A Ruthless Halloween (Ruthless Kings MC)

by K. L. Savage

  “My man,” I lift a taco in the air, and he hits it with his own. “Cheers.”

  Not two minutes later, all of the food is gone. “Is my makeup messed up?” Tongue asks.

  I look at him and see the area around his mouth is his skin tone, and his red lips are showing. I pinch my index and thumb together leaving a tiny space. “Just a little bit.”

  “Great. I’ll be out in a second. Sarah is going to have to help me fix it. Worth it.” Tongue leaves me alone in the kitchen, and the light above me goes out.

  “Funny, Tongue. Real funny,” I say on a satisfied exhale and push out of the chair to go out front before Reaper rips me a new asshole.

  Everyone pulled together to decorate the place. There are fake spiderwebs everywhere and machines blowing out smoke. Scary movies are playing in the living room on an old black and white projector, and there is food and drinks galore for the adult party later. Right now, it’s about raising money for a charity, so there are going to be a ton of kiddos here.

  When I get outside, I’m stunned to see Pocus, Seer, and a few other of the NOLA chapter. They are dressed up as skeletons too. Did I miss the memo? How am I the only taco? Why does everyone have to be so scary? I only know who they are because I can see the names on their cuts. Other than that, everyone looks the same.

  Looks like Whistler from Demon’s Fury MC is here along with One, his VP. He has a whistle around his neck. Original.

  Mercy, the older guy from the Hellhounds MC, is here too, and he has half of his face painted like the devil. He has one long horn that reminds me of a ram on the top of his head and is wearing an orange contact to give his Halloween persona a creep factor.

  Mission accomplished.

  Maizey, the little girl we rescued, is dressed up as an avocado and is holding onto Sarah’s hand while everyone gathers in front of the house. To the left is where all of the festivities begin, and we need to make sure nothing bad happens.

  “Slingshot!” Maizey screams my name and runs toward me. “I’m an avocado. Tacos and avocados are friends!” she squeals in excitement and stomps her feet against the floor.

  This kid is awesome. I hold out my hand for a high-five, and she meets it with a ton of enthusiasm. “Heck yeah, they are. About time I see someone around here with some real style.”

  “They could’ve at least been a zombie or something.” She rolls her eyes and plays with a dark curl of hair. “Where’s the fun?”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” I gasp. “Well, you and I will have a good time. We can hang out if Sarah is cool with it.”

  “Please, please, please?” Maizey begs, folding her hands together in desperation. “I’ll clean my room for a week.”

  I snort. The kid doesn’t know how to negotiate.

  “You can hang out with Uncle Slingshot. I don’t mind. Just be careful, okay?” Sarah bends down and kisses Maizey’s cheek, and Maizey does a high-pitched squeal again as she runs to my side and takes my hand.

  My heart warms knowing she wants to hang out with me. Me. Slingshot. The everyday screw-up.

  “Alright,” Reaper bellows right as Boomer sets off a firework.

  “Wooo! Look at that. Wait for it.” Boomer makes a gesture and sound with his hands as the firework explodes in the sky. Everyone ooos and ahs, but Reaper isn’t amused.

  “Five minutes, Boomer. Five minutes without setting something on fire. Can you do that?” Reaper asks.

  Boomer nods as he lights a sparkler. “Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Put the sparkler out.”

  “But it isn’t explosive.”

  “It isn’t the Fourth of July, Boomer,” Reaper growls.

  “Every day is the Fourth of July!” Boomer argues, and everyone around him chuckles. A car honks at the gate, and Braveheart runs over to calm the people waiting in line to come in.

  “Jesus Christ. Keep your fucking sparkler. I don’t have time for this. Everyone, pair up. You aren’t to be stationed alone. A lot of people we don’t know are going to be here. Stay on your toes. Be safe and let’s have fun, okay? Make sure your walky-talkies are on. I’m not trying to lose anyone in this chaos.”

  “Nice tights, Reaper!”

  Reaper growls and points at Pocus. “Shut your damn mouth, Pocus. Focus on the party, not my ass.”

  Everyone hollers and starts toward the large field to the left where everything is. There is another movie projector, and Hocus Pocus is playing against a bale of hay. The corn maze and haunted hayride are all set up, and it looks wicked with the Jeepers Creepers scarecrow in the middle of the field.

  Let the Ruthless Kings Monster Mash begin.

  The Groundskeeper

  I wait for everyone to leave the clubhouse and slither through, going unnoticed in the empty space. I drag an unconscious biker behind me. I’m giddy. Everyone loves him, and no one will find him. I open up the ‘church’ doors and drop his leg with a hard thump, staring at the empty room. They are using the table outside for admissions, which gave me plenty of the room to come in last night to loosen the floorboards. They were asleep, most past out from partying too hard and drinking the punch. I might have added something to it to aid in their deep slumber.

  I can’t go burying people if everyone can hear me digging.

  I whistle to myself and pull up the floorboards, grinning when I see the casket open and six-feet deep.

  Dragging the unconscious body, I kick him into the casket, close it, and bury him. It doesn’t take too long. I’m a professional at this. I pat the dirt, pleased with my work, and nail the boards in place.

  Perfect.

  A masterpiece.

  I love playing games.

  Chapter Seven

  I gasp awake and cough. It’s damp, cold, but at the same time, the air is hard to breathe. It’s so fucking dark. I can’t see shit. My head is dizzy. I try to think about what happened, but all I remember is walking through the corn maze and then everything is blank.

  My hands feel around to get a good grip of where I’m at, and I try to sit up when my head smacks against something. “What the fuck?” I growl. My voice echoes in the small space, and when a horrifying thought comes to light, I start to panic. I move my feet and feel around the space. My hands scrape against something solid. A box maybe.

  “Hey!” I roar and bang my fist against the top. With every hit, a dull sound reverberates through the container I’m in. I have no clue of where I am or why I’m here. “Hey! Someone help me. This is a fucked-up joke, guys!” A bead of sweat drips down my forehead, and I thump my head against the wood.

  No one has pulled a fast one on me in years. This is new, and from the looks of it, I’m trapped. My arms fall to the sides when my hands start to burn, and my muscles quiver from how hard I’m hitting the lid keeping me locked inside.

  My fingers brush against something that feels like sand or some type of grain. I can’t see anything, so I can’t tell what it is. It almost feels like… “Soil,” I whisper, and my eyes round when the realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Fear prickles my eyes and causes them to burn. I lash out and start to kick, scream, and punch every side of the container.

  No, not container.

  Casket.

  I’m buried alive.

  “Let me the fuck out! I swear I’ll fucking kill whoever did this to me! Do you hear me?” I shout at the top of my lungs, until my voice breaks and I’m gasping for air. “I’ll kill you.” My chest is rising and falling at a dangerous speed. If I don’t calm down, I’m going to end up killing myself from sucking up all the air in here.

  The skin on my knuckles sting. I must have cut them open while punching the lid. My eyes burn with … panic? Emotion? I don’t know. I’m usually better at containing my shit. I don’t feel anything, not ever. I’ve survived a lot in my life, and I don’t plan to die like this.

  Once I catch my breath, I start hitting the top again, and I end up cracking the wood. I close my eyes when dirt falls into my face and mouth. I spit an
d cough, choking on the bits itching the back of my throat.

  “Ah, ah, ah. You don’t want to do that,” a voice says from out of nowhere. I can’t tell where it’s coming from, but there’s obviously a speaker in here.

  “What’s going on? What the fuck is happening? Who are you?” I lick my lips, and the grime of the soil glides over my tongue, and I spit it out.

  “I’m going to be the reason why you die. I’m going to show you that no one truly cares about you. No one is going to come running, and they aren’t going to find you in time. Make peace with your demons because you’re going to see them very soon.” The click of the intercom causes static as it shuts off.

  Fuck. No! I don’t want to die. Not like this. I pummel the top of the casket again, and the darkness of the enclosed space starts to get to me. I’m dizzy. “What do you want?” I scream. “Reaper! Tool! Someone. Can anyone hear me?” I cry out. My hand slaps against my chest, and I let out a breath of relief when I feel my cut.

  At least if I die, I’ll die wearing the cut that made me the man I am. It brings me comfort, solace. Peace. Death doesn’t seem so scary now.

  The intercom button flicks on again. “By the way, Happy Halloween.” The pyscho laughs, reminding me of a villain in a scary movie.

  All I can do is hope they find me, and if they don’t, at least I’ll die a Ruthless King. Nothing else matters. I know my brothers won’t rest until my killer is in their hands. The side of me that isn’t okay with dying is the side that’s panicking and praying to hell they fucking find me.

  Chapter Eight

  BADGE

  I sit down at the face painting station and cross my arms as the kids somehow, someway, ambush me and now I’m a victim of art abuse.

  “You could be a little more excited,” Maizey huffs as she dips her paintbrush in the red paint.

  “I’m excited.” My eyes meet Reaper’s as he enters the corn maze and gives me a thumbs-up. That’s where I should be. I narrow my gaze at him and exhale. I’m not a kid guy. Children and I don’t really mix. They are small, tiny, and they don’t fucking know anything. They are constantly learning and asking ‘why.’ God, so many fucking why’s.

  Why does the sun shine?

  Why can’t I eat this?

  Why do I have to go to bed?

  Ugh, little vermin in my opinion.

  Even if some of them are cute, like Maizey. She’s a “take-no-shit” kind of kid. She might be the exception to my dislike for children.

  “You look mad,” she points out, slinging paint onto my face.

  I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand and see pink smeared across my skin. Awesome. Just fucking great. I’m going to look like a pretty fucking princess.

  “This is just my face.”

  “You need a new face,” she points out. “Your face is scary, but this glitter should fix it.”

  I lean away from the brush covered in sparkles and sneer. “Get that away from me.”

  “Baaadge,” she whines and pouts her lip. She gives me those sad brown eyes and blinks. “Pwease.”

  I point my finger at her and shake my head. “No. And that face,”—I circle my hand in front of her—“doesn’t work on me, kid. Glitter is a no-go.”

  Her eyes water, and her chin wobbles. Oh, the kid is good. She’s a damn con-artist. “Badge, please. I don’t get to play with glitter all the time.”

  Liar. Sarah gets that kid whatever she wants.

  “No,” I say, watching the first tear fall. I’m not going to fall for it. A kid dressed up as a witch pretends to fly by on her broom, and a little boy holds a football close to his chest as he runs into the corn maze. He looks like he’s about to make that corn maze his bitch.

  Go get it, kid.

  Maizey wipes her cheek and throws the brush down on the table. “Fine, your funeral when I tell Reaper you didn’t let me.” She has a satisfied smirk on her face when she sees the horror in my eyes.

  “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Try me!” She throws her hands on her hips and cocks her head, then taps her foot. It’s hard to fight with her when she’s dressed up as an avocado because she looks adorable.

  If Reaper finds out, he’ll rip my heart out. He’ll skip the warnings and just watch my soul leave my body. “You don’t fight fair.”

  “How else am I supposed to win fights? I’m little,” she deadpans and picks up the brush. “Plus, you aren’t even dressed up for Halloween. I’m doing you a favor.”

  “I am too. I’m a cop.” I pick up the fake badge around my neck and show her.

  “So unoriginal.” She rolls her eyes, and, in that moment, someone walks by with a caramel apple, and her big brown eyes widen. She tosses down the paintbrush and grabs my hand. “Badge, I want a caramel apple! Then I want to go on the haunted hayride.”

  If it isn’t fucking glitter, I’ll do anything. “You got it, kid. Food sounds good, anyway.” Anything to get away from the face painting.

  “Well, don’t you look pretty,” Pocus notices as he leans against the food vendor that is selling funnel cakes, burgers, and basic fair food.

  “Shut up,” I grumble.

  He has his face painted like a skull along with everyone else. It’s hard to tell everyone apart.

  “Hey, have you seen Knives or Tongue?” Seer asks as he stands next to me. He’s rubbing his temples as if his head hurts, and Pocus stands up straighter, tossing his food on the ground.

  “What is it?” Pocus asks.

  “I haven’t seen them,” I say, giving the vendor some cash for the food. I hand the caramel apple to Maizey, and she squeals, biting into it quickly. I chuckle at her enthusiasm. I’ve seen a lot of kids, but she’s actually alright.

  “What is it, Seer? Do we need to go get Reaper?” Pocus asks, laying a hand on Seer’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know. My head is killing me, Prez. I need some water.” Seer sways and hits the side of the metal cart. “I need—” he slurs, then stumbles to the left, and Pocus catches him as he falls.

  “Seer! Fuck, Seer! Tell me, what’s going on,” Pocus urges, but Seer is too far gone. His body starts to shake, and his eyes roll to the back of his head.

  “Move, move, get out of the way!” Skirt yells and kneels on the ground, then turns Seer to his side and stabilizes him. “What the fuck happened?” he asks. Pocus rubs his hand over his head, panicked.

  “He… I don’t know. I don’t fucking know. He walked up to us and asked about Knives and Tongue.” Pocus trembles.

  “Badge!” Maizey cries when she sees Seer on the ground seizing. Her little hand slides into mine, and it takes me by surprise. When I look down, she has real tears in her eyes. She’s scared.

  I lean down and pick her up. She buries her face in my shoulder and cries. “It’s okay. Don’t look. He’ll be okay.” I hope he’ll be okay.

  “Go find Reaper. I think he’s on the haunted hayride.”

  “No, Skirt. I saw him go into the corn maze,” I say just as someone dressed as a ghost makes the phantom sound. Maizey jumps and cries harder. “It’s okay. You’ll be fine.” Isn’t that what you’re supposed to say when kids cry? I’m comforting. I’m doing this right. I think.

  How the fuck did I become a babysitter?

  Do I pat her back? Do kids like that? Do I burp her? Is that just for babies? I need help.

  Seer finally stops shaking, and I remember he wanted a water. “Hey, hey, get me a water!” I shout to the vendor, and the young kid with pimples all over his face flushes and fumbles the water bottle in his hands before managing to get it through the window slot. The cold condensation seeps into my fingers, and I toss it at Skirt, and he unscrews the cap while Pocus runs into the maze to get Reaper.

  Skirt pours it over Seer’s face, and he grips Skirt’s shirt and pulls him down. “Find Knives. Find Tongue.”

  “What? Why? Did you see something?” Skirt asks, desperate.

  A crowd forms around us, and at this point, the party seems to be windin
g down. “Okay back up, give him some space,” I say to the crowd with the authoritative tone I’ve perfected over the years, ushering them away so Seer doesn’t feel smothered.

  Seer shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t have the strength.

  Halloween just took a turn for the worst.

  Chapter Nine

  REAPER

  I hold my hand to my chest when someone jumps out of the corner, probably Tongue, since he likes corners so much. The man comes closer, cocking his head left and right, staring at me in a way that’s unsettling. His eyes fall to Sarah, who’s laughing and trying to get away from a clown, and the man in front of me smirks.

  I push Sarah behind me with my arm and try to get a better look at the man who is staring at me with a wide grin. It’s creepy, and my gut tells me that whoever this is, it isn’t Tongue. It’s someone I don’t know.

  “Reaper! Reaper, come quick!”

  Shit. That sounds like Pocus. I turn around and see him pushing through the crowd.

  “Hey!”

  “Watch it, buddy.”

  “Well, fucking get out of my way.” Pocus pushes a man to the ground and leaps over him. I don’t like this.

  I look for the guy who was in front of me, the one making my instincts rise and the hair stand on the back of my neck.

  But he’s gone.

  “Reaper, what’s going on?” Sarah clutches the back of my costume when she sees Pocus running at us.

  “I don’t know, Doll. Just stay behind me, okay? Something has to be in the damn candy corn tonight.” I’m still looking for the guy who came out of the corner, but he’s gone.

  “Reaper,” Pocus gasps for air as sweat beads across his forehead. He leans against me, hanging his head to try to catch his breath.

  Everyone is looking at us funny as they walk by to enjoy the maze, and I offer a tight smile of reassurance. “Hi. Hey. Have a great time.” I nod to each passing person once everyone is far enough away and turning down different entrances to find the exit.