Smolder: Trojans MC

by Kara Parker

  David struggled to sit up; his head was spinning and pounding. Finally, when the spinning stopped, he reached over for the aspirin and took three in his hand and swallowed them by chugging the entire glass of water. His eyes now functioning, David looked around and tried to figure out where he was. It looked like he was in a basement. The floor and walls were all cement that was cool to the touch; there were no furnishings; and he could see the rafters of the house above him. There was a light bulb hanging from the ceiling and a set of metal stairs against one wall that led up to a solid-looking wooden door on what must have been the first floor.

  David took a series of deep breaths, as he waited for the aspirin to set in. Gradually, the events that led him here came back to him. He could remember what had happened, even though the memories were fuzzy and vague. He had been attacked, chloroformed, and presumably brought here by Rick. David had no idea why he had been left alive.

  Olivia! The name came to him suddenly, like a gust of wind that bends trees in half. Where was Olivia? Was she safe? Had Rick gotten to her? Was she trapped in this house with him somewhere? He jumped to his feet and the world spun dangerously, but David pushed through the pain and nausea. Stumbling towards the stairs, he steadied himself on the railing, as he half dragged himself, step-by-step, towards the door. He reached the solid wood door and tried to turn the knob, but it was locked from the other side. The pounding in his head began to subside, as David leaned down to look at the doorknob, hoping to see if he could jimmy it, or pick it, or knock it down.

  Then, he heard muffled voices from the other side. It was a man’s voice, low and quiet and calm. David strained to hear, trying to make out what he was saying, but nothing came through. The door was too thick for David to hear, and the man’s voice was too low. He jumped back, as he heard a screeching sound, and he realized it must be someone pushing a chair back and then the sounds of footsteps heading for the door. David stood up and looked frantically around searching for a weapon of some kind.

  “Are you awake, David?” an unfamiliar voice called from the other side of the door.

  David remained silent, poised and ready to attack anyone who would come through.

  “You need to eat something, son,” the voice said. “It’ll make you feel better. I’m going to bring a sandwich, but I want you seated at that bed when I come down.” At the mention of food, David’s stomach grumbled loudly. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until that moment. Now that the aspirin was kicking, it was bringing his appetite back with it.

  “Where am I?” David demanded through the door.

  “You're in my basement. I’m a friend of Rick’s; he’s on his way over to talk to you now, David. Listen, we could have killed you if we wanted, but we didn’t. Rick wants to talk to you, that’s all. He wants to help you understand what’s been going on. So why don’t you go back down to the bed, and I’ll bring you some lunch. You can let yourself recover, and then we can have a conversation like adults.”

  There was no mention of Olivia, and David didn’t dare bring her up. Was it possible they still had no idea of her involvement? David hadn’t said anything about her to Mike or Rick; maybe no one knew they had been working together. However, now there was a problem. If David asked about Olivia, it might put her in danger, but he needed to know if she was alive.

  “Alright,” David said. He walked back down the steps and sat on the bed, leaning back against the wall. After a moment, he heard the door open and a shotgun poked through the entrance. Finally, after a long wait, a head followed. David recognized the fat, bald man from the drug drop-off site; he was the one who had talked so casually about killing all of the Reapers. David tensed and watched the man, as he made his way down the stairs. He was holding his gun in one hand and a shopping bag in the other.

  “Morning, Creely. Sleep well?” the man asked, throwing his head back and laughing at his own terrible joke. “What? Are you not in the mood to laugh? Well, Rick will be here soon and you two can talk. In the meantime, here’s some grub. It’ll help your head get right. I’m Bill, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

  “Fuck you,” David spat. He wasn’t in any kind of mood to play nice with his captors.

  “Hey now. I’m the one with the food and the water and the gun, so maybe you should be a little nicer to me,” Bill said. He was at the bottom of the stairs, and he dropped the bag of food with a loud thump and waved the gun in David’s direction. David remained on the bed, glaring at Bill as the man retreated back upstairs. Once the door was locked, David got up and picked up the bag of food. There was a large bottle of water, a bag of oil and vinegar chips, and an Italian hoagie; all foods David was fond of.

  David had no sense of time in the basement. He ate his food and then he waited, sometimes closing his eyes to rest for a minute. Finally, after what felt like an hour, there was a knock from the other side of the door.

  “You on the bed, David?” a voice called out, and David knew it was Rick.

  “Yeah,” David called. The food and aspirin and water had helped. David’s headache was gone, and he was ready to get out of here.

  Rick opened the door and came slowly down the stairs until he was standing in front of David. He put both of his hands behind his back and began to pace back and forth in front of the bed. To David, he looked like some political huckster, or a door-to-door salesman who was trying to sell him a vacuum.

  “I want to start by apologizing for all this,” Rick said, waving his arms around the room. “I want you to know that kidnapping you wasn’t my idea. Mike wanted it and I was forced to comply.” At this, he raised his hands to the heavens with a gesture that said, ‘What else could I do?’ David said nothing; he just glared at Rick and waited.

  “You know, David. I always knew that you were a smart and resourceful man, but even I am impressed that you tracked me down and figured this all out. I am very impressed indeed. Did someone help you?” Rick asked.

  “Nope,” David said. “Didn’t need no help. I smelled a rat, and I did a little digging and found one.”

  “And then you went to Mike with it, but Mike didn’t believe you. Well, he might have a little bit; he came to me with your accusations. However, I assured him that you must have made the whole thing up in order to shift the blame to another person. I told him that you had concocted this story so that the shame of your failure would fall off of you and onto me. I told Mike that you were so desperate for his approval that you invented this story in order to get it. I was right about that last part at least.”

  “You lied,” David spat.

  “And he believed me,” Rick said. “What does that say to you, David?” David said nothing. He crossed his arms, and his eyes scanned the rafters, as if he was looking for something, but in reality he just didn’t want to look at Rick’s smug face. “It means that your trust was misplaced,” Rick said. “Mike is an old man and the club is an outdated business model, David. It isn’t worth your loyalty. Mike doesn’t deserve your loyalty. Look at all this work you did. And where do you find yourself now? Trapped in some basement and betrayed by a man you trusted. But I want you to know that none of this is your fault, David. You trusted Mike, which was a mistake. You should have come to me instead.”

  David’s brow creased, as he looked at Rick. The conversation had taken an odd turn, and David wasn’t quite sure what Rick was saying.

  “The motorcycle gang is an outdated institution,” Rick continued. “It is not a thing that is meant to last. There are too many members, too many variables, too many hands held out, and too many people who know too much. There are too many voices that want to be heard. There should only be one voice, one loud enough to drown at all the others. That’s my voice, David. Marina’s Crest is located on what could become another Silk Road. We could make a lot of money. I’m talking about millions of dollars, but we can’t do it with a bunch of loud bikes and outdated loyalty oaths. It needs be run with the same ruthlessness and intelligence of a business. That’s what I’m m
aking, David—a business—and I need a second-in-command to help me run it. I need someone smart and clever, and I think you are the perfect candidate.”

  “What?” David demanded.

  “Join me. Fuck the Reapers, David. They’re dead and gone. I did away with them with one well-placed phone call. It was time for them to go and for something better to replace them. Think about it, David. You know that I’m right.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

  “Do you have any idea where he could be?” Olivia asked Hillary. There was desperation in her voice and her eyes, and Olivia didn’t even try to hide it. She was done pretending and sneaking around and worrying about her pride. All she wanted was to know that David was safe. Even if in the end he chose the gang over her, Olivia still wanted to find him and know that he was alive.

  “There are so many different places he could be. Mind if I smoke?” Hillary asked, and when Olivia shook her head no, the other woman dug around through her purse emerging with a white lighter and a pack of Virginia Slims. She lit the end and took a deep drag, inhaling the smoke and then releasing it from her mouth like a dragon.

  “Can I have one of those?” Olivia asked, looking up Hillary.

  “Of course, girl. I didn’t know you smoked.” She handed Olivia a cigarette and a lighter, and Olivia tried to steady her hands enough to light it.

  “A little bit when I was in college and for a few stressful weeks at the academy.” The smoke burned her lungs, and Olivia resisted the urge to cough. However, as she exhaled the smoke, she felt that familiar lightheadedness that comes with an infrequent smoke. It made her body feel slightly numb, and it relaxed her. “It’s just a very expensive poison, you know?” Olivia said, gazing at the lit tip of the cigarette. “At a certain point in time, you have to start asking yourself why you’re paying so much for something that is so obviously bad for you.” Olivia had been lost in thought until she was aware of Hillary’s eyes on her and her face reddened with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean—” she began, but Hillary just waved her hand, both clearing away the smoke and the awkwardness.

  “It’s fine,” Hillary said. “And you’re right, but quitting is hard for some of us.”

  Olivia nodded in understanding. She had learned at the academy how dangerous drugs were and how addiction drove people to crime and prostitution and a host of other bad things.

  “I’m so confused; I want to help David and the rest of God’s Reapers, but I know that they’re the reason that there are drugs in this town in the first place. I need to find David but then what? Do I throw away my job and my principles for him? Who will I be after that, other than someone’s girlfriend? I love him, but I don’t understand his loyalty to the club.”

  “Did anyone ever tell you the history of the Reapers?” Hillary asked.

  “No,” Olivia said.

  “They started after the Second World War. The first members were all men who had seen combat. They were men who had spent months living in trenches and waiting for the bomb that was going to kill them to fall. They watched, as the men around them were killed without rhyme or reason. My grandfather used to talk about it; he told me once he had been shaving at a mirror with a buddy of his, he bent down to grab a towel, and suddenly he heard a thump and looked over and realized that his buddy had been shot. The bullet went straight into the brain. They had been standing only inches from each other, if even the tiniest of things would have been different, my grandfather would have died instead. They spent years of their lives on the edge like that, thinking every minute would be their last, until the next minute came. Can you imagine living like that for years?”

  Olivia shook her head; she couldn’t imagine it at all.

  “And then they came home, and they were supposed to just go back to work and be normal. Try to ignore the nightmares they had and the flashbacks. How were they supposed to go back to their normal, boring lives after they had just returned from months of professional killing? Some of them were airmen, and they missed that feeling of flying, of being high above the earth. Motorcycles were the closest they could get to that. So men started buying bikes and hanging out in their army buddies’ garages, fixing things and working on bikes. There weren’t any rules or anything like that; it was just friends who had been through the same sort of thing, brothers-in-arms and all that.

  “Then, in the lean years after the wars, there was a lot of crime. Marina’s Crest was smaller then, the police force no bigger than three men and one jail cell. Criminals came in and started making short work of the few families that lived here. There were break-ins and robberies, people held at gunpoint in their own homes. People would rob and then run, hopping on the train and getting out of Dodge before the law could catch up with them. Then, one night, a pretty local girl was found out in the desert. When they found her, there was so little left that she could only be identified by her name written in her shoe. Horrible things had been done to the girl, and there was no one to serve her justice.

  “So a few men got together, my grandfather included, and they asked themselves what they had fought a war for? They had spent years of their lives defending their country only to return to lawlessness and chaos and violence. But then they realized that it didn’t have to be that way. They were soldiers, and they were well trained and disciplined. They understood how to stay calm under pressure and how to face danger and death and keep everything together. So, they became the law. They patrolled the streets; people called them when they heard a strange noise outside their house late at night. Women working the late shift asked them to act as escorts, so they could be safe on their way home. People paid them however they could—some gave property, others money, others food. For a while it was a beautiful system.”

  “So what happened?” Olivia asked.

  “Well, the government isn’t too keen on people who aren’t cops acting like cops. It turns out that one of the men the Reapers had run out of town, a man who had been drunk more than he was sober and had crashed more than two cars, was the son of a very well-connected man. That man called another man, and before anyone knew it, the county was installing a real precinct and calling for the Reapers to be disbanded. God’s Reapers had done the government's job for a decade, and then when the government finally got involved, did they thank the Reapers for a job well done? No, they were called criminals and warned that they would be immediately arrested if found.

  “By now most of the old guard had aged out; they were too tired to fight any more wars. But their sons and grandsons had spent their childhoods watching their fathers and grandfathers ride away on their bikes. They wanted in on the action; they wanted to be brothers. More importantly, people wanted drugs, and they didn’t understand why the government was so opposed to them smoking a little pot or taking some speed. There was a demand, a growing one. Plus, there were bikers who felt cheated; they had done the government’s job for them and received nothing. Selling some drugs to an eager group of people created a perfect little circle.”

  “So the Reapers didn’t start out as drug dealers?” Olivia asked. “Their history is one based in protecting people.”

  “Yup,” Hillary said.

  “So why couldn’t they go back to that? I mean, not the protection thing, but some other non-illegal activity? Why does everyone throw up their hands like change of any kind is such an impossible idea? I’ve asked David to do it, and he just always says he can’t but never says why.”

  “Change is hard. It’s harder on men,” Hillary said with a shrug of her shoulders. There was a chime somewhere; it was the sound of a cell phone going off. The noise pulled Olivia back to earth, back to the here and now.

  Hillary stood up and went to her phone where it had been plugged in and charging on the wall.

  “So, cop,” she said, looking over at Olivia. “You really want to know where Creely is?”

  “Yes,” Olivia said, half rising out of her seat.

  “To arrest him?”

  “No!” Olivia said. “I’
m on suspension, and I can’t arrest anyone. I just want to talk to him and know that he’s safe.”

  Hillary sighed and put down her phone. “I don’t know where Creely is, but I know where Mike is and he would know. But do you know what he would do to me if he found out I was telling a cop where he was?”

  “There’s no warrant for his arrest,” Olivia explained. “Someone who’s been arrested must have been convinced to take the charges for him. I couldn’t arrest Mike if I wanted to. I’m not the Reapers’ enemy; I keep trying tell people this, but they see my badge and they make these assumptions and nothing I do seems to change anyone’s opinion. I was suspended for helping David. I could lose my job; I could go to jail; and I did all that for David. What more do the Reapers want from me?”