by Vivian Gray
“So that’s it, boys. That’s what we’re going to do. We’re taking the Red Club, we’re destroying the Tattooed Angels, and we’re going to take out Marcelo. That’s the other thing – if any of you sees Marcelo, drop his ass immediately. I’d love for it to be me who takes that son of a bitch out, but honestly, I just want that motherfucker dead as dead can be. So, you see him, you kill him. End of story.”
The guys around the table all nod. They don’t question their orders; they don’t have to. They’re like me: ready and willing to die for the cause. I just never thought there would be so many who would be willing to die for me. I guess it’s what happens when you step up to a leadership role in an MC like the Savage Hearts. Like Jerome said, in here, we’re not just a club. We’re family.
***
At nine o’clock, we roll out. It’s me and fifteen of our best guys, all riding to the Red Club. Jerome stays back at the Warehouse just in case, but the rest of the guys are under my command, and they’re willing to die for the club. That’s loyalty. That’s the kind of thing Marcelo could never get through his thick fucking skull.
The streets are quiet for this time of night, probably because everyone can sense that something’s in the air. It’s a cool, crisp night, the kind during which I imagine couples go for walks or kids play outside until all hours. But there’s none of that tonight. Instead, there’s just a black cat running across the road, darting out in front of our bikes as we ride. I swerve to miss the creature, and, frightened, it runs back to wherever it came from, disappearing with a yelp that I can hear over the humming of my bike.
We park our bikes a few blocks up from the Red Club so as not to create any kind of a disturbance before we storm the place. Silently, we walk up the empty streets on foot, none of us daring to even utter a word. We don’t need to, anyway; we all know what our mission is.
The boys and I then surround the front door to the Red Club. We’re going to have to do this awfully quick. The weapons stash is on the far side of the wide-open room, so we’ll need everything we’ve got to get there before any of the guys from the Angels can. I count down in my head:
Five Mississippi, four Mississippi, three Mississippi, two Mississippi—
One Mississippi.
I give the cue to the boys, my heart racing like a greyhound pup at the track. I lead the way as we barge in, kicking in the door with our guns drawn. In the first confusing seconds of the raid, the bartender appears to want to serve us, but we don’t have time for games with the guy. The poor bastard doesn’t even know what’s coming when a single bullet sails out of one of my guys’ guns and hits him square between the eyes. He falls over instantly, causing the rest of the Tattooed Angels assembled to draw their own weapons and begin firing.
By this point, two of my men have reached the weapons stash. I make a beeline towards the weapons stash myself, hoping that I can reach it in time. But before we can go in and actually get the weapons, guns start firing, and we’re forced to take cover. I overturn a table as the sound of gunfire rings in my ears.
“Find Erin!” I call out to the other two next to me. “She’s got to be somewhere around here – can we make it to the basement?”
I scan the room quickly, looking for Marcelo. But then, I feel a sudden jolt in my leg and look down to see blood spurting from inside my pants. I go down hard, feeling the room starting to spin. But I can’t let this be the end, not now. It’s only a minor wound, and it looks like the bullet went right through me, which is good – it means there’s no shrapnel to fish out.
I tear a piece of my shirt off and tie it around my leg, breathing heavily. Then, I grit my teeth and motion to the other two guys that I’m going to be all right. I peer just around the table to see where the staircase leading downstairs is, and I almost get my head taken off for my trouble. A bullet whizzes past my ear and just misses me before I duck back behind the table.
“No way,” I tell the guys. “No way in hell we’re getting down there just yet.”
I think hard about what else we can do. I have to get to Erin. I have to get her out of this shithole. I fire my gun in the direction of a few other guys, and that’s when I get my first big break of this whole ordeal.
Guns are blazing, and it sounds like the Savage Hearts are winning. I hear a couple of guys get hit and go down, but given all the gunfire, I can’t tell if they’re our guys or their guys.
Just then, Big Tim swings over the overturned table and sidles in next to me. “Hey, boss!” he says cheerfully. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“What are you doing, Tim?” I demand.
“Saving your ass, boss.” He turns his gun over the table and shoots. He hits somebody, and the gunfire begins to die down. Then, miraculously, he stands up but isn’t hit. “It’s over, boys, it’s over!”
I stand up with him and look around the room. Several bodies lay strewn about on the floor, killed by the gunfire. In the opposite corner, a handful of guys are standing, with Hearts keeping guns aimed at them.
“What do you want to do about these assholes, boss?” Big Tim asks with a savage grin that chills me to the bone.
I go over to them, walking in slow paces. “Where’s Marcelo?” I demand.
“I – I don’t know,” one of them burbles out like a child. “I – I haven’t seen him. He was – he was here, I swear, just a little while ago… I don’t—”
“Oh, stop your yammering,” I scold him. “You sound like a fucking baby. Man up, scumbag. Now, tell me, where is Erin?”
He points to the basement stairs. “In – in the basement. That’s – that’s where I saw Marcelo heading…”
“Oh shit!” I yell as I make a mad dash for the staircase. I throw open the door and scuttle down the stairs, ready to find the worst…
... And instead, I find Erin, balled up in a corner, her cheeks stained with tears. She has a little blood trickling from her mouth, and it looks like she’s got a black eye. But she’s alive.
She’s alive!
Chapter Nineteen
Erin
I try to imagine what’s going on upstairs. It seems like they’ve forgotten to feed me this time, and I’m not really sure why. Suddenly, I hear some horrible sounds – pop, pop, pop, followed by thumping all over the ceiling above my head. Gunfire. Somebody’s shooting at somebody else. A whole lot of somebodies, from the sound of it.
I’m scared.
Really, really fucking scared.
I sit there, still hearing occasional pop noises from what has to be gunfire. Are they shooting at Slash, or is Slash shooting them? I have no idea. But I’m way too afraid to even consider going upstairs to check out what’s going on, especially in the state I’m in. So instead, I go up to the door and lean against it to try to hear what’s going on.
What I can hear isn’t much.
“That way!” I hear somebody say, then another, less enthusiastic, calling out, “Move the fuck over!”
There are a few whoops, then somebody yells out, “We got it, we got it!”
More popping noises – these a little bit closer – and a bullet blasts through the cheap wooden door, right above my head. Terrified, I let out a little squeal, run back down the stairs, and sit back down on the bed, rocking myself back and forth.
“It’s going to be okay,” I try unconvincingly to reassure myself. “It’s going to be okay. Slash will be all right. He’ll come for you. It’s going to be okay.”
Suddenly, the door bursts open, and I hear quiet steps coming quickly down the stairs. My heart skips a beat, and I’m wondering who could be coming downstairs – and if they’re coming to kill me.
Instead, I’m shocked to see, of all people, Marcelo, walking through the passageway.
“Marcelo?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me, “What are you—”
“You,” he seethes out. “You… you bitch! You set this up, didn’t you?”
“I – what?” I ask, slightly fearful of the angry, maniacal tone in his vo
ice. “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”
“You must have… must have told them… about the weapons stash…” he stammers, and it’s only then that I notice that he’s bleeding from his arm, which he has been clutching this whole time. “That’s… that’s the only… the only way…”
“Marcelo, you’re hurt,” I say softly, realizing that he’s probably in shock. “You’ve been shot. You need to see a doctor.”
“What I need,” he snaps, “is for you to get the fuck out of my way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Fucking move, bitch!” he yells at me.
Then, out of nowhere, he slaps me with the back of his hand, forcing me out of the way. I fall to the floor, feeling blood pooling in my mouth. I try to stand back up, but he hits me again, this time in my face, striking me in the eye and making me see stars.
“Stay the fuck down there, you cunt,” he growls out.
He starts pulling apart the bed, first tossing the thin mattress to one side, then folding up the bed in a haphazard fashion as he brushes it off to the other side. He scans along the wall with his fingertips as if he’s looking for something – and he finds it, a small greyish brown leather strap, hidden amongst the stones of the cellar wall. He pulls down on it, and, to my utter shock, it opens up a passageway that looks like it goes out underneath the Red Club.
A hidden passage, I think stupidly to myself. I can’t believe it. Marcelo is ducking out of here. What could have possibly happened to make him cut bait like this?
As he ducks into the passageway, I hear some more noise from upstairs. It sounds like the gunfight is done now, and muffled voices are talking, almost civilly – if I understand correctly. In a split second, though, I hear a familiar voice yell out, “Oh shit!” I hear thumping, then the door to the basement opens and boots hustle down the steps. I look up and see, to my utter delight, Slash standing there, looking bloodied and tired but somehow alive.
“Slash?” I ask, tentative. “I – I can’t believe – is it really you?” I try to stand up, but my knees are still weak after Marcelo’s successive smacks.
“Erin?” Slash asks, looking me over. His eyes glance from my eye to my mouth and finally to my stomach. “Erin, is – is everything all right? Is the baby—” He leans over to help me stand up.
“The baby is fine,” I say to him. “As am I, and that’s clearly – oh, fuck it.”
As I stand up, I fall into his arms, and before I know what I’m doing, my mouth is on his, kissing him like he’s a long-lost love I haven’t seen in years. Our tongues intermingle and find each other, and for a brief, split second, I feel happiness like I’ve never felt before, combined with a safety I can’t imagine feeling anywhere outside of Slash’s massive arms.
Finally, after a few glorious moments, we break the kiss, and Slash looks around the room.
“The goons upstairs,” he says to me, “they said Marcelo came down here. I was so afraid he was going to hurt you.”
“He did hurt me,” I note dryly, pointing to my eye and my face. “But he didn’t stick around. He went out that way.”
“He bailed?” Slash asks, dumbfounded.
I nod slowly. “You should go. Go get him. Slash – he’s dangerous. He’s a psychopath. You need to—”
“I know what I need to do, Erin,” Slash says as he ducks into the passageway. “And I’ll be back. I promise.”
“I know you will. I—Slash, look out!”
Without warning, Marcelo, moving like a bullet, comes through and tackles Slash around the knees. He doesn’t even pause for Slash to get his wits about himself before he starts punching wildly, connecting with Slash’s face several times.
Slash manages to push him off and quickly tries his best to get to his feet. I can tell he’s dizzy and disoriented, but I have to hope that he can get his head back about him before anything bad happens.
Marcelo pulls a knife out and jabs at Slash. “You shouldn’t have done this, you sorry son of a bitch.” He cackles towards Slash as the two square off on opposing sides of the basement. “You’ve been a pain in my ass, son, and now I’m going to have to put you down.”
“The only one getting put down is you, you stupid sack of shit,” Slash spits out back at him. “You abandoned the Savage Hearts. Now, you’re trying to abandon the Tattooed Angels. You’re a little fucking pussy, Marcelo, and a turncoat. A traitor. You don’t give a shit about anybody but yourself.”
“Ah, but you see…” Marcelo grins sardonically. “I’m the best judge of whether or not I should be risking my own neck. I’m sure Jerome sold you on his whole concept of family, didn’t he? Well, did he ever tell you what he did to my actual family?”
“I know he put your brother down,” Slash says quietly. “And truly, I’m sorry that it had to happen, but it did have to happen. You know that. He was another traitor. But you didn’t have to be. It didn’t have to go like this. You made it go like this, Marcelo. And now, you have to be dealt with.”
“I have to be dealt with?” Marcelo laughs again, and he’s starting to sound like he’s the villain in a superhero movie. “Really? I have to be dealt with? What about you, you thieving piece of shit? You stole shit from me. From my crew. You think that’s on the level? You think that’s on the up and up? Jesus Christ, if you do, you’re even stupider than I thought.”
“I don’t think anything, Marcelo. What we did, the raid, we did because it had to be done. You were moving in on our territory. What’s more, you knew you were moving in on our territory. You’ve been well aware of everything you’ve done because you were one of us. So don’t give me your bullshit about how we stole from you. You were stealing from us, motherfucker. Because, just like your scumbag of a brother, you’re a lowdown, no good thieving piece of crap.”
With a disgruntled Auuugh!, Marcelo throws himself at Slash, the knife out. He slashes once, twice, three times, missing each time, as Slash moves back each time. The only problem is, he’s backed up one too many times, so he finds himself literally with his back up against the wall.
Marcelo swipes again, and this time, he connects, jamming the knife into Slash’s bulky shoulder. Slash screams out in pain as he reaches up with his good arm and pulls the knife out. Blood gushes everywhere, down his torn shirt, down his arm, onto the concrete floor, pooling beneath him.
That does it for Slash. Suddenly, he gets a burst of adrenaline or something, and he lays into Marcelo, launching himself, almost pouncing from where he’s standing, and spear-tackling Marcelo to the ground. He seems almost superhuman as he bashes his fists into Marcelo’s face. Marcelo begins coughing up blood and spits some out as Slash keeps pounding away.
“You fucked with the wrong family, Marcelo,” Slash says as he pounds even more on Marcelo’s face, each word signifying another punch.
“Slash,” I say softly, “Slash, that’s enough.”
The sight of the blood pooling around Marcelo’s head, along with his battered and beaten face, is too much for me. I don’t want to see Slash like this. And I don’t want him taking a life he doesn’t absolutely have to.
“Slash,” I repeat again, “it’s over. You’ve won. Let him lay there in misery for all I care.”
“He’s not going to stop though,” Slash says, though he relents and backs up off of Marcelo. “He’s going to keep coming, and keep coming, and keep coming. So, we have to end him. I have to end him. Don’t you understand that?”
“I do,” I reassure him, “but it doesn’t have to be like this. Marcelo is in no condition to do much of any coming. He’s down for the count. I doubt he’s even conscious after the beating you just gave him. And think of it as a warning to his men. They’ll think twice before they cross the Savage Hearts again.”
Slash sighs. “Maybe you’re right.” He takes off his shirt and holds it on his open flesh wound to try to stop the bleeding.
“Are you okay?” I ask, motioning to the shirt.
“I’ll be fine.” He nods
, backing up further still and sitting down on the steps. “I could use a shower though,” he adds as a bit of an off-kilter joke.
I laugh until I hear something I didn’t expect – a gun clicking. I look over to where Marcelo was laying, but instead of seeing his broken body on the concrete ground, I see that he’s sitting upright with a gun in his hand – and the gun is pointed at me. He spits out a gross amount of blood, followed by a tooth, and grins a disgusting, blood-filled grin at me.
