by Hazel Parker
“There’s something you need to know… something about…”
“Hold on.”
I looked outside to see headlights approaching. Madison’s mother. She had come, and with it, my chance to tell Alyssa the truth had vanished. I mean, I could have told her the truth now, but I didn’t want to rush it. I needed her to have the chance to hear it in a private conversation, with all the time in the world to process what had happened.
“What, Dad?”
“Nothing, I’ll tell you later.”
“Dad…”
Goddamnit. I really wish I wasn’t going on this run now.
Heaven help me, I’m not that religious, but I would really appreciate some divine intervention to make sure I don’t die tonight.
“It’s something we need time to discuss, and if you’re going to Madison’s, there won’t be time, OK?” I said, hugging her and kissing her on the forehead. “Tomorrow, maybe after my date with Courtney—’
“So you are going out with her again!” Alyssa said with a beaming smile. “I knew it!”
I smiled, relieved to have the distraction away from the tough topic.
“After that, I’ll tell you, OK?”
“OK, love you, Dad.”
“Love you too, Alyssa.”
Just don’t let this be goodbye, either.
The fact that I was stressing so much about this probably told me everything I needed to know about my future with the club. If I was acting like this now… what was it going to be like when Alyssa got closer to firsts like prom, high school graduation, orientation week, her wedding, the birth of her children…
They were all things I found myself thinking about and wanting to see. But they were all things I wouldn’t see if I stayed with the Saints as an officer.
One last ride, I thought. One last ride from now until Trace wakes up. And then I’m done.
I’m out for good.
I headed outside, walking Alyssa to the waiting car, watching until they had gotten out of the neighborhood. As soon as that happened, I hopped on my bike, backed it out of the driveway, and began the drive over to our clubhouse.
As soon as I arrived, I saw that the other four officers were waiting inside, wielding rifles and pistols at their hips. I had to say, a team with BK, Sword, Krispy, and Mafia was pretty fucking intimidating—as far it being useful for combat, it was hard to do much better than that.
“Gentlemen,” I said. “Are we ready?”
“Are you?” Krispy asked.
I smirked, walked past them, grabbed a rifle and a pistol, and stared at them.
“I am now.”
* * *
Our drive down the highway to Los Angeles, where the original base of operations had been—way back at the original warehouse that had nearly gotten Splitter arrested and executed for all his crimes—was uneventful, but I took it as a special kind of ride. I didn’t know if this would be the literal last run I ever had, and while there was the very real risk of getting killed, I was determined to make the most of it.
Instead of fearing death, instead of being afraid of what could go wrong, instead of wondering if this was even the right mission to do, I was determined to take in the sights and sounds of the run. I was determined to feel the strong winds going against me on my bike; I was determined to lean into the adrenaline that pumped through my veins when we parked; and I was determined to make every shot count when, sure enough, the Mercs came into view in the distance.
The time had passed for me to be questioning if it even made sense to be on this mission. If I had truly thought it wasn’t a good idea, that was something I should have decided that afternoon. Instead, now, it was time to focus on only one thing: killing Zane.
“Alright, let’s move,” I said, moving the men in.
As we got closer, we could see that the still-charred warehouse had about ten people inside, which was more than I expected, but then again, it wasn’t like ten people were a ton. What had once been a group of about a hundred had obviously been chopped down, and even if this wasn’t everyone, there would still be a significant portion of the club eradicated.
We squatted at a nearby building and prepared to move in.
“You see Zane, kill him,” I said. “You see anyone raise a weapon on you, kill them. You see anyone surrender, let them. Got it?”
“I wanna kill everyone,” Krispy growled.
“Kill everyone that tries to kill you.”
I nodded to the building. I motioned for BK to follow me to the far side, while Sword, Mafia, and Krispy took the near side. I left them in charge of figuring out their attack patterns, while BK and I stood to at the exit, prepared to stop anyone trying to flee.
Seconds later, the gunfire started.
It turned into a massive roar of gunfire as it became impossible to tell who was firing and who’d been shot. BK and I held the door in the rear, but it quickly turned into an almost boring task. No one walked by, and no one shot at us. The whole thing was over within a minute.
I walked over with BK, my gun still aloft, and came around to see Krispy standing there with blood pouring from his arm.
“Shit, you OK?”
“Flesh wound; it’s nothing,” he said. “Those motherfuckers, though, got everything!”
I looked at all of the faces of the Mercs. They all had guns, and they were all dead.
“All of them shot at you, huh?” I said.
“They’re Mercs; what the fuck do you expect?”
But as I looked across the room, I realized something very grim and unfortunate. Zane was not among the group. He was nowhere to be seen, in fact.
“He’s not here,” I said. “This is bad. When he finds out that the ten Mercs here were killed… he’s going to come for us even harder than before.”
“So we kill them when they do that,” Krispy said as if it was like adding two plus two.
“It’s not going to be that easy, Krispy,” I snapped. “It’s the Mercs. They don’t fucking fight fair. They’re going to come for us when we least expect it and then run like the fucking cowards they are. Fuck!”
The group went silent. I desperately sought a solution that wouldn’t inflame the situation.
“We have to hide the bodies,” I said out loud, a thought that I hadn’t given any thought to.
“What?” BK said, so shocked that even he spoke up.
“All we’re doing is running circles of blood on blood,” I said. “Maybe if we extend the olive branch of sorts, if we keep this place as clean as possible—”
“The fuck you talking about, Sensei?” Krispy said, cutting me off. “You out of your goddamn—”
“No,” I snapped. “I don’t think Zane is going to stop. We have to kill him. But anyone else associated with the gang? Maybe they’re a little more rational. Maybe they have families to go back to. Maybe they have loved ones they’re thinking about. Maybe…”
My voice trailed off. The club knew that I was projecting myself onto the Mercs. It was probably giving them too much credit, but I was done trying to “prove a point.” I was only interested in the results of getting this done with, nothing more, and nothing less. And the sooner we got shit done, the less violence we’d all have to face.
“We hide the bodies,” I said. “Don’t have to bury them. But I’m not sending a message to anyone by leaving them out in the open.”
“This is dumb,” Krispy said.
“Then leave,” I snapped.
He didn’t. No one did. To usurp a president’s authority, no matter how temporary, was something not even Krispy was willing to do with me.
We ended up moving the bodies behind the warehouse. I knew they would easily be found; frankly, it almost seemed like the shallowest of things we could have done. But it was something, and perhaps more importantly, it sent a message to the present officers that we needed to consider something new if we were going to get shit taken care of.
When we got back to the clubhouse, no one celebrated. K
rispy and Mafia took a shot to celebrate, but when they saw no one else was, their shot turned into a one-gulp show. The problem was there was nothing to celebrate. There was going to be more violence to come.
I just had to hope that the violence would stop after that.
Chapter 10: Courtney
The words I started my date with Vance the next day weren’t the kindest thing I had ever said, but I couldn’t help myself when he finally did show up.
“You look like shit; you OK?”
Vance had to give a short laugh, but there was no exaggeration on my part. He showed up with bags under his eyes, his skin looking like it had aged a decade, and his eyes also barely able to stay open. He just shrugged weakly as he looked at me.
“It was a long night,” he said. “Daughter went over to a friend’s place around eleven. I think she’s mad at me.”
“Alyssa?” I said, to which he nodded.
“And other things, but, mostly that.”
I thought about inquiring further on it but decided against it. Vance would probably tell me eventually what was going on; I didn’t suspect anything too bad, but this was just our second date. We hadn’t even had sex yet. There was a lot to be determined before I could feel comfortable pushing him to reveal to me. And even that was sort of dubious, at best. I didn’t want to be known as the girl who pushed against boundaries until the guy broke.
Maybe it had something to do with the mother of Alyssa, anyway. You don’t know. Just be nice.
But maybe if you set the example…
“How was your week?” he asked. “Hopefully a little bit more restful.”
I looked around us. We’d agreed to meet up for an afternoon walk at one of the nearby parks, and though no one was paying attention to us, I still always assumed that the people nearby either had sons and daughters in my classes, or they once had. I had to keep my voice low.
“Actually, it was an almost scary week.”
“Why?” he said, his eyes noticeably perking up at that.
He’s empathizing. That’s sweet.
“Well… so I have something to confess to you.”
My hands started feeling sweaty, and I never would have imagined that this detail would have come out so early in our courtship. But if Vance couldn’t handle the fact that I was doing everything I could to help myself, then maybe we didn’t deserve to be together.
It would’ve been a great shame, for sure. He was a wonderful guy, and I didn’t like the idea that we could fall apart from something like that. But I was probably just overthinking it and overstating the possibility.
“So I told you I didn’t drink alcohol on the first date, and that was true,” I said. “However, I’m actually trying not to drink alcohol at all. The last few years has given me a sort of alcohol dependency that I’m not very proud of, and I’m in AA to try and fight it. I’ve currently been sober for a little over a week now, but before that was sixty days. So… yeah.”
As soon as I let the words go, it was amazing how much better I felt—but more surprisingly, it was amazing how much I wasn’t worried about how Vance was going to respond. He was either going to say he couldn’t do this, but I would have felt content at having told him the truth, or he would admire that I was so honest and I would like him even more.
He didn’t disappoint.
“I appreciate you sharing that with me,” Vance said. “I’m not always the greatest at revealing what’s troubling me, and there are some things that are, but you definitely have more courage than me saying that.”
“Well, let’s not go that far,” I said with a gentle smile. “But yeah, so yesterday morning, after your daughter’s first class, the principal called me down for a meeting. Apparently, some parents said that I was under the influence at the parent-teacher conferences.”
“The fuck?” Vance said, the exact kind of reaction I’d hoped to hear from him—the supportive kind. “That’s bullshit. That’s where I asked you out, and I definitely would not have asked you out if you were drunk or in an incoherent state.”
“Right? Thank you!” I said, relieved beyond what even I had hoped for. “Unfortunately, I think it’s one of those things where some parents were just upset I didn’t have good things to say about their students, and my reputation proceeds me.”
“Oh, damn, really?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding grimly. “I’ve never been drunk at school. But I’ve been hungover before, and I’ve been hungover at school events. It’s…”
I thought of admitting that I was hungover for Alyssa’s first performance, but that just felt like a confession too far.
“It’s not something I’m proud of, and it’s something I’m very much working to improve on. But it’s something I have to be very careful about.”
“Yeah,” Vance said. “What… I’m sorry; I don’t know much about it.”
“It’s fine.”
“What things trigger you or cause you to drink?”
“Easy: stressful things,” I said. “If I have a bad day, if I hear the sound of a motorcycle, if I—”
I cut myself off when I saw Vance’s face contort in surprise.
“What?” I said.
This was something that I had noticed on the previous date, but it wasn’t something I pressed. I had realized that not all people with motorcycles were as bad as the Savage Saints. But his reaction was almost too strong; I had to know more.
“Are you a motorcycle fan?”
I tried to keep my words as neutral as possible and non-judgmental as possible. I wanted him to feel comfortable telling me the truth, even though we were bound to have some serious disagreements on this topic.
“I am,” he said, which wasn’t bad to me—just so long as he didn’t ask me to ride on his bike. “I’ve been riding bikes now for several decades, actually. It’s been in my blood since my late teen years. My surprise is trying to understand why you have a disdain of bikes? I mean, I thought the Saints were pretty well liked in the area. I saw the recent news story, and it seemed pretty positive.”
Oh boy. It’s time for all the confessions today, isn’t it? It’s time to tell him about everything in my background.
“This is getting into some pretty heavy territory,” I said as a warning.
“That’s fine,” Vance said. “I’ll tell you some stuff about myself if you tell me.”
“OK,” I said.
It wasn’t that easy, of course. We stopped to sit on a park bench and I leaned back, trying to get the courage to revisit this story. It was an old one, but it was still all too fresh in my head. Decades could pass, and I would still remember the day Nathaniel got killed.
“So, something you need to know about me. I was once married. I’m… I’m a widow.”
I paused a beat to see if Vance would suddenly get up or react negatively in any way. But he displayed nothing except sharp alertness and unwavering attention. I couldn’t even begin to describe how necessary that was at that moment. If he had just stormed off or even done so much as given a surprised look, I’m not sure I could have opened up to him about anything else. And that was in the best case scenario.
“A few years ago, my husband was doing some volunteer work in downtown Los Angeles. I was concerned about him—he was always going into areas that were dangerous and were full of criminal activity, but he didn’t care. He was such a gentle and a kind soul. Well, that particular day, a shootout occurred between the Savage Saints and the Devil’s Mercenaries gangs.”
Vance put a hand over his mouth, his eyes never wavering.
“He was killed in the carnage,” I said. I thought I would cry when I told this story, but at this point, I was surprisingly calm about it. Maybe because Vance was here, or maybe because I had reached a point where I could tell the story without any issues. I didn’t know, but I was just happy I could.
“I’m so sorry,” Vance said.
“It’s… it’s tough,” I said, preventing me from giving the automatic, cliché res
ponse of it being fine. “To be honest with you, there were definitely periods of my life after that where I was sure I was never going to date again. I certainly never thought I’d date someone with a bike.”
Vance gave a snort, but it seemed very forced as if he was uncomfortable with the idea of it all. I just chalked it up to us being early on; I figured things were strong enough between us that I didn’t need to worry about it.
“It was because of this instance in particular that I started to drink heavily,” I said. “Before, I could have a good drink, but I was always excellent about staying on top of things. I wasn’t someone who gave in to the bottle easily. But somewhere down the line—I don’t know where, but I know it happened—alcohol went from a coping mechanism to a dependency. It went from something I did to kill the pain to something I needed to get through the day. I started going to AA about a year ago, but it’s been an up and down journey. Had a good little two-month streak there, but…”
“I hear you,” Vance said, taking my hand and holding it in his own. “What you’re doing is very brave, and I’m sorry for what you experienced. Just out of curiosity, did you ever look at the police report on the crime?”
“No,” I said immediately. I could feel Vance’s hand tense at that, even if he tried to suppress the reaction otherwise. “I haven’t. I… the cop who came by told me it was a shootout. I didn’t need to twist the knife into myself any further.”
Vance looked like he wanted to say more about it, like he somehow had something insightful to say, but I think that might have just been the lack of sleep making him look more contemplative than he was. I squeezed his hand gently.
“I know not everyone feels the way I do about the Saints,” I said with a gentle smile. “I’m sure that, in a group of that size, there are some good men in it. I just… for me, unfortunately, I can’t get past what that group has done to my life.”
“No, I understand,” Vance said. “I… I understand. What was his name?”
“Nathaniel Ingles.”
“Nathaniel Ingles…” he repeated, softly repeating his name.