by Kline, Sandy
“I knew it.” She says again.
“What?” I snap. How could she have known Caleb…Iron Skull is my brother?
“I knew you had to kill someone to become a member.” She states.
Oh that. “Yeah I guess the rumors are true.” I deadpan. It’ll do no good to add fuel to the fire when it comes to Molly and rumors.
“You guess?” She challenges. “You saw it right in front of your eyes. That dude killed the Crusher and the baddest of the bad boy bikers the Soul Eaters rushed up on stage and made him a member right in the middle of the paramedics trying to save the other guy’s life. They have balls.”
“He’s my brother.” I tell her.
“Those guys didn’t even wait until they took Crusher away either they just…what? What the fuck did you just say?”
“He’s my brother.” I repeat.
“What?” She looks at me like I’m nuts. “Your brother is the Crusher?”
“The other guy is my brother.” I correct her.
She gives me this look like she thinks I have totally gone nuts.
“The guy they gave the vest to. He’s my brother Molly.”
“No way!” She shouts. “No freaking way. You said your brother was this computer geek who was trying to invent a video game or something.”
“I guess that didn’t work out.” I reply. “I haven’t seen him in ten years and he just turns up here in the fight. As far as I knew he’d never even ridden a motorcycle before and he sure as hell didn’t know how to fight.”
“Wow…I guess he’s got some explaining to do, doesn’t he?”
“No shit! He’s making the biggest mistake of his life.”
“Well your chance for changing his mind is walking out the door.” She replies and points back over my shoulder.
Caleb and a group of Soul Eaters are making their way out of the arena. Fearing I am losing my only chance to knock some sense into him I push my way through the crowd until I’m at the edge of the group of bikers. I spot my brother and call out to him.
“Caleb!” I shout over the din. When I fail to get his attention I shout even louder. “Caleb!”
When he doesn’t hear me I try to push my way through the crowd after him but there are just too many people between us and they’re going in the opposite direction.
“I don’t even have his number anymore.” I lament to my best friend.
“Relax Kim; he’s a Soul Eater now. They’re all over the place. You’ll see him on his Harley around town.”
“Harley? He doesn’t even own a motorcycle.”
She gives me this look like I have just said the dumbest thing in the world and says, “Really?”
“Oh yeah…I guess having a bike is a prerequisite to joining a biker club isn’t it?”
“Come on,” She says. “Let’s get out of here.”
I nod and follow her out of the arena. Because of the death they have cancelled the last fight of the night. My head is literally spinning as we spill out into the cool night air. I can’t believe I just witnessed a guy being killed right in front of me, and what’s more unbelievable…my little geeky brother is the guy who did it. I still cannot even begin to wrap my mind around it. I need a drink, that’s what I need right now.
I tug on Molly’s sleeve. “You up for a drink?” I ask her.
“Sure, why not.”
“Great! There’s a new bar on Ocean Street that’s supposed to be really good. It’s called the Lucky Pig.”
“Serious?”
I nod.
“Okay…Lucky Pig it is.”
Twenty minutes later we’re sidled up to the bar and signaling a handsome barkeep. It takes me three stiff drinks to finally begin to settle down. I don’t realize just how high strung I am until now.
“Slow down tiger,” Molly warns. “You don’t have to drink me under the table tonight.”
“Fine…I’ll settle with drinking myself under the table tonight then.”
An hour later and the room is spinning nicely. It’s been good talking to Molly. We’re always so damn busy that we barely end up spending time together. I’m beginning to think about going home when a sudden burst of angry voices catches my attention. Over in a dimly lit corner, two Soul Eaters seem to have taken offense with one of their own and they seem really angry. While most patrons wisely avert their eyes I can’t help but snoop. I guess it’s the reporter slash writer in me that makes it impossible for me to ignore what is going down. Sensing this is going to be a story I take out my cell phone and start to film.
Two of the Soul Eaters are standing at either side of the third. Funny thing is, there is something odd about the middle guy. Sure he’s got a cut on, but there’s just something about him that doesn’t feel right and apparently the other two bikers feel the same way.
“What chapter you hail from?” The short stocky biker asks.
“Lodi.” The odd biker responds.
“We don’t have a fucking chapter in Lodi asshole!” Says the lanky one on the left.
“But…” The odd biker suddenly stops. “Look guys I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
What the hell did that mean I wonder?
“You know what happens when a person tries to pass himself off as a police officer?” The lanky biker asks. “Do you think they just let him go with a stern warning?”
“No.”
“They go to jail.”
“Are you going to call the police?”
Both bikers actually laugh, but it’s not a jovial sound. There’s something sinister about the sound.
“We don’t like involving the pigs in our business. We like to take care of things ourselves.”
“We do our own policing.” Says the stocky biker.
Suddenly the odd guy turns and bolts for the door; bad idea! Sadly for him the bikers are expecting this and in an instant they both pounce. Right away they violently strip him of his bogus cut. While lanky biker holds it up, stocky biker draws an ugly K-Bar knife and actually slices the fake cut in half with two powerful strokes. My hands begin to shake. I’m pretty sure stocky guy is going to use his knife on the fake biker, but instead he puts it away. I’m just about to breathe a huge sigh of relief when he pulls a smaller folding knife out of his pocket and opens it up.
He turns to his companion. “You got a folder on ya?” He asks.
For an answer he pulls a similar knife from his pocket and bares the blade. I can’t believe I am filming this.
“Put that thing away!” Molly hisses. “You’re gonna get us killed!”
“Oh no….this is gonna make my career. No way in hell I’m stopping.”
“Are you kidding me? You try to use this footage and the police are going to be all over it and start asking you all kinds of questions like, why didn’t you call us instead of watching and filming? You can’t-”
A horrible scream puts an immediate end to our argument. The sound is so anguished, so shocking that I actually drop my phone from my trembling fingers. I drop to my knees feeling around for my phone. All at once my head is even with the faux biker and for one agonized instant we lock eyes. Even at eight feet away I can see the terror reflected in his eyes. His pupils are blown and another scream contorts his once handsome features. For that instant he stops moving. Two seconds later my hand scoops up my still recording phone and the man on the ground resumes thrashing wildly. His mangled right hand is actually pinned to the floor by the stocky biker’s knife. The more he jerks and screams the more the razor sharp blade destroys that appendage as it tears through his soft flesh, tiny bones and tendons. Having recovered my phone I scramble to my feet just as the lanky biker plunges his own knife into the back of their poor victim’s left hand. The man lets out one long agonized howl and goes limp. There’s so much blood on the floor by his hands at first I wonder if he’s bled to death, but that couldn’t happen that quick. At least I don’t think it can.
Both bikers clamber off the fallen man and spit on his back in disgust as another
biker runs up. He has a cut, but his only says prospect. He immediately addresses the stocky biker.
“Five-O on the way.” He says, and the three men stalk out of the bar.
I make sure to hide my phone before they come by and see it. Judging by how they take care of business, I really don’t want to have to explain why I was filming their deadly assault on an unarmed man. As the bikers exit, the prospect turns back to the crowded bar.
“Pigs on the way. If there is anyone here who wisely does not want to talk to them, you should leave now!”
Then he turns and follows his brothers out to their waiting motorcycles. The fake biker is starting to come around again judging by his low moans and the people nearest to him back away and turn to their own drinks. Pretty soon the man is yelling in earnest and begging people to aid him. I look around the dimly lit bar and so far no one wants to get involved and I can’t blame them. Anyone coming to assist the victim may end up being the next victim when the Soul Eaters hear about it. Molly grabs my arm and takes my half-finished drink out of my hand.
“Come on Kim, it’s time we got out of here.”
“Wait a second I’m not finished.” I protest.
“Oh yes you are. You stay here any longer and someone’s going to notice you were filming and we’ll both be in trouble. And if you don’t plan on giving that up to the police we’d better get going.”
It’s hard to think quickly in my alcohol fuelled haze, but something about what she said actually makes sense so I nod and follow her out. I’ve only been in town maybe five months and have never run into the Soul Eaters until today and today I have run into them twice. I hope that’s not a sign of things to come because I really don’t want anything to do with them despite my brother’s new affiliation. I wish I could just call Caleb and talk to him. I’m sure he didn’t see me in the crowd earlier tonight so he probably doesn’t even think I exist.
Molly herds me across the packed parking lot and over to her car. I guess we’ll pick mine up in the morning or something. There’s no freaking way I can drive in my condition. She unlocks the door for me and is just opening it when a giant hand shuts it. We both stumble backwards, face to face with two Soul Eaters and abruptly my body begins to go haywire. My heart starts pounding, my palms get sweaty, and I feel like I can’t breathe. I’m facing two leather clad bikers. One is the stocky guy in the bar. I know this because he’s still got the fake biker’s real blood on his hands. But it’s his companion that has me reeling. It’s the hot guy I saw at the fights earlier tonight and boy he’s even hotter close up!
“Oh shit…now I’m in trouble.” I slur.
Molly elbows me in the ribs and mouths, “Shut up!”
“What?” I shout. “He’s hot!”
Now the lanky, blood spattered biker shows up. “You get that camera yet?” He asks the other two.
“I was just about to search these two.” The hot one replies.
“No way!” Molly objects. “You’re not searching anyone.”
“Me…me…” I begin. “You can search me.” I say to the hot one. “I don’t have anything to hide.” I say as I open my light jacket. Then with not so deft fingers I stupidly begin to pop the top three buttons of my top, but before I can actually bare my chest Molly comes to my rescue and pulls my jacket back together.
“She’s doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” Molly begins. “She’s had way too much to drink. You gentlemen wouldn’t want to take advantage of an inebriated woman would you now? Couldn’t be good for your reputations…”
“Look lady,” The stocky biker begins. “If you’re the ones with the camera just give it over and we’ll be on our way.”
The hot one reaches into his jeans and pulls out a money clip with about fifteen one hundred dollar bills in it. He strips off four of them and holds them out in front of me just out of my reach.
“We’d be happy to compensate you for the camera.” He says.
And my eyes go bonkers. This guy just keeps getting hotter by the second. He’s got this perfectly symmetrical model’s face framed by longish scraggly, dirty blond hair and a closely trimmed goatee. When he flashes me a smile I can see his perfect white teeth and a flash of tongue. I really wanna get to know that tongue.
“Come on doll,” he drools. “Hand over the phone.”
Without even thinking I get myself in trouble. “Oh shit!” I say. It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it and all three bikers are staring at me.
Molly kicks me in the shin and I can’t help but hop around in pain so Molly grabs my arm and pulls me to her side.
“Where is it?” Asks Mr. Handsome.
“What’s your name gorgeous?” I ask.
“My name’s Seth.” He replies. “What’s yours?”
“Kimberly An-”
“Way too much information.” Molly says, interrupting me before I give away my name address, phone number, and spare key to my apartment.
“Well Kimberly…” Seth replies.
“I love the way your tongue…my tongue… I mean, my name sounds in…in your m-mouth…”
“Kimmy.” Molly hisses at me. “Let’s go…”
Seth takes a step towards me and he actually reaches out and grabs my purse by the thin strap. His brazen move suddenly pisses me off and I yank it from his hands. I never would have been able to do that if the strap hadn’t have broken, but it has and I lurch away from him tucking my purse under my arm.
For a brief second anger flashes across Seth’s handsome features then it’s gone again. It was so quick I’m not even sure I saw it. The other two bikers begin to close in on either side of me and it’s just a matter of time before they’re searching us and finding the camera now that they’re sure I’m hiding it. I take another unsteady step back and take a deep breath, planning on unleashing a crazy loud scream when sirens split the night air. Thank god!
The three men react immediately. They start backing off and turn to make their exit, but not before the stocky one says his piece.
“We know you’re the one filming that little incident in there. You know where we hang out; you know where our clubhouse is. That camera better find its way in our hands by Monday morning or we’re coming after you. You got that missy?”
I open my mouth to protest his threat, but Molly actually puts her hand over my mouth forestalling any more damning comments from me.
“If we happen to come across it you can be assured it’ll find its way to you.” She says.
Then my dream man and his two not so dreamy brothers retreat to their bikes and make good their own escape. We climb into Molly’s Honda CRV and take off, and as we’re making our way to my apartment I have this nagging feeling about tonight. Something’s bugging me but in my alcoholic haze I can’t quite put my finger on what’s bugging me. We ride in silence for the twenty minutes it takes to get me safely to my front porch. Molly says her goodbyes and takes off to her own home. I glance at the clock in the hall on the way back to my bedroom. It’s nearly one in the morning. I am so tired that the second I see my bed I just flop down on the down bedspread and am asleep the moment my head hits my pillow and immediately I slip into a dream and when that outlaw biker’s handsome face hovers above mine I have no escape.
“How’d you get in here?” I ask.
“It’s a dream darlin’ I can come and go anywhere as long as I have your invitation.”
“I didn’t invite you into my room.”
“Of course you did. You haven’t been able to get me out of your mind ever since you saw me.”
“And that gives you the right to just enter my dream?”
“I only come when and where I’m invited darlin’.
“Well I’m going to disinvite you then.” I threaten.
“Your certainly free to try.”
Some people have the ability to change their dreams and lead them where they like. I am not one of those people.
“I’m still here.” He reminds me.
“Shut
up!”
He complies. Then I do the unexpected and give him a kiss. I meant it to be a quick chaste kiss. Like a goodbye kiss before shooing him out of my dream but once our lips make contact I’m captive to my own fantasy.
Almost immediately our lips part and give way to tongues. As our oral entanglement increases in it’s sweet intensity I feel a hand slip under the hem of my gown. I catch my breath as my skin reacts to his electric touch. I almost can’t breathe as I anticipate his powerful hand on my nether regions.
“You can’t do that.” I breathe into his open mouth.
“Stop me.” He exhales.
I can’t. I’ve dipped my tongue into forbidden waters and it’s so unbearably sweet I cannot help but drink.
Strong hands slip around my waist, then slide down my delicate skin to my ass, pausing an instant before pulling me into his inflamed organ. There’s nothing subtle about his desires and he just takes what he wants and since I apparently have given him my dream state blessing I can do nothing to prevent the inevitable. His weight on my tiny frame mashes my breasts against his smooth muscular chest and his narrow hips force my legs apart. He enters me and stretches me with his fullness and alarms go off in my brain. I’m cheating on my cop boyfriend with an outlaw biker. The sound of my guilt is like a claxon in my brain and as suddenly as it began it’s over and I’m awake reaching for my bedside alarm clock. It’s just past nine in the morning and the bright sunlight is streaming into my room right into my eyes.
Chapter Three
Mister Right
I cover my head with my other pillow and try to force myself into a deeper sleep. I almost succeed until a single thought from last night busts into my consciousness. My car! The police will run my plates and that of anyone else’s there and they’ll come find me for questioning about last night’s savage assault on the faux biker. By then they will have heard the rumors of someone videoing the attack and they’ll be asking why I filmed the whole event without taking time to call the police. Won’t that make me an accessory to the crime? I’m no lawyer but this can’t be good. I should probably delete the footage, but I still have this crazy thought in my head about a story about the bikers who endorsed the guy who killed the Crusher then go to a local bar and viciously attack a fellow patron. There’s a story there and it’s gonna make my career. The more I think about it the better I feel. Isn’t there a protection in place that prevents writers and journalists from having to give up their source? My camera is my source and I shouldn’t have to turn it over to the police. I really need to contact www.inthecage.com’s print magazine and tell them I have an amazing story for them. Now I just have to write it
