UNDERTAKER

by Nicole James

“There an end game to all this?”

  “Just to make you suffer, like I suffered every day I had to sit in solitary confinement because of you. I could have gotten away. I could have been home in time to see my mama before she died. None of that happened. Because of you.”

  “You are so full of shit!”

  “I never saw her again, and now I’m gonna see how you like it. You’re never gonna see your little hottie again either. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

  “You piece of shit.” Undertaker pressed the gun harder into his forehead, hard enough to leave a mark. “I’m not here to listen to your bullshit. You need some motivation? Look at my face and ask yourself how long I’m gonna be patient. You got a death wish? Cause I can grant it.”

  “Who’s the biggest badass? Guess we’re findin’ out tonight,” Ronnie sneared.

  “If you don’t give me back the girl, I’ll do you right here and I can make it very painful.”

  Ronnie laughed. “You’ll never find her. My brother doesn’t hear from me in the next hour, he kills her. That’s the plan. You pull that trigger, you’ll never see her alive again.”

  Undertaker huffed out a laugh. “See, Ronnie, you got the mistaken idea that you’re gonna see daylight tomorrow.”

  “Oh, I think I will. That is if you want your honey to see that same daylight tomorrow.”

  “What’s his fuckin’ deal?” Blood asked.

  Undertaker grinned. “Little Ronnie LeMonte? Oh, he’s had it in for me for a long time, haven’t you?”

  “Fuck you. And fuck that little bitch of yours, too. Or maybe I already have.” He gave Undertaker a big smile and licked his lips.

  Undertaker pistol-whipped him, and Blood was sure his president was going to kill the man.

  “You still pissed about your little failed prison break? That what this is about? Heard you missed your mama’s funeral. Too bad you had to go and put that guard in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. Collins was one of the good ones. He had a family. Wife and two little girls. You beat him near to death with that shovel. You fucked him up so bad that he’ll never be right in the head again. Took everything from him and for what? Because you could? He was already down on the ground, and still you kept on beating him.”

  “That why you turned me in?”

  “I didn’t fuckin’ turn you in, you sniveling little rat. I just made sure the cart you were supposed to be driving that day returned without it’s driver.”

  “I tied that mule to a tree.”

  “And I untied him.”

  “You fucking cocksucker! I would have gotten out of that hellhole if it weren’t for you.”

  “You’re so full of shit. You never would’ve made it out of the woods, don’t matter how many more minutes head start you had. Once they released the dogs, your ass still woulda been caught. Ain’t nobody makes it past the bloodhounds.”

  Sandman came back in the room and shook his head. “She ain’t here. Searched top to bottom.”

  Blood saw Ronnie eyeing the several guns lying on the coffee table next to the black ski mask he’d used last night.

  Undertaker saw him, too. “Don’t even think about it.”

  “I say we break all his fingers. He’ll talk,” Blood sneered.

  “So your last plan failed. What was this new one?” Undertaker asked.

  Ronnie grinned. “Figured I’d step up my game. You won’t walk so easily on murder charges.”

  Undertaker’s jaw tightened. “You’re gonna kill her?”

  “Maybe I already did.”

  Undertaker pulled his chin to the side, his eyes narrowing, playing bluff with a poker face that Blood had seen the man use with skill. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not buying that one. You’d want her alive. You’d want to do it in front of me. That’s more your style.”

  Ronnie’s smile disappeared, and his face gave away the truth in that statement.

  Sirens could be heard in the distance, the sound growing louder as the vehicles approached quickly.

  “Check the front,” Undertaker snapped at Sandman, who moved to follow orders.

  Moments later, the house was lit up with blue flashing lights that shown in the windows.

  “They brought the whole crew from Oakton,” Sandman hissed. “They’re moving to take up positions.”

  Blood hit the lights, plunging the room in semi darkness, but a light remained coming from upstairs.

  Undertaker held his gun on Ronnie. “Maybe we both go to jail tonight.”

  Ronnie grinned. “Maybe we do. Ain’t gonna help your lady.”

  Blood moved to the edge of the drapes, checking the back. “They’re surrounding the place.” He looked over at his President. “You got a plan?”

  Undertaker nodded toward Ronnie and picked up the roll of duct tape from the coffee table and tossed it to Blood. “Cover his mouth.”

  Ronnie huffed out a laugh. “Why? You think I’m gonna scream? I don’t have to. They’re comin’ in any second.”

  Blood wrapped the tape around his head, shutting him up.

  Undertaker picked up the ski mask, eyeing Ronnie with an idea.

  “What’s that?” Blood asked, nodding to the key that lay on the table under it.

  Undertaker picked it up. The key dangled from a plastic keychain that read Star Motel on one side, and Unit #1 on the other side. “A key for the Star Motel.” He grinned at Ronnie. “Bingo.”

  Ronnie moved to lunge from the chair, but Blood held him.

  “Tape his left arm across his chest.”

  “Just one?” Blood grappled with him. “You wanna help?”

  Undertaker restrained his other arm while Blood wrapped him like a mummy.

  “Now what?” Blood asked.

  Undertaker pulled the ski mask down over Ronnie’s face. “Grab that 9mm over there and take out the cartridge.”

  Blood quickly complied. “Done. And?”

  “Give it to me. And hold him.” Undertaker grabbed up a coat and wrestled Ronnie into it. He had one arm in the sleeve, while the other sleeve hung empty. He zipped it up. Taking the unloaded handgun, he shoved it in Ronnie’s right hand and duct taped it in place.

  Ronnie apparently started to catch on, because he began trying to talk behind the tape that covered his mouth, struggling to break free.

  A voice over a megaphone yelled, “Ronald LaMonte, come out with your hands up.”

  Blood stared at Undertaker. “They’re takin’ their time.”

  “They think AJ is in here. They’re gonna be careful.”

  Undertaker wrapped one more loop of duct tape under the empty sleeve around the chest and over the right arm at the elbow.

  Blood looked at him in confusion, but Undertaker just smiled. “Make sure he can’t rip the mask off. Help me get him to the door.”

  They each took a side and hustled Ronnie toward the front of the house.

  Sandman watched through the crack in the drapes. “We’re balls deep in shit, boys.”

  Blood glanced at him. “You just figurin’ that out?”

  “They’re gettin’ mighty jumpy out there, Prez.”

  “Good,” Undertaker replied.

  “You sure this is gonna work?” Blood asked.

  “Pretty sure.”

  “I’m comin’ out!” Undertaker shouted. “Don’t shoot.”

  “Open the door slowly!” came the order.

  Undertaker grinned at Blood. “Yeah, that ain’t happening. Sandman, check the back.”

  A moment later Sandman reported in a whisper, “They’re all pulling to the front.”

  Undertaker looked at Blood. “We shove him out the door and hightail it over that back fence as fast as possible. You ready?”

  Ronnie screamed behind the tape, the veins in his neck bulging.

  “See you in hell, Ronnie,” Undertaker said. They opened the door and shoved him out.

  “Drop the gun! Put your hands up!”

  Ronnie did the instinctive thing and tried to r
aise his arm, but the tape at his elbow wouldn’t allow him to do more than bring the gun taped to his palm level with the officers.

  They opened fire, and he shook like a puppet on a string as round after round riddled his body.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  The old Buick turned into a small place off the highway called the Star Motel. Woods surrounded the place, and it looked half abandoned except for the neon No Vacancy sign that flickered off and on in the dark. The motel was one level—just one long row of units, maybe a dozen, with the office on the end.

  The big tires crunched across the gravel and dirt parking lot as the woman drove in and pulled diagonally to the room at the very end, farthest from the office. The headlights revealed a low overhang supported by posts that covered a sidewalk running along the front of the units. Big, long-neglected round planters sat at each post, the flowers long gone, weeds now choking out whatever plants struggled to survive. AJ tried to take in every detail.

  Tall Man, as AJ thought of him, turned to her and snarled, “You make any fuss or noise at all, I’ll go back and kill your friends, understand?”

  Now that he’d removed his mask, her eyes studied his face in the dim light. He looked mean, just like the other man. He had dark hair with an Elvis style wave in front, a long face, and tanned skin, pock marked with acne scars. But the thing AJ noticed the most were his soulless eyes. She’d seen men like him before—that callous disregard for others, the lack of empathy, the cold expression. He was a sociopath.

  Those eyes scared the shit out of her, and she had absolutely no doubt he’d do whatever he threatened.

  The duct tape still covered her mouth, leaving her to only nod.

  Satisfied, he passed a key to the woman, and growled, “Go open the door. We’re registered in #1. I’ll bring her in.”

  AJ’s gaze moved to the woman. She looked beaten down and totally in this man’s power, and AJ was sure she’d find no help there.

  The car rocked as they both slid out. When the interior light came on, she glanced frantically around the backseat and floorboards, looking for anything that could help her, but there was nothing. Her door was wrenched open, and his big hand closed around her upper arm, dragging her out. He manhandled her quickly to the open motel room and shoved her inside. He threw the bolt and fastened the chain.

  She took in the room. The walls were 1970’s wood paneling, the avocado-green carpet was stained, and the two beds were covered in threadbare bedspreads in a loud brown and orange floral print. The same obnoxious print was repeated in the drapery that covered the window. Before it sat a small round table and two chairs. The place smelled of old cigarette smoke and mold.

  He dragged out one of the chairs and shoved her down into it. When he took out a knife, her heart dropped. The blade quickly slashed through the zip tie binding her wrists. She only had a moment to rub her raw skin before he was yanking them to the arms and securing each wrist with more zip ties that he pulled from his pocket. He did the same with her ankles.

  When he was done, he stood over her, staring as he folded the knife and shoved it back in his pocket. While she was glad to see him put it away, she couldn’t help but visualize him stabbing her with it and dumping her body out in the swamp. The thought had her stomach churning and hands trembling.

  The woman lit a cigarette, sat on the far bed, and crossed her legs. AJ noticed she wouldn’t make eye contact with her and her foot bounced rapidly.

  The man went into the bathroom and shut the door.

  AJ could do nothing but watch the woman, pleading with her eyes above the silver tape. But the woman wouldn’t look at her; she just flicked her ashes in the glass ashtray again and again, her finger nervously tapping the cigarette. Her other hand played with her hair, her charm bracelet jangling with every movement.

  The toilet flushed, the door opened, and the man came out fastening his pants. He flopped back on the bed between the woman and her, grabbed up the remote, and aimed it at the ancient television. He spent the next two minutes flipping through the channels.

  “Not even HBO. Piece of shit motel.” He glared at the woman. “You could have given him more fucking money. Then we wouldn’t have to stay in this dump.”

  “I gave him all I had, Donnie.”

  Donnie. So Tall Man has a name.

  “Yeah, right. I bet you’re holdin’ out on him, just like you’ve been holdin’ out on me since he’s been out. Always makin’ excuses.”

  “I’m married, Donnie.”

  “Think I give a shit?”

  “He’s your brother.”

  “And what he don’t know won’t hurt him, will it?” He swung his legs off the bed, facing her. “Ain’t nobody gonna tell him, Delilah. Ain’t that right?”

  When she only nodded, running her hand through her hair, her bracelets jangling again, his lips flattened, and his eyes hardened into flints. “I said, ain’t that right?”

  “I’m not going to tell him. He’d only blame me anyway.”

  Donnie pushed to his feet, standing over her, invading her space, his fingers flexing at his side. “And he’d be right. You with your short dresses, dyed hair and painted lips… enough to make any man take what you’re offerin’. Ain’t that right?”

  She ran a hand through her hair again, her bracelet jangling.

  And that’s when he snapped. His hand came out and slapped her across the face. “You answer when I talk to you. And take that damn bracelet off before I flush it down the stinking toilet. Damned jingling; it’s enough to drive a man crazy.”

  “Yes, Donnie,” she murmured, her hand fumbling with the clasp.

  AJ had jumped at the slap, her body tensing as if the blow had struck her own face. She swallowed. Her heart bled for the woman, who, it seemed was just as much a victim as she was.

  AJ said his name over and over in her head and swore if she ever made it out of this she’d remember every detail about him. She watched as he scooped the keys up off the nightstand and stalked toward the door.

  “I’m goin’ out to get some beer. When I get back, you and I are gonna have some fun, Delilah, and I don’t want to hear any bullshit about Ronnie comin’ back any minute. He ain’t gonna be back for hours.”

  He slammed out of the door.

  The Buick fired up, the headlights flashing across the window as tires spewed gravel. The car peeled out onto the blacktop highway and sped away.

  AJ didn’t know how far the nearest place to buy beer was, but she knew she probably only had a short time. She began moaning behind the tape.

  Delilah did her best to ignore her, sitting and fidgeting on the bed, her leg bouncing. She took a bottle of water from her big slouchy bag, and AJ moaned again, louder.

  This time Delilah glanced at her, and AJ let her eyes drop to the bottle, motioning with her head.

  Delilah bit her lip, but stood and approached her.

  “Look, if I take the tape off and give you water, you have to promise not to scream.”

  AJ nodded frantically.

  “If he finds out I did even this much, I don’t know what he’ll do.”

  AJ shook her head, trying to convey that she wouldn’t do anything.

  “Sorry, honey, but this is going to hurt. I have to peel it off slow so he can’t tell.”

  It hurt, but finally the tape was hanging from one side.

  Delilah held the bottle for her to drink. When she was done, AJ gasped out, “Thank you.”

  Delilah started to put the tape back on.

  “Wait. Can you leave it off, just until his car pulls back in? It’s hard to breath. Please.”

  Delilah glanced toward the drapes. “I suppose, if you promise you won’t scream.”

  “I promise.”

  Delilah sat on the edge of the bed close to her, ready to slap the tape back in place if she tried anything.

  “Do you know what they’ve done? They’ve messed with the Evil Dead MC. This isn’t going to end well for any of you. Why are you with hi
m? You seem too sweet to be involved in any of this.”

  “I’m not going to answer a bunch of questions. I’ll put the tape back on.” She moved to get up.

  “Okay, okay. No questions.”

  When she sat back on the bed, AJ started talking about herself. “I’m a psychologist. In my practice I counsel battered women and those in abusive situations.”

  Delilah lit another cigarette. “I know who you are. You’re with that New Horizons Women’s Center.”

  AJ nodded, hope flaring. “You’ve seen it? Sorry, no questions. I remember. I also help out with a women’s shelter called Sunrise House. It’s a place where women can go to escape from their abusive spouses or boyfriends. Its location is kept secret. We could find you a spot if you need one.”

  Delilah just blew a slow stream of smoke out, her eyes avoiding AJ’s.

  “You don’t have to live like this, Delilah. You could have a better life. I could help you. If you help me.” Still she wouldn’t look at her. “He’ll be back soon. We don’t have much time. We can both escape.”

  Delilah’s eyes came to her then. “I can’t. I can’t ever escape them, even when one of them is in prison. I’ll never be free.”

  “You can. I can help you.”

  “Stop saying that.”

  “Please, Delilah. He’s going to kill me. You know he is.”

  “I don’t know that,” she said softly, but her eyes wouldn’t meet AJ’s.

  “Yes, you do. Have there been others? Others they’ve killed?”

  Her gaze flicked up to AJ’s at that question. “No!”

  “Can you live with it? The guilt of knowing you could have saved me?”

  Delilah glanced away and whispered, “I can’t even save myself.”

  “Yes, you can. You’re the only one who can save you. You can do it, Delilah. You have to believe that.”

  Her eyes cut back to AJ. “You don’t know anything about me; you don’t know what I’ve been through.”

  “You heard him, Delilah. He’s coming back and when he does—”

  “Just shut up!” She lunged forward and put the tape back over her mouth, leaving only AJ’s eyes to plead with her as she did. AJ stared up at her, and for one moment Delilah met her eyes and she murmured, “I’m sorry. I really am.”