Damaged & Dangerous Page 4

“Were they decent guys?” he asked. I shook my head.

  “No man, no they weren’t. But they weren’t as bad as the rest of ‘em,” I said. Trig nodded.

  “Does it really matter, then?” he asked. He had a point. I shook my head and didn’t really have a whole lot of time to think about it, because Revelator’s fist crashed into my face. I went down on Lucky’s dry, dead lawn.

  “Motherfucker!” I bitched.

  “Sorry, Man, thought it might be better if you didn’t see it coming.” Revelator lifted one of his hulking shoulders in a half-assed shrug.

  “Well, you got my attention now!” I spit blood and tried a couple of teeth in the back with my tongue. Nope, not loose, still solid. “Make it look real. But I lose any fucking teeth, I’m kicking your ass when this is up!” Rev grinned, flashing his chipped tooth in the front, and his fist crashed into my cheekbone. It fucking hurt but I struggled back to my knees and heaved a few breaths and stood my ground for probably the second worst ass kicking of my life.

  Chapter 4

  Dani…

  I heaved the bag of trash from behind the bar up over my head and, with a little jump, got it up and over the lip of the dumpster. I turned at the sound of a lone bike turning into the lot and wondered what’d happened. I saw the prospect leave with Axe and Corbin, but he was returning alone and he was clearly holding himself all wrong. After three years around men riding motorcycles, you recognized the cocky confidence with which they held themselves when they rode. It was still present even when they were relaxed and riding, this aura of I’m a badass and I know it surrounded them at just about all times.

  The exception to this rule? Pain. Which is exactly what Pretty-boy, Thirteen, Chris was holding himself with.

  “Thirteen, what’s wrong? Where’s Axe? Where’s Corbin? What happened?” I called, making strides in his direction. He shut off his bike with a groan and lowered the kickstand. He didn’t have his mask or goggles on, and his face was red and purple and swelling. He bled freely from a cut on his cheek and the corner of his mouth was crusted with dried blood as well.

  I scooted under his arm and he leaned on me as he dismounted his bike. He kept his left arm snapped in tight against his body, which told me clearly that his ribs hurt. He was heavy, and we staggered for the door. And as much as I loathed the man, I did the only thing I could. I opened my mouth and screamed.

  “Pen! Pen, help!! Help me!” It was Skid who popped out the back door.

  “Jesus Christ! What the fuck happened!?” he clattered down the steel steps and took Thirteen from me. My shoulders sighed with relief as I let the bigger, stronger man take over.

  “What the fuck is going on out here!?” Griz bellowed. “You!” he pointed at me, “Answer me!” I swallowed hard. I hated being the center of attention, but I stepped up.

  “I don’t know, I was taking out the trash and he rode in alone. I saw him go out with Axe and Corbin a few hours ago, and here he comes back alone and I could see he was hurting. I don’t know what happened. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Stop your fucking babbling woman, that’s enough. You’ve patched guys up before, yeah?” he demanded. I nodded mutely, biting my lips together. “Then get your ass in here and go to work bitch!” More club members had come outside and they were helping get Pretty-boy to one of the couches. I dashed back into the clubhouse and got the first aid kit, which was really a big black and yellow plastic tool box, from the office.

  Skid blocked my way briefly in the hall. “You did good, Kid. Give ‘em a minute to talk to the prospect and find out what went down before you show your face,” he suggested and gave me a worried sweep of his eyes. I nodded and followed him to the edge of the common room. I kept back in the shadows of the hall, near the bathroom doors, and waited until it was okay for me to show myself. I listened to the men talk.

  “What happened, Pretty-boy?” Pig-Pen growled.

  “The place was one big fucking trap!” Thirteen gasped, “Fucker had a shotgun rigged pointing at the door, Axe kicked it in and it blew a hole clean through his chest! Corbin, he didn’t wait, he went right in and the Bleeding Heart got the drop on him. I pointed my gun, but he had one pointed at me and it was a standoff.” I could hear him panting through the pain for a few moments while he tried to fight it back down so he could keep talking.

  “I think he got a call or a text off while he was hiding in the kitchen, ‘cause the next thing I know, I got a gun barrel pressed to the back of my skull and what was supposed to be three of us on one of them became three of them on me. I thought I was a fuckin’ dead man for sure,” he groaned.

  “Why the fuck they let you live?” Pig-Pen demanded, and it was a good question. I tucked myself against the wall and continued to listen.

  “They wanted me to deliver a message. Told me to say that the shit stops here and now. That they didn’t start this, but they damn sure were gonna end it. Then they told me that once I’d delivered the message that they’d better never see me in a Suicide Kings prospect’s cut or wearin’ your colors, because they’d fuckin’ kill me.”

  “You sayin’ you want out?” Griz asked.

  “Fuck no! Fuck those fucking fucks, man!” He made a pained sound and that was my cue.

  “Where the fuck is Coon?” Pig-Pen demanded and I materialized at his elbow.

  “Here, I was just waiting for permission,” I murmured.

  “Fuckin’ stupid-ass cunt,” he grated. He and the council, or what there was of it here, moved off into the corner.

  “Here, take these,” Skid handed Thirteen two round tablets.

  “What are they?” he winced, reaching for them. I knew Skid’s drug of choice and answered for him.

  “Oxy, it’ll help with the pain,” I said and poured some hydrogen peroxide on some gauze. I dabbed at the cut on his cheek and he hissed out between his teeth, but didn’t move or flinch from me.

  “You did good, Prospect,” Griz called from across the room. The knot of anxiety in my chest eased. They believed him. I frowned and hoped they would mistake it for concentration on my part as I cleaned Thirteen up. I was trying to decipher why I’d feel concern for a club prospect. I mean, most of them didn’t survive to patch in and when they were patched, it seemed to give them an even shorter life expectancy. At least lately, with the war going on. I was a little horrified to realize that secretly pleased me. Maybe the Sacred Hearts weren’t such a bad lot after all? I caught myself thinking.

  I was an absolute study in concentration as I worked to patch Thirteen up, carefully washing the blood away, closing the wound in his cheekbone with steri-strips. Skid helped me wrap his bruised and battered ribs with an ACE bandage and I had to admit; Thirteen had a spectacular physique. His body was sculpted to perfection beneath his plain tee. I swallowed hard. He laid back without putting his shirt back on and I honestly think I must have been blushing, because when he noticed we were free and clear of being overheard he asked me, “Like what you see Rocket?”

  I frowned and searched his face, which I would never describe as pretty but certainly was handsome. He was a true strawberry blonde, the shortness of his haircut barely kissed with the reddish tint of a newly minted copper penny. His jaw was dusted with the same burnished color in his few days’ worth of beard growth.

  “Who’s Rocket?” I asked softly, and met his eyes with mine. His pupils were the size of saucers, which was a shame. I liked the green-blue of his eyes. There wasn’t a single gemstone, either precious or semi-precious, I could think to compare it to and it seemed to change with his mood. His eyes were more of a stormy grey-blue that I could see right now, it was hard to tell, and I wondered if he was in much pain.

  “You are.” He tweaked my nose with a blunt fingertip and I jerked back, wrinkling it. He was high, alright, and I don’t think he was feeling much of anything…

  I sighed, “I’m Raccoon, Coon… not Rocket.” I murmured. He chuckled deeply.

  “You’re Rocket now, Babe.” He murmu
red and closed his eyes. I think he was asleep in a matter of seconds.

  “Coon! Bring me a bottle of Hennessey for Griz!” Pig-Pen bellowed from the main area of the club. I stood, fetching the bottle from behind the bar and took it out to the main area. The men were all gathered around a battered metal table that was half rusted out. I set the bottle and a glass at Griz’s elbow. He slapped me on the ass, hard, and gestured that I should piss off, which I did gladly. They were discussing a plan of action, and I think most were agreed that the plan now included a full club meeting with everyone involved.

  As I went back down the hall to the back, I found myself hoping against hope that they all ran afoul of the other MC. That all of them were killed off, except maybe Skid and Thirteen. I knew the odds of that happening were slim to none, though. God hadn’t exactly been kind to me thus far. Why should he start now?

  Once I was sure that the prospect would be alright sleeping it off where he was, I tucked two more Oxy from the stash that Skid had slid me - for when Pig beat on me - into a square of receipt paper from my purse. I’d written ”For when you wake up. –Coon” on it, and folded it carefully around the two pills before, with a guilty look to make sure I wasn’t caught, tucking them deep down into his pants pocket. Whoops, and oh my god! If what my hand brushed against was real, then there might be some truth to some of the rumors I’d heard about the new prospect’s size!

  I wrote on the underside of his wrist ‘Check your hip pocket’ so he knew to look there, before laying his hand against his stomach, the writing hidden from view to the casual observer. When he woke up, hopefully he would find it and the pills. Then, hopefully, he would wash it off and keep me out of it. I had to hope against hope he wouldn’t tell on me. The last thing I needed was one of the brothers accusing me of stealing drugs from the club supply. I doubted Skid would ever step up in my defense again. I could still see the last time he had, the beating he’d gotten from Pig, and how it haunted him every time he looked at me.

  I knew how he felt. I was haunted by Pig every waking moment of my life and sometimes during the sleeping ones, too. I gathered my purse, slipped out of the club and went home, certain that with two more dead brothers, I wouldn’t be missed.

  Chapter 5

  Red-XIII…

  It took a couple of weeks, pushing three after my cover story beat-down, for the final vestiges of stiffness to go away. The fucking Oxy that Skid had given me had knocked me for a motherfucking loop, but not so much that I couldn’t remember. Sound traveled real well in the metal warehouse building and I’d lain there, pretending to sleep as I listened to The Suicide Kings little war council while Rocket Raccoon took care of me.

  Just like the furry little badass comic book character, Dani was proving to be a crafty and brave badass of her own. She’d stuck around after I’d decided on her new nickname and when she thought I was out, had gone fishing in my pocket. At first I thought I’d misjudged her, that she was trying to rip me off. Even so, her small gasp of surprise when she’d brushed against my dong almost blew my possum act. I’d almost smiled, almost laughed at her reaction. I hadn’t, though, and I have to say my confusion went up a couple notches when I felt her writing on the inside of my arm.

  As soon as I heard the door shut and was sure I was alone, I’d taken a peek at my arm. ‘Check your hip pocket’ had been scrawled in a short line of her feminine loopy script. So she hadn’t been ripping me off, but rather had left something behind. When I was sure no-one was coming to the back from the front room I checked. Two white tablets wrapped in a receipt with another note, ‘For when you wake up –Coon’. I’d thought to myself, well I’ll be damned. It looked like I had made a friend and ally in Dani… which was a small bright spot under this deep, dark mountain of bullshit.

  The Suicide Kings gave me a few days of peace at home to heal up which, honestly, in a cabin with no electricity, wasn’t that great. At least I had a bed and a working woodstove. I cooked up canned stew and soup on its top, and would run into town once every couple of days to charge my phones and the battery sticks I used the rest of the time to keep ‘em going.

  I communicated everything I overheard to D and the boys after I bought a few new burners, which I charged up and activated as needed. They, like me, were just satisfied my cover wasn’t blown. Pig-Pen, Spade, and Neo went out on a run for guns between then and now. I’d been just doing the general scut work doled out to prospects. Which, for the last three or four nights, included playing bartender. Rocket had been conspicuously absent.

  “Hey, Prospect!”

  “Yeah, Boss?” I turned away from the back of the bar towards Pig-Pen, who tossed a Crown Royal cloth bag at me. I caught it, the contents inside grating together, clinking gently. A metallic sound.

  “Ain’t heard from my bitch for a few days, she was whining she was sick. Take this over to her and check on her. Tell her she better get her lazy ass back to being useful before I ain’t got no use for her. You get me?” he asked and gave me a pointed look.

  “Sure thing, where’s her place?”

  “Over on Tullamore Street. She’s got an apartment up over an abandoned store front, the one with the green awning, old jewelry store. You can get to her place by a stair out back.”

  “Got it.” I tossed down the rag I’d been using and stuffed the Crown Royal bag into my jacket pocket.

  “Tell her she better not be fucking avoiding me. I hate that shit!” he called at my back and I gave a wave over my shoulder. Somehow I doubted Rocket would be that stupid. After the whole pills in my pocket thing, she’d pretty much avoided me like the plague. Wasn’t a hundred percent on why, I think she was afraid I’d sell her out? Thank her or something and get her in trouble, maybe? Who knows? All I know is that she was extra careful not to get left alone with me, and that she wouldn’t look me in the eye or engage in conversation.

  I was half afraid Pig had said something to her or gotten ahold of her. For a guy who didn’t give a fuck about his property, treating her like shit, smacking her around, berating her constantly… he sure as fuck didn’t want anyone else taking an interest. I’d gone so far as to tell him I had me a girl outside the hoes that hung with us, to get him off my back about her the second time he informed me that I had my chance to fuck her and I’d taken a pass.

  He got real interested all of a sudden and told me I should bring my mythical girl around for the brothers to meet. The look on Rocket’s face, behind his back, boy… She looked like she was liable to puke! It was such a gut-wrenching and visceral reaction to the notion, I think I’d just stumbled onto how she’d gotten in with a crowd like this. Fuck me swinging! That would be a hell of a thing if it were true.

  I was thinking about it again as I mounted my bike. I affixed my new face mask and put on my shades. We thought it would look better, more convincing, if I came back without my last set. They were waiting for me back in my SHMC club room. Replacing the ski goggles would have to be an online thing and since I didn’t technically have an address where shit could be mailed and I hadn’t gotten around to opening up a PO Box, I just dealt without for now. Wasn’t like I really needed them. Spring had sprung and then some even though winter had hung on like a motherfucker this year. It was really only cold enough to need the mask and eyewear riding at night but I think that was more because I was a pansy. I still hadn’t acclimated to the cold after coming from a warmer climate.

  I pulled out of the lot and headed for the nearby town, where I knew there was a street by the name Pig gave me. If I recalled, it had been a nice part of town once, before developers had bought up all the retail shops, etc., with dreams of erecting a new and modern shopping center. The plans were stalled by historical preservation societies filing suit to protect some of the buildings from demolition. They were in the process of trying to prove that they were deserving of being on the national registration of historic places.

  How the fuck did I know all this? Shamelessly eavesdropping on Rocket talking to one of the new
girls to the club who was looking for a cheap place to flop out. Rocket had told her that her ‘hood was a shitty place to live but if you found an apartment above the abandoned retail outfits, the rent was generally real cheap. You just had to be ready for an eviction notice any day, depending on if the developer won their way.

  I thought about her probably way more than I should. She was a pretty little thing for one, but that wasn’t it. There was a keen intelligence underneath those wide blue eyes and under all that long dark hair. She was infuriatingly closed-mouthed about her history and where she’d come from, and that just made me want to get to the bottom of her damage even more.

  It was a relatively short ride from the club to her place and when I pulled onto the street, I had to say it was kind of incredible. It looked like something out of that zombie series or that Stephen King movie about the world after a deadly virus wiped everything out. The whole street had that middle-America, small town, main street-type feel, but the buildings were falling into serious disrepair. The sidewalks were cracked and weed choked, windows were boarded and busted out, and the cars that were parked here and there were old, rusted out pieces of shit.

  The building that Pig-Pen described was midway up the block. Green awning, it wasn’t as bad off as some of the rest. Its front window was mostly intact except for one long crack in it, the faded gold leaf lettering spelling out Broussard’s Custom Jewelry on its front. There was a recessed metal gate that wasn’t locked, between it and the building next door. I parked my bike and took off my helmet, shoving my mask - which was just a bandanna now - and glasses into its overturned bowl.

  Rocket’s sad, tired, old, green Honda was parked at the curb, so she was home. I pulled out the Crown Royal bag and opened it up, now that there was no one to see me being fuckin’ nosey. It was filled with jewelry. Real shit. Necklaces and rings and bracelets. Likely all of it fucking stolen. I shook my head and drew the strings taught, closing up the bag.