your daddy could see you now,” Leal taunts her.
“If he could see her now,” Sylvia interjects. “He’d be so fucking proud.”
Charlie and Sylvia exchange glances mixed with pride, confusion, frustration and sadness.
“Let’s wrap this up,” Donovan says. “I need to go fill everyone in, and it seems we need to vote on a few things.”
“You can’t hold church without—”
Donovan smashes his boot into Leal’s skull, and his head whips to the side before he collapses, unconscious.
“We’re taking him with us,” I say, not really sure how the statement will be received.
“Suit yourself,” Donovan shrugs.
“Fender, I wasn’t kidding.” Charlie steps up to me, her eyes pleading. “No more death.”
“Babe, I can’t promise that. But I do promise that when it’s his time, I’ll try and make it quick.”
“That’s the best you’re gonna get, Charlotte,” Donovan announces, clearly aware of what’s likely to take place. “You grew up in this world. Life isn’t guaranteed, and sins have to be punished.”
Charlie shakes her head and turns to walk toward the woods I walked through earlier.
“Where are you going?” I shout after her.
“I’m going to your bike,” she yells without turning around. “I’m assuming you came on it.”
I chuckle, as do my boys and Donovan. Sylvia laughs, too, and takes off after Charlie.
“We’ve got a van up at the main garage. You’re gonna need a way to transport him to your property.” Donovan spares a glance at his president—former president—and shakes his head. “Follow me.”
He takes off in the opposite direction than Charlie went. I order Riker and Joker to follow him and meet us at the road where the bikes are parked. Piston and I make our way to that spot, each of us dragging Leal by an ankle. We’re not bothering to watch what’s in our path, the more damage done to Leal’s body, the better.
“What was in that picture?” Piston asks after a few minutes.
“You don’t wanna know,” I mumble.
Shit, I didn’t want to know. It’s an image I wish I could unsee. The Soulless Kings might not be the most respectable humans on the planet, but none of us would dare stoop to the level that Leal did to get the photo.
“Tell me this,” Piston says. “Are the Black Savages really going to let us get away with this because of it?”
I think about his question. On the one hand, Donovan could be using whatever means necessary to take over the power of the club and the attack that Sylvia warned us about will still happen. The image of a much younger Charlie, sleeping naked and unaware of the depravity around her, enters my mind. On the other hand, if any Soulless Kings member had been caught with that kind of photo, letting them go to the rival wouldn’t even come close to the wrath they would experience.
“Yeah, they are.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It’s never easy to choose between family and the person you love, and no one should ever have to.
Charlie
I stare at the monitor for the Nightmare Room with narrowed eyes, my arms crossed over my chest. Leal is in there, tied to the same chair I was tied to. He woke up about an hour ago. His blood drips onto the concrete floor, but less so now that he’s stopped thrashing.
I hear footsteps behind me and know they belong to Fender when his scent fills the tiny space. I breathe in deeply, and my eyes slide closed when he lays a hand on my shoulder.
“You know putting you in there was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
“Was it?” I flinch at the sound of my own voice. There’s too much hurt laced in with the hardness. Too much regret.
But I don’t regret any of it.
I open my eyes when I realize this, and even with Fender’s heavy hand resting on me, a weight lifts off my shoulders.
For so many years, I’ve been plagued with regret and sorrow, but today, that ends.
I don’t know what would’ve happened if I hadn’t left. I don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t pulled the trigger on one of my own. I don’t know where I’d be if Fender hadn’t taken me and put me in that dark space I’m staring at now. But I do know I wouldn’t be here.
And here is exactly where I want to be.
Fender bends down and sighs into my neck before kissing me there. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to forgive me?” he asks, his tone reflecting that same hurt.
I turn around, forcing my eyes away from the man who I no longer think of as an uncle. He’s no longer anything.
I wrap my hands around Fender’s neck and lean onto my tiptoes. “I already forgive you,” I say, pressing my lips to his.
His tongue dips in my mouth, and I moan at his taste. He cups my thighs just below my ass and lifts me into the air before pressing me against the wall. The cold seeps through my shirt and is in direct opposition to my heating core.
Our kiss grows rough and hungry, and we stay this way for several minutes, forgetting about everything else for a short while.
Fender eases away first, and I whimper in protest. He plants several kisses on my neck as he slowly lowers me to my feet.
His eyes drift to the monitor, and I know what he’s thinking.
It’s time to end this. To end this war and to end this phase of our lives, and I know what it’ll take to make that happen.
Just one more death.
“Can you forgive me for this, too?” he asks, looking at me seriously.
I take a minute to answer, staring into the thunderstorm brewing in his eyes. Finally, I give a single nod, and Fender lets out a breath he must’ve been holding.
He bends down and kisses me before turning toward the door to the Nightmare Room.
“Fender?”
He looks over his shoulder at me.
“Make it quick, okay?”
He nods and turns back around, pressing a button for the lights to come on before he unlocks the door.
And then he’s gone, he and Leal now both visible on the screen.
Fender
Make it quick.
Charlie’s words echo in my head as I stalk toward Leal. I clench my fists at my sides as I realize that making it quick might be the one thing I can’t do for her. I fucking hate Leal and the hell he’s put me through, put my family through, put Charlie through. He doesn’t deserve a fast death.
The minimal amount of blood dripping from Leal’s body is hardly satisfying. His clothes are stained with it, both from the shot to his knee and the beating he got from Piston before he was thrown into the van back at Black Savages’ property. I ache to make him suffer, but there’s one thing I need to do first.
I pull my cell from my pocket and tap the Facetime icon so I can dial a number I hope I don’t have to use often.
“Is it done?”
“Just getting started,” I reply as I flip the phone around and stick in Leal’s face so he can see the screen.
His eyes are swollen, but not so much that I can’t see them widen when he sees who I called.
“You got anything to say?” Donovan sneers.
When he’d first answered, I cou
ld see the wall of Black Savages’ brothers that stood behind him. It seems that none of them wanted to miss out on this. There’d been hushed conversation at first, but now, other than Donovan’s voice, there’s a deadly calm coming through the line.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” Leal says, lacking any conviction. Even he doesn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
“The only mistake we made was putting our trust and loyalty with you.”
Leal’s face contorts with rage, and he struggles against the ties that are binding him to the chair. “This isn’t how this works!” he shouts. “Punishment is to be voted on and declared by the president. Not to mention it should be carried out within the club.”
“You’re half right. The president does need to declare the punishment after it’s put to a vote. You can rest assured that we’re following the rules.”
“How can you follow the rules when I’m bei—”
“Donovan’s our new president,” a voice I don’t recognize interrupts.
Under the blood on Leal’s face, his skin pales. It seems to finally be sinking in that this is a mess he can’t get out of, a mess he created for himself. Not only that, but the one person who he might normally get support from gave me her blessing before I walked in this room. He’s fucked nine ways to hell, and it’s time he accepts that.
“Leonard ‘Leal’ Alverez, you are hereby stripped of your title as President of the Black Savages. Furthermore, you are stripped of your club patch and of any privileges that you had that can be attributed to the Black Savages. You are no longer welcome on Black Savages’ property and we are taking possession of your Harley as payment for damages caused by you.”
“You can’t do this! I’ll make you pay, just you wait and—”
“Oh, did I give you the impression that I was done?” Donovan taunts. “As a result of a vote put to all patched members of the Black Savages MC: Oregon Chapter, which was unanimous by the way, you are sentenced to death at the hands of the Soulless Kings MC: Oregon Chapter.”
Leal sputters but doesn’t manage to form a coherent sentence in his outrage. The corners of my lips tilt up into a grin, and I know that he sees the beast standing before him. It’s not a part of me that I like to unleash, but for him, I’m making an exception.
“Anything else?” I ask Donovan when I turn the screen back around so I can see him.
“Just send us his patch when you’re done.” The look on Donovan’s face is a mixture of resignation, disgust, and determination.
“Sure thing. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some work to do.”
My thumb hovers over the ‘end call’ button when Donovan stops me.
“And Fender?”
“Yeah?”
“Make him suffer.”
Donovan ends the call before I have a chance to. When the screen goes black, I begin to slide it back in my pocket but think better of it at the last second. This isn’t going to be a quick killing, and I don’t need my phone to get broken in the process.
With Leal’s furious pleas ringing in my ears, I turn and walk to the panel by the door and open it to reveal the different buttons. I press the blue one that allows me to see just beyond the door. Charlie’s face fills the tiny screen, and there are tears silently falling down her cheeks. I know this is hard for her, and it’s about to get worse. No reason for her to stay and watch.
“Charlie, why don’t you go see Margo about getting something to eat?”
My voice startles her, and her gaze darts around the hallway looking for the source. Her eyes narrow when she spots the camera and speaker and her lips move.
“Push the button to the right of the door for the intercom,” I instruct.
“I’m not hungry,” she huffs.
“Babe, please,” I plead. I need to do this and the last thing I need is to worry about what she’s thinking or feeling as she watches.
“Fender, you promised you’d make it quick.”
She might not remember the conversation, but the only actual promise I made was to try to make it quick. “No, Charlie, I didn’t.” Her face scrunches up as if she’s searching her mind for the words that were spoken, words she thinks she’ll be able to prove me wrong with.
“Shit,” she mumbles when she realizes that I’m right.
“I fucking need you to go, Charlie,” I grate out through clenched teeth. “Either you go, or I’m going to have to do this in the dark.” That wouldn’t be my first choice, turning the lights off so she can’t see, but I will if she refuses to walk away.
She tips her head back to look directly at the camera. My heart squeezes at the indecision on her face. It’s never easy to choose between family and the person you love, and no one should ever have to. Unfortunately, in our world, that’s almost always going to be an issue unless you fall in love with someone inside your own club, with someone who you already call family.
“Fine.”
Charlie drops her finger away from the intercom button and crosses her arms over her chest. She doesn’t look toward the camera again, just stares at the door for a moment before turning to walk toward the stairs. I watch her go, Leal’s screaming behind me for her not to leave him.
I drop my head forward and mumble to myself, “I’m sorry, Charlie. May you and God forgive me.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I’ve always loved the way my given name rolls off her tongue and right now, in this moment where there’s nothing and no one between us, that’s who I am.
Fender
“She’ll never forgive you for this.”
I lift my head slowly as the storm brewing in my soul shifts and gains momentum like a hurricane barreling down on the coastline. Most people would be scared of the power I’m feeling inside, but it only brings me a deadly calm.
“I’m not the one who needs to be worried about her forgiveness,” I say, without turning around.
I place my cell on the small shelf inside the panel box and close the metal door. The click of it latching echoes off the walls, and after that, silence. Finally, Leal has shut the fuck up. I pull my gun from my waistband at the small of my back and hold it in front of me. I debate on giving Charlie what she wants: Leal’s quick death with a bullet between the eyes.
I dismiss the idea quickly when an image of my father hovering over my mother’s lifeless body enters my mind. My body stiffens and the image shifts to Charlie, as a young girl, sleeping on a couch and being photographed without her knowledge. My stomach rolls, and it takes every ounce of control not to throw up. How many other girls did he target? How many other lives has he ruined because he’s a sick, twisted fuck?
I shove my gun back in its place and pull out my knife instead. I hold it out in front of me, as if inspecting it, and satisfaction slides through me at Leal’s widened eyes. I have to admit, he’s put on a great show of being the big, bad biker, but right now, when his life is about to end, he’s every bit the pussy it takes to victimize children.
“Ya know,” I say, as I run my thumb over the blade. “I think I’m going to enjoy this.”
Without waiting for him to say anything, I lunge forward and raise the blade above my head. I swing my arm down and stop just before the tip of the knife sinks into his shoulder. Leal’s squirming against his restraints, and I realize that, as much as I want to cause him pain, I also want to make him suffer on a much deeper level.
I switch gears and cut the ties at his wrists and ankles. He stares at me incredulously, and I only give a curt nod. When he stands, his face morphs from scared to cocky confidence. He shakes his arms and legs in what I assume is a way to restore blood flow, but I catch a glimpse of pain across his features at the bullet wound in his knee.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
I shrug. “That’s where you’re wrong. Causing you physical pain isn’t my only objective. What better way than to make you hurt, make your soul bleed like mine did, than to beat you when you can fight back? Bringing you down and
showing you that you’re a worthless piece of shit who never deserved to wear a patch in the first place is the worst I could possibly do, and it’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“This isn’t exactly a fair fight.” Leal nods toward the knife in my hand.
I glance at it and think about his words. He’s not wrong so I make a split decision and toss the knife into the corner of the room. Beating him with my bare hands will be so much more satisfying.
“Still got that gun,” he says.
I take my gun out and toss it down with the knife.
“Bette—”
His fist slams into my nose, and my head flies back, blood spurting from my nostrils. The cheap shot hurt but only serves to add to my motivation. I force my gaze back to him, and he’s standing in a fighter's stance, fists held in front of him, ready to strike.
“Feel better?” I snarl as I swipe at the blood with the back of my hand.
Just as his mouth opens to respond, I pull my knee up and thrust my boot forward to connect with his already busted kneecap. Leal howls in pain and falls to the concrete floor. Maybe this isn’t going to be a fair fight after all.
I stand over him, my feet planted on either side of his body. With a look of disgust, I lean down and pick him up by his cut, lifting him off the floor. I haul my arm back and land a blow to his face. I let go with my other hand at the same time, and his head slams into the floor with a sickening crack.
“That was for your brothers.”
My fury takes over, and I wail on him with my fists, grunting with each brutal blow. His entire face is swollen and covered in a mixture of his blood and my own. My knuckles are split open, and the pain burns. Sweat beads on my forehead.
“Those were for my parents.”
I stand tall and watch as he tries to roll over. My stance doesn’t allow him any movement so I lift my right leg and pivot to move to one side. When he’s able to get away from me, I let him, and stalk toward my weapons. I pick up my knife and slowly return to stand over him.
