by Colbie Kay
Maybe I took it too far? Maybe I shouldn’t have gone to her house? I need her as far away from me as possible and she doesn’t belong in my world, even if the women want her there. Every time I see her, those memories flood back in, my rage rises to the surface like the flames of a wildfire, and I can’t control it.
I thought I was doing good, handling it, until I saw her again. My wounds, still not fully healed, split back open the first time I saw her at the clubhouse, and they bleed just as bad now as they did then. I realize I’m never going to be able to put the past behind me and truly move on from that night. How can anyone expect me to forgive someone that took part in destroying me, taking everything away from me?
If someone would have asked me, back before the night I met Sierra Greene, “What’s your dream?” I would have responded, “I’m fuckin’ living it, man,” with a smile on my face. Did that dream involve a strip club? Fuck no! But...shit changes. I was dealt a fucked up hand in this life fifteen years ago, and I haven’t smiled since.
I got the idea about a year ago to open Stilettos, and I knew my brothers would be all for it, especially if it’s bringing in money for the Sinners. When I found this building, it was on the outskirts of Wichita, run-down, but perfect for the space I needed. Once the deal closed I got started right away, hiring a construction company, a designer, and my employees. Everyone worked together, and we turned that run-down shithole into the busiest gentlemen’s club in the state of Kansas.
Someone knocks on my office door, pulling me from my thoughts. “Come in.”
Dancer pops her head in. “Hacker, two of the girls are arguing.” Dancer is my lead bartender and one of the best employees I have. She’s a cute little thing with her short stature, long dark hair, and crazy yellow cat eyes. She’s become closer to me than just an employee, the closest I have to a daughter, and I’d split someone open for hurtin’ the girl.
Fucking Christ! I get out of my chair, following behind Dancer to the dressing room. “You took him from me!” one of the girls yells at the other as we enter.
“It’s not my fault he took me into the VIP room.” The other shrugs her shoulder and goes about trying to change into a new outfit.
“Ugh! I can’t stand you!” the first girl screams. I see it in her eyes: She’s going to pounce like a tiger. Just as she lunges, I grab her around the waist.
“Chill the fuck out!” I demand as she tries to kick at my legs. I carry her out of the dressing room and back to my office. Dancer shuts the door behind the three of us. Setting the stripper back on her feet, I ask, “What’s going on?”
“That bitch saw me sitting with the guy all night. He kept promising me the VIP room. When I had to get up on stage he took her instead.” Tears well up in her eyes. This type of business can be cutthroat between the dancers, but that’s how it is.
“Hannah, some of the men out there are assholes. They’ll keep you sitting there hoping, but they have no intention of giving you money. Most likely he saw Jewel and figured he’d get more than dances out of her. You ain’t like that, so you need to pick and choose your battles, honey. But…no fighting with the other girls, ’cause if it happens again I’ll have to fire you. Understood? Go home for the night and come back tomorrow.”
She nods. “Thanks, Hacker. I won’t do it again, I promise.”
“Good. Now get outta here.” Dancer opens the door for Hannah to leave, then shuts it once again.
“Shit, it’s like having a grown daycare in this place. The girls fighting over a toy.” She shakes her head. “You really should think about getting a manager for the girls. I can’t watch them all the time behind the bar, your brothers and the bouncers can’t, and neither can you.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” I answer just to appease her, sitting behind my desk.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” She plops down in one of the chairs opposite my desk.
My eyes connect with hers. “Nothin’, why?” My brow arches.
“You seem off today.” She shrugs her shoulder with a pointed look at the whiskey still sitting on the desk before bringing her gaze back to my stare. “You haven’t touched your glass.”
“I just got some shit I’m dealing with. You better get back out there and help Jeremy tend the bar.”
“Right.” She stands, walks to the door, and, before she opens it, turns back to me. “If you wanna talk, I’m here.”
“Thanks, Dancer.” She nods, opens the door, and goes back to do her job. Smoothing my hand over my hair, I go back to my own job of running through payments and the inventory of liquor.
Two am rolls around, and the final girl is walked safely to her car by one of the bouncers. By 2:30, everyone is gone, and Dancer is finished cleaning up the bar. I always wait for her so we can leave together. I follow her home to make sure she doesn’t have any men from the club waiting behind. We lock up the club and walk to her vehicle.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Hacker,” she says with a smile as she sits in the driver’s side of her Hummer.
“See ya’.” I shut the door, walk to my Harley, straddle the beast, and start it up.
Dancer drives out of the lot first, with me following close behind. The twenty-minute ride to her house is mostly highway until we hit city limits, then we take side streets until she pulls into her garage, and I wait on the street until I see her living room light turn on. Scoping out the surroundings, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary, no suspicious cars, so I ride to my house.
I’m one of the few Sinners that owns his own house. I never actually lived at the clubhouse like my brothers, and I’m the last original Sinner left now that Ripper has been killed.
I park my bike in my driveway, go to the mailbox, grab my mail, and walk up to the front door. When I get inside I look through the envelopes; one stands out, and I know I’m gonna need my bottle of whiskey for this shit.
Taking the envelope with me, I walk into my kitchen, turn the light on, and grab my bottle out of the cabinet. I don’t bother with a glass, instead taking a long pull straight from the bottle before sitting at the dining table. The envelope lies in front of me, tormenting me. Breathing deeply, I open it. I’ve been waiting fifteen years for this, and the memories flood in.
The cold.
The ice.
The pain.
The words no one should ever fuckin’ hear.
Mr. Jackson,
We are writing this letter to inform you…
I keep drinking until the bottle is gone and the memories fade away with the blackness.
Chapter 7
I was so excited when the girls called and asked me to have lunch with them. I needed a break from everything that’s been going on in the last week. The restaurant is an intimate place, but it’s nice. I probably shouldn’t be splurging on lunch or shopping afterward, with the way my finances are right now, but I needed this. I didn’t want to say no because of how last week went, but how can I tell these ladies that, Hey, I’m a doctor, but I’m going broke and not even broke, more like in debt?
“Why did you leave so fast, Daphne?” Zoey asks, drawing me back to the conversation.
“It’s too much for me; I couldn’t be there any longer.” Hmm…the way she doesn’t give an exact answer has me wondering if she has a past with one of the men, the way I do. Daphne is a beautiful woman! Her skin is covered in gorgeous colorful artwork; she’s a tattoo artist, so I wonder if she inked any of them on herself over the years as she practiced. Her black and blonde hair flows down her shoulders and her dramatic makeup is flawless.
“I know; I’m never going back there. I can’t deal with Hacker’s shit any longer. I’m sorry, I love you ladies, but it’s just not worth it anymore,” I reiterate what I told them already, partly to get them off Daphne as well. You can tell by her stiff posture and the way she’s loo
king down that she doesn’t want to talk about it. One of the things these ladies are good for is not giving up. It’s nice sometimes, but damn, when you want them to give up, they just hold on to it.
“I don’t know what the hell his problem is when you come around, but I’d like to nut-punch the shit out of him for it,” Jacey says with a look of disgust. I’ve known her the longest. She was a resident doctor in the ER when I was still in that line of my profession. She was young, younger than any other doctor, and I kind of took her under my wing. We became close, and I was so happy for her when she decided to open her own clinic. Deep down, though, she never seemed completely satisfied with her life and what she was achieving. She’s a different person now that she’s figured herself out.
“Sierra.” Chatty gets my attention while the others continue talking. “I wanted to tell you that I know we haven’t known each other long, but the three years that I was gone, Crazy Girl kept me updated. You are a genuinely good person and I’m sorry that Hacker treated you like that.”
“Thank you, Chatty.”
We finish our lunch and drive over to Ever’s new store. Looking around at all her clothes, I wish I could buy one of everything, but no way can I afford it. I pick out one shirt and feel guilty for even doing that, but I don’t want the ladies to think I don’t like the store. After paying, I go back to my SUV.
Just as I’m getting in, I get a call that I’m needed in labor and delivery.
It’s been six months since Hacker showed up at my house, threatening and scaring the life out of me. In that time, I would find myself panicking if I got home after dark. I was terrified to walk to my own door, so I started taking self-defense classes, and I purchased a gun that I always carry. I kind of feel like a badass, and it makes me smile as I aim at the target.
I’m at the shooting range, unloading a box of bullets into the black figure. I’ve gotten pretty good at shooting, and most of my shots are right on target, either through the head or heart. I never thought that shooting a gun could be good therapy, but for me it is. I feel like a different person when I walk out of the building: relaxed, confident, and meditated.
My phone rings; when I answer, it’s one of my patients. She’s in labor, so I tell her I’ll meet her at the hospital. I rush to get there before she does, and I get gowned up and sterilized, then get my nurses on deck. It’s time to bring another life into this world.
“One more big push!” I tell the mother-to-be. Her baby’s head is out; we just have to get the shoulders now. She bears down, and I start to count down. “Ten, nine, eight.” Her teeth clench, and I know she’s giving it her all. “Five, four, three.” The shoulders are through, and her newborn baby girl slides the rest of the way out into my hands. Newborn cries fill the delivery room. “It’s a healthy baby girl! You did great, Mom. Dad, you want to cut the umbilical cord?”
He nods with tears in his eyes. I clamp the correct areas and the nurse hands him the scissors. When the baby is free I hand her to the nurse to clean her up, suction her mouth and nose, and check her over. The smiling faces, happy tears from the new parents, and hearing those first baby cries give me validation of why I do this job. I finish with the mother and let the nurses take over.
Pulling my gloves off, I tell the parents, “I’ll be by tonight before I head home.” I wash my hands, leave the room, and move on to the other mothers and babies I need to check on in labor and delivery.
Finishing up for the evening, I grab my purse, lock my office, and walk through the clinic and out to the parking lot where I parked the Navigator this morning. I decide that, since it’s Friday, why not get some pizza and movies? It’s been a while since we’ve had a fun evening. I pull my phone out of my purse and call the pizza place. I order a few different kinds, and once I’m off the phone, I drive to the nearest Redbox.
“I brought pizza!” I announce as I walk in the front door.
Cash runs into the foyer. “Did you get cheese?”
“Of course.” I laugh. He helps me carry the food into the kitchen, where Shelly’s already waiting for me.
“Hi! How was today?” I question, setting the boxes and my purse on the counter.
“Hey!” She smiles. “It was a good day.”
“Good. Did you have any problems with his medication?” I ask while pulling plates out of the cabinet for Cash and myself.
“Not today.” She chuckles.
Cash takes his plate. “Sierra, after we eat, wanna play a game on my PlayStation?”
“Sure!” I smile and ruffle his hair. “I rented a couple movies for us, too.”
“Okay.” He shrugs, already stuffing a piece of cheese pizza in his mouth. Typical young boy—doesn’t wait for the rest of us—and it makes me smile.
“What’s for dinner?” Mark comes out of the bathroom with a smile.
“Pizza!” Cash tells him excitedly.
“Awesome!” He stops at the counter. “Where’s the plates?” His features turn to confusion.
“In the cabinet.” I point to the correct one. “Right up there.”
“Oh, yeah, I knew that.” He laughs it off and comes over to the boxes of pizza. “We’re having pizza for dinner?”
“Yep,” I reply easily, my voice relaxed. “Your plate is in the cabinet.”
After everyone gets their plates ready, we sit in the dining room to eat. “How was school today, Cash?”
“It was good.”
Mark’s brows pull down in confusion. “What’s wrong, Mark?” I ask between bites of my own slice of pepperoni.
“Why are we eating pizza for breakfast?” he questions. Cash and Shelly look at each other.
I blink back my tears and smile. “It’s not morning, it’s nighttime.”
Mark looks at me. “What’s wrong with me, Sisi?”
“We’re trying to figure it out.” I reach across the table and squeeze his hand for comfort.
Cash wraps his arms around his dad and hugs tightly. Mark clears his throat and excuses himself from the table.
The rest of us try to enjoy the rest of our food, but it’s hard.
“Nooo!” Cash exclaims. He joins in my laughter.
“I just whooped you at your own game. Not once, but twice!” I taunt jokingly, holding two fingers up.
“I’m going to bed. Night, Sierra.”
“Goodnight, I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He gives me a quick hug then treks to his room.
I go into my home office and start opening bills. They keep piling up, and I’m not sure what to do anymore. Yes, I’m a doctor, but with the price I pay for malpractice insurance, past medical bills, medications, Cash, mortgage, and everything else…I’m not left with much.
In the divorce, Stephen took half of our savings and by the time I finished paying my lawyer it had pretty much run out. I’m sinking further into debt, with no way out. I have people depending on me and I don’t know how to get out of this hole I’m sinking into. Everything is on my shoulders; it weighs heavily, and I’m at the point I may have to start looking for a second job. I’m not sure exactly how that would work since I have to be on-call for my patients. Something has got to give before I hit rock bottom.
It’s getting late, so I get up from the chair, turn off my office light, and go into my room to get ready for bed. I’ll deal with it all another day. Ha, hasn’t that been my mantra for years? How much longer can I put it off, though?
Present
Chapter 8
As the only original Satan’s Sinner left, I have the chair at the opposite end of the table of Hanger, our President. Each chair begins to fill as our patched members start trailin’ in for church. Gunner, Ghost, BamBam, Bear, Writer, Hunter, Romeo, Demon, and Chayser take their respective places while a few of the prospects stand against the wall.
You don’t get a seat unless you’re a patch holder. Hanger calls for church to begin. “We have new stock coming in from our run last month. The new dealers have agreed to work with us, so the shipments will be arriving in the next few days. When the drugs and guns get here, I want BamBam and Ghost to run the drugs over to the Cobras—they’ll have their shipment of guns and ammo ready for you to bring back. Demon, go over how our money is doin’ now that it’s been spread out.” Demon has now taken Ripper’s place as our Treasurer. He also does the books for me at Stilettos.
Having two one-percent motorcycle clubs in one town can be difficult, but when Bulk, Hanger’s dad, was President we made a pact with the Cobras. We don’t deal in drugs if they don’t deal in guns. So while each club will get shipments of both from their suppliers, we do a trade: They get our drugs and we get their guns. That keeps the peace and we don’t have to fight for territory rights. Plus, it makes it a good deal having an ally if we need to call in for extra backup.
“We have increased $75,000 so far. Stilettos is bringing in the most, but we already figured that it would. The rest is running good through Runaway Tattoo and Lady Sinners. Plus we have the money coming in from Bear’s garage, which is all legit, so it looks like we are back on track. This new deal should bring us up even more, with an increase of at least $50,000.”
“Good deal,” Hanger responds once Demon is done, and continues with the real matter at hand. “We have a spotting on The Four Kings—they’ve been hidin’ out in a run-down house outside of Topeka. Have been for a while now, and we heard they’re trying to bring in new members, along with prospects. Apparently trying to build back up, with Deuce as their President.”