Savage: Iron Dragons MC

by Olivia Stephens

  “Get out, Tank. I don’t need your help. I don’t need your protection. If something happens, I have people I can call.”

  “Like who? That little bitch Abe and his band of young cowboys? What the hell do you think they are going to do for you? And what do you think they are going to do when they find out you’ve been spending every night for the last week with an Apache?”

  My stomach rolls over into somersaults. He is right. This is not going to go well if it comes out that I let Tank in like this. I can practically see the fallout in fire and chaos with people I love choosing to never speak to me again.

  “Do you know who your lover boy Abe actually is? He’s an Apache, Sierra. He’s a damn Apache whom I kicked out after he tried to overthrow me years ago. And when he couldn’t get his way, the crybaby was banned. Your Aztecs were started because Abe couldn’t handle riding with big guns like me.” He holds out his arm and points towards the tattoo on his arm. I had seen it before when we were having sex in his Mexican villa. It was an emblem all us girls were told to recognize and fear. Two feathers—one red and one black—joined together.

  “Check his arm the next time he tries to sleep with you. You’ll see it. It may be covered up or faded, but the proof is there. And then we will see whom you trust. If you think I am using you, wait until you see what Abe probably has in store for you.” He puts down the empty bottle and walks off. He doesn’t even bother turning around or coming back after shaking it off. He does a very Tank-like thing and storms off and out of my home.

  I sink into the chair he just vacated. My head dips down towards my knees, and I run my fingers through my hair in frustration. That certainly didn’t answer any of my questions or the ones that Carmen had made me ask. And now I was even more worried about Abe and his role in this. While I just instinctively still trusted the Aztecs more, I had never known Abe to talk about being a former Apache. But it was clearing everything up for me. It would make sense to want Tank gone and out if Abe was on the vengeful warpath.

  My head reels. I stand up and head for the cabinet to pull down an old plastic cup from the top shelf. Using my teeth, I unleash the cork on the wine and pour myself a full glass of the white Moscato. After I finish the first cup, I take the bottle and head towards my bedroom.

  I’m only in my pajama pants when I hear the knock. It’s loud—and terrifying. It shakes the entire apartment. It has to be Tank, back to apologize, or to at least try to salvage the night. I skip off towards the door, unsure of what I want to feel in that moment. Part of me is oddly giddy at the thought of us still having a night in the sheets together.

  I open the door as I called out, “So you’ve come ba—”

  “Sierra, I need to talk to you.” Anthony stands before me, his jaw clenched and his hands balled into large fists. He pushes past me and into the darkened living room. I notice Tank’s leather jacket still sitting on my couch. He must have forgotten it when he left. I run over towards it, guarding it from Anthony’s view.

  “What’s going on, Anthony? Is something wrong with Carmen?” My whole body tenses in anticipation. Anthony has never been alone with me before without Carmen in the vicinity. Whenever he’s needed to talk to me, it has always been over the phone. Something must have happened to change it like this.

  “Here,” he says as he thrusts me a photograph. “Carmen told me about you and Tank. And I’m not going to let you be next. If you think you can trust him, you’re crazy, Sierra. Do you see that picture? That’s him. And that’s Carmen. He’s the one who attacked her.”

  I stare at the grainy photo with my mouth hanging wide open. In the overhead security camera photo was Carmen walking alone as she played with her cell phone. And behind her was a man in an Apache jacket rolled up just so you could see the two feathers tattoo—a tattoo I just saw on Tank’s arm an hour earlier.

  Chapter 15: In the Works

  That woman. That damn woman. Who the hell does she think she is? No one talks like that to me! No one!

  It’s my fault, I guess. I let her get too comfortable. I let her playhouse with me since we got back from Mexico without thinking she would eventually pull this shit on me. I’m not anyone’s boyfriend to be pushed around like that. And I’m certainly not a punk to let her accuse me of something I have sworn up and down wasn’t my fault. What else did I have to do to get her to realize that I wasn’t the enemy here?

  Still, she asked me why I was helping her, and I don’t have the answer for that one. Part of it is the sex—the hot sex that only seems to get better and more intense the more times we do it. It has become an addiction that even now as I walk away from her house, I am practically jumping out of my skin to get. But there’s something more there too, something bigger than the physical stuff.

  When she ran from me in Mexico, I could have let her go and get tripped up by border control, or at least I could have let her make it back home and gotten my car after the fact. But when I saw that note waiting to tell me where she was going and why, I had to get to her. I couldn’t let her risk her life doing something so dumb as to take a risk on the road with the Aztecs on the prowl. So I chased after her like a little bitch and then got caught up again in whatever power she seems to have over me.

  Is this real? Am I supposed to feel like this with a woman? I was sixteen when I joined the Apaches. They were the heroes in my town, the men everyone looked up to. I always thought that my dad took up with them and that was the reason why he was never around. And my mom and grandmother, the only two constant people in my life, never argued against it.

  So when I learned how to ride, I walked up to a guy named Rico who dated my neighbor’s daughter and asked him what I had to do. Whatever it was, I was going to do it. It didn’t matter how far it took me out of my old world. A few months after my first ride where I sold a large package of cocaine to a street hustler, my mother passed away. It was a heart attack, but I always thought it was because she knew what I was up to and whom I was with, and she couldn’t fathom the idea that I would find out that my dad wasn’t going to be one of those MC heroes I was idolizing.

  I still think of both my mom and dad when I pull into our clubhouse. It’s hidden away in the industrial part of El Paso. Nothing but run-down buildings where manufacturing and construction crews used to work or get their parts. Now, there are a few homes with the lights on and a dentist’s office belonging to the man we designated as our on-call doc, but that was it.

  Tonight, I scan the parking lot of the red building to see the spaces almost overflowing with motorcycles—mainly Harleys and some tricked out Japanese vintage models rode by our founding, retired patch bearers. It’s a good night for a meeting of the Apaches, and I find myself actually glad to be relieved of Sierra-duty.

  Still, when I pass by a kid I think is named Tomas, I ask him to head out to her place. “No bike,” I tell him, as I hand him a key from inside the door to the adjacent garage. “Take the black sedan. You’re heading into Aztec domain, and you can’t be spotted. If you see any guy go into that building, you text me and send me a photo.”

  He looks at me nervously. By the green look about him, I can tell he’s probably only been here a few months. Maybe a year, if that. I don’t do the recruitment anymore so all these new guys coming in and out are a mystery to me. You got to trust your crew and know that they are doing the right jobs when your club is one of the largest in the South.

  A burly man about fifty years old greets me as I walk through the black tinted door with a huge handshake. He smells awful, but I still pat him on the back heartily. Nick’s been with the Apaches since I first joined. He was the one who trained me and showed me the ropes. I even tagged along as he did some of his enforcer work. It bonds men together to see a guy get tortured and shot.

  “I didn’t think you were coming, boss! Rafael told the management you had business down in Mexico that was going to keep you away from us.”

  Rafael overstepped a bit there, but I’ll give him this one. He was most l
ikely covering for the Aztec girl I was carting around rather than trying to pull a stunt like Abe tried. As I said, trust was a huge thing when you’re the head of an outlaw MC.

  I respond under my breath as I check out the room filling up with men I am brothers with and others I just barely recognize. “Business is done with. I’m here to set things straight with my men.”

  Since Carmen’s attack, I’ve met with the management, the upper level control men, several times to discuss tactics and intel. We all are on the same page with how to handle Abe’s advances and trying to deflect blame on a civilian’s near-death on us. But as the weeks have passed, I’ve started to feel how stir-crazy even my more reserved men were getting. And tonight, I can feel the room shift from curiosity to electricity. The rumor mill has been swirling with what has been going down between the two clubs. And my men want in on the action.

  I check my watch…9:15 p.m. It’s exactly time to begin. As I make my way through the room, men pat me on the back and reach out their arms to get a piece of me. I ignore just about all of them. I’m not here to play nice today. I don’t even acknowledge my vice or the rest of my enforcers who are sitting at the long, black oak table, waiting for me to join them in the center.

  My crew sits around me, giving a cue to the rest of the general members to take a seat as well. And when there are still some men totally oblivious to my presence, several shouts and whistles go up to get their attention. With all eyes on me and my sense of power returning to me, I’m ready to begin.

  “As you may have heard through your unchecked channels, there’s a war stewing. Abe and the Aztecs…” There’s a loud boo as men make their opinions known. I hold up my hands, instantly commanding their silence. “As you may have heard the Aztecs had a civilian associate attacked. She’s a daughter of a lifetime patch holder and her brother’s a first year member. She was beaten outside her own apartment.”

  “Good riddance!” a faceless voice cries out. “Skank girl had it coming!”

  “Who the fuck said that?” My eyes dart across the room towards the location of the voice. “We may be fucking Apaches, but there are rules to this. We don’t attack, kill, hurt, kidnap, or threaten non-club members. Do you hear me?”

  There are reluctant murmurs of, “Yes, Tank.” But I can tell that not everyone agrees.

  “You know what clubs attack women and family members? Pussies. Coward pussies who can’t get to the real club member, so they go after the low-hanging fruit. You want to be in that club? Fine. Aztecs are recruiting I hear. There’s the door. Tell Abe I sent you. But if you fucking take the oath of an Apache, you play by the rules your brothers and I set up years ago.” I’m seething. My breathing is all out of whack, and I can feel my knuckles curl into hard fists as they slam onto the table with a crashing pound.

  “Here’s what I do know…none of the men up here ordered that hit. None of them. And our intel tells us that it’s a frame job against us. The Aztecs are trying to start a war by hurting their own members and making it look like we’re breaking our code. Law is on our tail. So that means we fly low. No beat-ups. No bar fights. No crossing enemy lines. We do our business, and we ignore the shit that is going on over on the other side.”

  Rafael stands, interrupting me. I look over at him, annoyed and red in the face. “President Tank! I think we should tell them about Guzman’s men.” He sits down quickly, sensing that I wasn’t up for his interruption.

  I turn back towards the room where many of the men were shifting uncomfortably in their chair. They weren’t used to me having my meeting taken over. “Rafa here is talking about our Mexican business partners. In exchange for moving a hundred kilos by the end of next week, they will provide backup in case the Aztecs attack with force in retaliation for the beating of that girl. The men are staying outside of El Paso, but they are on call. If something starts, if an Aztec crosses a line for any reason, you call one of us up here and we’ll sound the alert.”

  A few men clap their hands and lick their lips. This was the stuff they waited for when they joined the Apaches. Outlaws, blood lust. It was part of the package. I wanted all of this, too. I wanted to take Abe’s life with my own hands, to strangle the last breath out of him for all the shit he had put me through over the last few years. But this kind of war and killing wasn’t anything to take lightly. I had seen club war before, and it always ended up with us burying the best of our men, even if we managed to win.

  “And let me say it one more time for any asshole who thinks that they are going to go to bat: We do not take out family members. No matter what happens between us and the Aztecs, unless you have explicit orders from me, you don’t touch a hair on the head of someone who isn’t wearing a patch. That includes the women who may be with the rider. If I find out that any of you break this rule and dishonor our club by going this low, I will personally…”

  My voice trails off as I feel the vibration of my cell phone against my jean pocket. That could only be one of two people—the boy I sent to keep an eye out on Sierra, or Sierra herself.

  “... kill you. I will hunt you down and make you pay for it—bit by bit.”

  I turn towards the men sitting next to me for a quick way out. “Angelo here is gonna talk business. We’ve got a lot of product to move and not a lot of time left. I expect when I check in over the weekend that it all be gone and accounted for. I will not accept anything left.” I nod towards Angelo who slowly stands up, completely shocked to be taking over. I usually cover business too after consulting with him. But he’s got the floor tonight. He pulls out a small piece of paper that is usually reserved for my eyes only and begins to read some numbers and route orders.

  While he rambles on, I sneak out the back and around the men resting up against the metal walls. I head outside and around the corner just so that I’m out of earshot of any curious followers with the balls to chase after me. Only when I’m out of sight, I pick up my phone and redial the unknown number.

  A small, skittish voice answers. “Tank, sir? It’s me, Tomas. I think you need to come down to this chick’s apartment. There’s a guy here, and he’s wearing Aztec colors. From the looks of it and from what I can see in her windows, they look like they’re arguing. Should I go in?”

  “Are you armed?” I ask, as I race back out towards my Harley.

  “No, sir.” I can tell the kid is embarrassed. What good MC member doesn’t pack heat?

  “Fine. Stay there. If you see him lay a hand on her, you go in. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” I hang up and hop on the bike. It roars, as I juice up the handlebars.

  In all my rides, I don’t think I’ve ever ridden as fast as I did on my way to Sierra’s apartment.

  Chapter 16: Ante Up

  My hands shake as I look down at the photograph in my hands. Anthony keeps repeating the words, “Tank did it. He did it,” over and over again, but I’m practically deaf. Everything has shut down for me at the moment. I’ve been sleeping with the enemy, and he somehow managed convinced me otherwise.

  Every bit of my body feels as if it has burst into red and white flames. I walk past Anthony and towards my window where I stare blankly out into the dark streets. It’s a calm autumn night with not a sound from outside but the occasional car coming past. As I watch, I’m not sure what I want to see. I just want to escape.

  “Sierra!” Anthony grabs my shoulder and spins me around to face him. “Do you hear me? I’m talking to you! You’ve got to let go of Tank. Go hide out at Abe’s place and let this pass over. The Aztecs have a plan, and you’re gonna be caught in the middle of it if you’re not careful.” I could see the real concern Anthony had for me. He was still young, but he was a father. He knew the price of life, especially after almost losing his sister.

  I gulp down the huge lump in my throat and choke back the tears threatening to burst through my eyes. “I can’t, Anthony. I can’t do it. I need to handle Tank myself. Will you just let me call him and straighten this out?”

  He places
his hands on my shoulders and begins to shake me. “Are you crazy?” he demands. “Or are you just so goddamn stupid that you’re forgetting about my sister and her coma. If he can do that to her without any reason, what makes you think he won’t touch you?”

  “Because… because…” I hesitate. I don’t have an answer for him. I didn’t have one for Carmen earlier when she asked how I could trust Tank after everything, and now I was again questioning what had been real and what had been my imagination over the last week. Everything was telling me that I wasn’t seeing Tank clearly and that I had allowed him to seduce me and cloud my judgment. But then why was I feeling like I needed him here more than ever?

  I grit my teeth and answer with a closed jaw, “Because this picture doesn’t tell me anything.”

  Anthony looks like he’s about to blow his stack…or smack me in the face. He’s like a younger brother to me, but he still feels the need to protect me, especially from myself. I’m sure that as an Aztec, he’s seen things I can’t even account for. He knows the ins and outs better than I can guess or imply. But I still am not going to give in just yet. I need to talk to Tank.