Burn: Outlaw Romance (Hotter Than Hell Book 3)

by Holly S. Roberts

  Sofia

  DRIVING GIVES ME PLENTY of time to think. You could say my life passes before my eyes. I’ve carried so much anger for so long that I don’t even know what to do to stop it other than kill Frank. What then? I keep asking myself as my car eats up the miles between me and revenge. I stay on the road for twelve hours before pulling into a cheap but clean hotel and calling it a night. Now I’m lying in bed and asking the same question.

  My room is on the bottom floor and loud, stomping footsteps ring overhead every ten minutes or so and I can’t sleep. I should be exhausted. I’ll be in Peach City the day after tomorrow. I could have done the seventeen hundred miles in two days, but I want to be at my best when I confront the man who’s caused so much heartache in my life. I’ll stay the night in western New Mexico before I reach the border into Arizona. If tomorrow night goes anything like tonight, I should just drive straight through and get the job done. I roll over with the pillow over my head.

  I toss and turn for hours, and sometime after two in the morning, I sleep. I wake up feeling groggy and decide to take a jog to try to shake the heaviness out of my body. I stay in good shape to fight and earn money. I plan to shoot Frank with my Smith and Wesson .38 Special. Five shots that pack a punch. The gun is small and easy to conceal. If I can’t kill Frank in five shots, it’s because I’m already dead. Really though, I want to beat him to death and listen to him beg while I break every bone in his body.

  I take off out the front door of the hotel. It’s in an industrial area and most likely not the safest place for a woman to run early in the morning. It would be sweet if someone challenged me. The muscles in my legs ripple as I slide along the pavement. Unfortunately, no one bothers me. I guess I don’t look like an easy mark. If anything, I look like the Latina hood-girl I am.

  I hit the shower after returning to the room. When I’m ready to go, I carry my bag out to the car and step inside the hotel lobby for the free continental breakfast. It’s decent and the coffee is hot and black, which is what I really need. I take an apple and banana to eat in the car and continue on my way.

  I think about Frank again. What will he look like? Will I recognize him by some small tell I see in the mirror each day? My mother says I look nothing like him. I hope she’s right. We’ll see.

  The miles tick by. I stop at a fast-food junk house, use the restroom, and order lunch. I place the bag in my lap and drive. I try to eat healthy when I have enough money for decent food, but the last thing I’m thinking about right now is the condition of my arteries in twenty years.

  I hit New Mexico in the afternoon. It’s not what I would call a pretty state, at least not the part I’m driving through, which is close to the Mexico border. I slow down when I enter a small dustbowl town and creep through at twenty-five miles an hour as the speed sign dictates.

  I’m sleepy, and a few hours ago, a sense of melancholy descended. It happens from time to time. It’s another reason I fight. When you’re someone like me, there’s nowhere to go for depression. Hell, I don’t need some fucking head shrink to call a spade a spade. My wiring is fucked up and fighting cures all my evils.

  A burnt-orange, stuccoed Catholic church sits about twenty feet back from the road. The building is old and beside it is a field with large wooden crosses spaced about twenty feet apart. There are four crosses on two sides with two crosses at either end. It’s the name of the church that makes me turn around. Our Lady of Guadeloupe Mission is spelled out in script letters above the door. Guadalupe is my middle name, though spelled differently from the sign. For some strange reason, the church beckons me.

  My mother was Catholic, and when she wasn’t high, she took comfort in the never-changing ceremony of her religion. As soon as I was old enough to make my opinions known, I refused to go. I think that was around the time I was seven or eight and the state awarded me back to my mom.

  The mission is nothing like the Catholic churches in the Florida area where I’m from. This one is built in the Spanish style. The front arched entrance is also a bell tower. There are two arched stained-glass windows to either side of the entry. I park and step from my beat-up car that I can barely afford. My feet steer me on a course I never thought to travel.

  The humidity of Florida is far behind me. It’s hot and dry as I walk through the arched entry and place my hand on the old metal door lever. I push it down with my thumb and pull back. The old wooden door opens with a loud groan.

  The interior is cool and welcoming. A strange sense of serenity spreads through me. The door slowly shuts and the mission is quiet… peaceful. I stand quietly and look around. I see no one. There’s one center aisle with eight wooden pews to either side. I move forward past the holy water and stop when I’m standing in front of the Virgin Mary—her arms spread wide in welcome. Above is her son hanging from the cross. I notice a few lit candles on an altar to the side. Someone must be here, but they don’t make their presence known.

  I look around again and inhale deeply. I remember this smell from my childhood—incense. My mother only took me to church when she wasn’t drugged out. Why couldn’t she beat her demons? Why did she love a horrible man who abused her? No one answers my questions—not the Virgin Mary or Jesus. I don’t fucking cry, and it makes me angry that pressure builds behind my eyes. I feel a presence and look around, ready to run out the door. I see no one. I scream and the sound echoes throughout the small building. No one comes running to see the crazy woman standing at the front of the church having a breakdown. “God,” I say aloud. It’s not blasphemy, it’s a request for help. I can’t take the anger, the loneliness, the pain any longer. I sink to my knees. Everything wrong with my life swells in a rush of emotion. When I was very young, I had dreams. I laughed. I played. My childhood was stolen. Anger, resentment, and revenge eat me alive.

  I look up at the statue before me. Is it wrong to want more? Want someone to love who loves me in return? I remember having a rag doll when I was small. I cherished her. Is it normal to stop loving and allow hatred to fill you so you can make it through each day? Never enough food. Secondhand, threadbare clothing. No electricity or water at times. What is so wrong with me that as a child I was punished this way?

  The tears finally come. Tears I’ve hidden away inside me for years. I cry for who I could have been. I cry for the babies, the siblings I never knew. I have no idea how long I stay on my knees. I finally wipe my eyes and rise. The candles, like the church, call me. I take one and light two more. They represent my unborn brother and sister. My fingers tremble as I light one more. It’s for my mother. I hope now she’s free of her demons. I should light one for myself and ask forgiveness for my sins.

  I don’t. Standing here brings me to terms with my death.

  I will kill Frank Tison and the Desert Crows will kill me. I turn and walk outside. The sun is beginning to set and tomorrow will be here soon enough.

  My future sin is unforgivable.

  Dax

  INCLUDING SIX WOMEN AND one prospect, there are twenty-two of us. Two members didn’t show. A side room off the main area has a table where the club officers usually meet. It won’t hold everyone we have here tonight, so we’re set up in the main room. The men are restless and the women appear their normal strung-out mess if you don’t count Red. The women start at around twenty years old. There have been younger ones, but it was bringing heat to the club, so Fox started sneaking the young ones in for gangbangs. They were anywhere from sixteen and up and he’d hand them drugs and send them on their way when the brothers were through with them. That’s never been my scene. I like fucking women, grown women. But, I stood by knowing it was happening and that makes me just as guilty.

  Fuck, this needs to work. I can no longer travel the path of the man I was.

  We’ve pulled the tables into a loose circle on the main floor of the clubhouse. The only cool air we have comes from an old evap-cooler, which barely handles the sweltering temperature. A creaking ceiling fan circulates the air and helps a little. H
alf the members are seated and half are standing. The women wait beside the pool table, which is as far away from the meeting area as they can get. I look at them. All but Red is skeletal thin with sores on their arms and faces.

  I know some of the brothers use on occasion even though Fox discouraged it. As far as I’m concerned he never gave a shit about his brothers. For him it was a money issue. And using up the drugs before selling them hit Fox in the wallet. Total bullshit because members saw little if any of the money earned from drug sales. Fox was money-stingy with the men and drug-stingy with the whores. He kept all of us needy, not just the women.

  What the hell am I doing? I ask myself for the hundredth time. Most of the current brothers were with me when we killed two members of a black street gang. They had killed one of our whores, or so we thought. We handed down retribution like we gave a fuck about the women, which wasn’t true. The men’s deaths were nasty and I still remember their screams. Hell their screams have woken me from sleep more times than I care to count. Skinning them alive is why Fox trusted me with Kiley. Metal and Clutch helped. Even so the deaths are on me. It earned me a reaper patch and nightmares. Fox later told me, while ranting drunkenly, that he killed the woman and let those two men take the blame. What did I do? Again, nothing. I kept my mouth shut and tried like hell to forget it happened. For years I stayed buried in my grief and anger without letting go. That shit is over and my actions from here forward will define who I want to be.

  Some of these men won’t like it. I will set this club on a better path, though.

  To gain everyone’s attention, I stand and gaze around the room. Slowly, the talking dies down. I pause a bit longer before speaking. “We have a lot to discuss,” I finally say. “I’ll give you the rundown of a few changes that start immediately.” Skull, Vamp, Coke, and Johns are on board with me, so at least I have their backing. “After you hear the new rules, those who want the hell out can leave. If you go, you will remove your colors and no longer be a Desert Crow. Or be welcomed back. Your decision to leave is final.” I remain standing. “All members take a seat.” Half the men nod, several keep their scowling faces on me without blinking, and several look away. Each man takes a seat, though. I need to get the first item out in the open and get rid of a few undecideds before I lay all my cards on the table. “My challenge to Fox was a long time coming. I put up with shit I’m not proud of. Taking the child, Kiley, was the last straw. No one in this room should hold with a child molester, and Fox planned to sell her to the highest bidding fucking cho-mo he could find.” I see movement in the corner where the women are and notice Kiley’s mother, Pauline, take a step away from the women. She’s glaring at me.

  Tough shit.

  “I had to ask for help to rescue Kiley and now our club owes a debt,” I continue as I give a hard stare-down to some of the angry eyes cast my way. They don’t need to know the entire story, but they need to know the who. “Moon’s organization helped me.”

  The silence that follows this statement lasts all of five seconds. Oho, who has remained fairly quiet, leaps to his feet. “That’s fuckin’ bullshit. I don’t owe no debt to some wetback spics.” Grumbles in the room increase while Oho clenches and unclenches his fists. His face and bald head are bright red.

  I keep calm on the outside. “You’re right, Oho, you don’t owe the debt, the club does. The fucking door is waiting for you. And if some small piece of lint in your head urges you to stick around, I would suggest you disregard it.” I finger the knife sheath at my hip.

  Oho shoves the table in front of him forward and it crashes on its side. Johns and Vampire make a grab for him. I strategically placed those who are loyal to me in between those I question. I knew Oho was the biggest threat. Johns and Vampire are ready for his bullshit. They slam him face first to the floor. He continues cussing until he runs out of steam. I nod at Johns and Vampire when he stops fighting and they lift him up. There’s blood running down his face.

  “Lay down your colors,” I tell him.

  Oho stares around the circle at the other members. “You really takin’ this shit? Next thing you know, he’ll be dealing with niggers.”

  I knew this would be ugly. I look Oho straight in the eyes and try to keep my temper in check. “You’re wrong about that,” I tell him. “I won’t be dealing with the likes of you. Anyone who can help pull this club out of the pile of dog shit it’s been rolling in has a chance. I don’t give a fuck what color their skin is. You would have killed that baby’s aunt and allowed Kiley to go to a cho-mo. The only nigger I’m looking at is you and that includes anyone who wants to side with you.”

  I look around again. “If you do, get the fuck out now.” All attention is back on me. “If you plan to stay, you need to know a few facts about exactly who we are. It’s time we begin living up to our name.” I take my cut off and turn it around so everyone sees the emblem. “We’re Crows—a tight-knit family. Loyal. We protect our territory. Like a crow, we’re fucking smart and use whatever tool at hand makes life easier. We hold a grudge and never forget a face. Desert crows are scrappier than most. They… we, need to be in order to live in this environment. This club has forgotten everything our name stands for. It’s our legacy and we need to take it back. Now ask yourself what our colors stand for because every fucking crow I’ve ever seen in my life is black. You want to be a racist, fine, but you sure as hell better pick a name for your club other than Desert Crows. I don’t give a fuck what color a crow is. I want to be proud wearing these colors and I want to be a part of a club with the same fucking values as our namesake.” The vest rests against my chest and I strike my palm against it. “You want to be a bigoted SOB, fine, become a pussy-ass white dove for all I care.”

  There it is… my Hail Mary. I shrug back into my vest. It’s time to see how the dust settles.

  Without looking at me, one of the newer members, Candy, with a fucking swastika tattooed on his bare scalp, removes his cut and rests it on the table. He walks over to Oho and waits. Oho removes his vest and tosses it to the floor before spitting on it. He shoves Vampire aside and the two men walk out. Vampire follows and watches them through the open door. All the brothers are on their feet by this time. I take my seat again and wait for everyone but Vampire to do the same. With a nod from me, he knows to stay where he is and guard the door.

  My eyes travel the room while I talk. “Each man here served time. Inside, you lived by those fucked up race rules because you had no choice. We are no longer in the hellhole they call state prison and by-damned we’re going to stop acting like it. Fox kept us isolated because he never wanted anyone thinking past survival. You are no longer under Fox or his henchmen’s thumb. I won’t live by or lead by those rules.”

  I inhale deeply and gather myself again. My heart is pounding against my chest like I’ve run for miles. “That doesn’t mean we’re turning pussy-whipped. We have a chance to build this club into something that works for everyone. Meth and other illegal drugs are not the answer.” I pause a moment to let that sink in. The women begin muttering quietly and Pauline looks over her shoulder at them with what I assume is an, I told you so expression. I ignore her and continue. “No one here is an idiot. You know Fox was fucking you over with his own agenda. Some of you have old ladies and families. Are they better off since leaving prison?” I pound my fist on the table in frustration over how we’ve lived. “I sure as fuck am not. And I’m not proud of some of the shit I’ve done.” My hand goes flat as I try to reel in my emotions. “We may still be required to do shit we aren’t proud of, but I say we take a vote on the big items and stop having one person make decisions for us while treating us like a bunch of fucked up shitheads. We need to clean this mess up. It’s time for you to make a choice. It’s the last chance you’ll have…” I wave toward the front door, “to walk safely away with no repercussions.”

  “What the fuck are we supposed to do?” All heads turn to Pauline. The guys refer to her as Powder because she’ll do anything for a hit
of meth. She may have been pretty at one time, but drugs have turned her into a skeletal caricature of a woman. The sores covering her arms and face kept me away from what’s between her legs and I never understood why any of the men took what she offered. If it wasn’t for her treatment of Kiley, I might feel sorry for her.

  I push back from the table a bit and turn my full attention to the women. “Most of you are addicts.” That’s an understatement because I’d bet my ass, except for Red, they all are. “That won’t work here anymore. You get clean or get out.” The next part is rough but the truth. “Club whores are a dime a dozen. If you clean up and want to keep spreading your legs, that’s fine, you have a place to do it within this club.”

  When I finish laying out these rules, Pauline explodes. Red tries to grab her as she runs toward me with fists flying. I stand and bring my palm up, striking her chest dead center and shoving her backward as hard as I can. With all the bad shit I’ve done, hitting a woman wasn’t on the list until now. Pauline flies back and lands on her ass. She wraps her arms across her chest while trying to catch her breath. “That was for Kiley,” I grind out. “Any mother who would stand by and watch her child sold isn’t welcome here. Pick your sorry ass up and get the fuck out.”

  She starts muttering as she rolls to her knees. I only catch part of what she says, but it’s enough to make me cross the several feet separating us and grab her by a chunk of hair. I lift her head, painfully arching her neck back. “What did you say?”

  She’s furious, her eyes filled with hatred. Fear too, which shouldn’t satisfy me as much as it does. She’s stupid to challenge me right now. “You don’t know shit. Fox hid the money and you have no idea where. Fuck you.” She tries to scramble away, but I hold on.

  We all knew there was money, most likely a shitload. Very slowly, I slip my knife from its sheath. I release Pauline’s hair and place my arm around her throat, pulling her up from the floor with her back to me. I lift the knife and she starts screaming, making a high-pitched animal-type sound.