by Ivy Black
“I know what I have to do. I just don’t know how to go about doing it. I mean, it’s not like I’ve got a pile of money sitting there.”
“No, but you have some, right?”
Ryan would never let me work. Said my place was in the home, keeping the house clean and raising our son. I tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Over the years, I’ve been socking away money when and where I can whenever I’ve managed to get my hands on a little extra. Ten here. Twenty there. And on the rare occasion, a hundred or two. It’s a decent little pile of money, but even that nest egg isn’t enough to take and start a new life somewhere.
“I have some. But it’s not enough to get an apartment. It’s not enough to do much of anything, honestly.”
“That’s fine. I’ll loan you—”
I shake my head. “No. Out of the question. I won’t accept charity.”
She gives me a soft smile. “Don’t think of it as charity. Think of it as me investing in you.”
“Uh-uh. I won’t ask you to lend me money.”
“You’re not asking. I’m telling you this is what’s going to happen. I make good money, Ash. I’ve got a house that’s already been paid outright. I have a car. I’ve got everything I need. My money is just sitting in a bank account collecting dust. I want to do something good with it.”
There’s no denying that a little more money would help get me out of this hellhole. But I just don’t feel right taking money from my friends. Never have and never will. It’s just not who I am. When I look up, I see that she’s eyeballing me critically, and I can tell that she’s reading my mind as she’s always seemed able to do ever since we were kids.
“Screw your pride, girl. That’s all this refusal to take a loan from me is. Pride,” she tells me. “If for no other reason, take it to get Cole out of here. It will give me a lot more peace of mind knowing he’s far away from Ryan. It’ll make me feel better. Please, just take it and get the hell out of Erwin.”
“How will I get out of here without him knowing? And where will I even go?” I ask miserably.
For as long as I’ve fantasized and daydreamed about getting out of here, I haven’t actually formulated a concrete plan, since I never thought it was an actual possibility. But when I look up, I see a mischievous glint in Maggie’s eye as she looks at me.
“As it turns out, I’ve got some thoughts about that.”
I laugh despite myself. “Do you, now?”
She nods. “You’re damn right I do.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon making plans for something that I never thought would be a possibility. Something I never dared believe would, or could, ever come to pass. And when we’re done discussing it, I see that it’s more of a possibility now than I ever thought. In fact, it’s becoming a reality.
When we’re done creating my escape plan, I feel something that has been in drastically short supply in my life ever since Ryan got hurt. Something I thought I’d never feel again in my life.
I feel hope.
Chapter Four
Domino
Couldn’t tell you why, but the wind whipping through my hair as we ride just feels different with a patch than it did as a prospect. The guys would probably tell me I’m being corny and ridiculous, but I’m telling you, it just feels different. Maybe it’s because I don’t have to worry as much about minding my p’s and q’s anymore, or maybe I just feel more official. I feel like I’m actually part of the club now, and not just somebody trying out for the team.
I turn my bike and follow Cosmo down a narrow road and into the parking lot of the derelict warehouse that sits in an unincorporated piece of land halfway between Blue Rock and Fresno. It’s served as our meeting point with Montezuma’s Warriors, a Mexican MC we deal with, for a long while now.
I was surprised when I got the call to roll with Cosmo today. They’re really tight, and it’s usually Monk who goes with him to these meets, riding as his second. I’ve tagged along with the cargo van before, but never as his second. I guess maybe that could be the reason I’m feeling so upbeat today.
We pull to a stop and cut the engines on our bikes, the silence after a couple hours with nothing but that throaty rumble filling my ears, is practically deafening. Putting the kickstand down, I climb off and pull of my gloves and helmet, setting them both on the seat, then stretch myself out. Cosmo looks over at me, a cheesy grin on his face.
“What?” I ask.
“You just have this glow about you.”
I laugh. “Shut the fuck up.”
He leans close and inhales deeply. “And that new biker smell, too.”
Still laughing, I punch him in the arm. “You’re such a douche.”
The cargo van pulls down the road and parks in the lot alongside us. Derek climbs out and stretches himself as I shake a cigarette out of the pack and light it up. Blowing out a thick plume, I look down the road, then glance at my watch, waiting for the Warriors to show.
“You’re as impatient as Monk,” Cosmo notes as he lights up his own smoke.
“Guess I don’t have the patience that comes with old age,” I say.
“Go fuck yourself,” he replies with a laugh.
“Speaking of Monk, where’s he at? He’s normally your second on these runs.”
“If you want, I can leave you home next time.”
I take a drag of my smoke. “Not what I meant. I was just asking.”
He smirks at me. “I’m fucking with you. It’s just good for us to get new guys out on these runs. Keep the rotation going. We’ve all got skin in the game.”
I nod. “That’s fair.”
“Monk’s also out of town. Took Kasey away for the weekend.”
“Good for him.”
The growl of motorcycles fill the air and I see the Warriors riding down the road toward us. The one in the lead is Tarantula, the club’s Road Captain. He’s a stocky man, about five-ten, with a tail of thick dark hair that falls to the middle of his back. He reminds me a lot of Danny Trejo.
His second is a guy named Bala. He’s tall and lean, with well-defined muscles through his shoulders and arms. Bala comes across as pretty casual, but he’s got a quiet intensity about him. Dude is like a loaded gun just waiting to go off. His head is shaved clean and he’s sporting some new tats that wrap around the sides of his head, adding to his aura.
He’s got an intimidating, slightly off kilter, dangerous vibe about him, and if you’re a Road Captain, it’s probably what you’d want in your second.
“What’s up, ese?” Tarantula says, his English thickly accented.
He and Cosmo embrace briefly, thumping each other on the back, as Bala and I stand there staring at each other. I’m doing my best to project the same sort of menacing presence that seems natural to him, but given the smirk curling the corners of his mouth upward, I’m not sure I’m being too successful at it. Tarantula looks over and extends his hand and we shake firmly.
“Got a baby biker with you today, ese?” he says with a grin.
“Gotta take the training wheels off sometime,” Cosmo quips.
“Si mon. About time you popped that cherry, holmes,” he says, then turns back to Cosmo. “We doin’ business today or what?”
“You show me yours, I show you mine,” Cosmo tells him.
Tarantula nods to Bala, who squats down and opens the bag. It’s filled with fat stacks of bundled cash. Cosmo nods to me, so I give Derek the sign to open up the side door on the can. He rolls it back, revealing the bundled and wrapped weed we’re carrying.
“Do I need to weigh that, ese?”
Cosmo shoots him a smirk and points at the bag. “Do I need to count that?”
“Touché, holmes. Touché.”
He nods to Bala who calls for the guy in his van and they walk over and start to load their van with the weed. I reach down and pick up the bag with the cash in it and zip it up. We stand in silence, watching them load the weed into the Warriors’ van for a moment before Tarantula turn
s to Cosmo.
“Heard a rumor about you, ese,” he starts.
Cosmo arches an eyebrow at him. “Yeah? What’s that?”
“That you got into some big shootout with the Zavala cartel.”
“Oh yeah? Where’d you hear that?”
Tarantula shrugs and spreads his arms out wide. “Around. Just word on the street and all that shit.”
Cosmo chuffs. “You believe every rumor you hear, compadre?”
The burly Mexican offers him a smile. “Only the ones that have that ring of truth to ’em. You know what I mean, holmes?”
“And what makes you think this rumor you’re hearing has a ring of truth to it?”
Still grinning, Tarantula shakes his head. “Because I know bullshit when I smell it, ese. And this rumor I heard? Not even a whiff.”
After the shootout, Prophet told us all to keep a lid on it. Sheriff Singer was doing us a solid by walking the tightrope that kept us out of the story. I’m not surprised the story got out anyway. People love to gossip. But all I can say is my degree of confidence that the story didn’t come from any of our guys is extremely high. Most all of us are veterans and know not to fuck with mission security by running our mouths. And those few guys who aren’t vets have enough respect for Prophet and the club that they aren’t going to spill the story either.
“The way I hear it is you and your gringos here got into a gunfight with Zavala’s men. Almost took out the big guy, is what I was told,” Tarantula says.
“Interesting story,” Cosmo replies dryly.
“Si. It’s very interesting, cabron. But that’s not the most interesting part.”
“Don’t leave me in suspense. Tell me the most interesting part.”
Bala steps over to us and I glance back at the vans. Derek is helping their guy get the last of the bundles loaded up and ready to roll. Bala is standing there looking at me, sizing me up. I could tell he thinks he could take me if it came down to that. Doesn’t bother me. As tough and hard as he looks, and probably is, the fact of the matter is that he hasn’t had the training I did. The training I had in the Corps has prepared me for all sorts of combat, including hand to hand. He may not think I’m much to look at, but I’ve got it where it counts and I’m confident I could put a hurt on Bala if it ever went sideways enough to come to that.
“The most interesting part, pendejo, is that whoever went after Zavala didn’t finish the job. He and his personal sicario, a dude named X, got away,” Tarantula says.
“Fascinating,” Cosmo says. “And this should interest me… why exactly?”
Cosmo is simply playing coy, but Tarantula looks at him like he’s an idiot who can’t understand the most basic thing in the world.
“You should be interested because Zavala’s not a man who forgives or forgets, ese. You’ve heard that old saying, if you take a shot at the king, you better not miss, haven’t you?”
“I’ve heard it, yeah.”
“Well, whoever took a shot at Zavala missed. And now, there’s going to be hell to pay. You’d best believe Zavala will be comin’ for… whoever it was who shot up him and his men. Believe that,” Tarantula presses.
“You ever deal with the cartel?” Cosmo asks.
“As little as I can, ese, but our paths cross now and again. Believe me when I say, those are some ruthless vatos, and you don’t want to tangle with them. They’re bad news whenever they come to town. And believe me, you don’t want them comin’ to your town because if they do, a whole mess of people are gonna die.”
“Sounds charming.”
Shifting on my feet, I cut a glance over at Bala, who’s standing statue-still. Cosmo frowns and seems to be considering Tarantula’s words.
“Anyway, I just thought I’d pass that along. But if you say you weren’t involved, then you got nothin’ to worry about, ese.”
“Appreciate the heads up anyway.”
“Si mon.”
Tarantula nods to Bala, who walks off without a word to either of us. Tarantula turns and shakes both our hands again.
“Good doin’ business with you, holmes.”
“Yeah, you, too,” Cosmo says.
“Hope it ain’t the last time,” he says and looks over at me. “Be a damn shame, what with you just gettin’ your trainin’ wheels off and shit, carnal. You at least gotta stick around long enough to get that kutte dirty.”
A wry smile crosses my face. “I hear that.”
He gives us both a nod, and his expression grows serious. “Watch your asses, gringos. Those putos don’t fuck around.”
He turns and walks back to his bike. We watch him strap on his gloves and helmet, then fire it up. A moment later, he and Bala are leading their van out of the old parking lot and getting back on the road, bound for Fresno.
“Toss this in the lockbox in the van,” I tell Derek as I toss him the bag of money.
“Copy that.”
Technically speaking, the Pharaohs and the Warriors are rival MCs. But even rivals can do business together when its mutually beneficial. It helps that we don’t roll in the same territory either. They’ve got that Central Valley corridor, and we stick to the coast. Rivals or not, it’s good to know that they’ve at least got our backs enough to tip us off to the shitstorm that’s brewing on the horizon.
“We should hit it,” Cosmo says. “Prophet’s going to want to hear this.”
“This is gonna get bad, isn’t it?”
He smirks at me. “It ain’t gonna be sunshine and rainbows. But hey, you gotta get that kutte dirty one way or another, don’t you?”
“Yeah. I just didn’t want it covered in blood.”
He shrugs. “What we want is often not what we get in life.”
“Great. You sound like you’re quoting a goddamn fortune cookie to me,” I say as we walk to our bikes and mount up.
“Don’t discount the wisdom found in fortune cookies.”
I laugh softly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
We get ourselves back on the road, the thought of the cartel looming in my mind like a bank of black clouds on the horizon.
Chapter Five
Ashley
“When will you be back, do you think?” I ask.
We’re standing in the kitchen and Ryan regards me with his usual contempt but says nothing. It hasn’t been a very good morning and he’s angrier than usual. He pops one of his pills and washes it down with his coffee. I try to control the expression on my face, but I’m obviously not very successful at it.
“What? Do you have something to say, Ash?”
“I was just wondering whether or not it was wise to be taking those pills when you’re going to be handling firearms.”
He scoffs. “Why don’t you just worry about yourself? I’m fine.”
“If you’re fine, then why are you popping pills like candy?”
He closes the distance between us, forcing me back up against the refrigerator, his face hovering so close to mine, the tips of our noses are practically touching. His breath is sour, and I turn my head away, but he grabs hold of my face, his fingers pressing hard into my cheeks, and turns me back to face him.
“I’m gettin’ real tired of your shit, Ashley. I’m gettin’ real tired of you questionin’ everything I do. And that shit’s gonna stop. Right here and right now. Do you get me?”
Though I’m terrified and my heart is thundering inside of me, I do my best to stiffen my spine. Maggie and I have been planning my escape for the last couple of weeks and the day has finally arrived. It’s critical that I don’t act any different than I normally do, and if I suddenly start simpering and cowering to him, he might know something’s up. Predators know when the behavior of their prey changes. They can practically smell it. I lift my chin and stare back at him.
“You’re miserable, Ryan. We either need to go to couples counseling, or we should just go our own ways. Why are you resisting this idea? Don’t you want to be happy and live a life without things dragging you down?”
His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches as he stares into mine. “The only thing dragging me down is your fuckin’ attitude. And that’s gonna change, Ashley. I’m tired of your bullshit. Tired of—”
“Then why not just go our own ways?” I interrupt. “Instead of making each other miserable, and making our son miserable along with us, let’s think about him for a change and just part ways amicably.”
He remains silent for several long moments, my pulse racing even harder than before. His eyes are rimmed red and bloodshot, it looks like he didn’t sleep last night. Which makes sense, given the way he smells as well. That’s not unusual. Most nights, he sleeps in the recliner in the living room watching TV, anyway.
I honestly can’t remember the last time we shared a bed. To sleep, anyway. He’s made me have sex with him, though that’s always a dicey proposition since between the booze and the pills, he has a hard time even getting a hard on, let alone keeping it up. On those nights he can though, my skin crawls, I feel physically ill, and I have to just grit my teeth, close my eyes, and pretend I’m somewhere else.
“You’re mine. Cole’s mine. You both belong to me,” he hisses. “And I ain’t lettin’ either of you go nowhere. Do you understand me?”
When I don’t answer right away, Ryan grips my face tighter, and I wince. The pain is sharp and makes my eyes water. I kick myself inside, trying to shut out the pain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.
“I said, do you understand me?” he repeats.
“I heard you, Ryan. Okay? I heard you.”
He grips my face even harder for a moment, staring hard into my eyes, before letting go of me. He turns and stuffs some snacks into his backpack before zipping it up and snatching it off the counter. As he slings it over a shoulder, he turns to me.
“I’ll be back at some point this afternoon,” he says. “I want the house clean and I want you to cook a roast for tonight.”
Yeah, fat chance of that happening. But there’s no way in hell I’m going to say that, so I simply nod as demurely as I can manage. He walks out of the kitchen and I hear him rummaging around in the closet. I step into the doorway just in time to see him pulling out his rifle case. He checks the latches on it, then turns and heads for the front door. Ryan doesn’t say anything as he walks out, slamming the door behind him, and I move into the living room, standing to the side of the window as unobtrusively as I can, so he can’t see me.