by Marata Eros
As I turn away from Vincent's blown-away head, heat drives up from my toenails. I open my mouth to breathe, but it fills with the taste of metal, and I throw up on top of one of the gangbangers.
“Bitch!” He rolls away and stands, hands fisted.
Fingers grab the back of my shirt and hauls me backward. Another hand pile drives into my hair, cranking my head back.
The taste of raw bile chokes me. and I cough as I gaze into the eyes of a man far worse than Vincent.
“You a virgin?” he screams in my face, and the fine hairs that have come loose from my ponytail lift with the scourge of his breath. “Because one of my dogs just bit the hand that feeds him. Nobody tells me what's theirs. What's theirs is mine.”
His face hovers above me, wearing a matching mask of gore.
“Well?” he bellows.
I nod.
His smile becomes a grin. “Good.” He shoves me away, and I slip on the stuff on the floor.
The stuff that used to be Vincent.
Chapter 11
Wring
Sweat runs through my shorn hair, splattering on my trembling shoulders.
“Two-forty,” Noose says.
I don't completely stiffen my elbows.
Noose cups his hands around the barbell in case I drop the weights. Never have.
He still spots me anyway, so I don't go splat.
Our eyes meet. “One more rep, pussy.” His smile is crooked but guarded. It's a lot of weight to push.
I've let myself get bulky since I separated from the Navy. Then, I couldn't afford to be. Needed to be fast, lithe. Now I'm letting nature take its course. I want to be strong and use the strength to defend.
We'll always have stealth.
I control my breathing, centering everything I have, everything I am on the lift.
I let it down without a clink.
Noose lifts his eyebrows in direct challenge, the prick.
I scowl.
“Whatever it takes,” he hikes a shoulder.
I let the breath ease out of me. My thoughts are a pinpoint. I lift, huffing out a couple of sharp breathes. Get to the end.
“One, two, three,” Noose says quietly.
I let the weight down slowly.
No clanking.
“Goddamn. Rock solid.” Noose holds his fist up, and I tap it between blowing out oxygen.
Spent as fuck.
“You can still do more,” I mention.
“Fuck it. Got an inch on ya and twenty pounds.”
Noose isn't a cut guy, more Spartan.
I'm a little more cut, leaner. But bench pressing two-forty thirty times isn't bad. I would love to do Noose's two-sixty.
We walk over to an empty weight bench, and I sit on a stool across from it. We lift our bottled waters at the same time.
“I'd give my left nut for a beer. Fuck water,” Noose comments dryly.
I raise the water bottle. “Beer doesn't hydrate.”
“Like I give a fuck?”
I grin. “Probably not.”
“We doing flutters today?” I ask, because it's easier to concentrate on working my body rather than getting to what I'm really wanting to know. It's only been one day since Viper called emergency church and didn't beat me down too bad.
He didn't give a green light, either.
We upend the waters and crush the empties, tossing them in the trash for Storm to clean up later.
“Nah. Don't feel like being on my back and abusing the abs.” He leans forward and punches me in the gut. But I hardened up in anticipation.
“You don't feel like you need flutters.” He gives me a look, swinging his fingers out, cracking up. Fucker loves pain.
I shake my head, stifling a grin at his abused hand. “Just wanted to do a thousand and hand you your ass.”
He gives me a sideways look of disbelief. “A thousand?”
I nod.
“Impressive.”
I shrug. “The core's everything, brother.”
“God, don't start singing the mantra from BUDS.”
I smirk, and we sit in companionable silence for a few extended heartbeats.
Finally, Noose says, “She's a librarian.” He shrugs.
He got right on shit. Another reason to like Noose. He's a man of his word.
“I know that. That tidbit's about as worthless as tits on a nun.”
Noose laughs, holding his ribs. “Nice.”
I fold my arms, cupping my elbows. Everything hurts after lifting. Joints. Muscles. Mind. Trying to keep my thoughts off Shannon has become a part-time job.
Not fucking working.
And, I thought I was sleeping bad before? Don't know why I bother going to bed at all.
“Does she have any hidden kids or anything?”
Noose scowls. “No. Not that there's anything wrong with kids.”
I grunt. “They shit, eat, and wail. Not always in that order.”
Noose appears to contemplate my comment then laughs. “Yeah.”
I swing my palm out. “Tell me the rest.”
He looks between his hands, his finger running down a printout. “Shannon Berg.” He looks up at me suddenly. “I feel like a stalker.”
“Whatever the fuck. Spill your guts.”
“Fine, ya foul fucker.” He exhales, flexing his calloused hand. “Almost twenty-five. You know her physical stats.” His eyes squint at me, glinting with humor. “Family's had the little house since 1910, one of the first families in the valley.”
“Not much left,” I comment mostly to myself.
“Wouldn't be. Dad was killed in a farm accident working his family's land when she was a baby. Mom's got some disease. Anyway, scabbed the medical records for the mom—doesn't have long.”
Ah.
“My guess is Shannon is taking care of her mom, trying to work a job close to her house. Vincent sees her coming and going, takes note of that prime little chunk of real estate, and wants it. Figures he can put the screws to Shannon and get it for less than market.”
“So she's desperate to stay,” I guess slowly. Her behavior makes sense with the facts Noose is telling me.
“Sounds right. But”—Noose ducks his head—“you're not going to like this.”
I grin, baring my teeth like a pleased shark. “Lay it on me.”
“Uh-huh. Well, I got Shannon's medical records, too.”
“How did you manage that?”
Noose's dirty-blond eyebrows hike. “Please. I'm a hacking fool.”
I chuckle. “Right. Okay, go on.” I wave my palm impatiently, dabbing at the sweat from my workout with a hand towel.
Noose shifts his weight on the bench.
“Spit it the fuck out. What does she have? HIV or something?”
He shakes his head, light steel-colored eyes meeting mine. “Worse.”
What? I scrunch my face. Pressing my fists against my knees, I lean forward on the stool.
“Virgin.” The word drops out of his mouth like a bomb.
I abruptly stand, giving him the disbelief he deserves like a gunshot between the eyes. “No girl is a virgin at twenty-four.”
Noose chuckles. “You got a point, brother. Pretty rare. But I'm thinking this is one reason Vincent might want her.”
I hang my head. I have to want a chick that's a virgin. That the Bloods want to sell to the highest bidder. Who's some kind of a Mother Teresa and stays home to take care of her dying mother.
Of all the complicated fucking women I can go after…
Noose rolls his shoulders into a shrug. “If I can find out this personal stuff about her”—he stabs his chest with his thumb—“so can the Bloods. It makes sense they'd look into her.” His eyes are steady on mine. “They want Shannon's property so they can have a whole block of gang bullshit. Then one of them notices Shannon…” His voice dips into a valley. His exhale is tired, and for the first time, I notice the dark circles under his eyes.
Fuck. What he's saying makes perfect sense
, but I don't have to like it.
I get out of my head long enough to ask, “Thought you were sleeping okay?”
He snorts, lighting up a cig, then puffs a ring into the humid gym air. “Aria wakes up all night to eat.”
I give an almost imperceptible shudder.
“Bum a smoke?”
“Sure,” Noose hits the top of the box, and a cig pops partway out.
I grab it.
“I'll help you put another nail in your coffin.” He winks. “Love smoking in the workout room.”
He blows two rings. The smaller fitting within the larger.
I laugh.
“Vipe would have a shit fit if he saw us dirtying up the exercise room.”
Noose chuckles. “Yeah.”
We smoke, and I think about Vincent lying in wait for a vulnerable woman who doesn't have a shred of hope and has never been with a man.
Purity like that doesn't have a place in this world. And I had her up against a wall, dry humping her. A pang of guilt hits me hard. Shannon deserves better than me.
After a couple of minutes, I repeat in quiet awe, “Virgin.”
“Yup. Know for a fact. Got codes for that shit. Got a code if a chick's ever had an abortion, too. Med codes. Know ʼem all.”
I screw my face up into a frown. “That's fucked up.”
Noose stabs his cig out on the sole of his boot. “Yeah.”
No one's ever accused us of being normal.
“I don't like you knowing Shannon's a virgin.”
Noose barks out a laugh, starts coughing, and howls.
I glare at him.
“I don't give two fucks. I got Rose. These are the facts. Nobody's had that pussy, and the Bloods are thinking she's a hot commodity. They kill two birds with one stone. Get the chick's property that they need. Get a bunch of money for her. Maybe kill the mom, make it look like the old ticker gave out or some other bit of fuckery.”
“They're not getting Shannon.”
“Listen, Wring—”
“Don't.”
“Let this go. I know that you feel bad for the girl, but she's probably not worth it—all things considered.”
His unspoken words are: Club first. Chicks second.
My chin hikes, and I look him square in the eye. “What if she is?”
Seconds pound by, turning into a full minute.
“Fuck,” Noose mutters, then after a protracted moment, he grins. “Let’s knot up.”
I nod. Reconnaissance is in order.
Noose grabs my arm as we leave the club. “We don't do anything unless they're killing her.”
A hot minute of indecision grips us.
“I'm not letting them rape or beat her up, brother.”
Noose grimaces. “Fuck no, I gotcha.”
“We take Lariat,” I say.
He pulls a face.
“You gotta get over this bullshit from our tour.”
He walks off. “When the time's right.”
We stride to our rides. “When will you know?” I ask to his broad back. I hate the bad blood between him and Lariat. They’ve got to settle that shit. Not good for the club. Hell, it's not good for them.
“I'll know.”
He hops on his Road King and slams another cig between his lips, cups the flame, and shoots out a ring. As he turns on the motor, I text Lariat the deets.
He texts back:
Affirmative.
Turning my face to the horizon, I pocket my cell. The color of sunset spills tangerine and pink light across the treetops that surround the club, making spatter patterns on the old bunker like battered fruit.
“Lariat on board?” Noose asks over the loud vibration of his engine.
I nod.
We were a team once. Noose and Lariat might have unresolved issues, but we'll always be a team.
SEALs in the service, SEALs for life.
*
Noose swings his head in the direction of Shannon's house as we cruise past.
And we keep cruising past the newer industrial buildings that flank it. Memories of pinning her against the wall right outside her front door give me get a hard-on at the worst time.
We go almost to Noose's place and glide into two parking spots.
Noose and I kill the engines then step off our rides simultaneously.
We don't speak.
Lariat walks to our position.
“Where's your ride?” Noose asks.
“Your condo.”
Noose scowls. “Don't want to lead those fuckers back to my family.”
“Not gonna happen, Noose.” Lariat scowls. “Rose will chop their nuts off if they get within spitting distance.”
“Don't want her to have to, numb nuts.”
They face off.
I snap my fingers. “Wake up, fuckers. Shannon. We're here to talk to her, see if we can help.”
They glare at each other.
We take off our leather jackets, fold them, and place them in our trunks at the back of our bikes.
Lariat moves across the street, walking parallel to me and Noose.
We go to her house, where a single light is burning behind a curtain.
I knock, and Lariat stands across the street, looking conspicuous as fuck.
A voice from behind the door calls out, “Who is it?”
Fuck. Not Shannon.
Noose mouths, “Mom.”
“Sam Walker, ma'am.”
Noose claps a hand over his mouth. I elbow him in his side.
Some locks twist, and a chain is the only thing standing between Shannon's mom and me.
“Are you the bike rider?” she asks, a pale-blue eyeball peering between the two-inch space.
Shannon mentioned me? Good or bad, I think for a heartbeat.
Her eye shifts to Noose. He flutters his fingers. “Hello, ma'am.”
Her lips thin.
Damn.
Here goes. “Yes.”
She seems relieved. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
My shoulders drop, body singing with a tension I didn't even know I had.
I nod. “Same here.”
She frowns. “Is Shannon with you?”
Her mom tries to look around me, and I tense.
Noose and I exchange a glance. He'd already mentioned she was off work.
“No.”
Her eyes go wide. “She…I—” Tears form.
“Mrs. Berg,” I say in a neutral, calming way, “where is Shannon?”
“She was supposed to be home a half hour ago.”
Not good.
“You stay here. If we're not back in a half hour, call 9-1-1.”
“I don't know you,” she states the obvious, and my fingers curl around the partly open door.
I could force it open, but I only nod. “Yeah. But I'm protecting Shannon.”
“Why?” Her voice quivers.
I'm honest. Like usual. “I don't know.”
Noose put his face beside mine. “Sorry ma'am, that'll have to be good enough.”
He pulls me away, and we jog out of there. Toward the nearest building.
Toward Shannon.
Chapter 12
Shannon
My knees immediately soak with blood, and I shriek, leaping up and stumbling away.
Hands grab me and keep me from falling again.
The boss walks toward me.
I can't stop screaming. Blood and bits of human brain and skull stick to his face, throat, and clothes like measles of death.
He blinks, and his eyes appear stranded within all the blood droplets.
I gag.
His hands land on my shoulders, and I smell gun powder.
“Listen, and listen close. You're mine now. I want that fucking house you got, and I want what I can get outta you. Got it?”
I don't nod. I don't move.
“Nod your head that you understand. Because permission's not a part of this.”
“My mom,” I gasp.
“Your fucking breath reeks.” He grins.
Of course it does. I just puked.
“What about your mom? Who gives a fuck? We'll do the old bitch—hell, it's a mercy. Hear she's sicker than a dog.” His grin spreads wider, and he gives a manic snicker.
I close my eyes.
When I open them, he's still there—in front of me like a demonic apparition.
The rumble of bikes mixes with the white noise of the gangbangers’ activities.
Oh no.
“Thought you said that fucker Wring wasn't your man.”
I shake my head. “He's not.” I'm not involving Wring in this. It's my mess. But fear saturates my insides.
“I'd know the sound of those Road Kill MC fuckers anywhere.”
A full minute passes, the gangbangers quiet like church mice. Listening.
A deliberate pounding on the door startles everyone. A dozen sets of eyes flow to the door.
“Fuck.” The boss's eyes move over my face, filled with acute irritation and disdain.
“Clean this mess up,” he says, and three gang members trot over to Vincent's body.
Oh God. I swallow more vomit.
“Not your man, eh?” He shakes me by my arm, jarring my wrist, and I yelp.
“Vince fuck up your hand? Gonna stop you from giving blow jobs, sweet thing?” His tongue lashes the top of my ear, and I cringe.
His face swings to the loose circle of gang members, who step away from the steel door. “Wait by the door.”
“Who's there?” he asks and pinches my butt cheek, and I muffle a cry of pain. The boss claps a hand over my mouth, fingers biting along my face, numbing it.
“Road Kill MC,” a deep voice says from the other side.
The boss's smile comes online like a piranha’s grin. “Open the door.”
Two gangbangers open the door, knives in their hands.
Please don't hurt Wring, I have time to think.
The boss puts me in front of him like a shield.
The door swings open, and there stands Wring, the last of the western sunlight backlighting him.
His face is in shadow, but I see enough of his expression to interpret his feelings.
I see murder on his face. Theirs.
*
