Slash_A Motorcycle Club Romance_Savage Hearts MC

by Vivian Gray

“I want you to lead the raid, kid. You’ve been angling for a promotion, haven’t you?”

  “I – yeah, I guess I have, boss,” I say honestly.

  “Honesty over humility,” Jerome quips. “I like that. So, what do you say, Slash? Are you ready to step into the big leagues?”

  I nod with victory. “Hell yeah, I am.” I take his hand and shake it. “You’re not gonna be disappointed, boss. I won’t let you down.”

  “You’d better not, kid. You’d better not. Now, here’s how it’s gonna go down. We roll on Friday, okay? Tomorrow night. Not a moment before. If anybody breathes a goddamn word about this before then, I’ll have your balls in a vice, comprende?”

  “Yeah, boss,” we all say, or some variation thereof.

  Jerome goes on to lay out the whole plan. Basically, it’s to be a quick strike, in and out, getting as much merchandise as we can with as little violence as possible. I don’t know how that’s going to be possible; the place is almost certainly heavily guarded. But Jerome doesn’t care. He’s more interested in sending a message that the Savage Hearts are not to be fucked with. In honesty, his plan sounds good to me.

  When we’re dismissed, I pull out my phone again and immediately dial Erin’s number. Again, it goes to voicemail. This time, though, I’m not content to just hang up. She’s clearly not going to get back to me, so I’m going to have to get through to her somehow. So, I leave her a voicemail:

  “Erin, it’s Slash… Listen, I know you want nothing to do with me, but I need you to listen and listen good – stay away from Marcelo, okay? There’s… there’s some shit going down, and I need to know that you’re keeping safe, away from all of it. Especially on Friday. It would be best if you just went out of town for the day, but since you probably won’t do that, just stay away from the Red Club, away from the Tattooed Angels, and away from Marcelo. Got me? And honestly, you ought to call me sometime. We had a good thing going, I know we did. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the whole truth about my life before. And I want you to know, I m—”

  The beep of the voicemail cutting me off stops me dead in my tracks before I can say something stupid and embarrassing like, “I miss you.” Thank God.

  I hang up the phone and put it back in my pocket. Then I go back into the main room of the Warehouse to start assembling a crew for the raid.

  ***

  Friday comes, and it’s like I’m itchy all day. I just want to get going, to get this show on the road, to get this raid over with. It’s actually starting to gnaw at me – and I’m starting to gnaw at my own fingernails.

  Finally, ten o’clock rolls around. We head out on the road. Two scouts have been sent on ahead –what used to be my job – to case the joint. We meet up with them a few blocks away. They tell us that there are only a couple of guards on duty, and they don’t look to be any real trouble – they’re both overweight and under-armed. The plan is for one of our youngest and spryest members, a kid who goes by the name of Big Ted, to distract the two guards. We’ll be in and out super quickly.

  Big Ted rides on ahead of us. Within just a few minutes, we can hear the sound of first Big Ted’s bike, then another one chasing him. That leaves just one overweight guard sitting down on the job. I dispatch of him pretty easily by knocking him out – thankfully, no need to kill the poor bastard.

  Two of my guys tie him up while the other three on my crew follow me inside. It’s a surgical strike, in and out, taking only what we can carry. Inside, we find hundreds of pill bottles, along with a good deal of skunky-smelling weed. We stuff it all into duffel bags, taking as much with us as we can. When we hear the sound of the other guard’s motorcycle on its way back, we scramble, all heading for the exits.

  The fat one gets there before we have the opportunity to take off. He sees his partner knocked out outside, and then happens to catch a glint from one of our guns. From there, it’s a shootout. He can’t know how many of us are here, but for sure, he’s got backup on the way, so we have to go quickly.

  I motion for my guys to move, one after the other, out the window with the stuff. I cover them with some friendly fire until the last guy is out the window, then I shimmy down the side of the house myself.

  That’s when we hear them, more motorcycles heading our way.

  We scramble as fast as we can, getting the hell out of there – but not before I hear a bullet whiz just past my ear. I look up involuntarily, and I make eye contact with the tubby motherfucker shooting at me. That’s when I realize that shit has just gone down.

  My face. He saw my face.

  We head the opposite direction of the one we came from, but I already know that shit is going to rain down on me for this one. I should’ve killed the fat son of a bitch when I had the chance. Now, whether or not Marcelo and his crew blame the Savage Hearts for this raid, they’re sure as shit going to blame me. That’s a problem because, from what I’ve been able to gather, Marcelo can be quite vicious.

  When we get back to the Warehouse, Jerome asks, “Well boys? How did it go?” We drop the sacks of drugs at his feet, and he breaks into a huge grin. “Any casualties? Anybody get into any trouble?”

  “We got shot at a few times, boss, but nothing too out of the ordinary,” I tell him, lying through my teeth.

  “Any kills?”

  “None,” I say proudly. “We were in and out, no harm, no foul.”

  “Did they know it was us?”

  “Well, they’ll probably figure it out once they see what we took,” Big Tim says as he rolls into the joint. “Besides, boss, who else would raid their stash house like that? They’re going to know it was us, for sure.”

  “I agree,” I say, stepping up. No way I’m letting Big Tim take any credit for this plan – it was my plan, dammit! “Jerome, who really gives a flying fuck if they think it was us? It was us. We want them to know that we’re not to be fucked around with. They don’t encroach on our territory or our business. And from the looks of it, they’ve been stepping onto our turf something fierce. I, for one, want them to know it was us. I want them scared.”

  “That’s fine,” Jerome says, “but the last thing we want on our hands is a turf war. Those can get ugly. I was a part of the last one back in ‘97, and it got pretty hairy pretty fast.”

  “If they come at us, boss, we’ll take ‘em,” I reassure him. “We’ve got numbers, we’ve got guts, and we’ve got the best goddamn strike team this town has ever seen. Marcelo doesn’t stand a goddamn chance.”

  “I like the way you think, Slash,” Jerome compliments me. “Looks like you’ve earned that promotion tonight. Well done, kid. Well done indeed.”

  It feels good to know that I’m finally getting recognized for what I can do for the club. Jerome doesn’t promote lightly, especially after the Marcelo debacle. But I’m a little concerned, underneath it all, about the bastard who caught my eye. What was I thinking? I should’ve been more careful.

  And then my thoughts turn to Erin. I hope she got my voicemail and is heeding my advice to stay the fuck as far away from this whole scene as possible. She’s a good girl, a nice girl, and she doesn’t need to get mixed up in any of this. I sure hope she listened to me. I sure hope she still cares.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Erin

  My phone rings again. What is this, the tenth time today? It can only be one person.

  Slash.

  Slash has been calling me pretty much nonstop. And then, all of a sudden, yesterday, it stopped with a single, cryptic voicemail where he told me I should get out of town. And I’m thinking to myself, Who the fuck is he to tell me what to do? Where does he get off? He told me some shit was about to go down, but he didn’t elaborate. And, of course, he told me to stay the fuck away from Marcelo. The guy sure has a one-track mind, that’s for goddamn sure.

  I take the phone out of my pocket to reject the call, but that’s when I see the number. It’s not Slash. Actually, I don’t know whose number that is, so instead, I swipe up to take the phone call and bring th
e receiver to my ear.

  “Hello?” I ask, interested in who might be on the other line.

  “Is this Erin?” a man’s voice asks.

  “Yeah, sorry, who’s this?” I say, only after I say it realizing that I probably shouldn’t have immediately confirmed that it was me.

  “It’s Marcelo. How’s it going?”

  “Marcelo?” I ask, a bit perturbed. “Uh… how did you get this number?”

  “I have my ways,” he tells me cryptically. “So listen, do you have a few minutes to swing by the Red Club? I was wondering if we could talk.”

  “Talk? What about?”

  “Well,” he says, taking his sweet time getting to the point, “the thing is, I’ve got a potential job for you to do.”

  Wait, what? What could he possibly have for me? And a job? He’s calling it a ‘job’ now? That’s a little bit disturbing. I’m not sure I’m ready to be a full-fledged member of his or any other crime family. Besides, Slash did say to keep away from him. But then, what the hell does Slash know, anyway?

  “What… what kind of job?” I question him.

  “The kind I really need to talk to you about in person,” he says gently, almost invitingly. “Look, I know this isn’t really your scene, but I also know your mom is sick, and you could use the money. It would be great if you could just swing by the Red Club when you’ve got a few minutes. Do you think you could do it today?”

  “I’ve got an early shift at my job, but I get off before the dinner rush. I could swing by and meet you on my way home. Will that work?”

  “Sure, it will.” He sounds almost eager to see me. “I’m really happy. And I think you will be, too. See you then.”

  He hangs up the phone, and I’m left holding my own phone in my hand, feeling rather dull. Does he have a thing for me? He certainly sounds like he does. And what could he possibly have to talk with me about? All I know is, there’s only so far I’m willing to go. I got lucky with Slash that first night, and selling pills is all fine and well, but if he thinks I’m going to be sucked into a life of crime, he’s sadly, sadly mistaken.

  Still, he’s not wrong that I could use the money, especially given my new predicament. I need all the money I can get if I’m going to carry this baby to term and raise it. I’m honestly wondering if I should tell Slash, but even if I should, I’m just not ready to do that yet. Besides, the last thing I want is for my son or daughter to be caught up in a life of crime, especially the one I’m increasingly finding myself wrapped up in – which I’ve managed to do all by myself, without Slash really influencing anything.

  My shift is a busy one, so the day flies by. By the time I’m ready to get off, I’m in a bit of a pissy mood. The tips today were almost universally terrible, so I’m only walking out after a six-hour shift with about $60 – not exactly the kind of money that’s going to help me raise a baby.

  As I pile into my beat-up car, I can’t help but think how much more receptive I’m going to be to Marcelo’s offer, whatever it is, after a day like today. I just can’t stand the idea of having to keep scrounging and begging for tips, as if that’s going to help me pay off my mom’s debts and take care of a baby. That wouldn’t even cover daycare!

  I sit there in the front seat and let myself sob a little bit. This sucks. This really, really sucks – what I’m being driven to do. But after a couple minutes and a few more muffled cries, I wipe my eyes, screw up my courage, and turn the car engine over. I’m going to the Red Club to see Marcelo. Hopefully, he’s going to offer me something I can definitively use to make some actual cash.

  I hope he’s not hoping to pimp me out.

  Again.

  When I get to the Red Club, I slowly pull myself out of the car and walk in. Marcelo is already seated at the bar. Cooper’s there, along with some rather large, hulking guys flanking Marcelo. I’m not really sure what to think, but Marcelo’s never been threatening before, so I see no reason to worry, at least not right now.

  “Hey, darlin’!” Marcelo beams. “How’s it going today?”

  “Honestly? I’ve had better days.”

  “Aww, what’s wrong, sugar?” He invites me to sit down at the bar with him. “Let me get you a drink. You like whiskey, right?”

  “No, thanks,” I reply, concerned a bit about the baby and not wanting to invite any unwanted attraction to myself in the presence of these huge bodyguards or whatever they are. “So, you, uh, you wanted to talk?”

  “I did.” He takes a sip of his own drink and puts the glass down on the bar. He then reaches into his jacket and pulls out a stack of bills. “Listen, this is five thousand dollars right here. I’m willing to give it all to you for any information you have on Slash’s whereabouts.”

  “Slash’s… whereabouts?”

  “Where he is, Erin. I need to know. I need to get to him. He… took something from me, and I need to get it back. I also want to say that I wasn’t exactly thrilled with how we left things the other day. I feel that I may have been rude. For that, I apologize.”

  “No need to apologize,” I say, waving my hand dismissively towards him. “I just don’t want to get in the middle of anything between you and Slash or anybody else. And I can assure you, Slash and I are not together.”

  “You’re not?” he asks, feigning surprise. “But why not?”

  “No offense,” I tell him, swallowing hard, “but this lifestyle is… it’s just not for me.”

  To my surprise, he laughs – a hearty belly laugh that echoes throughout the room. “Now, darlin’, that’s something I can drink to.” He slams his hand down on the bar. “Cooper! Get this lady a drink, and let’s toast to what I’m hoping will be a beautiful business relationship.”

  “No, really,” I say, putting my hand over the glass Cooper has given me. “I really can’t.”

  “Come on,” Marcelo insists, “just one drink. It’s on the house, right, Cooper?’

  “You bet, boss,” Cooper agrees.

  “No, I can’t, I – I just can’t,” I repeat.

  “What? Are you pregnant or something?” Marcelo jokes.

  For a moment, I consider telling him the truth, but then, surprising even myself, I just laugh. “Pregnant?” I say in a more forced tone than I intend. “Me? No way. I’ve been… that was my first time, remember? And no one gets pregnant their first time.”

  Marcelo arches an eyebrow. “Holy shit… you are pregnant, aren’t you?”

  I look down at the ground and don’t answer, but I know my silence gives me away.

  “Well I’ll be goddamned,” Marcelo adds. “That makes this all the sweeter. Not for you, of course, darlin’, but for what we’re about to use you for.”

  Suddenly sensing danger, I look up at Marcelo. “Use me for?” I ask, an undoubtedly frightened look on my face. “What do you mean, ‘use me for’, Marcelo?”

  Marcelo doesn’t answer me directly. Instead, he turns to the two goons standing behind him. “Frankie, Roadhouse, do your thing,” he instructs them.

  All of a sudden, the two big guys are flanking me, wordlessly motioning for me to get up.

  “What – what’s happening?” I ask as the room starts to spin around me.

  “Look, really, it’s nothing personal,” Marcelo tells me calmly, as Frankie and Roadhouse force me to my knees. “It’s just that I know Slash has a thing for you, and right now, you’re the only way I know of getting to him.”

  “But I barely know him!” I say, tears stinging my eyes. “Honestly! I only ever slept with him that one time. And I ended it a few days ago. Whatever you’re looking for, I just don’t have it.”

  “Ah, but you see,” Marcelo says, with the simplicity of a supervillain in a comic book movie, “we need a way of getting Slash to see reason. He took something from us.”

  “What?” I demand, even though I’m in no position to do so. “What did he take from you that’s so precious, so important?”

  “He and his cronies took some drugs from us, like the ones you bro
ught me a few days ago. As you can imagine, we’re in a business, Erin, and it’s not nice when one business steals from another. But Slash has been laying low since the incident. We haven’t been able to find him. So, we’re going to use another route. We’re going to use you.”

  “Why me, Marcelo?” I plead. “Why not just scope out his apartment or do whatever it is you do with the Savage Hearts? Why do I have to be a part of this?”

  “Because this is how it’s done!” Marcelo shouts, his eyes bulging and the vein in his neck throbbing. “I don’t want a war with the Savage Hearts – a war we would almost certainly lose, or at least one that would devastate us as much as them. And they don’t want one, either, if I know their president, Jerome – and believe me, I know him very, very well. So, we have to do this another way. The only way I can get back what’s mine is to take something that’s his. And like it or not, little lady, you are his.”