by Zahra Girard
“Fucking right he’s not going to be happy; I’m not happy, either. Who the fuck do you think you are with the shit you pulled?” Mack says, holding his pool cue like a weapon and glaring at me like he’s just waiting for Tricia to step aside so he can rip my head off.
She looks at him over her shoulder.
One look is enough to put him in line.
There’s not a man in the club she’s afraid of; no matter how much any of us posture, she knows that the man who even thinks about laying a hand on her — even if just to push her out of the way — will have to answer to Stone. Our president will spare no wrath in protecting his wife.
“Go back to your game, Mack. I’ve got this.”
“You’re a dead man, Razor,” Mack says, but he’s already taking a slow walk back to the pool table. “Fucking dead.”
“Tricia, there’s more going on here than Stone realizes. A lot of people would’ve been hurt if I didn’t do something — Samantha, her brother, Ruby, they were all in danger and I couldn’t just step aside — I love two out of three of those people.”
“I’ve heard something happened at the hospital,” she says. “You better hope my husband’s willing to hear you out before he takes your head off.”
“Can you tell him we’re here? We need to talk this out.”
“Razor, get back here,” Stone calls from the open door to the back hallway that leads to his office.
I turn to Samantha. “Wait here.”
“Are you going to be OK?” She says.
“I’ll be fine. Stone’s a reasonable man, he’ll hear me out.”
She nods, then grips my hand. “Be safe.”
Alone, I head into the back hallway and follow Stone into his office.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to one of the chairs opposite his desk. I do as he asks. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you have no idea how disappointed I am right now. I gave you clear instructions, Razor, and you couldn’t even follow through with them. Now, tell me what the fuck you’re doing here and what you were thinking fighting with Crash like that?”
“I couldn’t wait and Crash was in my way. This business with the Makris brothers was moving too slow. I had to come back.”
“Slow was kind of the point. They’re protected, they’ve got the chief of police on their fucking payroll. We get careless and we’ll have half the club swept up and put in lockup.”
“The chief’s been dealt with. He won’t be a problem anymore.”
He arches an eyebrow in a way that makes me sit up straight. His voice is level, but as cold as an iceberg.
“What did you do?”
I take out my phone and hand it over.
“He’s got some interesting hobbies that he’d prefer to keep quiet. We’ve got photos.”
Stone scrolls through the phone, his face unreadable, though I watch him intently — my life could hinge on a single quirk in the corner of his mouth; a frown and I’m dead, a smile and maybe I’ll have a chance.
He hands me back the phone. Then he chuckles.
“I’ve seen a lot of weird shit in my time, but that ranks near the top. You should tell Rusty he’s a natural. If ever he decides to switch careers, Trish has a cousin who works in LA and knows a few guys that do the whole Chippendales thing. He could make a killing.”
“Yeah, I thought the fifth picture was fantastic — the one where he’s got his ass out and he’s doing the lip thing.”
“The man knows how to work it.”
“He does. I’m thinking we blow some of these pictures up, maybe get them printed as posters. They’d look great on the wall in the clubhouse.”
“Not on your life, Razor. Now, all this stuff with the chief aside, tell me why I shouldn’t kill you.”
“Because if I didn’t come back when I did, my grandmother and the woman that I love would both be dead because of Kael Makris. Stone, I don’t mean to step on your toes, but you didn’t have the full picture when you sent me away. I have to do what it takes to keep the people I love safe and I think you’d do the same if you were in my position.”
Stone grunts and nods.
“Fair enough. How do you think we should take care of these Makris boys?”
“We stole a few uniforms from Chief Barnes. Stole his police cruiser, too. Him and a few of the cops are working protection for the Makris brothers, as you know. If we roll up to their hideout in the old Tomlinson warehouse dressed as cops, they won’t know it’s us until we’re right on them.”
“You stole from Barnes? Razor, you’re giving me a headache. Even if I have to applaud the set of balls you’ve got on you.”
“It seemed the right play at the time. Unless you’d rather I stole his gimp suit? Would we really have a use for it here? Maybe you’d want it?”
“Nah, Trish isn’t into that latex and leather shit. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“I’m kidding, brother. We don’t need any of that to spice things up, though there ain’t nothing wrong with BDSM. Let me just say that I’m reminded every fucking night that I’m a damn lucky man. Trish is fucking talented.”
I rub my temples and shut my eyes. “My world has gotten a lot more complicated today. I don’t know if I was ready to hear that.”
“A healthy sex life is important to a good marriage. You remember that if things get serious with that woman of yours. Communicate openly and genuinely care about making each other happy. Otherwise, things will get stale and then you’ll be staring down the barrel of divorce or you’ll be stuck sharing an ice-cold bed with someone you hate.”
“Thanks, dad. Can we get back to talking about killing these Makris assholes?”
“You’re welcome, son,” he chuckles. “I’ll round up the boys. We’ll put on those blues and take a little ride.”
Together, Stone and I walk back out into the clubhouse. His voice is as loud as a bullhorn once we cross the threshold.
“Listen up. Razor, Rusty, and Trips here have found the hideout these Makris motherfuckers have been using. Mack, I want you on the phones and I want everyone who isn’t here right now — Blaze, Gears, Sarge, and Goldie, Colt, Bullet, and the rest of the prospects — here in five minutes. We’re going to split up. Some of you will be on offense, some of you on defense. Most of you will check in with Razor for your new uniforms, and then we’ll ride to kick these assholes out of town. The rest of you will watch the clubhouse.”
“New uniforms? What the hell are you talking about, Stone?” Mack says.
“We got ourselves some nice Lone Mesa PD blues. Tonight, you will be Officer Mack. Now, get to work.”
As soon as the orders leave Stone’s mouth, the whole club kicks into motion. Trips, Rusty, and I gather the uniforms we stole from Chief Barnes and start divvying them out to the crew. They don’t fit that well — few of us have the old man body type that Barnes put on display for us earlier in the night — but they don’t need to, they just have to get us close enough to pull a trigger.
While everyone is getting ready, I head right to Samantha. I can’t leave her, even for a bit, without saying goodbye.
“You’ll be careful out there?” She says. “I don’t want to lose you.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, I’ve got my brothers around me. We’ll take care of these assholes soon enough.”
“Don’t take them lightly, Razor. Kael is a wicked man. And confident. He came right into the hospital and would’ve murdered me and your grandmother right in front of everyone.”
“I’m going to take care of him personally,” I say. “Tell me what that son of a bitch looks like.”
She gives me a long, serious look before giving me Kael’s description. He’s a distinctive-looking man by her account, and it shouldn’t be hard to track down a man as ugly and cocky as him. Then she puts her hand on my cheek.
“I mean it. Be safe. I don’t want to lose you again.”
I kiss her. “I’m coming back for you. Don’t ever thi
nk I’d miss out on make-up sex.”
She grins and kisses me again. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
We hug and then I head back to my brothers, who are nearly ready to move out.
“You make a cute police officer, Rusty,” Stone says. “And you’re a natural in front of the camera.”
Rusty glares at me. “Did you show him the pictures?”
“What pictures?” Mack says. “There are pictures?”
“I’ll text you them later,” I say.
“Like fuck you will,” Rusty says.
“Trust me, Mack, you don’t want to see them. Not unless you want to feel things that’ll make you question who you are,” Stone says.
“I’ve got a lot of questions already, one more won’t hurt,” Mack says. “Show me.”
“Enough chitchat, boys. We can debate Rusty’s potential career change later. Tonight, we’re running these Makris punks out of town,” Stone says, drawing a close to the chatter that’d started to erupt between every single one of my brothers wanting to see the photos we took of Rusty with the police chief. “Tonight, we do what we have to do to keep our families safe. It ain’t going to be easy, but there’s no one else I’d rather share this burden with.”
Mack hands out the police caps we stole from the chief.
“Suit up, brothers. We’ve got a bunch of dickless bitches to kill.”
Camouflaged and ready, we load up into the cop car and one of the vans that Stone keeps as a work vehicle for the trucking yard. It’s me, Trips, Mack, and Blaze together in the police cruiser. Stone and a few other guys take the van.
“I’ve never been so excited to be in the back of a cop car,” Trips says.
“Mack, can you run the siren?” I say, smacking on the window dividing the front and back of the cruiser.
“I doubt Stone would approve,” Blaze says.
“Oh, he’d hate it,” Mack says. “Probably rip our fucking heads off. So, you know what that means, right lads?”
He flips the switch on the dash, and the siren blares loud enough to wake the dead.
All it takes is a stern look from Stone and Mack flips the switch off.
“Yeah, he didn’t like that,” Blaze says. “You’re going to hear about it later, Mack.”
“I have no regrets.”
With a wave of his arm, Stone motions for us to get on the road.
Armed and ready, we caravan across Lone Mesa to the old Tomlinson industrial warehouse. There’s eight of us in all — the rest of the club staying back to guard the clubhouse — and it should be more than enough to run these motherfuckers out of town.
I can’t wait to see the look on Kael Markis’ face when I put a bullet in him. It’ll almost make all this shit worth it.
As we pull up to the loading bay doors of the warehouse, a spotter from inside flashes a light out one of the shattered windows. In response, Mack flashes the squad car’s headlights. For a tense second, nothing happens. Then, with clattering and the sound of rusty gears grinding, one of the sliding doors opens.
“They bought it. Get your guns ready, lads,” Mack murmurs. “Here comes the fun part.”
We edge forward, our car moving at a snail’s pace through the open doors into the dark belly of the warehouse. Almost a dozen men mill around inside, some seated around a folding table playing cards, a couple sitting in chairs, drinking cans of beer and in the middle of an animated conversation, while others lie dozing on cots on the far side of the room.
“Now,” shouts Blaze.
“Fuck it, I’m using that goddamn siren,” Mack says, flipping a switch and filling the cavernous warehouse with the siren’s wail and flashing lights.
In unison, we throw open the doors to the car and burst out firing. Our brothers in the van do the same. Screams erupt. Two go down in the initial hail of bullets and, shouting to each other, the Makris men scramble for their guns.
But these guys don’t know who they’re fucking with.
Most people, they’d hang back, fire at a distance, play it fucking safe.
Not us.
This is our hometown.
This is war.
We want blood.
Trips, Mack, Blaze, and I storm forward with our guns out and firing. No hesitation, just murder. And we’re fucking good at it.
I get right up in the face of one crooked-nosed creep. He takes a swing at me, missing by a mile, and, feeling in a fucking mood, I crack him square in the face with the butt of my pistol, sending him to the floor.
I follow up with my feet.
I could shoot him and put him out of his misery, but it wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as stomping the ever-living shit out of this ugly son of a bitch.
Time after time, I bring my heel down on his head until there’s a bucket load of blood on the concrete floor.
When he’s nothing but a groaning mess, I my gun to his head and pull the trigger.
Crack.
One less asshole for the world to worry about.
“Where the fuck is Kael Makris?” I call out, hoping for that dead man to rise to my challenge.
Silence.
I leap back into the fray.
It’s furious, bloody chaos. Mack is laughing as he beats one of the Makris men so hard that the unlucky motherfucker is probably wishing he’d never been born. Trips and Rusty are in an all-out brawl with another, Blaze and Stone are putting on a shooting clinic with several bodies at their feet, and Sarge, Bullet, and Snake are firing away at a lucky son of a bitch who found cover behind a cluster of steel barrels.
It’s mayhem.
It’s beautiful.
When we’re done with them, the concrete floor is a mess with their blood and the empty casings of our bullets. These sons of bitches met the end they deserve. But something still nags at me.
One by one, I turn over each of the bodies and take a long look at their faces. Not a damn one matches to the description that Samantha gave me. Not by a long shot.
Kael isn’t here.
I look up from the bodies to see Stone looking at me. A dark look dawns across his face and he raises his voice in a commanding shout.
“Back to the clubhouse. Now!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Samantha
There’s an air of forced joviality in the Twisted Devils clubhouse. Once Razor and the others leave to fight the Makris gang, the club VP, Brewer, gives a short speech about how there will be a big party later once the rest of the MC comes home. But, try as he might, he can’t hide the tension in his voice. I don’t blame him; I’ve had my life torn to pieces by those violent men and I know they shouldn’t be underestimated. Still, Brewer does his best to rouse everybody’s spirits, and he calls for Tricia to get a round ready for everybody.
“I need to take a piss,” Robbie says as soon as Brewer finishes his speech. “Be back in a minute. Get me a rum and coke, will you?”
He leaves and I gesture to Tricia to send some drinks our way and then I look at Ruby, who’s nursing a full-to-the-brim glass of bourbon, and speak the question that’s been on my mind ever since Razor stepped out that door: “He will be OK, right?”
“Probably, dear. He’s a tough man and knows his way around a gun. But I will not sugarcoat a dangerous situation by telling you he’ll definitely make it.”
“And how can you just sit there so calm?”
“Because I’ve been in his place before, Samantha. And, no matter where you sit, deceiving yourself doesn’t make things any easier. This life has its moments of fear and violence, but it has its rewards, too. You learn to appreciate your family more than you ever imagined because there’s a chance you might lose them at any moment. You learn to love someone harder and fiercer than you’ve ever thought possible.”
“I don’t know if I could handle it,” I say, swirling my wine around in my glass.
“You’ve been handling it damn well so far. And, if you care about Razor, you’ll stick around. Because he’s a damn stronger p
erson with you at his side. More sensible, too. Men get less reckless when they’ve got someone to beat some sense into them from time to time. Not to mention, he may need you to stitch him up every once in a while.”
I smile lightly, remembering my harrowing introduction to that fearsome man. “True.”
Robbie rejoins the table and takes up his rum and coke. “Any news?”
Ruby shakes her head. “We’ll know soon enough. The Tomlinson warehouse isn’t that far and shootouts like this don’t take that long, especially since our boys have surprise on their side.”
I look over at Robbie. He’s fidgety. Not that I blame him — I feel fidgety, too. I put my hand on his. “Hey, this will be over soon. And then we’ll be free of this mess. Just hang on a little bit longer.”
He gives me a funny look. “You think so? There’s still some of these guys in LA and I have to go back there and back to my job, remember. It ain’t so easy.”
“We’ll figure it out,” I say, squeezing his hand. “Once we make it through tonight, we can see what we can do to get rid of your debt.”
Ruby clears her throat. “If they grab a hostage or two — especially one of the Makris brothers — a trade becomes an option: your freedom for theirs. It’s a common transaction.”
Robbie nods, but says nothing; he’s staring into his drink like he’s trying to scry his future.
The sound of motors and hollering reaches my ears and sends my heart rising in my chest.
It’s them.
Then the door bursts open.
And a hail of bullets tears into the clubhouse, sending people diving for cover and scrambling for their guns.
“Get down, dear,” Ruby snaps as she lowers herself under the table with surprising speed and reaches into her purse for her pistol. “Hug that floor like your life depends on it.”
From behind the bar, Tricia screams and the heavy reverb of a pump-action shotgun returning fire punctuates her roar. “Get the fuck out of my bar,” she shouts.
The room is a nightmare, a madness of bullets, a torrent of lead and death flies in both directions as Kael Makris and a handful of his heavily armed men storm into the building.
