Twisted Steel: An MC Anthology: Second Edition

by Elizabeth Knox

  “To hurt Cobra.”

  “He isn’t here,” I quickly spit out.

  “We know,” the woman finally speaks, confirming my observation of her being female. “You are the one thing that will make that sorry son of a bitch feel as much pain as I do.” She swings the bat for a second time. The aluminum smashes against my naked calf, and I cuss myself for not changing out of Cobra’s shirt and into actual clothing. I fall to my knees, and I can’t swallow. Unable to hide how much that blow hurt, I release my hand and grab my calf where she hit me.

  “You’re right,” I sneer, “His mother was a bitch. Just like you. And you. Can. Go. Fuck yourself!” I force the words out of my body, sniffing back the tears as they climb into my ducts. I won’t cry in front of them, no matter how much pain I feel.

  “No. You can go fuck yourself, bitch!” The woman repeats my words in a snarky tone, and her grip tightens around the neck of the bat.

  Instinctively my hands go up in defense, but it’s no use. Sickening pains shoot through my stomach, and warm liquid travels down my forehead. My entire body fills with heat, and I can’t keep my eyes open no matter how many times I tell myself to do so. My head is killing me, and all I need to do is sleep. Finally, despite me fighting my instincts, my eyes close, and everything is black.

  9

  Cobra

  Flint stops me as soon as my boots cross the cement threshold of the shop. “Free day.”

  “Really?” My eyebrow arches and I rub my hands together.

  “Greg took off right before you got here, mumbled something about going to the doctor.”

  “Fuck yeah!” It’s a rare occurrence that he misses work, probably because when he does, he comes back to dicks welded to his door or something of equal hazing.

  “I’m thinking he needs a set of custom balls on his door today.” Flint laughs to himself, scratching the back of his head after lifting his ball cap.

  “You do that.” I nod toward my corner of the shop. “I’m going to do my shit, and then I’ll check out your handiwork.” I’m in such a good mood after the night with Mouse that I don’t even need to fuck with Greg today, which says a lot. Not being the type of person to skip or sing, I whistle a small tune and get right to work. The faster I get everything done, the sooner I can get back to Mouse.

  Something is off. My door is open, and as anal-retentive as Mouse is about locking doors, I know this isn’t her doing. Unless she’s deep cleaning my house. I tell myself to tone it back and quit being anxious. That’s exactly what she’s doing, I’m sure of it. There’s no other logical explanation for it.

  A wide grin pulls at my lips as I kick my stand under my bike, removing my helmet and hanging it on the handlebar of my motorcycle. She couldn’t stand it. She’s not even been here twenty-four hours, and in usual Mouse fashion, is already scrubbing my house spotless.

  “Where the hell are you, Mouse?” I call when she’s nowhere in sight. “Quinn? C’mon. Quit fucking around.” The words pass my lip, and then something on the floor catches my attention. Fear floods my body as it shudders. What the hell happened? It’s blood spatter. I’ve seen and caused enough of it to recognize even the tiniest of spots. The amount increases the closer I step toward the back door and stops in a puddle.

  Instantly rage sinks its claws into my body, and I grind my teeth. In the middle of the blood is a pattern. No. Not a pattern. A message in the form of a fingerpainted picture. It’s the MC’s logo from the party Mouse and I attended. “Those fuckers are dead. They’re fucking dead!”

  There are four things I care about in this world. My club, brothers, ride, and Mouse. They just fucked with all of them.

  I dial Bad’s number, filling him in as I fill a duffel bag with weapons. I should have killed a couple of them the other night out of sheer principle. My gut told me not to trust the president, and even if he has nothing to do with this, he’s guilty by association in my eyes.

  10

  Cobra

  King, our chapter’s vice-president, cracks open his beer and tips the brown bottle toward the rest of us brothers in attendance. “We all know who’s going to handle the spineless pussies who have Mouse.” He nods his head in my direction, and my eyebrows raise in silent agreement before putting the shot to my lips and flipping the liquor into my mouth.

  A devious smile spreads across my lips, but I don’t say anything yet. I want to listen to my brothers’ ideas and see if anyone has a better plan than I can come up with.

  “Give me a cigarette,” Hatter says in his raspy voice, looking to King. The old fucker could carry his own but never does because his lungs are shit. He needs to smoke to think, according to him. “I say we give the little pussies a taste of their own medicine. They came into our town when no damn body asked them to and thought they were just going to get away with it. Now they have our girl. I say we kill the lot of them.” He puffs a couple of times on the end of the cigarette and blows out smoke before continuing, “Bet they have some of our ass up there, too.” His eyes squint, and he nods, reassuring himself.

  “Nobody cares about clubwhores, ‘Cept you,” Skillet speaks in a nonchalant manner, trying to keep from losing his shit and laughing directly at him. Skillet and Hatter are two of the oldest members in our chapter, and dammit, it shows that the two of them have ridden together for that many years.

  “Eh. Just because you can’t get your shriveled up little turtle head to work anymore doesn’t mean you can speak for the rest of us Rebels.” Hatter laughs, picking up his customary bottle and taking a pull from it.

  “Works fine. Just doesn’t want to come out and get a dick cold,” Skillet retorts, and then we all look at Panhead.

  “Y’all fuckers are never going to let me live that down, are you?” Panhead’s head shakes, and his tongue swipes over his mouth.

  A unanimous “No” or a form of it comes from most of us.

  “So, is it going to be just Glas and me on this one or what?” I pipe up, trying to keep some order to our meeting and keep the old fuckers on the task at hand. Mouse. All eyes are on me now because other than when talking to Mouse, I’m more of the grin and bear it type—Well, I bear it, even if I don’t smile while putting up with shit. Mouse once said I was the strong silent type, which was her subtle way of saying I’m a quiet asshole. Each second we waste on other subjects is a moment we could be looking for her. We need a plan, I understand that, but all I want to do is bust in their clubhouse and spill their blood. By doing that, eventually, one of them would talk.

  “I figured Glas would scoop up a couple of prospects in the cage. Let them do the heavy lifting. While the rest of us lead the cavalry,” Bad instructs, stroking his beard within his palm. No doubt, flipping through the possibilities of how everything will play out in his mind.

  After exchanging a glance with Glas in silent agreement, I speak for us both. “You got it, Boss.” I rub my hands together and lick my lips. I’m not a good person, and I know it. I like causing physical pain to those who deserve it. If someone crosses my brothers and my club, it’s a guarantee they are going to be on the receiving end of my fists at the very least. These fuckers have a whole hell of a lot more than my fists coming for them, though. I impatiently tap the silver and black rings I wear on all of my fingers on the table. We can’t leave soon enough.

  “Mind if I ride in the cage with them?” Hatter shamefully asks, hanging his head. It’s not easy for him to handle his bike on most days.

  “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on the youngbloods,” Skillet interjects to save our brother his humility with a nod.

  “It’s settled.” Bad agrees to the steps we’re all adding, and once we figure everything out, we will put it to a vote. Regardless of how it happens, one thing is certain, that MC has one hell of a storm heading their way.

  11

  Quinn

  My eyes slowly open, but I can’t see a thing at first. It’s incredibly hard to breathe, and the heat is almost unbearable. A thin line of light
is above me, and there’s a distinct smell of motor oil all around me. My hand and leg throb, but the pain is nothing when comparing it to the constant throbbing in my skull. It feels like it’s going to split into infinite pieces at any moment. My hands try to cradle my temple, but I can’t move them. Shit! I can’t move my feet either. They’re bound together, but by what? I wiggle my body around until the dim light is on my hands and wrists. “Stupid assholes,” I murmur so quietly no one else will hear it.

  Duct tape is around my wrists, and I’m betting my ankles, too. The rest of my body isn’t tied down. Clearly, whoever abducted me has not done this very many times. Chains or something a little harder to get out of is the way to go. Maybe my kidnapping wasn’t a planned one, and they used whatever they had with them.

  Although I have never killed anyone, Cobra has taught me plenty. I stretch my back to its limit until I reach my shoelaces, removing one from my boot slowly so I won’t lose it in what I’m guessing to be a trunk. Time is my advantage right now. If I’m still in the trunk, then they haven’t had a chance to take me to a second location. Maybe they have, but at least I’m not inside yet.

  Using my fingers, I inch the string up into my hands and carefully wrap it around the tape between my crossed wrists. My fingers ache, but I push through the pain. I won’t end up on one of those true-crime TV specials. They aren’t the first broken bones I have ever had.

  My eyes adjust a little more, and I saw it back and forth and create friction to weaken the tape until I can break free. My mind screams to go into panic mode, but I refuse to let it. I will get out of here. I wonder why they did not go ahead and kill me at Cobra’s, and then it hits me. They want me alive to use me as leverage. The need to get out of here is now more important than it was before. As long as I’m their prisoner, he’s in danger.

  My heart clenches within my chest, and I frantically move the string as fast and as hard as I can. My left-hand slips when the tape begins to give, and I flex my hands in opposite directions. The tape rips, and I’m able to grab it between my fingers and force it open. My right-hand smacks against something hard, and I cry out from the impact.

  “Shit!” My body stills, and I listen for anyone around. I had tried to make as little noise as possible so as not to draw unwanted attention to myself. Even though it’s difficult to make out much, my eyes scan my surroundings, searching for anything in case I need to fight someone. I’m not really going to do anyone any good right now in the shape I’m in, but I won’t give up.

  “Seriously,” I whisper, noticing a crowbar beside me. I became a makeshift MacGyver, and it worked, thankfully, but I could have saved so much time if I would have just felt around and found this earlier. Shoving the straight end through the gapped part of the tape over my legs, I cautiously push it through, making a sizeable tear, and then undo the rest with my hands. Now to pry the seat open, and I’m free.

  My hands trace around the frame until they find the trunk release in the panel, and I pull it, pushing the seat down slowly in case someone is still in the vehicle. I don’t hear anyone, so I scoot closer to the opening and peek out into the interior. This is so strange. Why would someone go to all the trouble of abducting me and then just leave me in the trunk with a crowbar, nonetheless? Fucking amateurs.

  A loud bang goes off, and I duck back into the trunk for protection. Is that a gunshot?

  “Where is she?” Another shot fires, but it doesn’t frighten me this time. It’s Cobra. Shit! It’s Cobra. He’s not safe. I have to warn him.

  12

  Cobra

  “If you don’t answer me, you’re fucking dead. Better yet, she is, your precious Baby Girl.” I threaten him with a lie, knowing damn well I’m going to kill him for what he’s done regardless. He can’t give me info if he’s dead, though, so for now, I must spare him.

  “Okay. Okay,” he quickly murmurs, holding his hands up like the pussy he is. I knew there was something I didn’t trust about the guy when I met him. He’s a piece of shit. The president of the club motions his hands toward a car parked behind their clubhouse. “I’m sorry, Stacy.” He turns his attention toward his daughter calling her by name. “His life isn’t worth yours.”

  As soon as I see it, blind rage races full speed through my veins. “Fucking Greg! What the hell is his car doing here?”

  “You mean Mammoth.” Stacy, better known as Baby Girl, beams with pride.

  “No. I mean fucking Greg!” I shout at her.

  “Learn your place, girl. He isn’t a part of this club, no matter how bad he wants to be. I won’t let our club go down for his stupidity,” he barks at her and earns a little bit of my respect back. Perhaps I misjudged him. I still don’t trust him but will spare his life for now.

  “Where is he?” I demand.

  “Who the fuck knows. This one ran inside just a few minutes before you all arrived and told me what he and his sister had done.”

  “His sister?” I question them suspiciously, and my eyes land on the redhead, regretting the day I ever met her. “What kind of fucked up family?”

  “Not me. Santana. The other girl you fucked.”

  My head falls backward, and I hold my hand up to signal Bad to hold off the bloodshed. I had already fired a couple warning shots into the air, but if these guys had nothing to do with it, they didn’t deserve to die. At least not today. My number one priority is finding Mouse, and then we can sort this shitstorm out afterward.

  “Cobra, don’t trust them!” Mouse calls as she opens the back door of Greg’s beat-up excuse for a car. “They want to use me against you!” She stands, and I almost fall to my knees at the sight of her. Her hair is matted to the side of her face in dried blood. Her leg and hand are black and blue, but she’s alive. I tell myself to remain calm as I turn to the people between us.

  “This true?”

  “Again. He’s not a part of our club,” the president insists in a matter-of-fact voice.

  I don’t know why, but I believe him.

  “Where are they?” I give them the benefit of the doubt and ask Baby Girl. She clamps her mouth closed, and I point the gun toward her. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

  Lathe runs to Mouse’s side and helps her walk closer. I want to be that person who helps her, but right now, I need answers. Mouse needs a trip to the ER, but she’s alive.

  The president glares at his daughter, and then she sighs. “She drove them to Greg’s shop.”

  “I’ll be dammed. I’m going to burn that place to the fucking ground.” I blow out a frustrated breath, trying to stay somewhat composed.

  After handing the gun to Lathe, I wrap Mouse in my arms. “I thought I lost you.”

  “For better or worse, remember.” Her eyes light up with forced humor, and I lift her from the ground.

  “I do.” I smile, holding her close.

  “Get her checked out. We got this,” Bad reassures me as he approaches.

  “Ten-four, Boss.”

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to everyone who has made this publication possible.

  To the readers, bloggers, fellow authors, and everyone in the book community: Thank you for letting us be a part of our ever-changing world. It’s hard to accept this is a substantial part of life. With all the craziness going on around us, we are thankful for this constant.

  Harmony: Momma loves you so much, and you are the best big sister ever! Thank you for being far more understanding than I ever thought a child your age could be and always loving me unconditionally. I hope someday you will understand how much you mean to me because you are my world! Mommy loves you, Tinkerbell! I know part of this is the same from another acknowledgment to you, but the words are still true, so I left them. Mommy and Daddy love you more than you will ever know.

  Momma and Dad: Thank you for always being there for us and for the blue biscuit pan. Although I’m still suspicious that something is going on. I guess only time will tell. I hope I’m wrong about that one. Love, your baby girl.r />
  Our beautiful boy, Roman: We love you so much and can already tell what a sweet person you are. Please keep growing and surprising us every day. Never let anyone tell you that you can’t do something because you are a fighter. We have been certain of this since the day you were born.

  Letha Gene: I love you, Seester! I know you never look at these, but someday you might. On that day when you do, you’ll smile . . . and then probably call me a sap.

  Aunt Brenda: Thank you for taking care of Granny when we couldn’t. We will always be forever thankful and love you even more for doing things you didn’t have to, even if she’s your sister. We hope you’re doing well at home, and the prime rib was as delicious as it was here.

  Mommaw Betty: Thank you for keeping Harmony when we were welcoming our baby boy into the world. We trust you with one of our most important things in the world, so that must mean we trust you. Kidding. You know we do. We love and appreciate you so much. Keep living the dream and reading books. We’ll get to go to a book event soon and find more books for you to read.

  To the participating authors of Twisted Steel II: Thank you for letting me be a part of this phenomenal anthology! I can’t wait to get a copy in my hands so I can devour everyone’s stories!

  About the authors

  Thank you for reading! Chelle and Eli are a dynamic husband and wife duo native to West Virginia. Their biggest inspiration and blessing will always be their daughter & son.

  More books by Chelle C. Craze & Eli Abbott are coming soon. Don’t worry!

  Chelle also writes paranormal under her pen name Acacia Malone.