by Chiah Wilder
“What’s wrong?” a guy with a baseball cap pulled low asked.
Ricky noticed the driver had on a pair of gold-framed sunglasses with mirrored lenses. They looked like something people would’ve worn in the 1970s. “Someone slashed my tire.”
“That sucks. Need some help changing it?”
Ricky glanced at the time on his watch. “Damn, I’m going to miss my dental appointment.” The dull ache in his mouth reminded him that he couldn’t concentrate for finals without having his cavities filled. “I was getting ready to change the tire, but I really have to keep my appointment. What year are you?”
“I’m a senior. Where’s your dentist at?”
“On Thirteenth and Washington.”
“I’m going right by there. I can give you a lift, if you want.”
Ricky beamed. “Cool. That’s a big help. Let me just put the spare and jack away. I’ll deal with it when I get back.”
A couple minutes later, he was settled into the passenger seat of the Corvette. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate the ride.”
“No worries,” the driver said as he looped around the parking lot. “You have a ride back?”
“I’m texting a friend right now.” Ricky looked down at his phone.
Kylie: Hey.
Ricky: Hey. Can I impose on u? I need a ride back to campus. My tire was flat and I got a ride from a senior to my dentist. U cool with picking me up?
Kylie: What time?
Ricky: Bout 4:30.
Kylie: Sure. Where?
Ricky: 1340 Washington St. On the west side. Brick building. Second floor.
Kylie: Got it. Be brave. ;)
Ricky: Thx. :)
He put his phone in his pocket, laughing.
“What’s so funny?” his ride asked.
“My friend cracks me up, that’s all.”
“Is your friend gonna pick you up?”
“Yep. She said she’ll be there.”
There was a long pause. “What’s your friend’s name?”
“Kylie. Why?”
Ricky heard the guy suck in his breath. “Kylie. I know a Kylie. Beautiful, blonde, perfect pair of tits. Is that the same Kylie?”
Ricky jerked his head back. “What?”
“Is that the Kylie you’re talking about? She’s a sophomore and her roommate is Taylor.”
He detected a hard edge to the guy’s voice, and his hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were turning white. “How do you know Kylie?” Ricky asked.
“We go back a while. Her dad is someone I’ve known of for a long time.” He glanced in Ricky’s direction, and he noticed the guy was clenching his jaw real tight. Ricky was definitely getting a weird vibe from him. He stared back, his face reflected in the man’s mirrored lenses. “You fucking her?”
“What?” Ricky gasped. “I don’t like the way you’re talking about Kylie. She’s a nice person.”
“I didn’t ask if she was nice. I want to know if she’s nasty.” He rounded the corner at Thirteenth Street. “While you were in Vegas, she fucked her brains out with an asshole Insurgent. I’m sure you know that. I didn’t think she’d do anything that slutty, did you?”
When the driver passed right by Washington Street, Ricky looked behind him. “You just missed the street you were supposed to turn on.”
The man kept driving. “Did I? Huh.”
As the Corvette sped further away from where his dentist was, Ricky turned to the man. “What’s going on here? How do you know Kylie?” Then snippets of Kylie’s conversation about the creepy guy who’d been stalking her came to the forefront of his mind. “Are you the one who’s been creeping her out?”
A dry laugh filled the space between them. “Is that what she said? I don’t know if I like that.”
“You are the jerk.”
Without warning, the guy punched Ricky in the side of his face. “Have respect. You’re in my car.”
Ricky, rubbing his face, searched for the door handle. He had to get out of the car. He felt around the door, and when he couldn’t find the handle, he looked down. It was missing.
“I’d say that right about now, you’re thinking you’re fucking screwed, and you’d be right. I don’t like you hanging with Kylie. You’re so damn transparent. All you want is to shove your pathetic dick in her. I’m making sure that doesn’t happen.”
Cold sweat broke out all over Ricky as he tried to figure out what to do. He settled back, pretending to give in to the idea of going with the crazy jerk, and it seemed to have calmed Kylie’s stalker. Ricky could see him loosen the grip on the steering wheel. By now, the Corvette was well out of the small county and heading further into the countryside.
When they turned down a dirt road leading to the state park, Ricky lunged at him, punching him and trying to throw the car into neutral. The guy, taken by surprise at first, shoved him aside. Ricky was startled by his powerful arms. From underneath his seat, he saw the guy bring out a large security flashlight, and he tried to wrestle it away. Slamming on his brakes, the driver swiveled around and pounded Ricky in the head with the weapon. Black spots floated in front of his eyes and he slumped back into the seat.
“Don’t fucking try that shit again.” He clobbered Ricky again, then pushed down on the gas pedal and sped down the road.
Dizziness accompanied a mind-numbing pain in Ricky’s head, traveling down to his stomach where nausea consumed him. Everything was closing in on him, and he couldn’t breathe; it was like all the air around him had been sucked into outer space. He couldn’t think straight, his mind a foggy mess of blurred images. Ricky was pretty sure his skull had been cracked.
The car came to a sudden stop. The driver jumped out and ran around to the passenger side, opening the door and dragging Ricky from the car. He couldn’t fight back, his head was like a balloon that had been blown up too much then popped. He could barely keep it upright. The man threw him on the ground and pummeled his fists against his helpless body, adding kicks to his sides, head, and face. Ricky knew if he didn’t pretend to be a goner, the man would beat him to death. And all because he was friends with Kylie—it was incomprehensible.
“You weak asshole. I knew you’d be done in no time. Kylie deserves a man, not a fucking mama’s boy.” He delivered an incredibly forceful blow, and Ricky felt himself slipping away.
His attacker dragged him across the dirt, the sharp pinecones and stones scratching and ripping his skin. Ricky didn’t think he would survive. He didn’t even know where the hell he was. Strong arms picked him up, and for a few seconds he felt like he was soaring in the wind, the breeze cooling his aching body. Then he rolled down a small hill, feeling every bump until he slammed against a large rock which ended his short ride. The way the pain shot up his arm and rippled through his body, he knew it was broken. Then deep, maniacal laughter echoed in his ears before he heard the man’s crunching footsteps retreat, leaving Ricky’s bruised, bloodied, and broken body to wither away.
Chapter Sixteen
Jerry hid in the shadows of the alley, watching as three men approached. It was a dark, moonless night, and pinpricks of light pierced through the sky’s black canopy. The hour was late, and the town’s lights ebbed to a mere glimmer. Twenty Insurgents manned their posts, waiting for the sign from their president to move in and take care of business. The three men stopped at the entrance, glanced around, and slowly walked into the alley, the echo of their footsteps slicing through the stillness of the air. From where he’d positioned himself, Jerry could see the Skull Crushers logo on the backs of their jackets, and his fists instinctively tightened. One of the Skull Crushers took out a cigarette and lit it, the glow from its tip making his face appear ghoulish.
“She’s fucking late,” one of them said.
“I got a bad feel ‘bout this.” The member blew out smoke.
“You’re just fuckin’ jumpy ‘cause I interrupted you when you were bangin’ that slut at the trailer park. You can have at her when
you get back. She’ll be waiting for you. These sluts love biker cock.” The tallest member laughed, shaking his head.
Jerry’s insides clenched. He hoped to hell he wasn’t talking about his sister, but a part of him knew he was. It took all his will to stand motionless, listening to them, and not rushing over and bashing their heads in. He had to be patient; there’d be plenty of time for him to beat the shit outta the dude.
Light, hurried footsteps made the three bikers retreat into the shadows, hugging brick walls with their backs. A dark-haired woman in her early thirties entered the alley, her head moving from side to side as if looking for someone. The tallest Skull Crushers member came out of the darkness. From the way she jumped, Jerry knew Emma had been startled. He was the closest to her, hidden in the doorway of a garage. She did a good job with her makeup, and all the acne and angry sores she’d placed on her face, arms, and neck, made her look like a major meth user. He wondered if she’d transformed her teeth too. Emma actually had all her teeth capped a couple of years after she’d stopped using. The crystal had rotted and discolored them, so Danny had coughed up thousands of dollars to fix them up. Jerry knew Emma would be livid if she found out Danny had shared that fact with his brothers.
“You alone?” the tall biker asked.
Emma turned and twisted, appearing nervous and anxious as she nodded. Jerry smiled. She was playing the part perfectly.
“You got the money?” As he spoke, his two comrades came out of the shadows.
With shaking hands, she took out the money from the pocket of her hoodie. “You got the crank?”
“Yeah. First the money.”
She handed the tall member a wad of bills. He took out his Kill Light—a large industrial flashlight, favored weapon among outlaws—and switched it on as he counted the money. “All here,” he said, pocketing the cash. He stared at her. “You want it bad, don’t you?”
Nodding, Emma ran her hands up and down her arms, her body shaking.
“How bad?” he asked, taking a few steps closer to her.
“Bad enough to fuck and blow us, bitch?” one member said. Jerry recognized him as the one he’d seen at the trailer park the week before.
“What?” Emma’s voice trembled.
She’s good at this. Jerry smiled, aching to bash the skulls of the three assholes who were only a few feet away from him.
“You heard us.” The taller one reached out to touch her, but she jumped back.
“Leave me the fuck alone. You got your money, now you owe me what I came for. Do you even have it?”
“Show it to her, Gamble.” The tall guy stepped closer to her as a shorter member took out a baggie of clear, chunky crystals. “See, we got your stuff. You just need to give us what we want and you can be high in no time.” He grabbed her arm, yanking her to him.
Emma twisted out of his grasp, her steel-toed boot kicking him in the shin. “Fuck!” He bent down and rubbed his leg. “You fuckin’ bitch. I’m gonna beat your ass.” Emma ran out of his reach, and the two other men lurched toward her. “Get the bitch,” the tall member said.
“The only ones getting the shit beaten outta them are you sorry motherfuckers.” Banger stepped out from the shadows, his deep baritone voice sizzling with danger. The three men stopped, their postures stiffening. Banger lightly pushed Emma away. “You go on now. You did good.” Emma’s clacking heels on the pavement cracked the mounting tension.
“Who the fuck are you, old man?” the tall guy said as he eyed Banger. The three Skull Crushers looked to be in their early twenties.
“I’m the one who’s gonna teach you fuckin’ punks respect. You don’t fuckin’ deal in Insurgents’ territory.”
The three men circled Banger. “The shit you’re spewing was for the old days. Times have changed. The Skull Crushers don’t give a shit what the Insurgents think. We’ll do what the fuck we want.” He spat at the ground, narrowly missing Banger’s boot. Jerry gritted his teeth, ready to leap out to protect his president if one of the fuckers laid a finger on him.
Banger looked at where the punk spit then at him. “Problem is you fuckers don’t know shit about the brotherhood. Respect never goes out of style, and I’m about to show you what happens when you don’t give it.” He took a step and Jerry held his breath, already in his fighting stance.
“And you’re gonna do that all by yourself, asshole?” They laughed.
“I could, but I don’t wanna have all the fun. I brought along some brothers.” With a wave of his hand, twenty men stepped out of the shadows and formed a circle around the three Skull Crushers.
Jerry smiled when he saw the fear creep into their eyes, his hands clenched into fists just itching to be used.
“It’s time to teach you young boys some respect,” Banger said before his fist landed in the tall man’s gut. He groaned and fell to his knees. In one fell swoop, the Insurgents were on them, showing no mercy. For ten minutes, the lives of the three Skull Crushers were pummeled, kicked, and stabbed out of them… until they were no more.
Jerry wiped a bloodied knife on his black skull bandanna, stuffing the blade in his boot and the kerchief in his cut’s inside pocket. Banger came up to him. “We’re taking the bodies to the hole.”
“I thought you wanted me to make sure nothing was left.”
“Bear is gonna stick with the prospects and make sure the bleach and peroxide wipe out all traces. I need you back at the hole. You’re pretty handy with a chainsaw.” Jerry chuckled, and Banger clapped his hand on his shoulder then walked away.
Puck, Johnnie, and Blade silently stood back, holding large containers of both bleach and peroxide. Jerry nodded to them and walked to the end of the alley, then jumped into Axe’s SUV. No one rode their Harleys because the noise of their cams would’ve sounded like a thunderstorm. They preferred to operate in the stillness of inky black nights, like all outlaw MCs did.
Rock, Bruiser, Axe, Throttle, Rags, and Jax threw the battered bodies of the former Skull Crushers MC on the floor of the hole. The Insurgents had constructed it many years before, a concrete room built under the barn on their property. It was where people who messed with them met painful deaths, and where bodies were dismembered to make burial, cremation, and annihilation easier.
Against the thick walls, steel tables decked out with knives of varying sizes and various tools of torture lined the room. Above some of the tables, chainsaws hung on hooks mounted on the walls. A pulley suspended above a steel beam was used for various forms of “persuasion.”
“Give me their wallets,” Banger said gruffly. “I’m gonna send them as a reminder to their fucking president not to fuck around in Insurgents’ territory. I should send him their hands, but it gets to be too damned messy.” The brothers in the room chuckled along with their president. Banger nodded at Jerry. “You know what to do.” Holding the bloodstained wallets, he walked out with Hawk, closing the steel door behind them.
Jerry took down a chainsaw, placed it between his legs, and pulled on the starter rope a couple times. The saw jumped to life, and the whirring buzz bounced off the walls. Dropping to his knees, he began the arduous task of cutting up a human body. Rock and Throttle each grabbed a chainsaw, and soon the hole was filled with the roar of the spinning saw blades as they cut through fibrous tissue, fat, and bone, splattering blood against the gray walls and floor. Once the job was done, all the brothers in the room picked up the body parts and dumped them in a large machine against the back wall of a small room attached to the hole. The room resembled a large walk-in closet. The machine looked like an enormous pressure cooker, and the boiling lye would dissolve the bodies, leaving the liquefied remains which could be poured down a drain. A perforated basket caught any small bone fragments that remained, which were crushed into a fine, white powder and scattered. The Insurgents preferred to keep the law out of their club business, so lye was the preferred choice for disposing bodies. It was easily purchased without any questions asked, whereas strong acids were closely monit
ored due to their use in bomb-making.
Three hours later, the men exited the hole as three prospects entered, ready to clean up all traces of blood. After the lye cooled, the fragments would be crushed, and all physical presence of the three young Skull Crushers would be blown away.
Covered in blood, Jerry went to his old room in the basement of the clubhouse and jumped in the shower, scrubbing the now-black blood from under his nails. His clothes would be burned along with the other brothers’, and he was glad he hadn’t worn the AC/DC shirt he’d bought the previous year at the band’s concert in Denver. It was one of his favorite band T-shirts.
Fresh and clean, he slipped on a black T-shirt that molded around his chiseled chest, blue jeans, his cut, and another pair of biker boots. Putting on his silver earrings—a small hoop, a knife with a black crystal handle, and a skull—he combed his hair and ambled out of the room, the party sounds from the great room filling his ears.
When he entered the hub, he headed straight for the bar, thirsty for some whiskey neat. He stopped and chatted with some of the brothers from the Wyoming chapter who were passing through on their way to a charity run in Utah. They’d spend a few days at the national club then head over the Rockies into Utah. Jerry hadn’t seen many of them since the previous summer’s Sturgis. A couple of them were busy with some hot-looking hoodrats, so Jerry decided to talk to them later in the night.
He leaned against the bar and swirled the amber liquid in his glass, breathing in its woodsy scent that only came from seven years in an oak barrel. He took a sip, savoring the light scorch on his tongue and the smoky taste as it hit the back of his throat, warming it as it slid down to his stomach, the heat spreading all over. Fuck, that’s good. His goal that night was to get good and drunk. The moments he’d spent with Kylie were on fucking replay in his mind, and the only way he knew how to stop them was to get plastered. He ordered two more double shots and a couple of beers. It was a start.
