Making The Cut (Selective Sinners MC #1)

by S. D. Hildreth

  “That’s progress, Avery,” I said as I grabbed my phone and keys.

  She nodded her head and glanced down at the floor at her piece of bagel.

  “Five second rule, better hurry up,” I chuckled.

  “I’ll make another?”

  “Go right ahead. Whatever’s here is all yours. I’ll be back in a few hours,” I said over my shoulder.

  Kissing her just seemed like the right thing to do at the time; and considering where I was going, I didn’t know if I was ever coming back.

  AVERY

  Axton’s kiss caught me completely off guard. I had no idea where he was going or what he had planned to do, but the fact he kissed me before he left led me to believe it wasn’t something he really wanted to do. I walked into the living room wondering if what he had to do might be related to the attempted robbery. Feeling like some music might ease my mind; I fumbled through the CD’s in the cabinet looking for something and not necessarily knowing what. After seeing nothing I recognized, I scrolled through the iPod. Again, nothing I had ever heard of.

  I scrolled up to the top of the list of tunes on the iPod.

  Allman Brothers.

  Never heard of them.

  What the fuck, if he likes it, I better learn to.

  I pressed play.

  A soft organ and mellow guitar started playing. It sounded similar to country, but it was a little more bluesy and upbeat. I closed my eyes and listened to the piano. Eventually, a deep, soft voice began to sing.

  Well, I've got to run to keep from hiding,

  And I'm bound to keep on riding.

  And I've got one more silver dollar,

  But I'm not gonna let them catch me, no…

  Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider.

  And I don't own the clothes I'm wearing,

  And the road goes on forever,

  And I've got one more silver dollar,

  But I'm not gonna let them catch me, no…

  Not gonna let 'em catch the Midnight Rider.

  And I've gone by the point of caring,

  Some old bed I'll soon be sharing,

  And I've got one more silver dollar,

  But I'm not gonna let 'em catch me, no…

  Not gonna let them catch the Midnight Rider.

  I opened my eyes and pressed play again. After listening to the song a second time, I immediately pressed play one more time, and listened to it a third time. As the song played the third time, it made perfect sense. The song was a story of an outlaw on the run from the law; or whoever it was that was chasing him. Obviously he was on a motorcycle, because he was riding. A man living life one day at a time, running from place to place and from woman to woman; owning no more than what was on his back and in his pocket. In the song, however, he never stops running. He never reaches a destination or gets away from the man chasing him. The only way he can stay free is to keep from hiding, to continue to run.

  Running is riding.

  In a sense, Axton was the Midnight Rider. Hell, all of the members of the club were. More accurately, most men who rode motorcycles were. Society, in a sense, is doing all of the chasing. To conform to society’s expectations is to be caught. Riding, for me at least, allows me to feel free. I have no doubts Axton feels the same way. Axton calling my car a cage began to make sense.

  I knew the rule, no colors in cages. It made a little more sense after listening to the song. The colors are a symbol of freedom. A cage is the opposite. It’s absolute confinement. They contradict one another.

  I found it strange how music has the ability to change our outlook on certain things. The song caused me to feel enlightened, more understanding, and considerably more appreciative of who Axton was and why he was so passionate about riding. I looked around the house, beginning to feel cramped and confined. I needed a ride, and I needed one soon. It had only been thirty minutes, and I was going stir crazy being locked up in the house.

  I flattened myself out on the couch, pulled a throw over my shoulders, and got lost in the memory of Axton kissing me. As I came to the realization Axton leaving and conducting club business was going to be common, I likened it to how a military wife must feel, knowing her husband was away, risking his life while she knew nothing of what he was doing or whether or not he was safe. A sacrifice, I suppose, to be in a relationship with a man who was unlike most other men.

  A sacrifice I was willing to make.

  AXTON

  We never know who we truly are until we have nothing. Losing everything and recovering from it causes a man to emerge from the tragedy a more understanding, humble, and appreciative soul. After having nothing, a man is appreciative of everything. For those who have everything, the fear of loss causes a select few to react in a manner contrary to what they or anyone else believed were their true moral beliefs.

  Being faced with adversity and finding the courage to hold your chin high enough to see a life beyond the ruins defines a man who is satisfied with simply living life.

  To think I voted a man into the club who I believed to be capable of laughing in the face of adversity, only to learn he would become an enemy, risking my life and the life of other brothers for a small potential monetary gain, was inconceivable.

  “What was he riding? What color was his bike?”

  El Pelón turned to the two men bound to the steam lines in the boiler room and jabbered some Spanish shit. After they responded an unintelligible answer, El Pelón glanced in my direction.

  “They said he wasn’t riding a motorcycle. He was in a red truck. A four door Ford with chrome rims,” he said.

  I shifted my gaze from the floor to Toad.

  Toad shook his head and raised his hands to his face, “I know you don’t want to hear it, and I don’t either. But they picked out his picture off the website. They know what he drove. I hate it too, Slice, but it is what it is.”

  I spit on the concrete floor. The room was easily thirty degrees hotter than it was outside, probably at least 120 degrees of utter humid hell. I was covered in sweat, aggravated, and felt betrayed. El Pelón’s scouts had found the two local Mexican gang-bangers who orchestrated the attempted robbery. Pelón’s people heard the information through friends of friends of the two dead members of the gang, and the information was traced back to the two men now strapped to the steam lines. I guessed the Mexicans didn’t adhere to the club business is club business belief. Hell, who was I to talk, one of my own brothers had stabbed me in the back and betrayed the club.

  After a short interrogation of the men in Cortez’s boiler room, they gave an accurate initial description of the Sinner, and picked him out of a photo off of the website on Toad’s phone. Describing his truck and the chrome rims was icing on the cake. No one could possibly know what he drove short of someone who actually saw him driving the truck. He probably hadn’t driven it a few hundred miles in the last year. As I tried to digest what happened, more questions came to mind.

  “The split. I want to know what this cocksucker was going to gain. What were they going to get, and what were the two dead motherfuckers going to get? What was his fucking cut? My guy?”

  After exchanging a few words, El Pelón spoke over his shoulder, “Thirty mil.”

  “What the fuck? It was a sixty grand deal?” I snapped.

  “Thousand, my bad homie. Thirty grand,” he said as he wiped his brow.

  I smeared the sweat from my face with my forearm. After wiping my arm on my cut, I glanced at Toad, “Anything else”

  Toad nodded his head, “Ask the motherfuckers what he was wearing when they met him.”

  I scrunched my brow and stared, “What the fuck for?”

  “I want to know,” Toad responded, “Ask ‘em what he was wearing.”

  When they answered, they both nodded toward Toad and me. Pelón turned toward Toad and responded, “They said he was wearing a vest like yours with two crossed rifles, wings and a calavera. A skull.”

  “That motherfucker,” I snapped.

/>   “I knew it! That cocksucker! He disrespected the colors, the club, hell, he wore his fucking cut in a cage, he…” Toad paused and reached into his cut.

  “What about these two fuckers?” Toad asked.

  I gazed at El Pelón and shrugged, “Well?”

  “These two? They’re mine. Homie here and me are going to cut off their heads and play soccer with them on the playground where their kids go to school. They disrespected me, the MS, and their families. I’ll take care of these two. You take care of yours. You got anything else you want from these two fuckers before I saw their heads off?” he asked calmly.

  “Mother…fucker,” I stammered, “No, I guess not. I just need to get out of this hot motherfucker. I’ll be in touch.”

  He nodded his head once, and turned toward the two men. Thinking of what was next for them brought the reality of my own problems to the surface. As Toad and I walked out to our bikes silently, what bothered me more than anything was the fact Hollywood was Road Captain of the club. He was not only a member, but the fucking Road Captain. Hell, he helped put the gun deal together with Otis, acquiring the AK-47’s. Son-of-a-bitch probably knew all along he was going to steal the cash. As I sat down onto the seat of the bike, I felt absolutely sick.

  “How you wanna handle this?” Toad asked as he dropped his pistol into the saddle bag of his bike.

  “I don’t know. Nothing’s ever happened like this before. I want to keep it quiet, but I want everyone to know what happens when someone makes a move like this against the club. Let me think about it while we ride back to town,” I responded as I fired up the bike.

  Toad nodded his head and fired up his bagger. As he climbed into the seat, I sat, staring, as numbness washed over me. A brother willing to sacrifice the lives of two members of the club, two people who considered him a brother, all for a little money. The thought of it caused me to question the sincerity of many of the other members in the club. We needed a come to Jesus meeting, and we needed to have it quick.

  As I glanced over my shoulder to check oncoming traffic, I noticed the lick ‘n stick seat on the fender. Strangely, I came to realize the one person who I knew had my back in a life or death situation wasn’t a brother, but a bitch.

  And a damned good bitch at that.

  AXTON

  “You still got that Glock 40 caliber? You know the one we got new out at Cabela’s a few years back?” I asked.

  He stared blankly, “Yep.”

  “I want to know if I can borrow it. Toad and I got an argument going on about 40 cal. versus 45 cal. Only one way to settle it,” I shrugged.

  “Yeah, hold on a sec. What are you gonna do?” he asked.

  “He’s got some ballistic gelatin or something. We’re just going to fire a few rounds into it and see which one has more penetrating power,” I responded.

  “Hell you can get all that shit off the internet. Google is a powerful thing,” he said over his shoulder as he walked toward his gun safe.

  “Yeah, but you know me, arguments are only settled on facts. Not propaganda,” I said flatly as I followed him to the safe.

  “There you go, just cleaned it,” he said as he handed me this pistol over his shoulder.

  “Got an extra box of ammo?” I asked.

  “Damn Slice. Sure, hold on,” he said as he reached into the safe.

  “Here you go,” he said as he handed me the box of ammunition.

  “Appreciate it. See ya in about thirty minutes when we get done.

  AXTON

  I stood beside Toad’s bike, “Alright, when we get there, I’ll get him in the garage. Just stand by my side. Then, when he gives you an opening, but only after he opens the safe, pull some fucking Marine shit and get him in a choke hold so I can question him.”

  “I’m on it, Slice,” he nodded.

  I gazed down at the ground and shook my head thinking about what we were about to do. As I shifted my eyes to Toad, I crossed my arms and sighed, “I’ll run into his house and get the pillow, just make sure you keep your fucking head out of the way. I guess it’s a good thing this fucker lives out in the country away from a bunch of people.”

  “Let’s roll,” Toad responded.

  Toad had proven himself over and over with the club. His ability to keep his mouth shut, willingness to participate in the more intricate club business, and for lack of a better term - downright toughness, made him a shoe-in for a seat on the board. I was proud to call him a brother. I hopped on my bike, flipped the on switch and hit the start button. As the motor began to rumble, I tossed my head forward motioning for Toad to lead.

  As we pulled up to Hollywood’s house, he did as I expected. He walked out into the garage by the gun safe. Having his pistol, which was registered to him, should allow me to shoot him with it and make it look like a suicide. Technically, he’d need blood splatter on his hands for it to pass a good investigation, but shielding his face with the pillow should assist with not needing to meet that necessity. The pillow would also, if checked, meet DNA requirements and sampling for being his. Whatever financial problems he was having should pass for motive.

  As soon as we shut off the bikes, Toad made his way into the garage.

  I followed close behind holding the carrying case for the pistol. When I was a matter of a few feet from the garage, Hollywood opened the safe and began small talk with Toad. I slowed my stride and waited for Toad to make his move. Two more steps, and Toad had him in a choke hold. Now standing behind Hollywood, Toad had one arm around his neck, and another pressing the back of his head forward.

  “Jesus Toad,” I said as I placed the pistol on the garage floor.

  I hustled through the garage and into the house. After grabbing a pillow from Hollywood’s bed, I hurried back out into the garage. I tossed the pillow beside the pistol case and stood in front of Toad.

  “Don’t kill his ass, I want to talk to him Toad, Jesus.”

  Toad relaxed his hold on Hollywood’s neck. As he gasped for breath, I began to speak.

  “I need to ask you a few things, ‘Wood. Now don’t disrespect me again by trying to bullshit me and act like I’m some dumb fuck that doesn’t know what I’m talking about. Why’d you set up the robbery with the Mexicans?”

  Immediately shock washed over his face, followed by worry. After completely catching his breath and taking a short pause, he began to cry and attempt to explain.

  “Slice, it got out of hand. I’m seventeen grand upside down on this place. You know it’s been tough since the divorce,” he coughed and started to blubber.

  Right now, I don’t have a compassionate bone in my body. Crying like a pussy won’t change a thing.

  “They’re gonna foreclose on this fucker. I needed the money,” he blubbered.

  Hell, I never thought it would be this easy to get you to admit it. Fuck. I still hoped it was all a lie, ‘Wood.

  Still disappointed beyond comprehension, I stood in front of him with my arms crossed. Having him admit his participation allowed me to feel better about my own administration of justice. Not having him confess would never allow me any closure. As I stood and stared, still not quite believing he would betray the club, I started speaking my mind, “You know what? That Mexican motherfucker damn near killed Otis and I. I never said anything because I thought it originated in the club, and I wanted to find out for sure before I let the cat out of the fucking bag. And guess fucking what, motherfucker? That fucking girl that’s been a fender ornament for the last month is the one who saved us. Not a brother, not even a man, but a fucking college girl. She shot both those fucking beaners and saved our asses.”

  “If you’d have asked, ‘Wood, we’d have had a fundraiser. That’s the sickening part. A poker run would have raised fifty grand. Hell, if you’d have asked me personally, I’d have flipped you twenty grand. Fuck this shit, you make me fucking sick, I’m done. Hold him, Toad,” I growled.

  As Hollywood tried to explain, Toad cinched his grip tighter on his neck. Hollywood relax
ed and went limp.

  “You know I ain’t really a God fearing man, but on this earth, we got good and evil. Right and wrong. You know I read a lot to make me stronger in living life. Numbers 30:2 says,” I paused, bent over and picked up the pillow and pistol.

  “If a man vow a vow to the LORD, or swear an oath to bind his soul with a bond; he shall not break his word, he shall do according to all that proceeds out of his mouth. To me, that applies to us. So, if you’re not a man who believes in the bible, you still took an oath to the club, and if you do believe in the bible, you took an oath with the club; but you’re bound by the belief of God and the bible. However you want to look at it, but you’re supposed to keep your fucking word. Either way, you fucked us. And you broke your word.”

  I lifted the pillow in front of his face, “Move your head to the side, Toad, I don’t need both of your asses dead.”

  I held the pillow up to his face, and pressed the pistol into the pillow and against his forehead. I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger. Instantly, he fell limp into Toad’s arms.

  “Toss his ass beside the safe,” I grunted.

  I removed a round from the box of ammunition and bent down to where Hollywood lay on the floor. After pressing the bullet against his fingertips, I used his finger to push the round into the magazine.

  I tilted my head toward the driveway, “Run and get those three phone books.”

  Toad quickly returned with the three phone books. After wiping the pistol free of my fingerprints and placing the pistol in Hollywood’s hand, I cupped my hand around his and fired a round into the phonebooks. The brass casing fell to the garage floor.

  I stood up and gazed down at a man I once admired and considered a brother, “Now his prints will be on the pistol, the brass, and he’s got cordite on his hand from firing the gun. Safe’s open, and it looks like he came out here, opened it, and shot his stupid self, using the pillow to muffle the sound. Hell, the fact they’re foreclosing gives him all the motive in the world. Alright. Take the phonebooks and the other brass from when I shot him and load that shit up. And grab his cut off the bars of his bike.”