by Forgy, M. N.
“If you think you’re lucky enough go for it… I’ll even let you get in a free shot,” I taunt.
“Back down,” Fat man orders his men with a bored tone, and the man aiming at me lowers his gun. I laugh, thumping my chest with a tight fist like a fucking wild animal.
“Easy, Machete,” Zeek warns, and I crack my neck. Easing the tension growing in my shoulders.
“My name is Georgeno, and I will fucking say what is going to happen or do I need to explain to you who is running the show by gift wrapping another pretty head into a box?”
Felix and I whip our guns out at the same time, our fucking patience gone. Gia may have been a fucking bitch, but she was with our club and will be treated with respect by outsiders. Georgeno doesn’t even flinch at mine and Felix aiming our weapons at him. In fact, the men behind him aiming at us with intent force are ordered to lower their guns by a simple wave of Georgeno’s hand.
“I’ll give you Cross,” Zeek tempts, and Georgeno’s eyes round.
“Nobody knows where Cross is, because if they did… he’d be dead.” Georgeno tilts his head to the side, his tongue sliding across his teeth like a snake.
“I have something Cross wants, and I am positive it will bring him out of hiding,” Zeek says with more confidence than I’m willing to bet on. Raven said herself that Cross doesn’t care about her, and I believe it. Or maybe I just want to believe it.
Georgeno sighs, sitting back in his chair. He picks his black hat up, plucking lint off of it.
“You’d do that? You’d give up your own blood?” Georgeno asks, his Italian accent thick.
I notice the veins in Zeek’s forehead protrude with that claim.
“My father is dead, just because Cross was the sperm donor to my mother doesn’t mean shit to me,” Zeek clips.
“Interesting way to see things,” he rubs at his cheeks with both hands. He seems so calm it unnerves me.
“Do we have a deal or not?” Zeek implores, his jaw ticking. I can tell he’s two seconds away from sending the mafia a message of our own by redecorating the walls of this casino in blood. I gaze along the dull walls, it could use a touch of color.
Georgeno mulls it over, looking every one of us over before pursing his lips tightly. “Deal,” he replies. Just like that. I narrow my eyes, not liking this deal one fucking bit. It’s too easy, too clean.
“I’ll contact you when we have him,” Zeek explains, turning to leave and I follow.
“Um, Outlaws,” Georgeno prompts, and I slowly turn my head in his direction, knowing I’m not going to like what he’s about to say.
“Don’t make me wait too long or I will be sending you another gift,” he begins to cackle, and my nostrils flare. I want to tear him open from the throat down.
Shaking his head, Zeek slams the doors to the office open.
“Machete, if Raven doesn’t give you the whereabouts of Cross, or if he doesn’t come for her in the next forty-eight hours… Kill her,” Zeek orders with a dead tone.
I stop in my tracks, the change in tactics suddenly not sitting well with me. I couldn’t stomach whipping her, how the fuck am I going to kill her?
Why am I second-guessing my fucking president? I feel sick to my stomach, the guilt of what is silently going on between Raven and I too much to withhold.
Rubbing the back of my head I close my eyes as the elevator carries us down.
What the fuck is happening to me?
* * *
On my way back to the bunker I decide to make a pit stop. One I’ve been meaning to make for a while now. It just pains me to go to a place darker than hell.
Pulling into the Vegas psychiatric ward I park my bike and pull my helmet off. I shove my hair out of my face and look the large building over. It has an orange colored brick making up its walls, and a bunch of little barred windows in the front. There’s no bushes or flowers. It’s as cold on the outside, as it is on the inside. Standing from my bike I head toward the front door. Giving the handle a jerk it doesn’t open. I forget they keep it locked. My eyes fall on an arrow pointing to a silver voice box on the wall. I press the button on the intercom and it screeches.
“How can I help you?” a high-pitched female voice asks.
“I’m here to see my mom,” I inform her. I look behind me, feeling anxious. I hate this place.
The door buzzes and clicks unlocked. Pushing it open the aroma of shit and lemon is strong. The floors are lined with cracked white tile, and the walls are painted a light blue and are stained with dirty handprints. Some look to be out of a horror movie the way they scratch down the hall as if someone was dragging them and the only thing they had to keep hope of was the goddamn wall.
There’s a long wooden desk blocking entry into the building, a smiling large woman sitting behind it, she has red curly hair and is smiling right at me.
“Name please?” she beams, it’s unsettling.
“Her name is Mrs. Ryder,” I inform the smiling lady. My fingers tap on the counter as I lose my patience.
“All right, just sign this and her room number is #37, someone will be there to unlock her door when you get there.” She points in the direction of where the room is.
I snatch the clipboard and sign it and hand it back. I don’t know what it says, probably some liability shit. Turning around, I head down the hall toward my mom. They locked her in her room again. Now what did she do?
A tall man with a dark handlebar mustache laughs at a door down the hall, smacking it with a stick in a teasing manner. He has on a tan shirt and pants, mimicking a UPS driver. My shoulders rise as I count the numbers on the door in passing. That motherfucker better not be messing with #37.
Getting closer I stop, noticing he’s right in front of the door I was hoping he wasn’t fucking with.
He looks at me with shit brown eyes and I glare.
“You here for this crazy ol’ bat?” he insults, and I don’t answer. Just grit my teeth. His eyes fall on my cut, and I raise my chest with an inhale. Fury pulses in my neck, my fingers cracking as I tighten them into fists.
“She fucking bit me this morning. So I put a muzzle on her,” he laughs, before unlocking her door.
“You what?” I bark. He better be fucking joking.
Stepping into the room I see my mother, and it’s not a joke. She has a fucking mask on her face.
“Machete!” Mom lights up, her voice muffled behind the brown muzzle. She looks like a fucking animal in that thing. It infuriates me to see her in such hostile care. Nobody disrespects my mother.
Just as the man turns to leave I grab him by the collar and shove him inside the room.
“Not so fast,” I growl, my grip tightening. His eyes widen, his face going pale as I slam him against the wall.
“Take it off her, now!” I demand. I don’t care what she did, she’s a person and I won’t have her in that shit while I’m here. I let go of him, and he walks to her, his hands trembling as he unbuckles it from her head.
“Okay, just don’t hurt me,” he asks with a pussy tone of voice.
Mom shakes her curls free as soon as the mask is released, and smiles at me like she hasn’t seen me in weeks. She has freckles on her nose, and her face is clean of all makeup. She’s wearing a white shirt and gray sweatpants. Pink house shoes I got her last week sticking out amongst the dry colors of her outfit.
The guard looks at me, trying not to make eye contact. He is scared of me, good.
“Put it on.” I point at him. The man looks at me with a concerned look, as if I’m crazy. I am, I should probably be in here with my mom but they wouldn’t have enough tranquilizers to take my ass down.
“You heard him, Amando.” My mom smiles, straightening the comforter on her bed.
Amando swallows, his eyes sizing me up as if he thinks he can take me. The challenge in his eyes is enough to push me over the edge. Lunging forward I snatch his nightstick from his hand and slam it up against his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing against it.
“Fucking put it on!” I seethe. “I want you to see what it feels like!” If he doesn’t I will beat him within an inch of his life and put it on him.
“Okay!” he screeches wrapping the mask around his face frantically. Looking him over, he reminds me of a scene out of Hannibal.
“Good boy,” I smile, helping him buckle it in place. He stands there, lost, not sure what to do. I laugh. “You can go now.” I stretch my hand toward the metal door.
He quickly steps that way but I stop him by placing my hand on his shoulder. My fingers digging into his shit brown shirt.
“If you ever fuck with my mom again, me and my crew will be back here and I will make sure that mask never comes off. Got it?”
He nods frantically, and I pat his head like a good little boy before releasing him.
As soon as he leaves I turn to embrace my mom. She smells of antiseptic, like a hospital. When I was a kid she always smelled like hairspray and cigarettes. I miss that smell over this one.
She’s in here because my father brainwashed her. He was one hundred percent military and had my mom convinced tourists were after her. I remember one time when I was a kid she changed all our light bulbs in the house to red, because she said terrorists hate the color red. It got so bad that one day she locked five women in a Target bathroom and wouldn’t let them leave because she thought she was saving them and that put her straight in here. My dad convinced the court this is where she needed to be, and of course when my mother told the judge she wanted to cut my father up and feed him to the rattlesnakes, they thought it was best she come here. She is a wild beauty, one I looked up to, and still do. She’s not perfect, and that is why I love her. She’s been diagnosed with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. My father left her here to rot, but I come to see her weekly. You can learn a lot from her, like what tool saws through bone easier. For example, I used to think it was a cleaver, but it splinters the bone leaving DNA all over the place. Not good.
“So, why’d you bite him?” I ask. She pushes me back an arm’s length away and gives me a crazy look.
“Because he was getting fresh with me, I know he wants me,” she laughs before sitting down on the bed. “It’s just a game we play.” She brushes it off like her being put in a muzzle is no big deal.
“Pretty sure biting a guard is against the rules, Mom.” I rub my chin, scowling.
She throws a hand at me.
“Since when have we followed rules,” she sasses. She’s never getting out of here. Heading to the bed, she sits on a pillow and pops off the top of her bedpost, pulling out a cigarette and matches.
“How ya been?” I ask, looking around the room. It’s bare. One chair and a bed. I hate that she’s in here. Can’t they put some flower shit on the walls or something?
“Safe,” she informs blowing out smoke. “No terrorists in here, so far anyway,” she shakes her head. “I put together a group of a few ladies, we’re preparing a list for when we’re targeted by the terrorists.” She smiles at me brightly and I have to muster a smirk. Looks like her new meds aren’t working.
“Sit, have a seat,” she offers, patting her bed. Giving a half smile I go and sit on the bed, rubbing the back of my neck anxiously. “Something on your mind, babe?” she asks, blowing smoke. She’s not even inhaling.
“Mom, I was ordered to … watch a woman,” I explain hesitantly. I know I can come to her about anything, but I’ve never come to her about a female before. Her eyes light up, like I expected they would.
“A woman, huh?” she waggles her brows.
“Yeah, she’s a supposed enemy of ours, but I’m not so sure she is.” I shake my head and she narrows her brows.
“Wait, like a terrorist?” Her green eyes widen.
“No, like someone hurt her, and she is trying to retaliate only our club was in the crosshairs of that grudge.” I cut the long story short.
“And you’re having feelings for her, ones you don’t think you should.” She gives me a motherly look.
I drop my head in my hands, my stomach filling with that knot of guilty emotion. “I haven’t done anything I’m supposed to,” I mutter. She should have fingers missing, teeth pulled, hell cuts amongst her beautiful thighs.
“Does she know you’re in charge? Does this woman know what you’re doing for her?”
“Doing for her?” I furrow my brows.
“You’re putting your neck on the line for this prisoner, I hope she’s worth it.”
“She’s not scared of me,” I whisper, saying it out loud making me angry.
She smiles. “Better up your game, son. I think this woman just needs some tough love. Pain and comfort are two main ingredients of emotion. If all she is feeling is one, then make her feel the other. ”
Looks like I’m heading in the right direction then.
“And my club?” I ask, not so sure they would agree.
“They’re your family, they’ll have your back. Maybe.” She cackles, knowing how hot and cold we can be. Taking a deep breath I stand. I need to get back to Raven.
“I need to get back, she’s smart. She might be escaping or making a shank out of a tampon,” I declare.
My mom laughs. Stubbing her cigarette out on the wall.
“Mrs. Ryder, are you smoking again?” a voice sounds outside the door.
“Nooo,” she yells, blowing smoke into the room.
I laugh and open the door to leave. The man that was fucking with my mom has the muzzle off and is walking quickly in the other direction.
He better fucking run. Pervert.
Chapter 7
Raven
The smell of Machete hits me first, waking me up from my slumber. My neck aches as it hangs forward, my chin pressed hard on my chest. I can’t feel my toes or my hands from the zip ties, and I’m thirsty again.
Blinking slowly, I lift my stiff head finding Machete standing right in front of me. The look on his face is different than I’ve seen before. He looks conflicted, confused.
“Master is home,” he informs gravelly.
Squatting in front of me, he cuts my hands and ankles free. Quickly I go to stand, and I fall to my knees. I’m too weak and it angers me. I’m vulnerable and need help.
He reaches down to help me up and I slap his hand away.
“I can fucking do it!” I declare.
I hear him growl just before he links his arms under my body and lifts me up off the floor. He smells like worn leather, and I can’t help but stare into the side of his head. The red scruff on his cheeks calling for me to run my nails across. He heads into the bathroom and sets me down. The floor is ice cold against the back of my thighs, and I want to get up and resist, to run but I don’t have enough strength in me. He knows it, that’s why he’s not cuffing me to the heater like last time. Turning the shower on, warm water hits me where I sit. The shirt soaking to my skin. Closing my eyes, I lower my head back and let the water droplets spray into my mouth. I don’t even care that it’s warm, having something to drink is fucking heaven. Having enough of the water spraying up my damn nose, I lower my head to find him staring at me, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.
“What?” I mutter.
“I picked something up for you,” he says in a tone as if he hesitated telling me.
I don’t reply, and he turns and leaves the room before coming back in with a silver can.
“It’s salve, for your back. The woman said it’s the best.” He shrugs before setting it on the floor.
My eyes round, before shooting to his. The caring act making my eyes burn. Nobody has ever taken care of me, not like this.
“Th-thank you,” I whisper, not sure how to take it in. He’s running his fingers through my mind and tearing at the strings that made me once numb. I’m feeling, my chest warming with gratitude and passion.
He turns to give me some privacy. Moving slowly, I grab the hem of my shirt and try to raise it above my head, but my weak arms give out. My back still hurting, I wince and drop my
arms.
Tears prickle at my eyes. I can’t do it.
“Can you help me?” I ask, not caring if he sees my bare tits right now.
He turns, looking me over as if he’s mulling over my request.
“Please,” I ask, and it’s fucking hard to spit the words out, but I smell and feel terrible. A shower right now is all I fucking want.
Bending down, he grabs my shirt and rips it up over my head with more force than necessary. He’s so formidable, I doubt he knows his own strength but it’s also what attracts me to him on levels I’ve never felt for a man before. His eyes fall on my chest and my nipples perk at the attention. I like it.
I’ve never liked it before, in fact, I’ve stayed away from men over the years because I know what they’re capable of. However, my body doesn’t seem to get that same memo with Machete.
I notice his jeans grow around the dick area, and I can’t help the tremble of my bottom lip. I want him to touch me in ways I’ve never been touched before. To spank me into a daze of desire and then take care of my wounds like I’m the only one that matters to him. To be my Master.
God, I’m fucked up.
He suddenly turns and steps out of the room. Music begins to play and it takes me a second to recognize the song, but it finally hits me. Seether, “Let You Down.”
I sit there letting the water wash the filth and grime from my body, it’s not long before Machete struts back into the room, turns the faucet off and hauls me up off the floor. My wet skin clinging to his white shirt. I’m naked, and my sex is very aware of it touching Machete’s strong frame.
He flings my body onto the mattress like a wet rag.
“Turn around, let me put this salve shit on you,” he demands. I nod and turn on my stomach. His fingers work the cream into my skin like magic. The smell of mint and lavender filling the room. He rubs my back carefully, taking such good care of me. The touch of his fingers making me inhale a shaky breath. I missed him.