by Nicole Fox
“What do I need to say?” I barely get the words out with his hand on me like this. He doesn’t squeeze hard, but there’s power in his grip. I sense that it won’t take much for him to really hurt me.
“You need to tell me that you’re a tight little whore and you’ll do anything we want. You tell me that and I’ll think about letting you know what happened to your brother.”
I swallow. My throat burns. I need to know what happened to Brandon, but at the same time I hate the way he’s looking at me, like men have often looked at me throughout my life. I remember after Mom died when I went to a bar and the men looked at me the same way, like I was there to service them and I’d do whatever they wanted. I hate it. I hate the sneering sideways grin, the way the eyes dance like he can’t wait for it.
“No,” I whisper. “I won’t say that. Because it isn’t true.”
He lets out a whistle through clenched teeth. “This bitch right here … goddamn. All right, then, let me tell you what’s going on. Sometimes a man likes to do things for a lady just to be nice, so I guess this is your lucky day. Your big brother’s not dead … yet. He’s still clinging on. He’s had a few bumps here and there, but he might go on living if we let him. Which we’re not going to. I’m sick’n fuckin’ tired of your family. Your brother’s a fuckin’ coward who don’t know shit about the life and you’re a cross-dressing freak who happens to be fuckin’ the fella we want dead. Who would be dead right about now if it weren’t for some fuckin’ trick. So that there’s about the size of it, sweetheart. Now you’re probably wondering what’s gonna happen to you, right? What’s your punishment? First, I’m gonna bend you over, tie you down, and then we’re gonna take turns on that tight cunt. My boys’ve been workin’ hard and they ain’t had a woman like you in a long, long time. You should know somethin’ before we start. You’ll hate it at first. You’ll be screaming and crying and all that shit. But then it’ll start to feel good and you’ll wonder if you’re a real freak, and you’ll start moaning and begging for more. Don’t fight it, sweetheart.” He nods at the shadows. “Come on, lads. Let’s get her ready.”
The men move with the efficiency of slaughterhouse workers, handling me like a piece of meat. I try to fight, twisting my arms and legs, lashing out at them, but they maneuver me like it’s nothing, untying me from the chair and carrying me across the room.
“Please,” I whisper, panic choking me. “Please don’t do this. I’m begging you. Please, please. I don’t want this. Please don’t. Please just—just think about what you’re doing! Don’t you have sisters, moms? Don’t you—please!”
But they just ignore me. They carry me to a closet on the other side of the room, shove me inside, and then go about the business of tying me down the same way they’d tie down a boat. There’s no emotion in what they do. I catch glimpses of their faces but each one is blank. They don’t react when I talk, just stay straight-faced as though I don’t exist, or as though all that exists is my body.
Then Handlebar-Mustache leans over me, his hand—or maybe it’s somebody else’s—stroking my inner thigh, worms crawling all over me. “I’m going to give you some advice now and I reckon you ought to take it. This is going to be one of the last things you do, so I reckon you ought to try and enjoy it right away. We’ll win you around eventually, but why wait? You’re all whores if you scratch deep enough. That’s the truth of it.”
“Please,” I whisper. “Don’t do this. Just don’t do this. Please!”
“You should stop moaning like that,” he says. “Most of the fellas like it.”
He yanks down my pants, the tearing sound like a tearing through my chest, my heart sundered.
I close my eyes and see that beach, Brandon and the ball, and instead of squinting at the sun I run to the other side so that the sun is behind me and I can see it clearly now. I catch it and turn to Brandon, a smile on my face. We laugh together.
And then I think: my baby, my innocent baby.
Chapter Twenty
Granite
“This motherfucker’s still alive,” Jax says, kneeling down next to the young one with the knife, Larry. Jax ties a strip of cloth around his throat where the bullet entered and exited and then picks up his knife and tosses it from one hand to the other. “What do we think? Shall I kill him now?”
“Don’t get so excited about it,” Michaels says. “It makes you look even younger than you are. He’s dying. End it.”
“Wait.” Dallas walks over and kneels down next to Jax. I join them, limping from the burning pain in my leg. “If Granite won’t go to the doctor until we’ve found his woman, then it seems to me this prick still being alive is a gift we shouldn’t just throw away.”
“He’s right.” I snatch the knife from Jax and fall on the Skull, burying my knee in his chest. I bring the knife to his cheek and lean down. He wheezes from the hole in his throat, but he’s alive. Wounds are like that sometimes: the smallest thing kills a man but the biggest thing sees him fighting another day. “I reckon you’re gonna tell me where they’re keeping Allison, kid, or your day’s gonna get a whole lot worse. Maybe you don’t think that’s possible, but it’s always possible.”
He wheezes something. I lean closer. “… breathe. Can’t. Breathe.”
I release some of the pressure. “Where is she?”
“I’ll … take you … there. But you have to … promise.”
“We promise,” Dallas says, and the way he looks, that dagger under his eye, his gaze honed down to dagger points, I know why we sometimes call him Dagger. He looks vicious. He looks like a hyena. “Get him up, kid.”
I stand up and Jax drags him to his feet. We all walk toward the exit, where the car is parked. “If you’re lying to us, there’s gonna be trouble,” Jax says. “You see that guy there? That there’s Granite. You might’ve heard of him. I bet you have. He’s the hardest bastard this side of Austin, maybe even the hardest bastard in Texas. He doesn’t mess around. He’s not like you Brass Skulls, with your pussyfooting, getting all nervous and shit. He gets the job done.”
“All right,” I mutter. “Less of the dick-riding.”
Dagger coughs out a laugh. “Goddamn, kid, you auditioning for a romantic comedy or something?”
We stop near Dallas’ jeep and climb in, but first we get the Brass Skull in the middle of the back seat, squeezed between me and Jax with Michaels and Dallas up front. “Where we heading?” I ask, squeezing down on the Skull’s knee, squeezing hard so that he knows it won’t take much to cause some real damage.
“Back toward town,” he whispers. “If you … just head into town but don’t go into town … I’ll direct you from there …”
We drive toward town, past rolling dust land and toward more civilization, billboards and road signs and all that shit that lets a man know he ain’t out in the Wild West anymore.
“Thanks for being so quick on the drop, fellas. I didn’t know when I shot that text off what the fuck was gonna happen.”
“That was a fool move,” Michaels says. “You shouldn’t have just walked into their camp like that. Were you looking for trouble? That was something a rookie pulls, not a man like you. What the hell got into you?”
“Love,” Jax says, and then laughs. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s in love.”
“Say one more word and I’ll make you swallow your jaw.”
He touches his neck. “Just so you know, that’s a pretty fucking weird thing to say.”
“If you think it’s a weird thing to say, you ought to wait until I do it. That’s what fuckin’ weird is, kid.”
He swallows, leans his head back. “I’m good, man.”
I laugh along with them, try’n have a joke, but really all I can think about is Allison. This is what men do: joke around before a job. But my heart’s not in it. My heart is wherever Allison is. That’s some cheesy shit right there, but it also happens to be true.
“She’s probably dead,” Jimmy says, that never-fading smile on his face. “I mean, c
ome on. Let’s be honest about it, at least. Do you really they’re going to keep her alive? Maybe for a little bit; maybe they’ll have some fun with her. They’ll do their grown-up thing and ride her until she’s completely done, but then they’ll kill her because why wouldn’t they, you know? What incentive do they have to keep her alive? She’ll die and you’ll move on. You’ll be happier, I bet. You won’t have to be worried all the time. What’s the difference between having a woman and having a kid? I guess there is a difference, actually. You can leave a woman and it ain’t so bad.”
I massage my forehead, blocking him out. Dallas brings the car to a stop outside the town, near the sign. I grab the Skull by the shoulder and whisper in his ear, “Time to start talking.”
He gives us directions, his voice growing quieter with each word. Finally, he leads us to a warehouse in the middle of a field of dust with a cactus sitting at the entrance like a green prickly bouncer. We get out of the car, dragging the Skull out with us, and watch the place for a few minutes, long enough to see that there are men inside: one walks out for a cigarette, and in the open doorway I can see several other men, stood around in the shadows.
“They could be doing anything to her in there,” I mutter. “Any damn thing they please. We need to get in there now. We need to take out these fucking assholes.”
“You’re right,” Dagger says. “But they have more men than us. You know better than anybody that when you’re outnumbered, charging in there is the last thing you want to do. We’ve got to be smart about this. Ah—perfect.” He catches the Skull as he collapses, breathing his last breath. “Just when you need a dead man, he offers himself up. What a fuckin’ trooper.”
“What’re you thinking?” Michaels asks.
“I’m thinking we throw this prick through the doors to get them worried. We sit out here and wait for them to come out and take a look, and then we kill every single one of them.”
“Sounds simple,” Jax says.
“Yeah.” I laugh grimly. “What could go wrong? It’s a good plan, probably what I’d do if I was here alone. Always draw them out. Never go to them if you have a choice.”
“Like you did with the strip club guys,” Jax says.
“Exactly. Just like I did. Who wants to do the honors?”
“I will.” Jax takes the Skull from Dagger and holds him up as he waits for the man at the door to finish his cigarette. When he does, he flips the Skull over his shoulder and carries him fireman-style toward the door.
We crouch down, guns aimed. Anybody could come out at any moment and see this young kid carrying a corpse to their door. It would be no big thing for them to gun him down. Then not only will the element of surprise be gone; one of our men will be, too.
“We’ve gotta give the kid credit,” I mutter, watching as he runs straight at the door without fear.
“Yeah,” Dagger agrees. “I wouldn’t expect stones like that from him. Maybe he’s finally becoming a member of the club.”
“He’s always been a member of the club,” Michaels says.
“Since when did you get all soft before a job?” Dagger laughs gruffly.
“Since now, I guess. I’ve gotta tell you the truth, fellas. I’ve never done a thing like this. How many men are in there? My eyesight ain’t what it used to be, but when that door was open, it looked like at least thirty. We’re gonna have to be quick.”
“We will be,” I say. “But I reckon we ought to call in backup as well. Just in case.”
Dagger tilts his head at me. “Are you fucking crazy? I called in backup on the way here. I’m not about to gamble my life on you three knuckleheads.”
Jax stops near the door, looks back at us, and then kicks the door open and throws the corpse inside. He ducks his head and sprints back toward us, crouching down behind the rock we’re all crouched behind, gun aimed. He’s breathing heavily. “That got their attention for sure,” he says. “Did you see the way they all turned around? Maybe you didn’t. But they’ll be out in a second, no doubt about that.” He wipes sweat from his forehead. “Are we all ready?”
“We’re all ready.”
“Is that place big, kid?” Dagger asks. “You get a glimpse in there?”
“It’s big. Lots of raised areas near the back, sort of like—management areas, I guess, with fire-escape-style stairs leading up to them. Could be more Brass Skulls up there. Could be more prisoners.”
Dallas spits. “Let them come.”
We duck down as the first men come running out of the building. Dagger has four guns lined up between him and I, and Michaels has done the same for him and the kid. More and more men run out until there’s about twenty-five men standing outside, guns raised, looking around. Jax makes to move but I wave him down.
“Wait,” I whisper. “Let them get comfy.”
I don’t see Todd, but that’s all right. Let the bastard hide.
“See anything?” one of the Skulls says.
“Not a damn thing,” another replies.
They lower their guns, only slightly, but enough. I nod down the line. Jax takes a deep breath and Michaels wipes his cheek with his sleeve, and then we all pop up and start firing. I’m a good shot, probably the best in the state if I’m being arrogant about it. I fire off six shots in a couple of seconds, getting six headshots, and then pick up another gun and do the same. Dallas is almost as good a shot as me and gets as many kills. By the time the smoke has cleared from the barrels of our guns, most of the men are dead and we’ve only taken one hit: me, in the goddamn shoulder this time.
“Motherfuck,” I whisper, teeth gritted. “Today ain’t my lucky day.”
“Shit, man,” Jax says. “What do we do?”
“We get in there and we get Allison.”
I don’t wait for them to agree. I just run toward the warehouse, limping and holding the pistol with my good hand. There’s one fella left, crouched down behind the corpses of the other Skulls. He pokes his head up—and my bullet cleaves it in two. I leap over him and charge into the warehouse. Footsteps skitter up the stairs, several sets of them, but nobody fires at me. I rush deeper into the warehouse until I see two bare feet poking out of a closet, underwear clinging to her ankles. The feet tremble; she’s shivering.
I rush over to her, ignoring the pain. Pain doesn’t exist when my girl’s in trouble.
When I touch her, she screams. “Don’t you fucking touch me! You pigs! You animals! I’ll kill you! I’ll kill every damn one of you!”
“Hush,” I whisper. It’s me. Allison. It’s Granite. I’m here to get you out.”
“It’s … is it really you?”
I pick her up, carry her out of the closet, and then pull her underwear and trousers up. She looks at me with those wide green eyes, lips trembling. “They almost … they were going to …” She breaks into coughing sobs.
I cradle her in my arms and carry her to the door, my shoulder throbbing, my leg throbbing. As we pass Dallas and Michaels and Jax, Dallas says, “Isn’t that the pledge, Al?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say.
Chapter Twenty-One
Allison
He lowers me to the ground and then checks me over like a professional, patting me down softly, searching for wounds. When he sees that I’m not hurt, he kneels down next to me and touches my face. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says. “Not okay. I know you ain’t okay like that. But goddamn, they didn’t hurt you. They didn’t … those sick fucks. I need to get you out of here.”
The other men stand off to the side, all of us within viewing distance of the warehouse but crouched down behind an outcropping of rock. I look up at the sky, at the slow-drifting clouds, and then down to Granite. “You’re hurt,” I say.
He shrugs, grits his teeth. “It’s nothing.”
“I hope that’s true, because …” I remember what Handlebar-Mustache did when the gunfire started, running up the stairs and then dragging Brandon out to the barrier, holding him over the thirty-foot drop. “He h
as my brother in there. Brandon, in there, with him. He could be doing anything to him. It was dark so I couldn’t see, but … I know how this is going to sound, Granite. And I’m sorry. I really am. But I think some of your men need to go back in there and get him.”
