by K. J. Dahlen
I tore down the highway charged with a nervous, excited energy; nearly every damn day one of my brothers would cause a mess that I would have to clear up. Secretly, I fucking loved the thrill of it. Protecting my club was what I lived for the pride that came with defending Charlie De Luca’s legacy gave me an excitement when I woke up in the morning that I had come to crave. It was only when I had to stare at my face in the bathroom mirror every morning that I had a hard time with the killings.
When I reached the stretch of road running parallel to the dockside, I raced down it relentlessly before turning onto the side road that would lead me directly to the boat.
SHIT! I slammed on my brakes and swerved wildly to avoid slamming into a large unlit truck that stood in my path. The road had been completely blocked, putting a barrier between me and the site of our shipment.
Fuck! There was no way this happened by accident.
I jumped off my bike and called Frank’s phone, but there was no answer. As I walked toward the dock, the sound of men shouting and making a racket left me feeling increasingly tense and suspicions. I maneuvered my way up close to them without being seen. When I arrived at a vantage point near the stern of the large boat, I dropped behind a stack of girders to keep out of sight.
Three trucks were being loaded with whiskey – our whiskey. On our boat, five men dressed in black with lights on their heads came up from below deck and the doors to the boat’s hull shut behind them. I couldn’t tell how many crates had been already unloaded. I watched as the men stacked the boxes of whiskey into large white trucks, fighting the urge to shoot down every last one of them. I needed backup. Otherwise, I could lose both the $200,000 worth of inventory in this shipment, and my life.
I pulled out my phone to call my brothers, and the damn thing was dead. Shit! I drew my gun. Just as I was about to open fire, I spotted four muscular, sturdy-looking, guards standing either side of the stern of the boat – each of them laden with weapons – I knew I didn’t stand a chance.
Feeling for my keys in my back pocket, I sprinted around to the back entrance of Bruno’s Marina building that sat opposite. Inside, I locked the outside door behind me and climbed up to the first floor. I ran into the front office, keeping the lights off, and thought about calling the club then looked out of the front window that overlooked our stretch of dockside, craning for a good view in the dim light. I planned to open the window and snipe the guards and guys loading the trucks from above.
In the half-light, I could make out that somebody else was on the deck of the boat —too skinny to be the helmsman. The dark and looming figure sat with his back against the front bulkhead of the wheelhouse. The unknown man chewed on gum, pulled a pack of cigarettes out of one pocket and a lighter from the other and struck. Although I couldn’t make out his face, I saw his head rise in my direction and he beckoned over the four guards; the large men were tense and cautious around him. I had been sure it was too dark out for anyone to see me up here, but the man on the boat turned to his heavily armed goons and pointed in my direction.
My stomach tightened—I suddenly realized the weight of my situation.
The guards grabbed at their weapons and ran toward the front door of the Marina building, one floor below me. A bashing sound echoed through the room as the guards rammed their bodies into the outside door. I started to run for the other exit downstairs, but just as I made it to the top step, I heard a gunshot that must have been fired at the lock. Moments later, the front door was smashed down. I retreated into the office – locking the door from the inside. Although, I knew they were easily capable of breaking through.
Shit.
With the lights in the room still off, I ducked underneath the desk and planned my next move. I had one chance to get this right.
BOOM! The door burst open.
Four shadows in the shapes of men flood into the room. Four guns cocked.
“Don’t fucking move,” a voice growled.
They had run right past me. I jumped up onto my knees, my elbows on the desk, pulled the toggle to the desk light – illuminating the room just enough for me to fire four fast shots. Four bodies hit the ground, and I bolted for the exit.
Knowing that at any moment, these thieves could run off with my club’s whiskey, I burst out of the front entrance; my fists balled tightly at my sides, ready to fight.
Nothing.
I pulled out my gun and looked left then right.
Suddenly, a flicker of light from the hall inside alerted one of the men, who’d just shut the door to his van. A van full of our crates.
The man yelled to rest of his gang who promptly charged at me, and although they weren’t armed, I was swarmed by a fierce onslaught of violence. Whirling, slashing, stabbing, kicking from every direction. The bright headlights they wore cut through the darkness in all directions. I squinted at the flood of blinding light directed at me and threw punches at them as black-gloved hands punched and grabbed at me. One guy lunged at me, swinging a wrench. I swerved and got out the way enough not to be knocked out, but he clipped the side of my face leaving a gash. I threw a right hook in retaliation, his eyes widened and lowered as he fell hard on his back to the floor—he was out cold.
Desperate to gain control over the situation, I fired a single warning shot in the air. But when I did, I stumbled, almost tripping over something in the dark and lost my gun in the darkness. Unaware, the mysterious black figures made a break for it, in panic.
I chased after a couple of them as they ran for their vehicles – loaded with whiskey – but I’d run no more than a few yards when vans poured out of every conceivable nook and cranny in my direction. Brakes squealed, radios squawked, guns cocked as they raced off. Darting out of the way, I threw my hands on my knees in defeat.
I looked up at the boat for the man that appeared to be their leader. He was gone. FUCK! I ran up the ramp to the deck to help the helmsman out, but he was shot dead—collapsed at the helm. There was a moment of still and silence.
Pow-pow-pow-pow-pow.
I ducked as bullets ricochet off the metal of the boat.
“Chicken-shit. Come here, fool,” someone yelled as he opened fire again.
Shot after shot after shot. I could tell where the man was and ran around the other side of the helm.
Our bodies collided, and I froze. I had no weapon, and it was so dark, I couldn’t even see the man’s face.
He raised his gun, pressing the barrel against my temple.
The man chuckled. He pulled the trigger.
CLICK.
There was a pause before another three dull clicks.
CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.
The handgun was out of ammunition.
“You son of a bitch.” He sneered.
His empty gun flew wildly in the air, and he hurled it at my head hitting me between the eyes, stunning me. The last thing I remember was being kneed in the stomach, dropping me as my legs suddenly gave out, and I fell to the ground, bashing my head again and blacking out.
It was sometime later, in the aftermath of the attack when I blinked back to full awareness, drained and in excruciating pain. It was early light, and nobody was around. The sea was choppy, stirred by the wind. It was quiet except for the lonely sound of a buoy bell in the distance and the creaking of wood. My battered and bloody face was hit with cold, salty air that stung like a bitch.
I slowly staggered up and looked up at the docks, surveying the wreckage. The pier to which the boat was moored was littered with smashed wood from the whiskey crates….
As I stumbled along the deck of the boat, something caught my eye and I looked down. It was a gum wrapper. I leaned down to pick it up and when I looked at it closer, I knew what it was and who it belonged too.
It was a stop smoking gum and there was only one person I knew that chewed this gum and smoked at the same time…
I looked at the helm and Frankie was gone. They’d taken the body. I stumbled off the
boat and went around to where I left my bike. My wheels had been hidden. As I swung my leg over the bike and fired up the motor, I took one last look at the carnage left then roared off leaving a trail of dust behind me.
My knuckles were white as my hands gripped the handlebars but my mind raced with rage as I tore up the highway. I needed to get away and regroup. I also needed to call Dino and Bruno to let them know what happened. Bruno would have a fit and demand blood but I had no evidence to give him as to who the traitor really was.
A gum wrapper wouldn’t count as it could have been left anytime by anyone. In fact, Antonio had been there this morning. But I knew in my heart who it belonged to and I knew he’d done this to humiliate me before the vote. I swore he wouldn’t get away with this. Even if it cost me everything I had—I was going to nail this little bastard. No one betrayed the Black Devils, no one.
Chapter Thirteen
(Chloe)
Lies. A decade of fucking lies! Lies told by a damn criminal.
My mother’s warnings were right. All MC guys are stupid criminals who couldn’t be trusted. Ever. For all I knew, Jax had a closet full of dark secrets.
To top it all off, when Jax finally admitted the truth he rushed it out of the apartment a few minutes later. Grabbing his jacket and keys, he left me alone; acting like the same coward he was the night my father died—the night he caused my father to die. If he were trying to convince me that his character had miraculously changed, this was one hell of a way to go about it.
I watched in anger and disgust from his bedroom window as his bike rolled out of the parking lot of the apartment building and he disappeared down the highway. I felt as though the incident with my father meant nothing to him. As though I meant nothing to him. Showing total disregard for my feelings he had left me puzzled, confused…and fuming mad.
Four hours later, and Jax still wasn’t home. By that time, my anger somewhat subsided, and I began to wonder whether he was coming home at all tonight. I’d made myself some dinner and scooped a plate out for Jax – which was now cold. His deception had hurt me a lot, but I was starting to worry about being left alone in this place.
I anxiously checked my watch. It was midnight. I looked out of the bedroom window for any sign of his motorcycle. Nothing. I had a clear view of the parking lot from the bedroom window; the streetlights along the main road threw light in its direction.
Over the next half hour, I kept watch for Jax from the window; it was hardly as though I had anything better to do. The parking lot was deadly still. The roads were quiet. Suddenly, in the distance, I saw a flash of white light moving closer. A motorcycle—Jax was home. There was no denying that I felt relieved to see that he’d come back.
I watched as he got off his bike. It struck me as odd that he took off his jacket and rested it on his seat – leaving it there – rather than bringing it inside with him. Jax never went anywhere without his club jacket. He pulled something out of a small duffel strapped to his Harley and carried it toward the entrance.
I heard his feet step into the hall and the door close behind him.
I wanted to take it slow with him and talk this out. So…I decided to just act normal. “Made some lasagne while you were out. Come and get your plate. Want a beer?” I called from the kitchen.
“Always,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse.
I leaned down to the fridge and opened the door, searching for the plate of food. As I pulled out a beer and Jax’s dinner, one heavy hand landed on my shoulder startling me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said.
If Jax thought he could sweet talk his way out of this one he had another thing coming. “Jax, don’t spook me like that.” I looked up in surprise.
A stranger holding a black duffel bag met my eyes.
The man was tall, with broad shoulders. His eyes were a shade of brown so dark they looked almost as black as his pupils. He was dark-haired with a huge build. His arms heavily scarred with lots of tattoos. One tattoo that ran all the way down his left arm read, FEAR NOTHING & NO ONE. He wore dark blue jeans and a grey work shirt unbuttoned at the neck so low that you could see his tattoo of an ornate cross on his chest and neck.
Fuck! The beer bottle and plate of food tumbled from my hand, hitting the floor with a smash of glass, cheap porcelain, and tomato sauce splattered everywhere.
His hand gripped tighter on my shoulder. I pulled away from him, screaming frantically, “GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
The man lunged at me and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into to him. In seconds, he had me from behind – both my arms pinned down, crossed over my chest – he held me against his chest with the strength of one arm. I couldn’t move from his grasp.
With his free hand, he must have pulled out a gun that was hidden beneath his clothes because a second later, I felt the barrel of it on my temple.
“Not. A. Fuckin Sound,” he whispered, threateningly, into my ear.
Swallowing hard, I nodded my head, while the rest of my body was stiff—frozen in terror.
“Now….you are going to going to come with me, Chloe.”
Holy shit. How the fuck did this man know my name?
I nodded again; my body shaking.
He let go and took a step back, still facing me, his gun pointed directly at my head with both hands. “Open the bag,” he ordered, giving a nod toward the black duffel bag just in front of me.
I bent down to the bag, put my hand on the zip, and looked up at his eyes in terror.
“I told you. Open the bag, Chloe.” He growled. His voice had a chilling quality that daunted me.
Taking a breath, I unzipped the bag. Inside, the object was dark…. and leathery. Surprised and a little confused I started to pull it out of the bag.
“You might want to put that on. It’s cold out this time of night.”
I lifted the scrunched up item out of the bag. It was a leather jacket.
“Don’t fucking waste my time!” he warned. “Put it on.”
I pulled the jacket open. On the back, there was white lettering that read: BLACK DEVILS MC above the clubs logo. I froze in stunned shock.
“That’s right. We’ve got your boy.” He sneered.
“Jax?” I asked, although I hardly needed to wait for an answer.
The man nodded with a wicked grin.
“But how? Wait. You’re saying you’ve taken him or you’ve…? I couldn’t even say the word to finish my question.
“Put it on, Chloe. It’s going to be the closest you ever get Jaxson Coltrane again,” the stranger spoke with a quasi-sympathy.
As I put the put the jacket on, I knew I had undoubtedly been told the truth. It looked like, felt like, and smelled like Jax’s jacket. I stood up and faced him, pursing my lips and trying to appear un-fazed and unafraid.
“We’ve got Jax,” he repeated. “And if you don’t want to see him face down in the dirt, you’ll come with me.” He reached for my arm, still pointing his gun right at me.
I didn’t trust the stranger to keep his word about not harming Jax if I went with him. But I knew that if this man, or whoever his gang was, were prepared to kill Jaxson Coltrane – near president of the Black Devils MC – then he would have no problem killing me. At that point, my sole focus was staying alive.
Without hesitation, I started to walk with him toward the door. He walked beside me to my left. To my right, was the kitchen counter. On top of the counter, one pace ahead of me was my phone. As I passed, I slid my phone from the kitchen counter into my right hand and pushed it up the sleeve of the jacket I was wearing with my middle finger.
By the door, I bent down to put on my shoes on. Glancing up, I noticed him checking himself over in the hallway mirror, distracting himself and loosening his grip. On impulse, I seized the opportunity to make a call for help. I forced the stranger away, and sprinted to the bathroom.
“What the fuck? Get back here woman!” he yelled at me.
I made it to the bathroom just in time and scrambled to lock the door from the inside as my hands shook in fear.
I typed the words, BLOODS TAKEN into my phone, as the man was smashing his body into the weak looking door. I knew he was from the Bloods MC, Fear Nothing and No One was one of the logos I’d grown up with when my dad was still alive. I never thought I’d ever see it again, and now I wish that was still true. I selected Jax and my mother as recipients and clicked send, then sat on the toilet seat – my head in my hands – trying to contain my panic. I held my hands over my ears in some sort of denial to drown out the sound of the bashing at the door mixed with my panicked breathing.
My phone buzzed and ‘UNABLE TO SEND MESSAGE’ flashed onto the screen.
NO! I thought, not now, not when I needed someone to hear me the most.
I didn’t get time to see who the message did or did not send to before…
BOOM.
One shot from the other side of the door.
I heard the lock on the bathroom shatter and parts and pieces of the door handle dropped to the floor. The man’s gun had fired at the lock, and I heard his laughter through the closed door.
Suddenly, he kicked the door and it burst open. When he stepped inside, he threw several punches at my shoulders and chest.
I shielded my face with my hands and shut my eyes.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
The last punch hit my cheek. I screamed and burst into floods of tears.
“You bitch!” he bellowed.
When he caught sight of my phone on my lap, he snatched it and threw it against the ceramic wall tiles of the bathroom, smashing it up completely. He lifted his hand and struck me one final time across my left cheek with the back of his hand, catching the corner of my left eye with his ring. “You say one more word and you’re dead. You hear me?”
I nodded quickly.
He dragged me by my hair out of the apartment, down the stairs and outside to his black Harley chopper. I watched as he cranked the engine and the headlights fired up to reveal stickers on the side of his Harley. One read: BLOOD AND BONES MC. The other read: BLOOD’S FAMILY: NO FEAR, NO MERCY! That’s when I could read the back of his jacket. It was the emblem of the Blood and Bones MC. I couldn’t quite read the street name he went by but the emblem was etched into my brain and all I could feel was mindless fear.
