Saving Axe (Motorcycle Club Romance, Cowboy, Military) (Inferno Motorcycle Club)

by Paige, Sabrina

  Right now, I felt blank.

  I only knew I wanted blood.

  “Axe. They all call you Axe here.” June’s voice broke me out of my thoughts.

  I nodded. “It’s been my name for years, June.”

  “Axe,” she said again, her voice flat. I wasn’t sure I liked how it sounded when she said it. “It suits you."

  “Things won’t be the same after we do this,” I said. “I won’t be the same.”

  “You're not the same now."

  “I’ve been down this road before, June.” I needed to warn her. What this did to me, it wasn’t good. It wouldn’t be good. Killing people wasn’t good for me.

  She nodded. "Cade. Axe. Things won't be the same again."

  My voice cracked. “You might not like who I become.”

  “You forget, Axe. I’ve been through dark places.”

  “And you chose light.” I said. “You chose to walk the straight and narrow.”

  “Not always,” she said. “And not now. I know what I’m choosing. I’m choosing you. Whether it’s to walk in darkness or in light, I’m choosing to do it with you.”

  “You might regret that choice,” I said.

  “Then it’s mine to regret.”

  “This is the place?” Crunch asked. We sat out of sight, in an alley around the corner from the building in one of Benicio’s cars, a dark SUV that branded us immediately as dealers. Not that there were many people around here to notice; this wasn't exactly an area you wanted to be out in, not at night. Benicio's muscle was with us, silent as usual.

  “This is it," Blaze said.

  “Do we know Tink will show up for the buy?” Crunch asked.

  “If you’re a meth-head and the shady dealer you're buying from on the down-low, outside the MC, tells you he has a sweet score, what do you do?" Blaze asked. "You get your little crackhead ass down to your dealer’s shithole of a place. He'll fucking show."

  "You ready to do this?" Crunch looked at me, his expression made all the more menacing by the shadows darkening his face.

  "Let's go."

  Benicio's men were trained well, I thought, watching them work. It wasn't exactly difficult to get inside the dealer's place, since the dealer opened the fucking door up like he didn't have a care in the world. Tink's dealer wasn't the sharpest tool, either, and he'd obviously been sampling his own merchandise. But Benicio's men moved with the kind of precision and bearing that said they were ex- special forces of some kind, not American.

  I pressed my nine millimeter to the dealer's temple. He was shaky, pale, sweat beading on his forehead. "You hear anything from Tink yet?"

  He put his hands on the air. "Come on, man, you guys said all I had to do was text him and get him over here. I told you he's coming. Why you gotta be all crazy with the guns and shit?"

  I patted him down, handed his piece to Crunch. "You got anything else on you?"

  The dealer sighed. "My ankle, man."

  I nodded toward one of Benicio's man, who finished the pat down, and removed the knife he had strapped to his ankle. "At least you're honest. Sit."

  We didn't have to wait long before Tink knocked on the door. "Hey, man." He poked his head just inside. "You didn't answer. You here?"

  When he saw the weapons trained on him, a look of realization registered on his face, followed by terror as he looked back and forth at Crunch and I.

  I smiled. "Hey, Tink. Remember us? You've been looking for us, haven't you? Well, here we are. It's like a goddamned reunion."

  Two of Benicio's men grabbed him roughly, pulled him across the kitchen, and pushed him down into a chair at the filthy table.

  Almost immediately, he began whining. "Mad Dog said you betrayed the club. He ordered us to find you. I didn't want to touch your wife! Mud was the one who killed the old man - "

  Before I could move toward him, Crunch punched him, square in the face. Tink made a gurgling sound and doubled over, clutching at his neck. I grabbed Tink's hair, pulled his head back.

  "Hand me that rag," I said, shoving it down his throat. I didn't want to hear anything else from him.

  I heard the dealer say something, protesting. "Shut him up," I ordered. One of Benicio's men put a round in his forehead, the sound muffled by the silencer on his weapon.

  I should have been completely enraged in that moment, but instead I felt the same familiar sense of calm descend over me that I had felt when I was a sniper.

  That fact alone should have terrified me.

  It was the feeling I'd become addicted to over there in the sandbox, the rush of being in the zone, simultaneously detached and completely aware of your surroundings. It was like meditating- my breathing would get deep, my heart rate would slow, and my senses would become hyper-focused. Time would stand still in anticipation of my blotting out a life.

  I felt the same thing now. A feeling of calm.

  Completely at peace with what I was about to do.

  Vengeance was mine.

  We took Tink back to the warehouse, a place Benicio used for things like this. There, a side of Crunch emerged that sent a chill down my spine.

  I don't think Crunch had ever killed someone like this. Not up close and personal, anyway. Killing someone like this was different than shooting someone. With a gun, you had some distance. Guns were efficient.

  This was in no way efficient.

  It was messy.

  Crunch broke Tink, piece by piece, slowly and methodically. With a hammer, he smashed his fingers, one by one, taking his time. I had never seen Crunch like that. He laughed when Tink cried, said he'd been fantasizing about the sound of his bones breaking. When he took the hammer to Tink's hands, he breathed in deeply, satisfaction written all over his face.

  I broke Tink's knees with a crowbar. By then, he'd passed out once already from the pain. No stamina. But we revived him. I wanted him to suffer.

  When Tink screamed his apology, it sent Crunch into a frenzy. He grabbed a sledgehammer, and I nearly tried to stop him, to keep him from passing over that cliff, for his own sake. It wouldn't bring April back, what he was about to do.

  But I think he'd already passed over the edge, descended into madness.

  I watched while he beat Tink into oblivion. The sight of it would never leave me.

  When it was over, I should have felt something, but I didn't. Satisfaction eluded me, but once the others were sent to Hell, then maybe I would get what I was looking for.

  Then it was Fats' turn to die.

  Benicio's men pulled him right off his sofa, right out of his fucking house. He had no idea we were coming for him, the stupid lazy bastard. They drove him out of the city, and we met them in the desert sometime after midnight. Out in the middle of nowhere, where his screams wouldn't be heard.

  Fats pleaded, protested. Blamed everything on Mad Dog and Mud. "I didn't touch the girl. It was Tink who wanted her," he screamed.

  He was a stupid fuck.

  He didn't realize that we had already killed Tink, that his response would only fuel Crunch's fury. And mine.

  Crunch wrapped chains around Fats, leaving his gag off so we could hear him scream. I wanted him to plead. To beg our forgiveness.

  He did, the entire time.

  I talked to him, explained how we would drag him behind the car, that the last thing he would see in life would be our faces. I wanted him to know.

  Crunch took the wheel of the SUV and slowly picked up speed. We could hear Fats screaming in agony as he was dragged through the dirt, the sand grinding against his exposed flesh. Then Crunch stopped the vehicle, walked back to Fats, and stood over him while he pleaded, whined like a distraught child. Crunch bent down toward Fats, said something in his ear. Whatever it was, it had an immediate effect on Fats, who began wailing.

  Wordlessly, Crunch returned to the wheel of the vehicle, and this time, floored the gas pedal. The dust billowed up behind us, a miniature dust storm. Fats' screams faded away quickly into the blackness of the night.


  Blaze stood there silently, watching. When it was over, not much of Fats remained.

  "Mud is mine," I said. He killed my father. Tied him to a chair and beat him to a pulp.

  In Benicio's warehouse, his kill room, we tied Mud to a chair, restrained him the same way he'd restrained my father before he beat him to death.

  It was more poetic that way, I figured.

  There was a special place in hell for people like Mud. But on this earth, I had my own kind of hell prepared for the man who had killed my father.

  When he saw the blade, his eyes got big. Like the others, he pleaded for his life. Said he had a girlfriend. "Please," he whined. "Mad Dog. It was all Mad Dog's doing."

  Standing behind him, I brought the blade close to his face, ran it along his jawline. Reaching down to the side of his neck, I felt his pulse.

  "Your pulse is through the roof," I said, my voice calm, friendly. "It's not healthy, your pulse racing like that."

  Mud begged. "Please, man, you don't have to do this."

  From the side of the room, Crunch stood with his arms crossed over his chest, watching me.

  I pricked the skin on Mud's face with the tip of the blade, watching blood bead up on his face, drip slowly down his cheek.

  Mud whimpered.

  I talked to him, my tone measured. "You know," I said. "People associate scalping with the Native Americans, but it's found throughout ancient societies, back to the Greeks and Romans."

  I heard Mud whine.

  "Do you know what scalping involves, Mud?" I asked, the blade still against his cheek.

  He didn't respond intelligibly, instead making a strangled sound.

  "Speak up, Mud," I said. "It's impolite not to answer when you're asked a question."

  "Ye -yes," he choked out, tears streaming down his face. The stench of piss filled the air.

  "Good," I said. "The thing about scalping is that it doesn't necessarily kill you."

  "Oh, God," he pleaded.

  I leaned over and whispered in his ear. "God can't save you now." Then I stood up, looked toward Crunch. He nodded, and I began.

  I talked to him throughout the process, calmly, telling him stories of the man who raised me. He didn't respond intelligibly after the first minute or so, alternating between passing out and screaming in agony when I revived him.

  When I finally passed my blade across his throat, I expected to feel some satisfaction.

  But there was nothing.

  "Axe," June said, sitting up in bed, her hand over her mouth. "My God. Cade."

  I crossed to the other side of the room in Benicio's place, bathed in the soft light of the small lamp she'd turned on. "I need to shower."

  Her face was pale. I wasn't sure what I looked like, but I knew it wasn't good.

  Not after all that had happened.

  "Yes," she said. "I fell asleep. What time is it?"

  "Almost morning. Go back to sleep."

  She climbed out of bed, shaking her head. "Let me help you."

  I stood, motionless, staring ahead while she undressed me, slowly pulling off my clothes. Then she turned on the shower. "I'll get rid of these clothes."

  When I came out of the shower, she was in bed, the bedspread tucked up around her neck, Bailey snuggled up beside her. I slipped under the covers, slid into the bed with her and Bailey.

  "How did it feel?" she asked. "Killing them."

  "Like nothing," I whispered.

  She turned around, facing me, her lips close to mine. "What do you mean?"

  "I feel nothing anymore," I said. It was the truth. I felt like I was dead inside. I didn't feel rage, or hate. I just felt blank.

  She was silent.

  "If you knew what I did, you'd think I was a monster," I said.

  "We're all monsters."

  "Not all of us," I said. "Not you."

  "I wanted you to do this, Cade," she said. "It makes me the same as you."

  "Blaze wants us to bring Mad Dog to the club, let the club decide his fate."

  "What do you want to do?"

  What did I want to do?

  I exhaled heavily. "I want to be done with it all."

  "Will we be running from this forever?"

  She said we. She was willing to run with me.

  "Benicio's men will clean up the mess, make sure none of it blows back on us. They're good."

  "So you can leave," she whispered.

  "Blaze would run the club," he said. "We could walk away."

  "Do you want to walk away?"

  Six months ago, I'd have said never. No matter what, I would be loyal to the club.

  Of course, six months ago, I'd had my head buried in a bottle so deep I couldn't see out. Six months ago, I didn't give a shit what happened to me. Back then, I might have hated Mad Dog, but I wasn't about to leave the club, the people who had taken me in when I was displaced from my military family.

  Now? That so-called family had betrayed me, in the most unimaginable way. I didn't know who was with Mad Dog, and I didn't care. They were all traitors.

  Blaze tried to convince me otherwise, tried to reason with me, tell me he didn't believe that the treachery spread throughout the club. I didn't want to hear it. But in the end, Crunch sided with him, agreed that Mad Dog should be brought to the club.

  I no longer considered the club my family. The only reason I agreed to bring Mad Dog in front of the club tomorrow is because I wanted to see the looks on their faces when I cut his throat.

  The next day was church. June kissed me on the forehead, smoothed her hands across the front of the leather cut I wore, not because I considered myself part of the Inferno MC any longer, but because today when I meted out justice on Mad Dog, I would do it as the Sergeant-at-Arms for the club.

  I still held the title, and today I would act in the truest sense as the club's enforcer.

  Regardless of the club vote.

  I wondered if June understood that I might get killed in the process.

  "Be careful," she said.

  "You have nothing to worry about," I lied.

  "You're not a very good liar." She kissed me. "But I love you anyway."

  Mad Dog was in Benicio's vehicle outside, bound and gagged, beaten and bloody from the night before. Blaze thought it was prudent to bring the facts to the club before bringing Mad Dog inside. I didn't give a shit what the club decided, as long as I killed Mad Dog right there, in front of all of them. It was suicidal. But then, wasn't all of this? The entire thing was insanity, bringing Mad Dog to church. Doing this in the clubhouse. It was madness.

  The entire club was there, expecting a regular church meeting.

  This was about to be the most irregular church meeting in the history of them.

  There we were, Crunch and I, back from the dead.

  You could have heard a pin drop when we walked through the door. Before voices erupted everywhere.

  Blaze stood in the front of the room. "I know - " he said, holding a hand up, waiting for the room to return to silence again. "I know that this is not what you expected, to see Crunch and Axe here today."

  "No shit," someone said.

  "What the fuck is going on?"

  The murmurs rippled through the group again, and Blaze held his hand up, his face weary. "We need to explain some things, and the club needs to make a decision today, about where we go from here, about who we are. What kind of a club we are going to be. The decisions we make today are about loyalty. Brotherhood. Family."

  Then he began his explanation, let Crunch present his evidence that Mad Dog was stealing from Benicio, stealing from the club. He got one joking comment almost immediately when he started to talk numbers and the books, and shut it down.

  "You think it's no big deal, this shit?" he asked. "That it's a fucking joke or something? My wife died over this shit. Mad Dog had my wife killed over this shit."

  After that, no one in the room moved a muscle.

  We took the club through everything.

  I
t was the longest club meeting I'd been present at.

  And when we were finally finished, and Mad Dog's fate came up for vote, I was filled with this sense of inevitability. Finality.

  The vote was unanimous.

  Mad Dog would die.

  When Benicio's men brought him inside, bound, and stood him before the club, the air seemed charged with electricity. I stood, facing him, ripped off the tape from his mouth. "They all know what you've done. Who you are."

  Mad Dog looked at me, then spit on the floor.

  I smiled. I would have no remorse when I did what I was going to do.

  "Do you have any last words?" I asked.

  "See you in hell," he said.

  I unsheathed my knife. The blade I'd saved for Mad Dog. Then I stepped in front of him. "I'll see you there," I agreed. "But not today."

  I stabbed him, right above the stomach, and pulled out the knife, slick with blood. I handed it to Crunch, like it was a goddamned ceremony.

  Passing the torch.

  Crunch did the same.

  Then Blaze stabbed him.

  And then one by one, the brothers followed suit, even after Mad Dog was on the floor, each of them plunging the knife into the man who had betrayed the club, who had betrayed us. It wasn't something I expected or planned, and I just stood there, not even looking at Mad Dog, but watching them, this parade of men willing to be a part of this, not just stand by and watch while we killed him.

  And in that moment, I didn't feel blank.

  I felt faith.

  In the most warped of possible ways, I felt hope.

  June

  "Are you ready?" I asked, smoothing my skirt. The thought of standing there, at April's grave, made me want to cry.

  "Yeah." Cade pulled on his leather cut.

  "Poor MacKenzie," I said.

  "You can sympathize with her," Cade said.

  "Of course," I said. "Losing your parents isn't easy. But at her age? I can't even imagine it. I was older. At least I could understand what was happening, you know? Talk about it. She can't even understand it."