by Hazel Parker
“Mmm, yes,” Damon said, licking his lips like a wolf moving in for the kill.
“I can tell you that you’re a nobody.”
Damon recoiled for a second before he started laughing.
“A nobody?” he said as if I had just stated the most preposterous thing in the history of mankind. “I am very well known to quite a few people if you must know, Miss Carrie! Do you think I get a reputation like I have if I am a nobody? Foolish woman!”
But the result was just different enough that I knew I had gotten a little bit under Damon’s skin. I didn’t know if it would be enough to stop anything from happening—in fact, a great deal of me feared that it was going to accelerate the process rather than prolong it—but if I was going to get hurt by him, then I was going to make it as harsh and cruel for him as he was for me. I just had to hurt him in a different way.
“Maybe a few families know of you, sure, but you’re nothing compared to the real criminals of the past,” I said. “Ted Bundy? Jesse James? Those are names people will remember. Damon Wicker is just an anonymous criminal that no one gives a shit about. No one will—”
Damon came and smacked me again with his hand, knocking me to the ground. It was working, although I wasn’t sure what “working” meant in this contest.
“You are a fucking stupid bitch, you know that?” he said. At least I’m getting under his skin really good. “You think I’m nobody? By the time I’m through with you tonight, I’ll be someone you never forget. I’ll haunt your fucking dreams, Carrie. You’ll never be able to look at another man without seeing my face. You will go to the grave with your last memory being of me.”
“Perhaps so,” I shot back. “But that won’t get your name in the newspaper. You won’t ever be remembered or given coverage in the news. You think you’re somebody? Lane is more of a somebody than you are. Lane—”
Damon then kicked me, and it was only because I saw the kick coming was I able to “go with it” a bit and not have it hurt as much. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt—oh, it fucking hurt like a motherfucker.
“This would have been so much easier if you had just kept your whore mouth shut and your legs open for me,” Damon said as he grabbed me by the hair and pulled me in close. “But instead, like the stupid bitch that you are, you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You’re a dead bitch, Carrie. I won’t kill you now. But you are not making it out of this day alive.”
There was something absolutely paralyzing about the sincerity in his words. I knew nothing that I said or did would change Damon’s mind; if not even sex would cause him to spare his life, then nothing in this world would stop him from killing me. I very much feared that my last day was going to be today because I hadn’t listened to Lane.
But it was for that very reason that I held on to a glimmer of hope.
“Yeah, but you’ll be dead too,” I said, my words weary and my body tired from the physical beatdown. “Lane will come with the Saints. And he’s going to kill you.”
“Hah! You have retrieved your sense of humor, it seems! Very good, Carrie, very good. There’s just one problem with that idea. I have already broken free from his grasp once. I can easily do it again, most especially because he is no longer a cop. If he couldn’t beat me when he had all of that at his disposal, what’s to say that he’s going to succeed now? Face it, he’s a failure. If he does see me, it’s because I will have let him.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, although I couldn’t pretend I was one hundred percent certain of my convictions. I absolutely had a fear in my stomach that I was just bullshitting like mad and there would be nothing I could do to stop it. “He’s freer now. He was constrained by the law and the regulations before. But now, he’s free to do as he pleases.”
Damon scoffed and started to walk away. At least he’d stood up to take his anger out on something else. It was hard to feel good about “winning” then the only thing that I’d earned was a few hits.
“Maybe so,” he said. “Maybe Lane is freer than before. But it doesn’t matter. He and the rest of the Saints won’t be around for long. And I don’t mean because of what I’m doing.”
“What?” I said, more of a gasp than an actual coherent word.
“Ah,” Damon said, sensing doubt and fear. “You see, there’s a perfect storm of events coming down to end them once and for all. I am but one part of that plan. A very-well compensated and rewarded part, but just a part all the same. Even if a miracle happens and Lane does indeed manage to kill me, it will only prolong the inevitable. The end of the Savage Saints is at hand.”
I had no idea what he was talking about. And frankly, as long as Lane killed Damon and rescued me, I trusted him to figure out the rest. It couldn’t possibly be any more dangerous or worse than this.
“That’s what you think,” I said, feigning confidence. “You can’t kill the brotherhood that they have. You can’t separate them. I was with Lane, and he chose the club over me. If you know I couldn’t separate him from the club, if you know that I couldn’t break apart that bond, what the hell makes you think that you and your little plan can?”
Damon just cackled, looked over his shoulder at me and shrugged.
“There are things you are unaware of, Carrie, and things Lane and the Saints are unaware of,” he said. “As for me and you and Lane…we shall see.”
He laughed again before repeating those ominous words.
“We shall see.”
Chapter 21: Niner
Every member of the club stood before me, Marcel, and Biggie.
Every member, except for Uncle, who would stay behind to safeguard the building, would be following us out of the door after we finished debriefing them.
And I expected every member to have our back and fight by whatever means necessary to get Carrie back, Damon killed, and the Bloodhounds eliminated. They hadn’t gotten the moniker savage for nothing.
“One more time, here’s the plan,” I said, my voice loud and audible to all. “Biggie and I are each driving vans to the warehouse in question. We will form a perimeter around the building. On our cue, we will storm in. You are to eliminate all hostiles except for Damon, whose photo you have received. Under no circumstances are we to have any, any civilian casualties. Do I make myself clear?”
Everyone loudly said yes. At this point, as a police officer, I would have heard enough. I didn’t need a rah-rah speech or anything to get me “hyped up.” I had my mission; emotions just clouded me.
But as I looked around the room, and as I sensed for the vibe from the Stones, I felt a responsibility to ignite the kinship that would help us win. So many of the men in the room had either barely experienced violence of any consequence, or they had done so in an individual context. They needed someone who had been on the front lines as part of a team.
“This mission,” I said, “will only succeed if we work together and we have each other’s back. Look to the person to your right. Look to the person to your left. They are your family here.”
Unlike my time in the police. There are no politics to be played here. Just a mission to carry out.
“Whatever happens on this mission, fight for your brothers. Fight for the good of the Savage Saints. Fight for something bigger than yourself. Do this, and we will emerge victorious.”
“Yeah!” Biggie shouted, generating cheers and shouts from the crowd.
It was just as well Biggie got things going. Even that moment of “inspiration” was a bit dryer than I think most would have preferred. But that was why I was the sergeant-at-arms and he was the vice president.
“Let’s go,” I shouted.
We split into groups of ten, with me commandeering one van and Biggie the other. The other nine members—including Marcel and Fitz—piled into the back, rifles in hand. Biggie and I had walkie talkies we could use to communicate as we approached, but we would discard them once we got on site.
I took a half-second before I turned the van on. I knew there were risks in t
his mission. I knew the minute that we barged in, Damon could choose to kill Carrie, rendering anything else I did after that meaningless. They could have already left the warehouse in anticipation of a preemptive strike. They could have used this to lure us in, only for them to destroy the repair shop.
But the possibility of a rescue and of accomplishment would never again be so promising. If we waited until tonight, we were fighting on the Bloodhounds’ terms. No matter how “favorable” those terms may have seemed, we would still be in a losing battle.
I turned the van on.
It was time to save Carrie.
It was time to avenge all of the victims I was unable to save.
It was time to kill Damon.
* * *
I parked my van about a tenth of a mile from the building. While the broad daylight made subtlety impossible, I had to figure which route would provide us the greatest element of surprise. In my estimation, we would be able to sneak up on foot a lot more easily than we would by driving right up to the warehouse.
“Niner?” Biggie said over the radio. “What’s going on? Shouldn’t we get closer, over?”
With my eyes still trained on the warehouse, looking for any sign of a trap or of danger, I grabbed the walkie-talkie.
“Negative. Feet are quieter than engines. We’ll have to move in silence. Over.”
I gave Biggie a few seconds to respond, in case he had an idea counter to mine.
“Roger that, let’s move. Over.”
All I need to hear.
I cut the engine off, went to the back, and opened the doors. The nine Savage Saints all had their rifles at the ready, their eyes steeled and determined. They might have been a nervous, sick wreck on the ride over, but with the battle at hand, adrenaline would have its place.
“It’s time,” I said.
I passed by the passenger’s seat, grabbed my rifle, and led the nine Savage Saints around the perimeter of the building. I saw several Bloodhound bikes, complete with fang marks on them, as if that somehow made the sickos cool, but no actual Bloodhounds. We were going to suffer some casualties on this run; of that, there was, unfortunately, no doubt in my mind.
But if someone signed up for an MC thinking that there wouldn’t be the risk of death and violence, then they deserved the rude awakening that was about to come.
I waved over Biggie and his group, and we met up at the far entrance, away from the windows and any doors. I motioned for him to take the north-facing side, and we took the south side. As best as I could tell, there were only two entrances to the building, and we had each covered. If Damon was going to break free, he was going to have to go through our men to do so.
This was where we had to trust the other team to do their part. We had each looked at our watch before we moved out and had agreed to run in at the top of the minute. At that point, the goal was simple.
Kill as many Bloodhounds as possible. Capture Damon. Rescue Carrie. Any other goal had to fall under one of those three categories.
I checked my watch. Twenty seconds till. I looked at the Saints. A couple were saying prayers. Two of them were taking very deep breaths. The rest were in position, ready to move at my command.
Fifteen seconds. I’m coming for you, Carrie. I’m sorry I got you into this, but I’ll make sure you get out of it. You can return to Georgia and never have to worry again about me or anything connected to me.
Ten seconds. Damon, it’s time to head to the grave. You’re going to burn for a very long time for what you did. I will make sure that your path there is as painful as what you’ve done to this world.
Five seconds. I readied my gun.
Four.
Three. For the Saints.
Two. For everyone who fell to him.
One. For Carrie.
I turned, chambered my leg, and kicked down the door.
“FREEZE!” I yelled.
I was immediately met with shouts and cries of surprise from the Bloodhounds. I shot down two before they could react. My men fanned out behind me, and we quickly took cover as we engaged in a shootout with the Bloodhounds.
“The hell did they come from?”
“They’re everywhere!”
“Shit, what the fuck?”
“Take them out!”
I listened closely for Damon’s voice in the madness. Surely, he would be a part of this.
But so far, I hadn’t heard him shout at all. Don’t tell me we’re too late. I shook the thoughts long enough to lay down fire and eliminate a couple more Bloodhounds.
My men advanced in the warehouse as the enemy fire dwindled to practically nothing.
But something didn’t seem right. I hadn’t heard Damon at all, and for that matter, I hadn’t heard Carrie screaming or yelling for me. I would have thought that the sound of gunfire would have at least drawn a terrified scream for her.
“Hands up!” Marcel yelled as he moved in. “Hands up, Bloodhounds! Gig is up! Hands up, or we will shoot!”
Marcel, to his credit, quickly took control of the situation. We had wiped them out. What few Bloodhounds remained quickly surrendered.
But among them was not Damon…
What had I missed?
A motorcycle.
I heard it outside. It was faint, and if the gunfire had still been going on, I would never have heard it. But there was no mistaking it. I turned and sprinted outside.
I came out just in time to see Damon picking up speed on his bike, escaping. I had one shot, but I needed to be true. Damon had Carrie, seemingly unconscious—hopefully not dead—slung over his shoulder. I was much too far away to see if she was alive, much less unhurt or undamaged.
I acted without even thinking. Years of being in the NYPD had taught me to be a steady shot under pressure, and just because I had left the force didn’t mean I had lost the skills accompanied with it. I aimed my rifle at the tires and fired.
My aim was true. The bike tire popped, the motorcycle tossed Damon and Carrie into the air, and the bike itself fell to the ground. I sprinted over as Damon quickly got back up.
“Carrie!” I shouted. “Carrie!”
But Damon, somehow still mobile, reached for her, threw her over his shoulder, and used his free hand to fire at me. He wasn’t accurate, but he did slow me down enough for him to continue getting away.
I chased him around the side of the warehouse until he came to a ridge over the water. He dropped Carrie off his shoulder and let her ragged body hang just barely on the edge. He held her hand, and if he let go of her, her body was going to fall into the water.
“What did you do?”
“Me?” Damon said in mock confusion. “I was just trying to take her someplace private. That’s what you would be doing, isn’t it, Officer Lane ‘Niner’ Bentley?”
He cackled with laughter. I raised my rifle at him. The laughter stopped instantly.
“You might want to reconsider doing that,” he said, a smirk slowly spreading across his face.
“Is she alive?”
“Duh,” Damon said. “You think I would lose my leverage with you just for a momentary thrill?”
There was nothing about him that gave me any reason to believe him, but to consider the alternative was too much. My fingers remained steady and by the trigger.
“You know, Lane, I think you and I got off on the wrong foot before,” he said. “All the violence between us. It was just too much. So, let me make amends by giving you a choice.”
He then pulled out a pistol with his free hand, his other hand still holding Carrie.
“Here is your choice,” he said. “You let me shoot you, and Carrie does not fall into the water and drown. Or, you try to shoot me, and she drowns, and then I kill you anyway. So really, it’s a question of if you believe in an afterlife, isn’t it? Maybe you’d want her to die if that’s the case. At least you won’t be waiting that way. Of cour—”
BANG!
One shot straight to Damon’s forehead silenced him forever.
I lunged just in time to grab her by the ankles.
“Oh, shit,” I muttered to myself.
I slowly dragged her up to safety. I took her pulse.
She was alive.
Unconscious, but alive.
“Oh my God, Carrie,” I mumbled.
I looked over at the corpse of Damon. I’d waited far too long to do that. I had cost far too many lives by taking so long.
But at long last, he was done.
He was gone.
The women of New York City could breathe a little bit easier knowing this nightmarish sociopath would no longer wander the streets.
I thought of saying something, but there weren’t words to express how much this man had tormented me and had been a nightmare for the world. So, as was my custom, rather than speak, I took action.
I grabbed him by the jacket, took him to the edge, shook my head in disgust at him, and then hoisted him into the water. His body sunk within seconds, and I knew then that even if the bullet had somehow not killed him, the water would.
“Never again.”
Those were the only words I could find on my tongue at that moment. I turned back to Carrie. I picked her up gingerly, feeling for any broken bones. She didn’t seem to have any, though she’d probably have to go to the hospital.
I started to move her to the van when she stirred.
“Lane?” she said, her eyes slowly fluttering open.
“Carrie!” I said.
I crouched down and embraced her tight. Her arms were slow to return the favor, but only because she’d just been knocked out. Slowly, as she came to, she understood she was safe with me. She hugged me back, repeating my name over and over again.
“I really thought I was going to die,” she said. “I thought you might come, but I just…Lane, I got scared. I didn’t know, I should have listened, I—”