TORN: Death Dealers MC

by Celia Loren

  There's a long pause, and then the closet door slowly opens. My brothers aren’t as diligent at clearing rooms as I am.

  "I'm coming out," a man's voice says. "I don't got a weapon on me." He shows me his empty hands first, then the rest of him climbs out of the closet. I lower my gun slightly as I look him over.

  He's just a kid really, probably only eighteen. By the patch on his vest, I can tell he's a prospect. The rest of his MC probably left him behind to do dishes while they were gone.

  "You got a phone on you?" I ask him. He nods to a cell phone resting on top of a pile of dirty laundry.

  "But I didn't call anyone, I swear."

  Keeping my gun on him, I reach down and grab the phone, scrolling through the last texts and calls. Nothing since last night. He was telling the truth. He didn't have time to get a call out to his brothers to tell them we were here.

  I tuck my gun back in my jeans and the phone into my back pocket. The kid's not even five eight, so I don't think I have anything to worry about.

  "Let's go," I say, nodding toward the door. The kid walks in front of me, and I follow. I see my other brothers loading up the truck, and Taz, one of the new crop of Death Dealers, looks back and sees us coming.

  "Tank," he calls, and our president walks through the front door a moment later. He sees the prospect walking in front of me and grins.

  "So they left one behind," he says, his small eyes glittering.

  "We're good. He didn't warn anyone," I inform him. "Checked his phone. Want me to tie him to the—"

  "Waste him," Tank interrupts. A small cry escapes the prospect's lips.

  "Kill him?" I ask with a frown. "The Spiders are going to know it was us anyway, and there's nothing they can—"

  "It sends a message," Tank growls. "You questioning me?"

  "I'll do it if Ford doesn't have the stones!" Taz volunteers scornfully, taking his gun out and clicking the safety off. I hear one of my brothers let out a low whistle at this show of disrespect.

  "The fuck did you just say?" I whisper, turning on Taz, anger pulsing through my brain. "I was killing insurgents in Fallujah while you were waiting for your balls to drop. What, you think you're a man now, just because you got a gun?"

  "I'm just saying…" Taz says, but I know I've rattled him. I hear the young prospect sniffle, and my mind races.

  "I'll show you stones," I tell him. "I'll kill him with my bare hands." Abruptly, I turn around and punch the prospect in the face. He goes down hard, and I hear some of my brothers cheer as I follow him to the ground, kneeling on top of him and reining blows down on his face. My first punch broke his nose, and soon there's blood everywhere.

  When I'm done, I stand up. My knuckles are raw and bleeding, and Tank tosses me a towel.

  "Finish loading up," he orders us, and gives me a nod.

  I rub the towel over my hands. Soon the truck is full, and we head back to our bikes. The sun is setting, so there's just enough of a shadow for me to turn my back to my brothers and take the prospect's phone out of my pocket.

  Chapter 3 – Drew

  We walk in silence up to the ridge. My heart beats uncomfortably quickly in my ears. Fuck, I need to get it together. I need to convince this woman to run headfirst into danger, but all I want to do is protect her. From the first second I saw her in the station, I wanted to tell the Lieutenant that the plan I've been working on for months is a no go.

  As we reach the top of the ridge, the sun is about halfway hidden behind the horizon. Fort Brynard lies quietly before us, but I know that as soon as it gets dark, the criminal element will be heading out to cause trouble, making it unsafe for civilians to even leave their houses. This used to be the kind of town where people wouldn't lock their doors. But now because of our proximity to Paradise Falls and the Death Dealers, people here are afraid of their own friends and families. There are so many addicts now, willing to steal from their loved ones to get their next fix. This is what the Death Dealers have brought upon us.

  Marie stares out toward the horizon, her beautiful, perfectly formed features betraying no inclination of what she could be thinking about what the Lieutenant and I just sprung on her. She doesn't even reach my shoulder. She's fresh out of the Academy, with no field experience. We never should have even asked her to take on a mission like this.

  I open my mouth to tell her I'm calling it off.

  "How do I know it's not you?" she asks suddenly, turning her bright green eyes on me. The orange light hits them, bringing out sparks of gold in her irises.

  "How do you know what's not me?" I ask with a frown.

  "The leak. It could be you or the Lieutenant. Maybe you're just asking me to do this to cover your asses, so you can say you tried your best."

  "You're pretty cynical for someone so young," I observe, but I smile a little. Good, she's smart.

  "I've had to be," she replies cryptically. "So?" I pause, turning to look at the setting sun. It's still hard to talk about.

  "My old partner was Lieutenant Ebert's son. Mark was my best friend, and a hell of a cop." I clear my throat. "He was heading home after a shift. He was off-duty, but he radioed in to say he saw a few of the Death Dealers outside this bar, looked like they were in the middle of something suspicious. He said he was going to investigate. Dispatch told him to wait for backup, but he went ahead anyway. By the time backup arrived, he'd been shot three times in the chest."

  Marie doesn't say anything for a while, and the pain in my chest eases. "I thought you and the Lieutenant seemed close. The grief brought you together."

  I nod. "We at least know we can trust each other. No one else in the department knows what we talked to you about."

  "How would you explain my absence? I mean, the other detectives might be curious as to why I'm gone after just one day."

  "Honestly, I bet they won't be too surprised. They were pretty sure a woman wasn't up to the task of being a trooper, so it won't be hard to convince them that you were fired."

  "Lovely," Marie says dryly.

  I turn to her. "There's no shame in saying no to this. Most people in their right mind would. You'll have no backup, no protection. It'll just be you, alone. I probably don't have to tell you that the Death Dealers don't treat women kindly." She fixes me with her unnerving stare. My eyes travel down momentarily over her pert nose to her full, pink lips.

  "You sound like you're trying to persuade me not to do it," she says, cocking her head slightly and raising one eyebrow.

  "Maybe I am," I admit.

  "I'm tougher than I look."

  "I don’t doubt it."

  "You don't think I can get the job done?" she presses me.

  "It's not that. There's something about you…a goodness. I don't want it to be spoiled," I say. Even as the words leave my mouth, I know I shouldn't be saying them. She's my colleague. But I just can't help it.

  She seems to stiffen for some reason. "You just met me."

  "I meant it as a compliment."

  "Do you have a backup plan? In case I say no?"

  "No," I admit.

  "Walk me through exactly what would happen."

  I sigh. "Well, I've put together a background for you, a whole new persona. You'd have a new name, new ID, everything. Then we'd set you up near the Death Dealers and hope they bite."

  "And if they do bite? Be honest with me." She looks up at me with earnest eyes. There's worry in them, but mostly determination.

  "Have you ever heard the term 'sweet butt'?" I ask. She shakes her head no. "It's a woman who hangs around the club, doing whatever the club needs."

  "Whatever?" she asks.

  "Yes. There might be a way around that, but realistically…"

  "Fuck," she swears, her eyes flashing. "You want me to have sex with these guys?"

  "If I didn't believe the Death Dealers were pure evil, I never would—" The thought of her having sex with these animals stops me. "No. Never mind. This is too much to ask of anyone."

  "You really thi
nk they're evil?"

  "It doesn't matter. We'll find another way," I tell her, turning around to head back down the trail.

  "You just said you don't have another plan."

  "We'll figure one out," I lie.

  "You're backtracking pretty quick."

  "It's one thing to plan something in the abstract, but now that I'm looking at you in the flesh, and you're so… I can't." She takes a deep breath and looks out over the town.

  "On my way to the station today, I saw a building, looked like it had a pretty severe fire."

  "Fifth and Main?" She nods. "There was a dealer living there. Small-time stuff, just pot mostly. But the Death Dealers won't put up with any competition, however minor, so they set his apartment on fire. Not that we have any hard evidence, but it was them. The dealer got out, but there was a woman home in the apartment above his. She died from the smoke."

  "She have any kids?"

  "A young daughter. And the dad's a piece of work. Got some assault convictions for domestic violence, but he still has custody rights."

  The light's getting low, so I can't be sure, but I think I see the glimmer of tears welling in her eyes. "I'll do it."

  "You have nothing to prove—"

  "That's where you're wrong," she cuts me off. "But don't worry, I can take care of myself."

  Chapter 4 – Marie

  I stare at myself in the mirror. I've spent the last few days in a motel room with Drew, as I've come to call Stewart, meticulously going over my new identity and studying the case files on the Death Dealers, while the Lieutenant spread the rumor that he had found me unfit for duty and fired me. Now, the time has come.

  Earlier this morning I went to the Goodwill and picked out some clothes for my new persona. As I study my reflection, I'm struck by how much I look like my mother. This is how she always dressed, while I was more of a tomboy.

  I hear the door open, and I walk out of the bathroom to see Drew. He looks shocked at my appearance. I smile, and heat rushes to my cheeks. There have been times in the last three days when there was a something in the air between us, a tension, but one of us always pulled back, cognizant of the position we're in.

  "You look…different, Beth," he says. He's been calling me Beth, my fake name, so that I get used to answering to it.

  "That's the idea, I guess," I reply, twining my arms awkwardly behind my back, though that only makes my breasts pop out more.

  "I got you a car. It's a real piece of shit, but that's all I figured Beth could afford. And I paid cash, so it can't be traced," he tells me, and tosses me the keys. "You ready?" he asks as I walk toward him.

  "Ready as I'll ever be."

  "Full name?" he quizzes me.

  "Elizabeth Dana Harlow. Beth for short."

  "Age?"

  "Nineteen."

  "Horoscope sign?"

  "Cancer."

  "Where'd you grow up?"

  I smile, and lay my hand on his arm. "Drew. I've got this," I assure him with more confidence than I really feel." He falls silent, staring at me, and for a moment I wonder if he's going to kiss me, but he turns away.

  "Yesterday I arrested one of the cocktail waitresses at the Devil's Keep, a bar frequented by the Death Dealers. She was running a check fraud scheme, but I was waiting for the right time to bust her. Now there's a job opening, and you can conveniently drop by looking for a position."

  "Smart," I say.

  "I like to think so. Here's a burner," he says, handing me an old flip phone. "This is only for contacting me, and only for emergencies."

  "Got it," I say.

  "And if you ever…if it's ever too…"

  "Drew. I'll stay safe. I promise."

  "It might not be up to you."

  I know he's right, but I'm not going back now. "I better get going before someone else drops by and snags the job."

  "Right. I'll see you," he replies. He reaches up and rests his hand on my shoulder for a moment, gives it a squeeze, then lets his arm drop.

  "Bye," I say, grabbing my purse and heading out the motel door. As it shuts behind me, I feel my stomach drop, but I keep walking. I glance at the keys and then look around the parking lot for a Honda. There it is, an old, black Honda Civic with rust forming above the tires. Drew was right. It's exactly the kind of car Beth would drive. I would drive.

  I open the car door and drop my purse into the passenger seat. The engine turns over with a disturbing rumble, and I head out toward the highway. Paradise Falls is about fifteen minutes down the highway, and the Death Dealer's compound lies on the edge of it.

  I open the windows and let the wind carry out the moldy smell of the car seats. When I first came here earlier this week, I thought I'd be settling into my patrol by now, maybe making friends with some of the other cops, getting drinks after work at a local bar. My life has never seemed to work out according to plan, though.

  Soon I'm taking the exit for Paradise Falls and girding myself for what I'm going to find. I glance around as small ranch houses start popping up. The town is a little smaller than Fort Brynard, and Drew says that the Death Dealers have a vise-like grip over it. The crime here actually isn't high at all because the Death Dealers like to keep their own backyard clean. The problem is all the ripples of violence they're sending across the state.

  I spot the street that Devil's Keep is on and turn right. There's a parking spot directly across from it and I parallel park as the Civic's rusted gears squeal in protest. As I get out, I'm pleasantly surprised by the look of the street. Granted, it's the middle of the day, but there are some families out on a little park at the end of it, and a diner with people sitting by the front.

  I head across the street and stop in front of the Devil's Keep. The windows at the front are all blacked out so I can't see inside, but the door is slightly ajar. I shoulder my purse, and push it open.

  "We're not open yet!" a woman's voice comes from behind the bar. I walk toward it, not seeing anyone.

  "I know," I reply, glancing around. There are a couple of large, mounted TVs, a mix of cocktail tables and couches, and a pool table in the back corner. It's definitely a dive, but looks pretty clean. "I was just wondering if you might be hiring." A pretty, tall, blonde stands up from behind the bar with a bright smile.

  "Oh my gosh, yes! I'm Candice, one of the servers. Steph, that's one of the other servers, she got fucking arrested and now I'm all alone for tonight and it's a Saturday! I told her she should quit all that bullshit she was up to but she wouldn't listen to me."

  "Thank goodness. I mean, that's terrible for your friend, but I could really use a job," I tell her with a relieved smile.

  "Hey, Ricky! Ricky!" Candice yells, turning toward the back of the bar.

  "What?" a man's voice replies.

  "There's a girl here looking for a job! She's hot, too!" she adds, turning to me and wiggling her eyebrows. "That'll get him off his fat ass," she whispers to me. Sure enough, there's a groan and a door to a back office opens and a portly man in his sixties comes lumbering out. He glances over me for a moment, then nods.

  "Alright, come on back," he says, waving me toward him.

  "Thanks," I murmur to Candice, and she gives me a wink. Ricky holds his office door open for me, then shuts it as I sit down across from his messy desk.

  "You have experience cocktail waitressing?" he asks.

  "Yes," I reply. It's only a small lie. I supported myself for years by waitressing, but only in diners and restaurants, never a bar.

  "We need someone who can pop behind the bar and make drinks if it gets busy. What's in an Old Fashioned?"

  "Rum," I guess, trying to sound confident, but from the way his eyebrow raises, I know I'm wrong. Shit. I know Old Fashioneds are brown… "I meant whiskey." From the doubt in his eyes, I can tell that I'm losing him. I lean forward, purposefully letting my breasts spill out of the top of my low-cut shirt. "Sorry, I'm just nervous," I purr, trying to look vulnerable. "I just moved to town from Washington, and I'm trying t
o make a fresh start."

  "Mhm," he mutters, eyes on my breasts.

  "I know I'm a little green, but I'm a fast learner. I'll work so hard for you, Ricky, I promise."

  "Well, I don't want to turn you out on the street…" he grumbles.

  "Oh, thank you so much," I exclaim, reaching forward to rest my hand on his knee and seal the deal. "I really appreciate it."

  He clears his throat. "Candice will show you around," he says, wiggling in his seat. I can tell from a cursory glance that he's trying to hide his erection. I'm certainly not in the Academy anymore. I stand up. "Shut the door behind you," he calls after me as I leave his office.

  "No problem!" I call out cheerily, though I'm wouldn't be entirely surprised if he's about to jerk off in there.

  "Well?" Candice asks as she wipes down the bar with a wet rag.

  "I got it!"

  "Yay! I have a good feeling about you. Steph was kind of a bitch, to be honest with you."

  "Now I just have to find a place to live."

  Candice gasps dramatically. "I have a place! Steph and I were roommates, and now she's locked up for however long. She tried to get me to pay her bail when she owes me three months back rent!"

  "I have a little money saved-up, so I can pay my first month now."

  She clasps her hands together excitedly. "I think you were sent by my guardian angel."

  I laugh. "Could be!"

  "Let's have a drink to celebrate." As she turns away to grab two pint glasses, my face grows serious. Getting a job and a place to live was the easy part. Now I have to come into contact with the Death Dealers themselves.

  Chapter 5 – Ford

  I stare at a point on the floor as I sit in an old chair in the corner of the compound's main room. In front of me, a wild party plays out. When I first joined the MC, I lived for this shit. After what I'd seen on my tours of duty, it all felt like heaven. Well, if heaven had a hell of a lot of sin in it.

  "Ford. Ford!" I glance up to see Marsh trying to get my attention. Marsh came into the MC just after I did, so we're close.