by Sandy Kline
The second man turns to face Mark. His gun jumps and flames shoot out of the barrel dangerously close to Mark. The first bullet catches him in the middle of his chest sending him crashing against the wall. I see a bright red spray of blood as the second bullet tears into his left arm. Mark slides to the floor.
As the man advances on Mark I twist around painfully and reach behind my back for my gun, praying I didn’t put the safety on when I stuffed it in my waistband. My whole world seems to be mired in molasses as the masked man brings his gun to bear on Mark, aiming for his head this time. When my hand finally clasps around my own weapon it seems like it takes forever. I have no time to aim and as I squeeze the trigger two thoughts are in my head. I hope I don’t accidently shoot Mark and maybe I should shoot Mark. It would certainly solve one problem.
My gun jumps in my hand as superheated gasses explode from the barrel. I had intended to shoot several times but the damn thing comes flipping out of my grip as I shoot and lands in my lap. At first I’m sure I missed. No way could I have hit the guy even though he is like five feet from me. But to my shock his knees buckle and he drops to the floor, falling backwards and on top of my legs. I scramble for my gun but it’s pinned beneath the masked man. Terrified he will shoot me now I thrash about crazily, trying to get out from underneath him. My ears are ringing like Christmas bells and my mouth has this coppery, nasty warm taste of blood; and it’s not mine either.
Finally I get out from beneath the guy. Once on my hands and knees I just keep crawling for the space underneath the desk nearest me. I’m too terrified to even turn around. If he’s gonna shoot me I don’t wanna see it. He can shoot me in the back for all I care.
“Jen! Jennifer…it’s okay.” Whispers a voice.
I keep my crawling and I don’t stop until I’m under the tiny desk where I draw my knees up to my chin and burry my face.
“Jennifer, it’s okay.”
Slowly I look up. Mark is kneeling in front of me, blood running from his left arm. I can’t believe he’s alive.
“He…he s-shot you in the c-chest.” I stammer. “How are y-you even a-alive?”
For an answer he pulls down the collar of his shirt to reveal a bullet proof vest. The he lifts up the bottom of his tee shirt to reveal a tiny round piece of lead sunk partway into his vest.
“Oh my god…holy smokes there’s the bullet. Does it hurt?”
“It actually hurts worse than the one that hit my arm. I feel like I just got hit with a sledge hammer.”
“Oh shit, I forgot.”
He starts to remove his leather jacket but his arm’s not moving so well so I crawl out of my little hiding place to assist. When we get his jacket off, I help him peel off his shirt. I start to use it to wipe the blood from his arm but he stops me and takes it and instead wipes off my face. All of a sudden my stomach begins to roll. I barely have time to grab the trash can next to me before puking into it. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the taste of gore out of my mouth and the smell is just as bad.
As I lift my head from the basket a towel appears in front of me. I take in gratefully and continue to wipe.
“How bad is it?” I finally ask, pointing to his arm. It actually doesn’t look bad at all. Just a small round hole with a trickle of blood running down over his bicep.
“It’s a flesh wound. It just needs to be cleaned out so it doesn’t get infected. I’ve had much worse believe me.”
“Yes…you have.”
“I can’t believe you shot that guy.” He remarks.
“I can’t either. D-did I k-kill…” I can’t finish my sentence.
“No. You shot him in the thigh and I shot him in the chest. He’s dead but you saved my life Jen. You gave me the two seconds I needed to recover and shoot him. Otherwise he’d have blown my brains out.”
“What are we going to do now? This place is a war zone in here.”
“Did you use your own name or ID when you checked in? Did you use a card or cash?”
“I just gave cash and they didn’t ask for any ID.”
“Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up and I’ll do some cleaning myself here. We don’t want to leave any evidence that either of us were ever here. Then we’ll go our separate ways. You should find yourself another motel like this one. Don’t leave any kind of paper trail wherever you go. Someone obviously knows you’re in town and wants you dead.”
I really don’t want to take a shower with Mark here but I guess it’s safe. If he wanted to rape me or otherwise harm me he’s had plenty of chances. If I don’t take a long hot shower I’m never going to stop vomiting. Blood is caked in my hair and dried on my clothes and skin.
“I’ll take a shower.” I say to him.
“Fine. I’ll get things cleaned up here and when you get out we’ll leave.”
Forty-five minutes later I stagger out of the shower and get dressed. I had planned on taking a ten minute shower but once I got under the hot water I couldn’t stop scrubbing. I only stopped because my skin was getting red and raw. I still feel like I have blood and guts on me but I do feel much better. I’m not sure what Mark was doing while I was in the shower. Things look pretty much the same.
“Don’t touch anything.” He instructs me. “I’ve done what I could to get rid of any prints you may have left behind. I’m also taking the pillow cases and the bed sheets. I don’t want you leaving any DNA evidence behind. Why don’t you go to the shower and make sure you didn’t leave any hair in the drain and put the soaps you have used in this bag.”
He hands me a plastic trash bag so I go to do as requested.
“Aren’t you going to take a shower too?” I ask.
“I can do that at home. For now I’ll just wear my jacket over my vest. No one will notice.”
Next he hands me my purse and my gun. Closing the door behind us we leave my room. While I head for the elevator he takes the stairs and that’s that. The nightmare is over, and what a night it’s been. I glance at my watch. It’s nearly 2:30 in the morning. I’m tired and hungry. Instead of finding a motel at this time of night I opt for the first all night restaurant I can find; Denny’s. I collapse into the bench at a table in the back of the restaurant and look over the menu. I wonder how much time will pass before someone tries to kill me again?
Chapter Eight
Awakening
“Ma’am?”
My head snaps up and my hands reach for my purse. Standing in front of me is a way too cheerful waitress for the time of night it is.
“What?” I ask sharply.
“Would you like anything else to eat?”
“What?” I look around me at a string of empty plates and platters. Holy crap, did I eat all that. Wow, I have really been out of it.
“No… I’m fine thanks.” I murmur.
“Well here’s your bill. Feel free to just sit and relax until you’re ready to go.”
“Uh… yeah I’m ready thanks.”
I grab the bill and get to my feet and a thought hits me. I grab my purse and feel around in it.
“Fuck!”
“Excuse me?” My bright-eyed waitress asks.
“Sorry… I was just looking for something.”
“Uh… you have money to pay for this right?” Asks my waitress, abruptly losing her charm.
“Yes I have money!” I reply, my voice as snide as I can make it.
“I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t mean to imply tha-”
“Oh yes you did!” I snap as I brush past her and head towards the cash register.
I am really pissed now. Mark swiped my photos while I was taking my mega shower. At last he didn’t see the one hundred dollar bill that was hidden in the same place. I really need those pictures though to be really safe. Another thought occurs to me. I should take them back. That’s what I should be doing here, planning the snatch and grab of my photos. I’m pretty sure Mark will keep at least one. He probably had to give up all his pictures as well as anything that could link him to the club so I
seriously doubt he’ll give up these. I go out to my car and start it up. The sun is about to make an appearance so I may as well look for a place to have coffee; real coffee, not that crap at Denny’s. After a few minutes of driving around I locate a Pete’s coffee but it’s not open yet. I get out and go up to the door. The sign says it opens at six. That’s a forty minute wait. I get back into my car to wait and think but I find it impossible to do just that. I end up getting out of the car and pace about until the door opens. Once inside I snuggle up to a cup of coffee and call Blade.
“Who is this?” A groggy voice asks.
“Can I come over?”
“Jen, is that you?” He asks.
“Yes it’s me! There’s been some trouble. Can I come over?”
“Uh yeah of course. Come on over. You know how to get here?”
“I’m not too familiar with Gold Hill. Gimme the address and I’ll GPS my way there.”
He gives me the address and twenty minutes later I’m parking next to his massive Harley. He opens the door on the first knock.
“You look terrible, what happened?” He asks sharply.
“Fuck you very much. I’ve just been shot at and I shot some dude and got blood and brains in my hair and puked all over the place. Oh and I was nearly raped but Mark bailed me out and almost attacked me before two guys busted in shooting at us. I saved his life by the way.”
“Why’d you do that?” He asks.
“What? Over everything I just told you and the part you have anything to say something about is to ask why I bothered to save a human being’s life?”
“Sorry…so are you hurt?” He asks, properly chastised.
“Yes…I mean no, but it was awful.”
“I’m so sorry.” He replies, shutting the front door and taking me into his strong arms.
The second his arms are surrounding me I start to feel safe. His smell alone takes me back to the best times with him two years ago and it’s no surprise the spell he has over me. I have never felt so safe and cared for. Not even my own parents could give me this kind of peace.
“Come into the kitchen, I put a pot of coffee on.”
I follow him into the kitchen where he pours me a steaming cup of black coffee.
“Tell me what happened Jen and don’t leave out a thing no matter how insignificant it appears to be.”
At first the words come slowly and haltingly but as I get going they just start spilling, no spewing out until I’m reduced into an ugly mess of tears. I thought that when I came back my life would be calm and full of love. Instead it’s been nothing but violence. One more time I have this strong desire to return to Belize, Blade or no Blade. I just don’t know how much more of this I can take. Its changed me; this violence. I’ve become hardened, cold, and almost callous. This is not me, I complain to Blade.
“No it’s not all of who you are, but the ability and the desire to protect yourself is no small thing. Many people are not able to pick up a weapon even if it is to save themselves or even their family. It’s not a bad thing Jen.”
“To me it is. I’m not a hardened killer like you. How many people have you killed anyway?”
At first I think he’s not going to answer, and then he rolls up his sleeve. I’ve seen the tattoo before. There are several rows of black hearts across his left bicep. It should have registered before but I was far too naïve to register what this could mean.
“How many?” I ask him.
“Twenty-three.” He replies. His voice and expression is void of emotion. I would have thought there’d be pride or sorrow or some kind of feelings behind the tattoos.
“You killed that many people?” I’m flabbergasted! I would have expected maybe ten at most, but almost two dozen? You gotta be kidding me.”
“I take no pride in it.” He replies.
“Small comfort for your victims.”
“Believe me they weren’t victims. They deserved what they got with the exception of the man I beat in that MMA fight. I meant to destroy him not kill him.”
“And the other 22 non-victims? How did they become so deserving of death by your hands?” I ask him, expecting a long line of bullshit.
“Some were purely self-defense while others were strategic moves to keep my club at the top of the food chain.”
“Top of the food chain, really? You just kill people willy nilly so you can be the alpha male or alpha motorcycle group? Life is cheap for you Sean Martin.”
“Assassinations are strategic moves taken to save lives of my brothers down the road. If a club shows weakness you become a target and if you’re a target everyone moves in on you and brothers start falling. I don’t take it lightly when I take another man’s life Jen.”
“Well…I guess that’s a good thing then, but how come you guys can’t get through life without killing when everyone else seems to be able to function without carrying out assassinations?
“What?” He asks. “Didn’t I just explain that? Hell the towns own police force does just about the same thing. If they don’t remain strong and undivided they’ll get picked off by gangs. They may not kill as much as a gang does or a MC does, but they do just about everything else to remain the alpha gang in the city.”
“You have a very twisted take on life.”
“I’m not going to apologize for who I am Jen. Most of us are shaped by our past; specifically our childhood. As much as shrinks love to pin childhood traumas on present day acts, it really is true I think.”
“I had a pretty messed up…no fucked up childhood but you don’t see me out there killing people.”
“Maybe not, but maybe it’s just luck that’s kept you from being in a position where you would take a life. You certainly adapt readily to firearms. All I had to do was just stick a gun in your hands and you were blazing away.”
“No shit, Sherlock, I had too. It was self-defense.”
“I’ve seen a lot of old ladies or even a few prospects who weren’t able to pull the trigger when the time came. Either they couldn’t or wouldn’t. You needed no convincing. You even carry Piper’s gun in your purse. Or did you dump it?”
I grab my purse off the counter and pull out Piper’s gun. On impulse I draw my hand back to chuck it at him but change my mind and just slide it across the counter where it crashes into his coffee cup. Blade gets showered with hot coffee and ceramic shards from what used to be a nice mug. His eyes flash with anger and his fists clench. Perhaps that wasn’t the best move on my part. He has changed since I was here last. He’s grimmer than he used to be. He’s quicker to anger.
“Don’t take my being nice to you for weakness woman!” His shoot daggers into my chest and I can almost feel the barbs sink in.
“Sorry about that Blade. Sometimes when you’re right it just infuriates me.”
“See, you’re no angel either.”
“I blame that on my childhood.”
“In your case I actually think that applies.”
“I certainly have the scars to prove it.”
“Yes you do and it’s part of what makes you beautiful.”
“You’re insane if you think they make me look anything even close to beautiful. They’re ugly, rough, and lack sensitivity. What about that makes me pretty?”
Instead of answering me he gets up off his stool and comes to stand in front of me. I inch away from him. His close proximity is making me nervous.
“Show me.” He says.
“What?”
“I want to see them. I mean really see them.”
“No freaking way. And besides, you already have.”
“Well…not really. It’s always been under dim light and/or during sex. I really haven’t just studied them.”
“And why would you want to? They don’t need to be looked at or studied under bright lights. I’m not a little white mouse in some laboratory Blade.”
Instead of answering he reaches out and takes the bottom of my shirt in his hands and begins to lift.
“What are
you doing?” I ask through clenched teeth.
“I’m getting reacquainted with you Ms. Clarkson.”
I start to grab my shirt to keep it down but for some reason I just can’t move. I’m frozen…but not in terror. I just can’t seem to refuse him. When the hem of my shirt reaches my bra I find myself raising my arms so he can slide the thin material over my head and I am struck with a sudden desire to turn off all the lights. It’s too bright in here for this kind of exposure. My shirt falls to the kitchen floor. I’m trembling from head to toe and somewhere in the back of my mind I see the flash of a belt followed by searing pain. Blade reaches out and places his right arm under my knees while his left circles around behind my back. He lifts me off that stool with ease and carries me down the hall towards his bedroom. I burry my face in his long blond hair and fight the tears that are beginning to seep from the corners of my eyes.
He sets me gently on the edge of the bed but prevents me from lying on my back to hide my scars. Instead he lays me on my stomach. I feel exposed. I feel helpless. I feel like that little girl again waiting for the fall of the whip. I start to roll over. I can’t be seen like this by anybody; even Blade, but he holds me in place. I have slacks on. Please don’t remove my slacks I beg him silently. He reaches around and works the zipper before sliding the thin fabric down over my hips exposing my ass. I start to turn over but again he prevents it.
“You’re beautiful he breathes in my ear. Every last crisscrossed line and scar is beautiful.”
I want to scream. I want to lash out at him and make him pay for what he’s done to me. I hate him for it. I want to kill the son of a bitch for torturing me. But I can’t. It’s not Blade that’s done this. He’s here and now and somehow it feels like if I strike out at him I’ll somehow feel better.
“Stop!” I cry out. “You don’t need to see more.”
I start to kick but he just pulls my slacks down around my ankles preventing me from doing anything to stop him. His hands are crawling all over my body. My scars tingle beneath his fingers and that’s a surprise to me. I have never had any feeling where that tough raised tissue is. Slowly my energy drains and with it my constant struggle against him dies out and I begin to feel something else.
