by K. L. Savage
“How do you know that?” I’m baffled.
“Girly, I’m old not dead. Plus, I see how you look at him, and he looks at you.”
“He doesn’t look at me.” I shake my head, not believing that for a second.
Her nails tap on the wall as she leans against it. Her eyes narrow at me as she thinks. Her hair is big and puffy from a perm that went bad a few weeks ago, but it looks good still, somehow. She can pull off anything with her personality. The crazy woman is wearing a jean mini skirt with purple leggings and a hot pink shirt that’s a second skin, and the straps hug her shoulders. She looks like she has stepped out of the eighties every day, and I love every bit of it.
“Something happened between you and that tattooed meat stick,” she guesses.
I snort and cover my mouth as a laughing fit takes over. “Meat stick?”
“Girly, meat stick. Meaning, everything about that man you want to eat up like a savage. So tell me, what happened?”
“Something that shouldn’t have,” I mutter and throw the lingerie in my hand down. “My dad warned me to stay away from him because he’s part of the Ruthless Kings MC. We shared a night together—we didn’t have sex—but I woke up alone without a word from him. I’m drawn to him, Trix. I can’t explain it, and I don’t want it to hurt that he decided to leave me alone, but it does.”
“Why does your dad have a problem with the MC? They do so much good for this town. You know, I wouldn’t have this shop if it wasn’t for Reaper. I know him because of my brother, Hawk. He died a long time ago, and he was in the MC. Reaper made sure I was set up and taken care of. They do a lot of charity work. They are good men.”
I had no idea. Dad only talks about them in a negative way. “I’m sorry about your brother,” I say, placing a hand on her shoulder, and she taps my bicep.
“It’s okay. I’ve learned to live without him for a while now. Listen, girly, coming from a woman who knows all about bikers, a lot of them aren’t warm and fuzzy. A lot of them are dangerous, a lot of them have done things that would ruin people forever if they knew the truth. If he’s all alpha and dominant, I’m sure he thinks the best thing for him to do is leave you alone. It’s why my brother never really settled down. He had two kids with some club whores, on accident, and they turned out great. Reaper is married to Sarah, actually; my niece. I don’t get to see her too much, though. I met her late in her life, so we don’t really know each other.”
“Maybe you should change that, Trixie,” I offer her some advice too, and she smiles.
“Only if you go talk to that meat stick.”
“Stop calling him that!” I flick her with the lace teddy.
“You know I’m right.” Her eyes look through the window again and widen. “Oh, no.” She points, and I follow her finger to see what has losing her humor.
My dad is out front of the old restaurant, and he’s just handcuffed Logan. I run out the door and hurry across the street. A car slams on its brakes and almost hits me. My hands reach out and hit the hood. “I’m sorry,” I mouth before taking off again, and my dad stops in his tracks because Logan is putting up a fight, trying to get his arms free as he looks at me.
“Dad, what are you doing?”
“This doesn’t concern you, Juliette. Logan McGraw is being arrested for murder.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Logan defends himself and tries to pull free from my dad’s hold again. “I haven’t killed anyone. I’ve been here.”
“Where were you last night?” my dad’s question has my chest seizing up. Logan stares at me, jaw clenching, but he keeps his mouth shut. “That’s what I thought.”
“You have no proof. You just want to arrest me,” Logan says, and one of his club brothers steps forward, wiping the sweat off his forehead with a shirt.
“We’ll get you a lawyer, Tool. Don’t worry. He has no evidence.”
“I’ll get my fucking evidence to take you bastards down!”
“Dad!” I can’t believe what I’m hearing. This isn’t the man who raised me. “You can’t arrest him, and you know it. Let him go.”
“Juliette, I’ll tell you one more time—this has nothing to do with you.”
“It’s okay,” Logan says to me. “I’ll be fine.”
“It isn’t okay. He was with me last night, Dad. That’s where he was. Let him go. He has an alibi.”
“Oh shit,” one of the MC members says.
“Fuck,” another chimes in. “This just went from bad to worse.”
“No daughter of mine would be caught dead with biker scum. You don’t have to protect him, Juliette.”
“I’m not, Dad. I’m telling you the truth. You’re arresting the wrong man. He was with me all night.”
I never seen my father so angry. He lifts his hand and before I have time to think, he backhands me across the face. I stumble back and hold my hand against my cheek. One of the guys catches me and turns me around to face him. “You okay?” he asks, trying to take my hand off my cheek, but I’m too stunned to move.
My father has never hit me before.
“What the fuck?” Logan snarls and gets free of my dad’s hold. He spins around, and the man with a dart somehow uses it to unlock the cuffs. Logan runs to me, and I let him pull my hand off my face. He growls, gently brushing his knuckles over the red welted flesh. It burns. “You’d hit your own daughter!” Logan raises his voice at my dad, and I look to the left to see Trixie outside the store with her hand over her mouth.
“I’d hit my own daughter any time if it means she’s turning into one of your fucking sluts,” my dad spits, and the venom in his voice lands on me, and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.
Logan pushes me behind him, and his arms flex. His body shakes, wanting to kill my father for what he’s done, but that will only make matters worse. I rub my hand down his back, and he relaxes in an instant.
“Juliette, if you’re with them, you’re no daughter of mine,” my father says before walking to his patrol car. He drives away, flipping the switch for the sirens, and I’m left wondering if my dad is the real monster in this scenario now.
“Are you okay?” Logan turns to me once my father is out of sight. “Let me see.”
“I’m fine,” I say in a distant voice. “I… I need to go back to work. I’ll see you around.”
“Juliette, no.” Logan pulls me back to him, and his eyes dart over my face. He wants to say something, to say anything, but he doesn’t. He presses his lips against my forehead and lets me go.
Without another word, I rub my cheek and walk across the street, wondering when my dad became so violent. Maybe the real enemy is the one I’ve been living with, not the one I’ve been warned about.
11
TOOL
The only man I’ve wanted to kill more than my own father is Sheriff Johnson. After he hit Juliette, it took all I had not to snap his fucking neck. No one puts their hands on a woman, and no one puts their hands on my fucking woman.
If I kill him, I’ll go to jail, and Juliette will hate me. Jail I can live with, but Juliette’s hate is something I don’t think I can.
I’m debating if the best thing she needs right now is me. If I stay away, her life will be better, but on the other hand, if I stay away, my life won’t be.
“Do you think he saw us?” Knives, my ride along buddy for the night, asks. Him and Tongue are similar in a lot of ways. They have this obsession with blades, only Knives plays with the ninja stars, rolling them around on his finger. Sometimes, he accidently pricks himself from the sharp edges, and his knuckles are all scarred and fucked up from the metal. I’ll say this, the man can throw one of those stars from a mile away and I swear he will hit his target.
After we told Reaper what happened at the Kings’ Club and how the sheriff hit his daughter, he told us to follow him and do surveillance. The man needs to be in jail for hitting his daughter, but since he’s a big man on campus, nothing can faze him, and nothing ticks me off more than a man who thinks he
can get away with whatever he wants.
I’ve killed for less.
Knives and I follow the sheriff from the station to the part of town that’s known for underground fighting, drugs, and rumor has it, sex trafficking. After experiencing sex trafficking firsthand when visiting Boomer and dismantling a wayward Ruthless chapter, I realize shit like that is more common than we think. Somehow, we find ourselves in the middle of it, and I’m wondering if we need to be some sort of safe haven for people we find in those situations.
“I don’t think so, but I’m curious why he’s here.” It’s Johnson and one of his deputies. When the sheriff gets out of his patrol car, he looks around, as does the deputy, to make sure no one has noticed them. I slouch in my seat to hide my face behind the steering wheel. “What the hell is this fucker up to?”
“I say…” Knives’ voice is wicked after taking a puff of a cigarette. “…we take the deputy to our little room of joy in the basement and see if we can’t get any information out of him.”
“You just want to use your ninja star.”
“So? I just bought it. Look how pretty it is,” he says with too much awe as he flicks the damn thing around in his hand. I scoot toward the window to put some space between me and Knives. I don’t feel like getting stabbed.
“Sure, pretty,” I mumble and keep my eyes on the two cops walking down the sidewalk until they get to a rundown brick house. I bring the binoculars to my eyes so I can get a closer look. We are too far away to see with the naked eye, so we won’t get seen. Knives lifts his binoculars too, and we watch as the sheriff knocks on the door and the deputy, a young kid who looks like he just graduated the academy, looks around nervously. I can see the sweat building on his brows, and the sheriff smacks the kid in the chest, saying something to him that I can’t quite decipher.
When the door opens, something tickles in the back of my mind. I know this guy, but I can’t place him. He looks strung out on something, and the sheriff hands him a wad of cash before going inside. The deputy stays outside to keep watch. Now is our chance to grab him and take him back to the clubhouse to figure out what kind of cookie jars the sheriff has his hands in, and why he wants Ruthless to talk the fall for it.
“Come on. Let’s bring Reaper a gift.” I toss the binoculars to the side and put the truck in drive, slowly creeping up to the house. On either side of the street there are gang members, lifting their hands in a gun gesture, telling us they will shoot us. They don’t scare me.
Knives rolls down his window and flicks his star out. It’s silent, twirling through the air and it pierces the deputy’s thigh. He falls to his knee and grabs his leg as blood drips down his khaki uniform. Putting the truck in park, I make sure to take the keys out of the ignition because I don’t trust a damn soul on this side of town. I put them in my pocket as Knives and I get out of the truck. When the gang members see our cuts, they disperse immediately and run down the street.
Yeah, that’s exactly what I thought.
Knives spins and cackles as we make our way down the sidewalk, empty syringes and used needles gathered on the sand that’s supposed to be grass. I crack my knuckles and take my screwdriver from my ear when I squat and run the tip down the deputy’s cheek. I just sharpened it, and it cuts flesh beautifully. “Hey there, deputy dipshit,” I greet, and the young man tries to pull back. I grip the back of his head and toss him down the steps, and it causes the star lodged in his knee to dig in further until blood makes a trail on the sidewalk.
“What do you want?” he asks, shoulders rising and falling with every rushed gulp of air he takes.
“Answers,” I growl as I bring the end of my screwdriver down on the side of his head. He crumbles to the ground, unconscious. “We need to go before the sheriff comes out.” I lift the deputy in my arms and throw him in the cab of the truck, making sure to use his cuffs to bind his hands.
“What do you think is going on, Tool?” Knives asks as we pull out of the neighborhood and make our way back to the clubhouse.
I brush my hand over my beard and exhale. “Nothing good, Knives.” Whatever the sheriff is involved in, I’m somehow involved in because the guy is coming after me with no care in the world that he’s taking an innocent—okay, semi-innocent man—down.
The deputy is groaning when we pull up to the clubhouse, and I knock him out again so he doesn’t realize where he’s at. I slide my screwdriver over the top of my ear and grab the kid by the ankle and pull him out of the truck. I don’t bother picking him up. I hold his foot and drag him across the desert floor, letting his head hit rocks and shit. I don’t give a fuck. He deserves pain hanging out with a piece of shit like Sheriff Johnson.
I make my way up the stairs, the deputy’s head thudding with every step I take, and Knives prances up the steps, taking out another star and throwing it into the deputy’s back. He rolls his head, and his cheeks shake as he groans. “Nothing like the sound of it landing in muscle and hitting bone.”
I have some twisted fucking MC brothers. Knives holds the door open as I drag the cop inside, and the first person to notice is Badge.
“What the fuck did you do, Tool?” He stares wide-eyed at the man I’m dragging. “He just got out of the academy.”
“Yeah, I figured as much, but I followed your sheriff and he went to a part of town known for illegal things, Badge. Do you know anything about that? Maybe I’m dragging the wrong man on the floor.”
“What the fuck did you just say?” Badge takes a step forward, and I drop the deputy’s foot. In one quick move, I put Badge in a headlock with my screwdriver at his temple.
“You better think better than that, Badge. I’ll make you goddamn Frankenstein with this Philip’s head. I find it odd that a cop such as yourself doesn’t know more than he lets on.” I press the tip of the tool against his skin, and I feel the moment the skin breaks.
“Fuck you! I’d never turn my back on the club.”
I push Badge away from me, and a dribble of blood makes its way down his cheek. The cut-sluts are huddled in the corner, all but Becks; she’s filing her nails and blowing on them to get the dust off. Her feet are kicked up on the table, paying us know mind. Tongue is out of the shadows, and a few other brothers come in to join the commotion.
Reaper is standing there with his arms crossed, and I point my screwdriver at Badge. “I think it’s time this fucker chooses sides. He’s either with us, or he’s against us. With the shit that’s going on, the law can’t be trusted.”
“I’ve never given you a reason to doubt me,” Badge says, wiping the blood off his face.
“Yet,” I finish the sentence for him as I bend down to pick up the deputy and make my way toward the basement. “Prez, we need to talk. Bring the crazy fucks downstairs. Work needs to be done.”
“Tongue, Bullseye, Knives. You heard the man; we got work to do,” Reaper shouts, and Bullseye pumps his fist in the air. Tongue throws his blade in the air before catching it with his palm, and Knives dances and spins again while juggling his ninja stars.
“Reaper,” Badge’s voice causes my nerves to spike. “He’s just a kid. Keep that in mind,” he says as I open the door and make my way down, his head banging against the wood as I descend.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
It happens about fifteen times before I get to the hospital beds, and at the very end, I see Doc checking on Moretti.
He lifts his head when he hears us, and understanding dawns on him when he sees who the men are behind me. When it’s all of us together, it can mean nothing good. I continue to drag the deputy, and I turn around to look over my shoulder to find his head is turned to the side, arms up. I peer around Reaper to see a small trail of blood from the star still lodged in his leg.
I place my thumb on the scanner before the metal door slides open and reveal the little room of joy Knives spoke about earlier. There’s a metal chair in the middle where a drain is, the floor is inverted for any liquids to drain to easily, and
there are all types of weapons on the wall, but we usually stick to what we know.
It’s how we’ve become what we have. I undress the cop until he’s naked, and we strap him to the metal chair. Tongue is leaning against the corner, hungry to dish out pain. Knives yanks his star out of the man’s leg and then nods when he pushes the guy forward to get the star out of his back. “Almost forgot.” He knocks his head with his fist. “Silly me.”
Jesus.
Reaper comes in with a bucket of water and throws it on the kid. All too quickly he wakes up and glance around to see himself surrounded by bikers.
“This can go one of two ways,” I say. “You give us answers, and we let you live.”
“No you won’t,” he sputters, still spitting out water. He’s shivering, and his muscles are taut against the barb wire we have around him, slowly digging into his skin. As long as he stays still, he won’t get hurt.
“You won’t know until you answer a few questions.” Reaper’s voice wraps around all of us with power of his command. “Because if you don’t talk, you’re dead, so what do you have to lose?”
“Wh-what do you want?” His teeth chatter. “I’m new. I don’t know a lot, please,” he begs and starts to cry.
Fucking come on. Does anyone know how to deal with a little pain?
“Listen…” I get impatient because all I see is Juliette’s face with that big red welt on her beautiful flawless cheek, and it sends kerosene through my body. I shove my screwdriver in the guy’s shoulder and listen to him scream in agony. A delightful shiver rolls down my spine, tingling my bones, and I inhale the scent of fear and pain. It’s been too long since I’ve felt it and forgot how much I liked it. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. What do you know about the sheriff?” A brief image of me plunging the screwdriver in my father’s head surfaces, and I push a little harder on the tool, making the deputy cry out.
“I swear to god, I don’t know much. He made me patrol with him tonight; that’s it. I swear to god, I swear,” he cries, like ugly face cries with his eyes shut and lips turned in a frown.
