by Naomi West
I tossed the drink back, a feeling in my gut telling me that tonight was going to be very interesting.
4
Cassie
I was pissed. Pissed and frustrated and hurt.
I stormed into the tiny dressing room, the small space seeming even more dingy and gross than it had when I’d been getting ready. Once inside, I shut the door and locked it, not wanting to be bothered.
“What a fucking waste of a night,” I said, collapsing onto the couch.
I’d killed it—I really had. I had a tendency to be hard on myself, but I had a really, really good feeling about tonight. All the songs had come out perfectly, and the crowd had all seemed to be into it. Aside from the guy hitting on me at the bar, not to mention the shit with those guys asking for money I didn’t have, it had seemed like a great night.
But it hadn’t taken long before I’d realized that no one gave a shit. My demo CD box had gone untouched, and no one had cared enough to take a single look at the info I had on stage for the website where I had all my music.
I realized that the dress and makeup had done the job—the guys in the crowd sure had paid attention. But their interest didn’t go beyond my body. I could’ve been up there playing songs with my armpit—all they wanted was to eye-fuck me for as long as I was onstage before going back to their whiskey and beer.
I stood up and took another look at myself in the mirror. I hated the stupid skintight dress and heels and makeup and everything else. It wasn’t me—it wasn’t who I was.
I stepped out of the heels and pulled down the zipper on the back of the dress before peeling it down my body. Once I was down to just my underwear, I hurried over to the small sink and began washing off the heavy makeup upon my face that Maxwell had insisted.
It was caked on, so it took some major scrubbing. The blacks and blues and reds washed down the drain in wet spirals as the water ran, and when it was all gone, I dabbed my face dry with the towel by the sink.
My clothes were folded in a small pile on the couch. After a few minutes, I had them back on. I took an elastic band out of my pocket and put my hair up in a simple ponytail. Once I was all done, I stepped in front of the full-length mirror and took a look at myself.
Dressed in my slim-fit dark jeans, a gray T-shirt with a dark blue cardigan, and a pair of all-white sneakers, I felt like myself again. I never wanted to dress like I had ever again. This was my look, and if I was going to make it big, it’d be by being myself, not dressing up like a streetwalker so guys could stare at my boobs.
I plopped onto the couch, wondering if this was even what I wanted. Maxwell had talked a big talk about how he was going to make me famous as hell, but if hiding who I really was was how I was going to have to do it, was it really worth it?
Then, out of nowhere, that guy at the bar –the one who’d tried to pick me up—flashed in my mind.
I wasn’t going to lie—he was hot as hell. His hair was long and dark as India ink, wavy and thick. His eyes were a piercing blue that seemed to stare right through me. His face was all hard angles, with high cheekbones and full, sensual lips. A perfect cleft chin completed the picture.
And that was to say nothing of his badass biker look, his thick, ropy arms covered in intricate tattoos. I’d always considered myself a good girl, but guys like him, tough bad boys, always managed to catch my eye. I knew that they were nothing but bad news, but I couldn’t help it.
Normally, I might’ve had a drink with the guy and at least seen if he was as attractive on the inside as he was on the out. But I’d been in a shitty mood from the men ogling me, not to mention what had gone down with the guys asking for money.
That was still so strange—why had Maxwell needed to talk to those guys about money? As far as I knew, Maxwell was just some guy who liked to work with up-and-coming talent from YouTube. He didn’t strike me as the sort of guy who’d have secret dealings with biker gangs.
Whatever. By this point I was good and tipsy from the booze and ready to get home and comfy in bed, maybe watch some trashy TV before getting some much-needed rest. All I had to do was find Maxwell and tell him I was ready to go—he was my ride, after all.
I checked my phone to see if he’d called or texted me, but there was nothing. I called his number, but it went straight to voicemail.
“Jeez,” I said out loud. “Are you really going to make me look for you in this place?”
The bar was pretty freaking big. The front was a large open space and the back was a maze of hallways, doors leading to who-knows-where. I wasn’t looking forward to trying to find Maxwell, but it was all I could do.
Grabbing my things and slinging my guitar over my back, I left the tiny dressing room and went into the hallway. The hallway was just as dingy and dark as I’d expected, and a gross, musty smell filled the air. The low thump of the bass from the bar could be heard, and no one was to be seen.
I continued along, keeping my ears open for any sign of Maxwell. Deeper and deeper I went into the back hallways of the bar, a tinge of anxiety taking hold of my belly and spreading out. Something seemed very wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what.
Then I heard something. Down the far end of the hallway I’d just turned the corner of, I heard the sounds of muffled conversation. I stepped quietly and carefully as I made my way closer to the sounds. And as I drew nearer, I heard a voice I could tell right away was Maxwell’s.
At first, I couldn’t make out what was being said. But with each footstep, the voices became clearer.
“… telling me you don’t have it?” spoke a deep, booming voice.
“Not right now,” said Maxwell. “But I’m going to have it soon—I swear.”
“You have any idea how much I hear this shit from guys who owe me? ‘I’m tellin’ you—I’m good for it, I swear.’ Same fucking bullshit.”
“But it’s the truth!” said Maxwell, worry creeping into his voice. “I’ve got that girl, right? The one you saw onstage. Real fucking sexy, huh? I got her and some other ones, and once I get them onboard with my little project I’ll have so much fucking money I won’t know what to do with it.”
I listened very carefully from my position right next to the door. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. What project?
“I don’t give a fuck what ‘projects’ you got, shithead. Right now, you’re in with me deep, and you better let me know right now if you’ve got what you owe me. So tell me right fucking now—yes or no?”
By this point I was frozen in fear. This was no run-of-the-mill argument happening on the other side of the door. I knew I needed to leave, to get the hell out of there right then. But my legs wouldn’t move—I was frozen in place.
“Let’s hear it, Max—yes or no?”
A beat of silence passed.
“No.”
“Too fucking bad.”
“No, no—wait!”
A bang sounded out, one that shook me to my bones. Then another, and another.
They were gunshots.
I heard a thud, then nothing.
“Fuckin’ prick,” said a different voice from inside the room.
Hot, fearful tears formed in my eyes. They’d just shot Maxwell.
“Move, move,” I said softly, looking down at my legs. “Move!”
My legs were stuck in place as if glued to the floor. Finally, one moved with a hard kick. But then a glassy clatter sounded as I realized that there had been an empty beer bottle on the ground next to my foot that I hadn’t noticed. The clatter rang out, loud as hell.
“What the fuck was that?” came a voice from inside the room.
Before I could even think, the door flew open. The scene inside was just as awful as I’d imagined.
It was a large office, furnished with black leather furniture. Inside were three men, two of which I recognized as the men who’d confronted me after my set. And on the ground between them, slumped in a heap, was Maxwell. An expression of shock was on his face, and a pool of da
rk red blood spread out from around him.
He was dead. No doubt about that.
“Shit!” shouted one of the men. “It’s that girl!”
I let out a scream, convinced that I was about to die.
5
Cassie
“Please, please,” I said, holding out my hands as the men approached. “Don’t hurt me, please. I won’t say anything, I swear.”
The three men said nothing, slowly walking towards me.
“It was an accident,” I said, unable to take my eyes away from the sight of Maxwell’s body.
Tears trickled from my eyes, and I was certain that this was the end.
What happened next was a total blur.
I felt the presence of an arm wrapping around my waist. It lifted me up and off my feet and spun me around, my guitar banging against the walls. I was now facing away from the office.
Then a voice spoke in my ear, one that sounded strangely familiar.
“Run!”
My eyes still on the hallway wall, I nodded. I put one foot in front of the other, but only managed to make it a few feet before my body locked up once again. My vision became blurry and darkness seeped in through the corners of my eyes.
“What the fuck?”
The voice from behind me sounded like it was underwater. I dropped to my knees, unable to focus on anything. The adrenaline pounded through my body, making me feel like I was overdosing on some strange drug.
“It’s a fucking Angel!”
“Huh?” I said to myself, cocking my head to make sure I’d heard correctly.
An angel?
I heard the sounds of fighting, a few gunshots popping in the air. It was all I could stand. I covered my ears with my hands and screamed—it was too much, too much for me to take. I was half convinced that the men who wanted to kill me were only seconds away from doing it, and I didn’t want to see them pull the trigger.
Through the muffling of my hands on my ears I heard a set of footsteps coming closer and closer.
“This is it,” I thought to myself. “I’m done for.”
But that wasn’t what happened. Instead, a rough-looking hand shot out and grabbed onto my wrist, yanking me to my feet.
“Fucking come on!”
The figure—a man in leather and denim—rushed in front of me. Thanks to him, I was finally able to move, my legs moving as fast as I could make them. My vision was still blurry and I was barely cognizant, but I could see that he was taking me through the back hallways of the bar, leading me to a doorway with a glowing “exit” sign above it.
He threw open the door, the cool night air rushing up to greet me.
“Where … where …” I said, my voice soft.
“No time for talking!” he barked out. “Come the fuck on!”
He led me through the parking lot, past the parked cars and towards a long line of bikes, their shiny chrome glowing in the moonlight. After a few more seconds of running, the man climbed onto the back of one of the bikes and revved the engine.
The bike roared like some awakening, ancient beast, the sound exploding through the air.
“Get on back!” he shouted. “Right fucking now! We don’t have any time to waste!”
“O … Okay,” I said.
I still felt like I was moments away from passing out completely. It took all the effort and coordination I had to get on the back of the bike and grab hold of the man riding up front.
“You got me?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “I got you.”
He gunned the engine and peeled out of the parking lot. And all I could think about as we drove away was how lovely and solid his hard body felt against mine.
6
Ranger
“Fuck!” I shouted as my bike tore down the street, the engine roaring through the air. “Fuck!”
I was keenly aware of just what I’d done. I’d gone into the back of a bar owned by the Heretics, walked right in on a murder, and beaten the shit out of three of their men right as they had been about to take out a witness.
It wasn’t my business. It wasn’t my fucking business and I knew it. It was their bar and their murder, and I’d had no right to walk into the middle of it and give three of their men a beating that would likely put their sorry asses in the hospital.
And it wasn’t like I could pretend I didn’t know what I was doing. I was right in the middle of their territory, and I had seen, as clear as fucking day, the patches on their kuttes. I knew they were Heretics, and I’d torn into them anyway.
All for this fucking girl. When Jackson asked me to keep an eye on her, I hadn’t thought much of it. I’d figured she’d bum around the bar for a little while longer, and that the worst I’d have to do would be making sure none of the lowlifes there tried to take advantage of her if she got a little too drunk.
I hadn’t been expecting her to walk into the middle of a murder.
Even so, I should’ve just walked away. I was sure Jackson would’ve understood if I’d let them take her out and I’d had to tell him that I’d walked right into the middle of Heretic business. He’d have understood that I had chosen keeping the peace over the life of some random girl.
But that wasn’t what I did. When I turned that corner and saw them put that gun right in her face, it was like I’d been possessed by some kind of supernatural force. I’d gone into action, rushing towards those assholes in a wild frenzy of punches. By the time I’d realized what the fuck had happened, they were all lying in moaning heaps in front of me, my knuckles smeared with fresh blood.
And then I’d realized I had the girl to worry about. Not like I could stand there and figure out what the hell to do next. So I’d grabbed her and taken off, realizing pretty damn quick that she was about five minutes away from going into total shock.
I could feel her grip loosen as I rode down the city streets, the skyscrapers of downtown cutting into the dark night sky.
“Fuck,” I hissed. “Fuck-fuck-fuck.”
I’d hoped that once I got her to her feet, the girl would come to her senses and be good to go. But now I was realizing how stupid it was that I’d thought that way. Sure, a guy like me could see some pretty horrific shit and move on with my day—it came with the territory. But a girl like her, some cute chick who liked to sing pretty songs with her blue guitar, it was likely the most traumatizing thing she’d ever seen in her life. No wonder just witnessing it had been enough to make her have a damn out-of-body experience.
My mind raced as I considered my options.
First, there was the matter of whether or not they’d recognized me. Sure, I hadn’t been wearing my Cold Angels kutte, but it wasn’t like I was some faceless grunt. I was the fucking VP of the crew, and anyone there could likely recognize me.
So there was that. My white knight bullshit might very well have started a fucking war I’d been hoping to avoid.
I gritted my teeth as I drove. I knew there wasn’t any sense in wishing I could take back what I’d done. The punches had been thrown, the murder had been witnessed, and all I could do was go from there.
But what to do with the girl?
I’d saved her life, and she was safe—for now. I hadn’t killed the men who’d seen that she’d witnessed the murder, which meant that there was a good chance they’d come back for her in order to finish the job. I knew the Heretics pretty fucking well. They were ruthless fucks, the kind of men who’d put a bullet right between the eyes of a pretty girl like her and go get a burger afterward.
A thought flashed into my mind: What if I gave her back? I could turn right around, head to the nearest Heretic business, present the girl, and tell them that I’d fucked up. I could tell them that I’d been charged to look after the girl, and when I saw a gun pointed at her face, my protective nature had kicked in and I’d gone on autopilot.
It wasn’t like I’d killed their men. Shit, they likely wouldn’t be too happy with me, but they might look past what I’d done in hopes of avoiding a war.
Maybe I could let them take over a few of our shipment routes for a month or so to smooth things over.
Just one problem with that: I’d be sending the girl to a certain death. Even if they accepted the deal—and there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t just put a round in my head as soon as I rolled up to their joint—the girl’s fate would be a quick trip into the alley behind the bar, a swift death, and her body being thrown into the nearest quarry.
The thought of giving her up like that made me sick to my stomach. No, there was no way I was going to do it. I’d already put my ass on the line saving her, and doing what I’d done, only to turn around and throw her to the wolves, didn’t appeal to me in the fucking slightest.
Not to mention there was something about the girl, something innocent, something that made me want to put it all on the line to keep her safe. It was a … weird feeling, one that I hadn’t felt before.
I nodded to myself as I drove, now sure as to what I was going to do. I’d go to the Cold Angels HQ, the girl slung over my shoulder, march up there and tell Dakota—the president of the club— what had gone down. He was a hard man, but not totally unreasonable.
I kept on driving, spotting a sign for a turnoff to a nearby hospital. If I wanted to pull up, drop her off at the ER, and wash my hands of the whole situation, now was that time.
Nope.
In for a penny, in for a pound. All I could do was hope that what I’d done wouldn’t bring down my world all around me.
7
Cassie
I was still in a total daze. It took all the strength I had—and I didn’t have much—to keep my arms wrapped around the body on the bike.
I tried to focus on the exact sensations. There was the cool leather of the man’s vest against my face, the rumbling of the engine, the firmness of his muscles, the angles of his body. Even though I was barely cognizant, I couldn’t help but feel my heart race at this man’s body pressed against my own.
