Savage: Iron Dragons MC

by Olivia Stephens

  And it was often with a gun. A few weeks after I started dealing with him, he handed me this black pistol. It was vintage, like something you’d see in a Western with a turn barrel. He liked the sound of the clicks it made when it was cocked and loaded. The newer guns weren’t for him. They didn’t have that same, special quality as the older models. But I didn’t see the gun the same way he did. The gun was terrifying. The gun was holding life and death in my hand, and I hated it.

  Maria was a hooker on part of Rico’s territory he guarded. She was notorious for back-talking Rico and making jokes about the gang. Finally, one morning just after I had turned seventeen, he snapped. She had had a bad night the night before and couldn’t pay the fee for her street business. When Rico heard that, he thrust the gun in my hand and commanded me, “Shoot her in the fuckin’ leg, boy!”

  Maria looked at me in horror. Her face turned from this beautiful shade of painted tan to white as a ghost. I could see the veins in her eyes as she waited, sobbing. When I didn’t fire off instantly, Rico struck me on the shoulders hard. So hard that it caused me to pull the trigger. The bullet hit her in the left hip, just above the thigh. She collapsed on to the ground, withering in pain as blood soaked through her black tights and shorts on the black pavement.

  I froze in place, looking at the gun. Eventually, Rico pulled me away from the scene. Cop sirens were in the distance, and our other route workers were starting to assemble, some to help Maria up and over to her car. We never saw Maria again. I couldn’t tell you today if she was alive or dead.

  But despite that, despite not being totally in control of my first fire, I still taste that moment today. It’s the slight stale, chemical smoke that lingers in the air and the echo that rings in your ears as the power of the gun pushes backwards on your body.

  Back in the hospital room, I’m on the other side of the gun. I see Sierra dive towards her roommate’s bed as she screams. It’s blood curdling, exhausted, terrified. I have heard many people scream before, especially when death is pointing right at them, but never like this. I only have time to turn around when I hear it.

  I half-imagine myself to wake up dead—to open up my eyes and see a bright white light or a dark tunnel with no end. However, there are no trumpets or dead loved ones to greet me. There isn’t even the devil teasing me to come forward towards my fate. Instead, I hear Sierra once more.

  “Tank! Get out of the way!” I look over my shoulder to see the shooter pointing the gun at Sierra and Carmen. He’s dressed in black, wearing a leather jacket not unlike mine. I spy the outline of two feathers on his shoulder, as he raises the gun towards his face again. He’s seconds away from firing once again. And this time, he won’t miss.

  I don’t duck or swerve out of his shot. Instead, I charge at him, my body raised in preparation to take whatever bullet he is going to fire. I manage to land directly on top of his torso, and I am able to pull him down towards the ground. My legs fly over him, pinning him in place. The gun is still wrapped around his hand, as he attempts to turn his wrist towards my direction.

  I reach over and slam his hand as hard as I can to the ground. I can feel the bones break under my force. His voice echoes his pain. There’s another click, and this time the gun fires. It hits right above a mirror near the bathroom. It’s only feet away from Carmen’s bed.

  I take a second to see if Sierra was missed. He takes advantage of it, managing to roll over to his side. I buckle down, placing my elbow against his neck so that the blood drains quickly from his face. The unknown man looks at me as if I am the last person he will ever see and mutters something. It’s enough work for him to finally drop his grip on the gun. It crashes lightly to the floor just feet from my hands.

  I don’t have time to grab it though. There’s a man pulling me away, screaming at me to drop whatever weapons I have. I turn to see Thompson looking down at me more confused than relieved that I stopped a double homicide. “Put your hands up! Now!” he screams, more authoritative than ever.

  His partner is standing in the doorway, her legs spread apart in a stance they only teach you at police academies. She has a gun pointed straight at my head and a look that says she means business. I follow their orders as the chaos dies—though Sierra continues to scream incoherently.

  The man under me is passed out, but I can get a good look at him. He’s an Aztec. The branding tattoo of the black and blue ax on his neck is unmistakable. I turn back towards Sierra and Carmen and say, “It’s Abe. Abe sent him. He’s an Aztec in a stolen Apache jacket.”

  “Stop talking!” Thompson shouts, as he grabs one of my arms still dangling above my head and thrusts it behind my waist.

  “What are you doing?” Sierra cries. “He’s innocent! He saved our lives!” She walks towards me, finally letting go of her post covering Carmen who hasn’t said a word since she saw the man enter the room.

  “Step back, ma’am! This is police business.” Thompson gestures to his partner with the gun still pointed in my direction. She lets down her guard and stands next to Sierra, obviously worried that Sierra would join the shootout.

  “But you don’t understand!” Sierra is beside herself. Tears are streaming down her lovely, soft face just as they had the night before. She reaches out towards me, her lips trembling, but the officer stops her by putting her body in the way.

  “If you do not follow orders, miss, we’ll have to arrest you for obstruction of justice. Please vacate the room until you are given permission to re-enter.”

  We both look at each other, unsure of what to do. I can see that completely helpless look wash over her as she is forced to obey. A trio of nurses guides her outside, as she continues to look back over her shoulders—at myself and Carmen…who has managed to still remain silent. Sierra disappears out of sight and after a few moments, I can’t even hear her sobs for me.

  Thompson’s police friends take over handcuffing and escorting the still unconscious Aztec out of the room and back down towards the emergency room. He then drags me outside and into an empty room adjacent to Carmen’s. He shuts the door fast behind me and releases his hold on my arms.

  “What the fuck? Thompson? What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I’m livid. What good was paying off a cop if he was going to try to pull a power move over me?

  “You’re in big shit now, Tank. The partners think you fired that gun. They’re going to expect you at least go down to the station until we can pull video recordings from that room. And what the hell do you think is going to happen when they run your name and you come back the head of the Apaches? I can’t save your ass on this one.”

  I begin to pace back and forth, my hands running through my tangled hair. “I saved those fucking girls! I saved them!”

  “That doesn’t matter. You know that. You’re one of the most-wanted men in all of El Paso. They’re going to want to put you away from a long time. Their evidence against you for dealing alone is enough to get you life...”

  As he rambles on, I stare at him, my eyes fixed squarely on the door behind him. I take a deep breath and do the only thing I know to do. I pound my feet, stampeding towards Thompson. He falls backwards against my weight, his head slamming into the ground. A little pool of blood forms around his head. He looks up at me and says slowly, completely stunned, “What are you doing?”

  “Stay down, Thompson. If you come after me, I’ll make sure you go down with me.”

  I don’t give him time to argue. I’m on my feet and out the door. I look into Carmen’s room, but the only people there are she and a nurse, as they try to adjust a wire or two around her shaking body. I run down the hallway, ignoring the cries from the nurses asking me where I am headed.

  I make it to the waiting room, the same room where I met Sierra just a few weeks before. And just like before, she is standing there angry as hell, waiting on someone to save her. Luckily, this time the waiting area is empty. The only sound is her soft cries and the sound of the television playing some telemarketing program.


  Behind me, I can hear the clamor of people running and crying. No doubt, they’ve found Officer Thompson and his bloody head. I scan the room for a way out.

  “Sierra,” I say, as I grab her arm from behind and pull her into a stairwell. I don’t give her a chance to speak, as I thrust her onto the next floor. Based on the angles of the cameras, I manage to find a small room not under surveillance of Big Brother, and I slowly open the door and push Sierra inside.

  “Be quiet. Don’t make a sound.” I press my ear to the cold, synthetic wood and wait. If the police are watching the cameras, they’ll come down this hallway at any second. Sierra places a hand over her mouth as she hears them first. There are at least five of them and maybe a few security guards. They head straight past our door and towards the exit signs on the other side of the building.

  Sierra sinks down to the floor, arms clutched above her head. I kneel down beside her, holding her close to me. I press my lips to the top of her head as I struggle to comfort her. When she finally stops shaking, she looks up at me and touches my cheek gently. Her voice quakes as she asks, “Are we safe yet?”

  “I don’t know, Sierra. I honestly don’t know.”

  She looks towards the door desperately. “I have to go find Carmen,” she insists. “I have to make sure she is okay.”

  She attempts to stand, as she grabs onto the supply closet metal shelves, but I yank her back down. My voice is firm as I point out, “She’s fine. I looked in on her. She’s going to be okay. But you can’t go back there, at least not tonight.”

  Her eyes swell as she tries to make sense of what has happened to her in the last ten minutes. “No, no. I have to go back.” Her arms wrap around me as she stammers, “I have to go see her, Tank!”

  I am speechless. I can’t make this go away. I can’t even make it better. So instead of forcing her to stay here in hiding with me, I ask her one simple question, “Will you stay with me?”

  Chapter 20: Escaping

  How can you trust someone who just made you an accomplice to his escape? How can you leave your injured, hurting, confused friend alone in her hospital bed? How can you recover the pieces when someone just decided to shoot directly at you? How can you get back to that normal life?

  I was a college student—a boring one, but a college student. I was going to be a great writer with a book deal and tons of admirers. I was going to get married, have babies, and get far away from El Paso and the drama that came from being my father’s daughter. I was going to be someone else completely.

  But instead, I’m here with Tank, as we listen closely for signs that the cops have figured us out. He’s asking me to stay, to be part of his mess of a life. He wants me to abandon the girl with the book bag and the girl with the dreams of one-day finding normal.

  And I can’t believe that I’m thinking this…but I want to. I want to stay here in this darkened closet with him. I want protect him just as he did for Carmen and me. I just want him.

  He repeats his question, though this time, it’s a command. “Stay with me, Sierra.” His eyes burn and blaze through the vibrant blues. His hands rest on my arms urging me to not move a muscle. I give one look back at the door, and I know my choice has been made. I’m not going anywhere.

  In the dark, I reach towards him. My lips find his, as we tumble back towards the wall. I’m straddling him as he sits up, cradling me in his arms as my face meets him on the same level. I let my hands take over as I grab hold of large chunk of his shirt and pull him even nearer to me. I whisper into the dark, my voice low and dark, “I’ll stay, Tank. I’ll stay with you.”

  Tank pushes me back, breaking our embrace. In the pale light of the room, he stares at me with such admiration that my whole body feels as if it is about to explode. A hand grazes down the long length of my spine and then back up to where my dress sleeves are falling haphazardly down the side of my arms. From behind, Tank removes one of the straps with the tip of his finger, pushing the neckline down and over the curve of my breasts and over the length of my torso till it rests at my hips.

  His rough, calloused hands set me on fire, as he gently touches skin-to-skin—the small of my back, the flair of my sides, the straight line of my spine, the crevice of my arm and chest, the round of my shoulders, and then the mounds that are my breasts. He places two hands on them, instantly causing me to grab hold of his thighs to steady myself. His hands knead gently at them, letting them cascade and fall with his gentle massage.

  I lower myself again to kiss his lips, but it’s not the same gentle touch as before. I use my tongue to wet the line of his mouth before biting down hard. He gets my signal and begins to speed up his hands. His fingers find my already erect nipples, as he places his thumb on the tip and tugs with just as much force as my bite.

  I try to cry out, but I know I could give us away. And the thought of being caught here in this hospital supply closet, me partially undressed with a convict, is just making me more and more turned on. I reach my hand between my own thighs—already wet and wanting. I don’t need much work. His hands on my flesh are all I need to turn me on. Instead, I unzip his pants quickly and pull his cock from underneath the boxers. My hand encircles the shaft from the bottom and slowly begins to mimic the pattern of his hands on my breasts.

  His head cocks backward against the brick wall with his mouth open just wide enough for me to enter again with my tongue. As we kiss, his hands move from my tits to my hips and around the back of my ass. A finger finds its way underneath me and tickles the folds of my pussy. His palm rests with just the right amount of pressure on my sensitive clit. I position myself just right so that he can enter and I can watch. A second finger enters, this one longer and more searching than the last. And I need to hold onto his cock even tighter now just to steady my balance.

  He pleasures me, as I work my hands on him; it is a sight that would have embarrassed me before, but with Tank as my guide, I am fearless and wanting. He watches me pleasure him, completely speechless and breathless. This is as hot for him as it is for me.

  Tank’s cock has grown almost double its size in my hands, and I can feel the soft veins pulsate quickly in my grip. He’s ready. I let go of my grip and push his fingers out of me. He stares at me, as I drop the rest of my dress to the floor with the pair of panties practically destroyed from his fingers exploring my pussy. He follows my lead, standing and grabbing at the condom in his back pocket.

  As soon as his heavy jeans drop to the ground in a heap, I am on him. I push him backwards towards the cool cement wall, as he flips me around to take over the position. His hand grabs hard around my thigh and lifts it up so that it rests on one of the hip-height shelves. Then comes my other thigh, stretching as far as possible so that I’m straddled in almost a perfect split. Tank holds onto my hips, taking the pressure off of me to balance myself.

  He places a hand to my lips, and I lick his palm and fingers. He watches with hungry eyes as I suck the fingers in. The hand moves to my slit where he fingers at my clit and wets the inside of my labia. His hand goes back to my hip as he takes one long look at me spread apart for him. His tongue wets his lips like a man hungry for his meal.

  Before he enters, he places his mouth against my neck and breathes hot and heavy into my skin. “Whatever you do,” he says saucily, “don’t scream.”

  I don’t have enough time to reply before he dives his long cock into me like a rocket. My angle makes him travel even further than ever before, as I feel hidden places in me explode with the first touch. My legs rattle as he pushes into me relentlessly, causing the metal shelves to vibrate with the force of my body. My arms wrap around his shoulders and cling to him for dear life. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I am totally held captive by his cock punishing my pussy.

  He thrusts into me with more force than ever. It’s not the fast rhythm that I am used to with him. I can prepare for that. This time is different. These are slow, deliberate, pulsing plunges that propel me upwards and back. My nerves don’t
know how to react other than to let him ride me as slowly as he wants. Tank’s distorted face tells me that this is more a treat for him. He watches himself go fully in with a hard drive and then slowly back out with control.

  Tank murmurs to me between pulses, “You’re so wet, Sierra. So fucking wet. I love how wet you get for my cock.”

  I hate men who talk during sex, but Tank’s commentary centers me. I want to be that girl in the commentary. I want him to compliment my body and to tell me all the dirty, dark thoughts in his head. I lean my head forward, as I command him, “More. I want more.”

  “More? You nasty girl. I knew the first time I met you in this hospital that when I got to fuck you, it would be like this.” He says each word with a faster thrust. “Hard. Fast. Deep.”

  “No one has ever fucked me like you do, Tank.”