Swing (Tidals & Anchors MC #1)

by Yolanda Olson

  “What happened?” Pardon asked, crouching down next to Ricki.

  “I don’t know. She hasn’t said anything yet,” she replied, stroking the woman’s hair. That was the thing I liked most about Ricki. She was tough as fucking nails, but she would be the first one to mother someone that needed it.

  “Are you okay?” Dallas asked, crouching down on the other side of his mother. He put a hand on the girl’s shoulder causing her to recoil further into Ricki’s arms.

  “Ah shit, honey. Did someone hurt you?” Ricki asked, understanding filling her voice.

  I’d like to think of myself as kind of a tough guy. I walk the walk and I talk the talk, but when that woman looked up into my eyes, something about the way she held my gaze kind of scared me.

  I couldn’t figure out why so I decided to shake the feeling away. I stood there while Ricki helped her off the ground and watched as Dallas and Pardon flanked her on the way to the nearest chair.

  I stayed where I was and glanced out the broken down door. She had run clean through the heavy wooden structure somehow and a cool breeze was coming in. With one last glance toward them, I walked outside and looked up at the dark night sky, blanketed in stars and a bright white moon.

  One thing Dad instilled in me when I was going through my rebel youth phase, was that almost any and every great man that has fallen in history has been due to a woman. He even gave examples: Samson and Delilah, David and Bathsheba, Starkweather and Fugate. He always told me that if I wasn’t careful a woman would take me down because I was destined to be a great man. Hell, if that were true, then I kind of hoped I’d find the Mallory to my Mickey; or at least my teenager self did.

  But now, as a grown man in my mid twenties, I didn’t want to deal with the stress and confinements of a relationship, so I usually just screwed around with the club skanks who didn’t have an old man when I wanted to get off. It was more than enough to hold me over.

  Reaching into my jeans pocket, I pull out a pack of half full cigarettes and light one. For some reason, a saying crossed my mind. (Insert here) will be the death of me.

  I never did have anything to insert at the beginning of that sentence, because I was usually death. Glancing over my shoulder into the club and looking at that terrified girl that had come crashing in on one of the most important nights of the club sent a shiver through me.

  For some reason, I understood that saying now. I understood why that was going through my head. If my gut feeling was right, I think what would be the death of me was sitting in an old office chair, leaning on Ricki’s shoulder.

  Not if I can fucking help it.

  Four

  Three weeks later, I was sitting at home when my phone rang. It was Dallas, but I decided not to answer. It was my day off so to speak, and I wanted to relax today and not deal with any club shit today if that’s why he was calling.

  I never got that girl’s name or found out what happened to her, and it had been bothering me lately. Of course, the easy thing to do would be to just ask Ricki, but I wasn’t sure that I cared.

  Ignoring Dallas wouldn’t land me on anybody’s good side, but after that last thing I had to take care of, I definitely needed a little time to myself. I had lost it for some reason in the middle of my work and I was worried that it was becoming too much for me.

  I did like it; that was a give in. I appreciated that they trusted me enough to do the hard jobs for them, but that last one ...

  I never did find out what he did that warranted me taking him out, but Pardon had asked it to be especially brutal and I obliged. You didn’t say no to the club president and you didn’t ask questions past the information you were given.

  I took a deep breath and decided not to think about it when there was a knock on the front door. With a sigh, I got to my feet and walked over and pulled it open.

  “Where have you been, brother? I’ve been trying to get ahold of you,” Dallas said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Decompressing,” I replied, stepping back to let him in.

  “From what?”

  “Shit in general. Anyway, what’s up?” I asked, leading him into the living room and sitting down on my couch.

  “Pardon’s been looking for you. Says he needs to talk to you about something important,” he said, sitting down on the love seat and leaning back. “Want me to tell him that I couldn’t find you?”

  “No. He’ll chop both of our balls off,” I said thoughtfully.

  We were both silent so I decided to turn the television on to get some kind of noise. I hated silence; it always fucked me up on the inside. Unfortunately there was nothing good on, so I turned it off and tossed the remote control onto the space next to me.

  “Can I ask you something?” Dallas asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What did Pardon want to talk to you about? That night of the vote?”

  “Nothing important,” I replied, rubbing the back of my neck.

  “You’re lying, Swing. You always do that when you’re lying,” he pointed out with a laugh.

  “It’s not important,” I insisted.

  Dallas leaned forward and looked at me. I hated when he stared at me. To be honest, I hated when anyone stared at me, but him in particular because he always thought he could break me with that look.

  “Is that the only reason you came over? To tell me that Pardon is looking for me and to ask me what he talked to me about?” I asked in exasperation.

  He didn’t answer right away; he was still using his mind control stare to try to get me to talk, but I refused to give in.

  “Yeah, I guess so,” he finally said, leaning back against the couch again.

  “I’ll come by the clubhouse later and talk to Pardon, alright?”

  Dallas nodded and got to his feet. About damn time. I watched him from where I was sitting as he walked to the front door. He put his hand on the doorknob and hesitated.

  “Are you sure everything is okay, Swing?” he asked.

  “Just fine,” I replied with a nod.

  With a slight shake of his head, Dallas left. I reached for the remote and turned the television back on, attempting to lose myself in the barrage of commercials that were on. Anything to not have to think about what kind of shit Pardon was going to give me for being unreachable as long as I had been.

  After Dallas roared away on his Harley, I heard the mailman outside fussing with the mailbox. I rarely checked the mail so I knew he hated coming here. I waited until he left before I went outside to grab it. It had been the traditional two weeks I would wait before emptying my box and most of it would probably go into the garbage anyway.

  I got up and peeked through the blinds, waiting til he disappeared down the street, before I went out my front door and grabbed the stack of letters and circulars that were waiting for me.

  Once I was inside again, I went back to the couch and grabbed a cigarette from the pack that was sitting on the coffee table. Dropping the stack next to it, I reached for my lighter and lit it, before I started to thumb through the mail. As I suspected, most of it was garbage with the occasional bill here and there.

  I was bunching all the junk mail together to take it to the trash can when I saw an envelope that caught my attention. It fell out of one of the circulars and landed on the table, the word NERO scrawled on the front.

  It was a rare thing that anyone called me by my given name and an even rarer thing to see handwriting I didn’t recognize. Balancing the cigarette between my teeth, I picked up the envelope, turned it over, and ripped it open. Inside was folded piece of paper, which I opened and looked at.

  I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.

  With a chuckle, I crumpled up the letter and walked toward the trash can with the rest of the junk mail. If someone was aiming to scare or threaten me, they’d have to be a little more specific. I did a lot of bad things.

  Five

  An hour after the sun went down, I was pulling into the parking lot of the pawnshop. I called earlier and found out that�
��s where Pardon was going to be, so going in to the clubhouse to see the rest of the guys wasn’t going to be a necessity.

  I actually appreciated that. I don’t think Pardon realized he was actually doing me a solid, by not having me go into the clubhouse and sit through an interrogation. Though I already knew he was going to put me through one himself.

  After parking my bike, I walked toward the pawnshop door and pushed it open. Pardon was behind the counter sitting on a chair, and talking to Dallas.

  I rolled my eyes but kept pace as I approached the counter.

  “Hey man,” I said to Pardon and nodding at Dallas in acknowledgment of his presence.

  “Where ya been hiding yourself?” Pardon asked, getting to his feet. He gave me a brief hug once I was behind the counter with him and Dallas clapped me on the shoulder.

  “Taking some time for myself,” I replied honestly, with a shrug.

  “What brought that on?” Pardon asked.

  I shook my head and fixed my knit cap to sit more comfortably. “I don’t know. I didn’t tell you guys, but I lost it on that last one. I can usually hold it together and make the point I’m supposed to before I kill them, but fuck.”

  “Lost it how?” Dallas asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I can’t explain it. It was just a frenzy that came out of nowhere. Anyway, that’s why I’ve been sticking to myself lately,” I explained quietly.

  Pardon and Dallas exchanged a glance and I sighed. I hated when they did that. It was almost as annoying as Dallas trying to break me with a stare.

  “Anyway, you wanted to talk to me?” I asked, leaning back against the counter and supporting myself with my hands.

  “Yeah. Give us a minute,” he said turning to his son, who obliged and left the pawnshop.

  Pardon sat down in his chair again and I looked at him. The serious look on his face told me that this wasn’t going to be a good chat, but we were going to have it nonetheless.

  “Remember that girl that came crashing in here a few weeks ago?” he asked. I nodded. “Well she’s causing some trouble for us so we took a vote. It was unanimous and we want you to handle it.”

  “You can’t be serious,” I said in disbelief. “No way in hell am I doing a chick.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  “Fuck,” I said, pushing myself angrily away from the counter. I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I really did like what I do, I just didn’t want to ever have to do it to a woman or child.

  “Where am I going?” I asked, giving him an angry stare.

  “Don’t you even want to know what the problem is?” Pardon asked with a chuckle.

  “No. Fuck all that. I don’t even want to do this, let alone know what the problem is. So just tell me where I’m going so I can get this shit over with.”

  Pardon laughed and reached over to the register. He ripped off a long piece of tape and wrote down a name, an address, and a physical description.

  “I want double for this,” I said, snatching the paper from his hand.

  “You’ll get it. Just be careful, brother. Don’t trust anyone.”

  I stalked out of the pawnshop and went straight to my bike. I could hear Dallas calling my name, but I was so pissed at what I was just tasked to do, that I ignored him. Roaring the engine to life, I secured my helmet onto my head, before I headed out of the lot back toward home.

  Six

  I sat on it for about a month. Every time Pardon called to see if I had “taken care of the problem”, I would tell him I was still doing some research. In a way, it was the truth. I tailed her for a little while, checked out her routine, made notes of changes on what days. She seemed unassuming for the most part. Nothing out of the ordinary. I noticed she would be on her cell phone a lot, but other than that, she would spend most of her time alone. It made me wonder if she was in hiding. The daily routine was almost too perfect the more I thought about it.

  After I all of that was said and done each day, I would go home and break something.

  I figured the day I would be able to walk in and not break anything in frustration of this bullshit task that was set in front of me, then I’d be ready to take out the mark.

  Alaska. Her name is Alaska.

  I rolled my eyes at my conscious correction of myself and pulled out all of the information had gathered on her. I was sitting on my couch in the living room, where I did my best thinking, and turned the small box over.

  The first thing I did was fish out the piece of receipt paper that Pardon had given me with her basics.

  Alaska Winslow.

  Short, thin.

  Long black hair; blue eyes.

  Her address.

  Unanimous Havoc vote.

  I had found out her work address, her schedule, her social media page, which was something I had only done once before with a mark. It was to see if there would be any family or friends that would miss them and she seemed like a bit of a loner.

  That should make it easy. Hell, this should’ve been the easiest hit I had to do, but I was just so angry about it being a female, that I kept sitting on it.

  Today was the first day though that I had come home and not broken anything. I reached the goal I had set for myself so I knew it was go time.

  I put the receipt paper to the left and sifted through the pictures I had taken of her. I never did this much fucking research before in my life, but I also didn’t want to make this painful. Not for a woman, anyway. I wanted to get in and get out, clean and easy.

  Reaching for my small flip notepad, I glanced at the time and found the page I needed. Today was Wednesday, 3:02 pm. She would be walking home in less than fifteen minutes from her usual visit to a local cemetery in town. I never went in when she was there so I didn’t know or care who she was visiting. I assumed it had to be some sort of family member, because according to her social media page, she didn’t seem to have any living relatives. None that she advertised anyway.

  I put everything back in the box and took it to the closet. I popped it up onto the top shelf, before I went into my bedroom to change my clothes.

  I picked out my usual outfit for this kind of thing. A white, long sleeved shirt, fitted dark blue jeans, and my heavy boots. It was almost the same thing I wore to the clubhouse on the day of the vote, but I hadn’t worn anything remotely close to this on my last hit, so I wanted to be comfortable. After I pulled my shirt over my head, I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I wasn’t going to wear a cap for this; I never did. Instead, I was going to apply a small dab of pomade wax and slick my hair back; it always made me look more presentable when I worked.

  Once I was done and satisfied with how I looked, I went back into the bedroom and pulled open my nightstand. Inside was my 9mm Beretta. I grabbed it and secured it in the waistband of my jeans, before I went into the living room to grab my car keys off of the table.

  I went out into my driveway and climbed into my brand new black Shelby Mustang GT500, and reached into the glove compartment. After fishing around for a few moments, I found the silencer that went to my gun and set it on the passenger seat. It would serve to remind me not to leave it behind if I could see it.

  With a deep breath, I turned the car on and backed out of my driveway. I was telling myself every reason in the world not to do this, and for a single, precious moment, I had almost talked myself out of it until I remembered that this was a vote. It was what I did and would have to do, regardless of the mark.

  Never again. I’m not doing another woman after this, I thought as I turned the car left and headed out onto the main road. Oddly enough, Alaska didn’t live far from me. Maybe a fifteen minute drive at the most, so I was hoping she’d take her time today and be al little late.

  When I finally pulled onto her street, I decided to park a few houses down. I didn’t want her to see me and get spooked. So, I leaned my seat back a little bit and crossed my hands behind my head, waiting for Alaska to come walking down the stre
et.

  Twenty minutes later, I saw her unmistakable small frame appear. I sat up and peered over the steering wheel to make sure she was alone. In a way she was; I noticed that she was holding a phone to her ear and she was laughing.

  I pulled my gun free from my waistband and grabbed the silencer, screwing it on securely. This is going to be so bad. I can feel it.

  I sat in my car and watched her. I wondered what inside of me would let me do this to someone like her, but I knew it had to be done. Once she started up the walkway to her home, I hopped out of my mustang and started toward her, gun gripped tightly at my side. It would be quick and painless I hoped. Then I could go back and tell Pardon that his miserable command had been taken care of.

  I stopped a few houses down and went to the side of the brick home. I could still see her from where I was but she wouldn’t be able to see me. Nor would the homeowners know I was here, because it seemed like the driveway I jogged up was empty.

  Alaska finished her phone call while sitting on the small stoop that led to her front door. She put the phone down next to her and pulled her long hair back into a ponytail, before getting to her feet and pulling her keys out of her shorts pocket.

  Taking a deep breath, I moved away from my spot and started to walk toward her. By the time I reached her, she was just closing the door. Thinking fast, I called out her name.

  “Hey, Alaska!” I said in the friendliest voice I could muster.

  She stopped short and looked out curiously. I walked up the walkway and a look of recognition dawned on her face, the closer I got to her front door.

  “Hey,” she replied curiously.

  I approached her door and shoved it open, knocking her off of her feet in surprise.

  “I’m sorry,” I said quietly, as I raised the gun, took aim, and fired.

  Seven

  I waited another day or so before I told Pardon that it was done. The look of fear and confusion in her eyes when I raised my gun had been plaguing me and I was angry.