My parents’ murderers were never caught. However, witnesses and rumors flew around that it was the Hell’s Angels who were behind it. Our rivals. Witnesses even picked the leader out of several photographs they were shown; all of them swore it was Riddick’s dad, Robert, and his group of henchmen. Thus—to make a long story short—is the reason why my Riddick is forbidden and why my brother is constantly on the pissed-off train to Hell, because even though people said they saw Riddick’s dad in the car that day, there was no further evidence to back up their story. He was brought in for questioning, then let go with his own string of alibis who claimed he was out of town. I don’t believe he had anything to do with it. I’ve always thought my brother planned it. That’s the type of spineless, whacked-out asshole he is. Sick and twisted in his head. Greedy and deranged that I’m surprised he hasn’t killed me before today.
“What is he talking about, Jesse, and for God’s sake, why am I tied up?” I demand an answer by way of screaming so loud I wish I really could wake the dead when I’m hauled through the door to his office.
“I hate you. You’re nothing to me. Do you hear me? Nothing, Jesse.” My voice is ear piercing, shattering even to my own self.
They’ll destroy me more than anything if they make me leave here. By the devious smirks on their faces, they know it, too. Bastards. It sure as shit isn’t to get me out of their way, either. I take care of myself. The only thing my brother does is toss a wad of money at me once a week. He never carries on a conversation with me like siblings should. He bitches and moans about me being a nuisance, slams the door, and doesn’t bother me unless he’s too drunk or lazy to bring me my money. When that happens, Cutter brings it. Only that creep lingers way too long for my liking. Fucking pig.
These two have a plan for me; I know they do.
“I’m going to give you freedom, sis. In exchange for that freedom, you’re going to stay far away from Riddick Murdock,” my brother says seriously. I want to laugh at the absurdity in his bossy tone. I know better, though. Not when his face is showing me how angry and repulsed he is by me. I don’t care how he feels about me; it’s Riddick I’ll protect until my dying breath. I won’t give in without fighting to protect our love.
This is the second time within minutes my life flashes in front of my eyes; only this time it’s my future, the one Riddick and I planned, the future where we would be together. I can’t allow my brother to take that away from me.
“Fuck you both. I won’t do it. You want revenge for something we both know is rumors and lies, and you want me to pay the price? How dare you!” I yell loudly from my spot on the floor. Jesse’s eyes flare, and the next thing I know, I’m being kicked in the stomach. My gut is rising and falling in pain. I breathe through my nose. Sucking in that last gasp of air before the sting of losing my breathing rhythm scrambles out of control. I hate being weak, not being able to stand up to my own flesh and blood. I shouldn’t have to; he’s my damn brother. I close my eyes as I try to regain my breath, my arms twitching on the inside to wrap around my stomach. To protect. All I can see is the young man I love. His dark-as-night hair, bright blue eyes that could easily blend in with the ocean. I want a better life for myself. I’d do anything to assure I receive one. But this, this is something I don’t know I can honestly do.
“You will do it, you fucking bitch. You will leave him, or Cutter will kill you. I swear to God, Cora, you will leave!” My ears are ringing as I try to catch my breath. I whip my head around violently to gauge Cutter’s reaction to what Jesse is saying. His face is contorted in a daring look of pure pleasure, and yet that look says it all. It says I dare you to defy him. He slants his head ever so slowly, pulls out his knife, and stares me down in the creepiest way. These men are freaks. What kind of man threatens to have someone kill his own sister? A sick one, that’s who.
I swallow the truth down in one giant gulp. It’s a die-of-a-broken-heart-if-I-do-or-die-from-being-gutted-if-I-don’t situation. It doesn’t matter how badly I want out of here; the thought of leaving my boyfriend behind without telling him what he has the right to know is enough to kill me of a broken heart.
I wanted Riddick and me to run away more times than I could count these past few months, always talking myself out of it because we simply aren’t ready yet. At least that’s what I kept telling myself. The truth is I was frightened of what Jesse would do, and now that fright wants me to leave. It makes no sense. How the hell would I start over when I’m terrified they will find a way to track me down? I can’t go to the cops or the FBI for fear they are on Jesse’s payroll; or worse yet, all of them would find a way to take away the one person who matters to me. The only person who loves me. How funny it is that they’ve managed to defeat me in this crazy game of cat and mouse? What they don’t care about is there’s just no way will my conscience allow me to leave without begging them to let Riddick leave, too.
“I’m not doing it. Not unless Riddick comes with me,” I say as bravely as I can.
There’s salacious laughter all around me. Mockingly painful. A hurt that’s so tortuous it sits in the center of my chest.
“You’re fucking dumber than you look, Cora. No goddamn way you’re taking off with that filth. It’s bad enough I can smell him on you, you fucking whore. God, you stink of him. I ought to have Cutter strip you down and clean you the right way; but I won’t, and we both know why, don’t we, you stupid bitch? You’ll do what I say, or I’ll burn you alive. You get me, Cora?” I feel sick. Visibly numb lying here listening to him threaten he will let a man cleanse me of another. My lips tremble.
God, why is this happening to me?
I want to tell them to go ahead and burn me. Stake my body to a cross and kill me. I’m half in the ground anyway. Hell was at my front door a few minutes ago, dragging me to the Devil’s throne. Hell brought me here and is standing behind me, worshipping the king of this dreadful palace who’s somehow found out my secret. If I die, maybe I’ll find peace, that old saying of a slice of heaven. And still I can’t seem to get those words to come out of my mouth, and he knows it.
My brother stands in front of me with that familiar hatred flaring in his eyes. His revenge toward the Murdock’s is all I can see. It takes me back to why he hates them so much. There was no proof. Riddick’s father swears to this day he had nothing to do with it. I know better than to ask either of them a question pertaining to this gang war, though. It’s not a woman’s place to know shit; her place in this shit hole is on her back being forced to do things she doesn’t want to do. Violated. Tortured. Beaten. It may be a callous thing for me think, but I thank God I’m the founder’s daughter. Untouchable, my dad always said. If any one of them put their hands on me, they would be haunted from his grave.
“Cutter, I believe my sister thinks we’re bluffing. Go grab the little punk; she can watch me cut his dick off.”
Oh my God. They have Riddick? Here? I take one split second to become naïve in believing he’s bluffing before I burst out in tears with the chance of fate in one ear and the chance of agreement in the other. “No, Jesse. NO! NO!” I scream with the love I have for Riddick winning out. “Don’t do this, Jesse. I’m sorry. We won’t say a thing, we’ll disappear, I promise,” I cry out. My tears are blurring my vision. I thrash in the confines of these ropes. My wrists are bleeding, burning. “Where is he?” I demand loudly. I’m going to get the shit beaten out of me for acting like I am. I know it, but right now I do not care. I need to know where he is.
“Fuck you, you worthless whore. I don’t have to tell you a goddamn thing. That kid is going to pay for laying his hands on you. For staking claim to something he had no right to touch. He’s the goddamn enemy, Cora. And now look at you. You’re carrying his filthy bastard child. I’ve changed my mind about him. I’m going to kill him for touching you. Make him pay for marking you with the seed of the son who killed our parents. This leaves you with no choice at all, you worthless bitch, unless you want me to have Cutter kill you and that bastard
child of yours. I’m doing you a goddamn favor, little sister, by letting you live.”
Letting me live? What the fuck is he rambling on about? I will kill him for calling my child that, too. One day. I swear I will. “Don’t touch him, please. I need him. He needs me. We both need each other,” I wail. God, what have I done? I’ve all but killed the man I love.
“My God, are you listening to yourself? Need, want. Give me! Give me! I’ve been taking care of you for too long. You thought you could play house behind my back, get yourself knocked up, and still live off of me? Shit don’t work that way, Cora. You man the fuck up, whether you’re a woman or not.” Jesse’s spit flings all over the place. I’m scared, lonely, and unable to breathe, but I will not cower in front of either one them. I get a few last words out before my life falls into the pits of hell. Until I’m given no choice.
“Fuck you. I’ll go. Just leave him alone.” That’s all I’m allowed to say before he places his hand over my mouth to silence me.
“Oh, you’ll leave, all right, and live the rest of your life knowing that it’s because of you your baby’s father is fucking dead. One more thing, little girl, if you ever come back here or even try going to the cops, I will hunt you down and kill both of you and that fucking kid you’re carrying. Do you fucking get me, sister?” Oh my God, I can’t believe my own brother would do this.
“I won’t! I promise! Just please don’t hurt Riddick!” I scream and wail for him to let Riddick go all the while listening to him tell me he can’t, that he’s as good as dead the minute I leave here.
The next thing I know, I’m flying through the air, landing on my back with a loud crack and a throbbing jaw. I lie there all twisted up like a deformed-looking pretzel, my mind whirling in chaos. I find satisfaction knowing these two will rot in hell for hurting my unborn child and me.
You’re my heaven on earth, my angel, buzzes through my ears loudly as I fall into darkness. Those words I love hearing from him every time we parted are the last ones I remember.
2
RIDDICK
Twelve years later
“Who is that?” My friend and co-worker, Tyson, suppresses a shudder, his loud thundering voice echoing under my archway, where we park our bikes, as if he’s seen a phantom or some shit. I don’t see a damn thing on the sandy beach except for hardcore waves. Of course, my eyes are blurred from wearing this shield over them for hours, making me sweat my ass off. No matter what time of day it is, we’re required to wear it. Can’t have some fucker recognizing us and detaching our heads from our bodies, having it roll down the highway and shit. Taking people out is our job, not some whacked-out crack head with a spite to retaliate because we killed or arrested her pimp or the wife of a gang member who tried to pad her bra by buying her fake tits with stolen drug money. There are some fucked-up people out there, who will do any damn thing when you take what they think is theirs. They don’t give a shit whether it’s right or wrong; if they can grow it, sell it, shoot, snort, smoke, or get high by licking it off some bitch’s pussy, they will do it. Fucking drugs. Hate them.
We’re the monsters underneath the criminals’ beds. Ready to blow their dicks clean off their body as they come down from that heavenly high only to drift off to the land of the dead. Welcome to hell, motherfuckers.
I’m an enforcer. A man with a smooth record of being known to fuck you up. So, basically mine, my buddies’ lives, and let’s not forget the criminals of the State of California’s lives, belong to the Narcotics Department. I’m otherwise known as a detective in the Santa Barbara Police Department. I may be invisible when it comes to sneaking up and arresting or killing someone, but I sure the hell am not ready to meet my maker yet. Dying isn’t on the agenda, at least not for a damn long time if I can help it. So yeah, we wear a bulletproof ugly as fuck helmet.
That single world death has spooled its claws around my lungs for as long as I can remember. It has drunk from my veins, embedded itself into my bones, and still hasn’t taken me out yet. Not that the leaders of evil haven’t tried. They have. More times than I can count.
It’s not unusual for Tyson to take off to the beach like he’s doing now. I swear he loves it more than I do. Surprised the fucker hasn’t stripped himself naked yet. Crazy ass. He’s one of three people in this world I trust one hundred percent; another is Jude, an agent like us, who, knowing him like I do, has got his dick buried in pussy right now.
All of this means that a guy like me takes every precaution he can. Especially when you have enemies. And man, do I have them. A lot, actually. They just have no idea who the hell I really am. And I’ll take my dying breath to keep it that way. My past is just that, my past. End of fucking story.
I watch Tyson until he veers around the corner and out of my sight, then I roll my aching shoulders and gaze out onto the deep blue sea. Remembering. Don’t go there, Riddick.
I won’t think of her. She’s gone.
We’ve been driving down for hours from Seattle to my home in Santa Barbara, hitting California State Route 1 then flying down the coast free as a bird on our bikes. I’m drained and in need of some sleep in my own bed; and this quack is seeing shit.
It’s been one long-ass week with the Hell’s Angels in Seattle after the death of their president, Big, a six-foot-eight burly bear of a man. One of the best men I’ve had the honor to know. Loyal to my dad and his gang since I learned how to stand to take a piss. Hell, before I was born, to be honest. Fucking waste of a good soul. Dead and gone from a heart attack before he hit the ground. Right during an important church meeting even. Well, every church meeting is important to them, I guess. Doesn’t matter when or how he died, what matters is, he’s gone, and there isn’t shit I can do about it.
Hell, we had to stand in the distance to not be seen at his funeral. If word got out I showed up there, I’d be a dead man by now. Big was the third person I trusted and one of the few people who know I’m out of the Army and work for the government. For not only my safety, but Tyson’s and Jude’s as well; that’s the way it needs to stay.
“Jesus Christ, he’s really fucking gone,” I mutter to myself. I still can’t wrap my head around it. Fifty gangs in twenty-eight states, and one of the best presidents is dead when they could use him the most. It sure as fuck isn’t his fault, but damn; all the shit going down up in the Northern part of the state with all these gangs applying heat on each other, vying for territory and shit, they could actually use his wisdom right now. Those fuckwads are actually blowing people the fuck up half-assed and sloppy as shit in those towns. How dumb can people get? Crazy dumb is my guess.
My father, Riddick Murdock Senior, founded the Hell’s Angels gang forty years ago in New York City. Dad was a smart man for a guy growing up in East Harlem with diddly squat to his name. With parents who didn’t give two fucks about whether their kid had food to eat or not, clothes on his back, or a place to live half the time. He was street smart. He wanted to help others like him, take in the misfits, so to speak. It all started out with him and a few of his buddies driving around the streets, pulling pranks, stealing cars, guns, and anything they could get their hands on to pawn off in order to make enough money to hit up one of the illegal poker tournaments that were run out of a warehouse in their neighborhood. He paid his ten-grand-buy-in like they told him he needed to. Tore them all a new asshole with his talent and walked out winning not only half a mil that night, but he also earned respect. At eighteen years old, he was a young punk who had been hanging around doing grunt work for these men. They all knew he was a no-good small time criminal; didn’t stop him from doing what he wanted or getting what he needed. He earned his reputation rightfully as one of the best card sharks around after that night. That man could count cards while staring the person across the table in the eye. He used to tell me it was a God-given talent, the only thing God gave him that he didn’t take back, besides me. He took that money and invested it in building his gang from the ground up.
Everything skyrockete
d from there. The prospects, the women, the traveling all over the United States, planting his roots in something he believed in while he and his group of friends formed trustworthy friendships and alliances that took hold and grew the chapters into what they are today. One hell of a family who deals in illegal gambling.
I couldn’t give two fucks about any of that shit anymore; that was my dad’s gig, not mine. That life is long gone for me. I want no part in that criminal activity. It may be wrong of me to allow them to continue doing what they do, but I give zero fucks what they do as long as they don’t hurt the innocent and stay the hell away from me. It would have been all mine, too, if my life hadn’t gone to hell twelve years ago; if my life and hers hadn’t been stolen. Her. Ripped away by some sick fuck with a vendetta for something my old man swore he didn’t have a thing to do with. I know her brother killed her.
I sigh, because there is no going back now that my blood is heating up; with every strum of my pulse the bubbles in my blood pop and erupt. Her murder was the reason I went legit, changed my mind in an instant about being on the wrong side of the law. She died for no other reason than revenge. On me. On my father. Christ. I loved her. I still do.
Thank God my old man made sure I kept my nose clean when I was growing up. He could have not given a shit about me or cared whether I finished school. Maybe he knew deep down I wasn’t cut out to follow in his footsteps. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m only glad he let me do what I needed to survive after that dreadful day that ripped my soul into the universe of nothingness.
What pisses me off the most about the Hell’s Sinners is they’ve always thought the grass was greener on the other side when I know underneath every patch of grass is a pile of brown fucking shit. I would happily put a bullet in their heads and bury them all under the greenest foliage in the woods I can find; let them rot in the cold, dark dirt if I had it in me to do it. If she were still alive. If I weren’t on the right side of the law. If I had the proof her brother and his crony, Cutter, killed her.
Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection Page 9