by Nikki Riker
Don't scream, don't scream, don't scream.
I don't even note where I'm being dragged, too consumed with pain. It's not until the rusty metal door of the shack is slid open that I reach the very obvious conclusion. The boss is waiting in the only building for miles around.
He's silhouetted against a dingy window, and his face is hard to make out.
"She's here," Avis informs the shadowy figure. "And we thought you should know that Trevor thought he spotted a bike on the way over. Couldn't tell you what type, just that we had a tail."
My heart beats unevenly for a second as my mind conjures up a wildly optimistic daydream. A tail? Could Calamity have come after me?
I decide not to dwell on it. It's only a maybe, and if it wasn't Calamity, I don't think I can take that. I squint ahead, focusing on the danger ahead instead of the possibility of salvation that lingers behind me.
The figure is tall and broad but seems comparatively shrimpy after my month of being ravished by Calamity. Anything short of a bodybuilder will look small compared to him. He hadn't been my type, initially. But now I understand the appeal of having a mountain of capable muscle and unrestrained passion focused solely on you. It's a heady thing.
When he steps into the gray, misty midday air, I almost lunge for him, a strangled cry of pain and disbelief escaping my mangled mouth.
"You traitorous little motherfucker!" I scream at him. "You cock-sucking, shit-eating, little worm! I'm going to kill you."
My ex-boyfriend Marcus only smiles patiently, as though he's weathering the tantrum of a spirited two-year-old. The condescension is familiar and as rage-inducing as it ever was. It was the main reason—besides the lack of spark in bed—that I ended things with him. Nobody gets to act like they're better than me without earning the right. Marcus is an accountant, and I met him through Leo, the club's unofficial bookie and a worker at the Black Spade Casino. He helps with our businesses' financial matters. Or had was probably a better word. When did he defect to the Hellions?
"As eloquent as always, Penny," he says with a smirk, watching me squirm like a fish on a line.
"Fuck you!" I snarl. "You fucking traitor!"
He reaches out and palms one breast lightly, squeezing it to the point of pain. "Oh, I plan to fuck you. Once your brothers have been taken care of, and the King's side of town belongs to us. We've been patient with them for long enough, I think."
Poor Calamity. This is the second time the Kings have come under attack in recent months. And this time, he'll have less backup than ever. The image of Calamity collapsing dead in a back alley somewhere haunts me. It's clear there are traitors in the ranks of the Kings. Kylie seems the cowardly sort. She wouldn't support this if she was alone.
Marcus smears his thumb across my bottom lip in a parody of a loving gesture, blood from my split lip smearing his finger. He examines it for a second before popping it into his mouth.
"I hear Calamity's tasted you too, huh? We never went there, did we? I think we'll try that before you die. Must taste fucking spectacular if your sworn enemy hasn't killed you yet."
"I will twist your head off with my thighs," I swear.
He just laughs. "We'll see."
And with that, he strides away, resuming a conversation he'd apparently been having with another of the Hellions before I arrived.
Avis directs the men holding me to a small seating area that overlooks the quarry. It looks like one of those picnic benches you find at shitty conservation campgrounds complete with peeling paint and wood that shoots splinters into your ass on principle. With my torn jeans, sitting on the damp, prickly bench seat isn't comfortable, but I do it. Anything is better than moving around with a nerve exposed in my jaw.
Avis perches on the edge of her seat, ready to fly into motion at the slightest provocation. She's staring into the middle-distance, not appearing to look at anything in particular, but I can feel her peripheral attention focused on me. If I try to run, she'll shoot. Maybe not to kill, but I'll add a hole in my calf or my knee to my laundry list of injuries.
"You're fooling yourself, you know," Avis says mildly when the silence stretches taut between us.
"Am I?"
"You can't fuck remorse into a man like Calamity Gardel, no matter how much you want to. Men like him are monsters. Always have been and always will be."
"Monsters aren't born, they're made. So what made you a monster, Avis?"
I'm honestly expecting her to sock me in the jaw, just to shut me up. It seems like the M.O. around these parts. But a flinty grin settles on Avis' mouth instead, and she answers me.
"Men like Calamity Gardel made me a monster, Penelope. Men who had enough power to get away with what they did. I broke my rapist's jaw with a Louisville slugger when I woke up and found him on top of me at a frat party. And somehow I ended up being the one serving jail time. You can't fuck goodness into someone."
But what if there was good there beforehand?
"If you hate men so much, then why are you following Marcus? You heard what he threatened to do to me."
"He won't get a chance. Because once the dust settles, I'll kill him. Right after I end Calamity Gardel and your brothers."
Well, I have to admire a woman who has her priorities in order. I can't even say I'll mourn him. But it's the steps before his demise that bother me. Where is Calamity? Is he all right? How the hell can I get a warning to him in time?
And, I note with some guilt, why is he the one I'm willing to fling my body in front of as a shield? I love both of my brothers. I've loved them longer than I've loved Calamity. Whatever we have is new, fragile, and frightening.
I just hope my world doesn't go to pieces before I get to figure it out.
18
Calamity
Walking through the Spade's part of town is a surreal experience. So much time has passed, and yet so little has changed in the long run. The streets still look as I remember them, except for my old neighborhood, which has somehow, inexplicably, gotten shittier. I have to imagine this is what alumni felt when they return to their high school years after the fact. The location is the same, there are familiar routines and faces, but so much time has passed that you don't recognize the person you were when you were there.
The Spade's clubhouse used to be a tattoo parlor before they shut the guy down for health code violations and summarily jailed for illegal business practices. It's how I got the place for a steal. Staring at it, I feel that same burning sense of injustice. They built this place with my blood, sweat, and tears, and I never got the respect due me for it. Instead, I was hung out to dry by my four closest friends.
There are only a few bikes parked outside the entrance tonight. One of them is a distinctive Iron 883 that I've seen before. Ryker. It's flanked by two Eagles and a blue Street 500 that I recognize at once. My heart squeezes painfully in my chest, and my concern for Penelope abates for a fraction of a second as I realize what that means.
Brooklyn. My little girl is inside the clubhouse.
Of course, that also means that Kase is there. The matching bikes must belong to the brothers, which begs the question why they're not at the boundary line. I guess there is only one way to find out.
I pull open the door and slowly descend the steps that lead down to the entertainment area. It's laid out in almost exactly the same way I remember, the only changes I can spy are a few bumps here and there where someone has been shoved through a wall. It somehow adds character to the place.
"Get out of the way, Brooklyn," one of the twins snarls. "I don't care that he's your father. He sold her to the Hellions. He's gonna die."
Ah, so that's the fiction they're peddling.
"I love you, bro, but if you take one more fucking step toward my wife, I'm going to knock your teeth in."
Wife. It hurts far more than I expect it should to hear that word applied to Brooklyn. It makes it official. She's chosen a side, and it's not mine.
But we weren't on opposing sides any long
er, are we?
I pause at the end of the stairwell, peeking around the side to get an idea of how many are in the room and how many bullets I may have to dodge.
Cruz, I have to assume it's Cruz because it's not Brooklyn standing next to him, is pacing the length of the bar, the neon lights of the Budweiser signs throwing his angry features into sharp relief. A woman perches on the barstool nearest the door, watching him anxiously. It's eerie how similar to Brooklyn she looks. Her hair is more gold, and she's not as tall, but otherwise, Cruz and Kase seem to have fairly similar taste in women.
Ryker is here, though his wife is glaringly absent. On his other side is Harman. Harman has lost most of his hair, and what's left is going gray. He's not aged as gracefully as Trent or I. Worry lines carve craggy furrows into his face. He's not looking at anyone in particular at the moment, contemplating the checked floor as if it can provide answers.
Kase stands several feet away, facing his brother with a not-quite hostile stance. He keeps Brooklyn half behind his body. I drink in what I can see of her. There's color high in her cheeks, and despite her very apparent anxiety, I've never seen her look more beautiful. Her belly has adopted a soft but very obvious curve. She's traded blue jeans and her club jacket for a loose-fitting dress.
My little girl is going to have a baby. The realization slams home once again. I have the pictures in my wallet, crumpled from all the times I stared at them in anger. Now, seeing the reality, I can't believe I ever hated the kid. Yes, it's part of him. But it's also part of her. My grandkid. Penelope's niece or nephew.
I have to save Penelope, if only so she can be an aunt and impart sage wisdom on the kid.
"He's a dead man," Cruz repeats.
"All right," I agree, stepping out from the stairwell and into plain view. "But can it wait until after we've retrieved Penelope?"
The silence in the room is total, every eye in the room drawn toward me. Their expressions run the gamut from fear, disbelief, and then to anger. None of them have reached for their weapons at the moment, which is the only reason I'm still standing. The glare Cruz pins me with shouts murderous intent.
Brooklyn moves first, pushing out from behind Kase with a cry of happiness. She flings herself into my arms, and I gather her up, lifting her easily from the floor the way I used to when she was a little girl. She feels almost as light as she did then. The warm, sweet scent of her is familiar and beloved. I hold her. If I can say my goodbyes to her properly and rescue Penelope, I'll die a happy man.
"Daddy!" Brooklyn's cry is muffled in my shoulder. When she pulls away, tears stream down her face, belied by an elated smile. "What are you doing here? We thought-"
"Step the fuck away from him, Brooklyn," Cruz orders coldly.
The sight of him awakens all my old instincts, and I glower back at him. He looks like his father all those years ago. Strong. Self-important. Angry at the whole fucking world for all the ways he thought life had slighted him. My hand itches to go for the Glock tucked into my back holster. Though they're identical, Cruz's demeanor aggravates me far more than Kase's. Maybe it's because he was the disloyal, disappointing son to Cruz Sr. Maybe it's because I can't bring myself to despise him for Brooklyn's sake. Whatever the reason, it's easier than I could ever dream to ignore him.
Brooklyn turns, plastering her back to my front to shield me.
"No! Put the gun down, Cruz! You can't just-"
"Kase, get your wife, and get her out of here. She shouldn't have to see this."
Maybe he'll shoot with her in the way. Maybe not. But I'm not taking that chance. I seize her gently by the shoulders and give her a light shove toward Kase. His hands shoot out immediately to catch her, hugging her close to his chest. She struggles, trying to return to my side.
"Don't interfere, Brook," I say, pleading with my eyes for her to stay out of this.
If she tries to jump in front of a bullet for me again, I'll lose my fucking mind. That had been the worst moment of my life, watching her legs fold, and a scarlet stain spread across her chest, a horrifying echo of what had happened to her mother years before.
I turn my attention back to Cruz. The blonde from before is at his side, trying to tug his elbow down. She's whispering furiously in my ear. He shrugs her off, never taking his eyes from me.
"I'm not letting him walk out of here, Holls. He killed my father. He raped my sister."
"I tried to kill your father," I acknowledge with a nod. "But I didn't rape your sister."
His face flushes an unhealthy puce color.
"Bull-fucking-shit!" he explodes. "I saw the picture, Gardel!"
A small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. It's foolish, and it will antagonize them, but I can't help it. "I said I didn't rape her. I never said I didn't fuck her."
The gun jerks up toward my face, and he squeezes the trigger. I duck right, flinching away from the enormous crack of sound. The shot goes wide, striking the drywall and burrowing in deep, leaving a puckered hole where my head had been only moments previously. My ears ring in the aftermath, and I'm not the only one suffering discomfort. In this closed-off space, it's just like clashing cymbals next to our ears.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" Cruz demands. "You were supposed to be at the boundary line. Then we got a call from Penny's ex, Marcus, that you'd taken her to the Hellions instead."
The possessive caveman in me lunges to the fore and demands I rip the arms off of this Marcus character for having the nerve to touch her. But then I remember that the bastard can't have been very good if she responded so well and so enthusiastically to the minimum I'd done at the beginning. A woman accustomed to pleasure may have been able to hold out longer against me. So this Marcus isn't a threat. At least, not where Penelope is concerned.
"She was taken from me. Believe me, I sure as hell wasn't turning her over. Not after everything we'd done."
Cruz's entire body vibrates with the intensity of his rage. Kase looks ready to come after me, but Brooklyn's gentle, restraining hand on his elbow seems to keep him at least somewhat sane.
The blonde has to step in front of him once again when he tries to come for me. He stops dead when his jerky lunge forward hurts her. A better man than his father already, if he gave a damn about anything but his target. Maybe there's hope for the rest of the Cruz family.
"Daddy, what are you doing here?" Brooklyn asks.
She's caged her optimism behind a fence of caution. She can't disguise she's pleased to see me. She'll be less so if I end up plugged full of holes. I really ought to stop baiting the trigger-happy leader and get to the point.
"The Hellions have thirty men around Penelope, and they've gathered around the edge of the South Hollens quarry. They're trying to arrange an ambush for one or both groups. They don't intend to leave her alive once they've accomplished that objective."
"Sounds like you're knowledgeable about the subject," Cruz sneers. "Did you work out that little speech before coming here?"
My lips lift from my teeth in a snarl. "Listen here you smug little fucker, I came here to help believe it or not. You don't like it, and I don't like it, but the only way Penelope is coming back alive is if we work together."
"And why the fuck should I believe that you give a damn about my sister? You're a goddamn liar, Gardel. You stole my sister, and you raped her."
"She crossed the line, demanded two of your hookers back, and volunteered to come to my bed. And even then, I didn't fuck her til she wanted it. I'm not a saint, but I take a fucking hint and get lost when I know I'm not wanted. It's better than some people I could mention."
"Bull," Cruz hisses.
"I believe he's telling the truth." Doc Harman's voice is soft, almost inaudible over the faint ringing in my ears. But he hasn't spoken until now, remaining hunched over the bar as though refusing to look at me will make the unpleasant specter of his past disappear.
Cruz turns to him first, surprise leaching away some of that ever-present anger. Without the shadow of it
lining his brow, I can see more of Maria in him now. The boys inherited that twitching muscle in the jaw she got when she was nervous or upset.
"What? He can't be. There's no way on earth she'd ever fuck him, Doc. He's a monster."
Doc Harman sat up straighter on his barstool and knocked back a long draft of IPA before turning to face the rest of the room. He kept his eyes off of me, probably unwilling to drink in the look of satisfaction that settles onto my face when I realize it's finally happening. Decades have passed, but it's finally happening. I'm being vindicated, and it only feels right that it should happen in this clubhouse, where I spent my life with the four men who ultimately betrayed me. I hope there is a heaven or hell because wherever they ended up, I want Rocco and Cruz to watch every fucking second of this.
"He's a monster of our own making," Doc says, speaking only a little louder so Ryker, Kase, and Bethany can get in on the conversation.
Cruz's anger has mostly dropped away, but the guarded look in his eyes doesn't disappear. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Gardel wouldn't rape or kill Penelope. She looks too much like Trinity."
That sentence impacts only one of the listening crowd. Brooklyn stiffens when she recognizes her mother's name. She was too young to remember the events of that night, and I'd thought to spare her the tale until she was older. And then she fell in love with Kase Cruz of all people. Soft-hearted fool that I am, I kept the truth from her to save her still more pain when things inevitably went sour.
Those denim eyes swing toward me, huge in her pale face. Her eyes ask a question. I nod. Yes. Yes, she will finally get her answers.
"Trinity?" Cruz echoes.
"Trinity Gardel," Doc answers with a weary nod. "Calamity's wife. They bear an eerie resemblance, which is why I don't think he's harmed her. At least...not intentionally. She sounded fine on the phone."
