by K. L. Savage
“No one is going to touch your sister, Whistler. We don’t deal with that shit here and you took care of a problem I’ve been meaning to take care of for a while.”
I toss the bat onto the ground and push through the bikers, uncaring if it is disrespectful. I’m sure the full panic of what I’ve just done will hit me later, but right now, adrenaline is creating a fearless person inside me, and I want to live in it for as long as possible.
“So?” I say, heading toward Taylor.
I lift her into my arms as she cries, and she lays her head on my shoulder. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” she sobs. “You were right.”
“I’m sorry.” I mean it. I don’t like being right when it comes to men hurting her. She’s so young and she’s got a different boyfriend every weekend. She wants love so much, but doesn’t realize that she will have it one day when she’s older.
I set her in the truck carefully and slam the door.
“Kid, you want to prospect?” the Prez asks as I walk around to the driver’s side.
“Not if your guys are like that piece of shit.” I open the door and Prez’s hand shoots out to close it before I can get in.
I grind my teeth together, trying not to beat the hell out of him for stopping me.
“You’ve got a lot of balls on you, kid. I could use you in the club. We might not walk the straight and narrow road but underage girls are where we draw the line. Spike was a shithead. He was a part of a different crew, and we absorbed some of the members. He was the last one. The rest were just as bad.”
“What’s that say about you as a leader?” I question him.
“Says I got a long way to go, but I’m growing, which is all anyone can do.”
“Fine, but my sister isn’t allowed anywhere near here. She’ll fall for all the damn bullshit, and I won’t let any of you touch her.”
“I think you proved that. Everyone here will only protect her,” he vows.
I eye all of them. Another young guy is here, around my age, and his patch says One. What kind of name is that?
“You like it?” I ask him.
“Love it. Makes me feel like I’m a part of something bigger,” One replies.
A part of something bigger.
That’s what I need.
“Alright. Sure.”
“Give me your number, Whistler,” Prez says.
“It’s Wesley,” I correct him and hand him my phone.
“Not anymore.”
I doubt the name Whistler will grow on me, but maybe this new path will.
Present Day
Getting Mercy to warm up to the idea of being the Prez of the Ruthless Hellhounds has been tricky. He agreed, but we haven’t seen him since. Demon’s Fury dissolved after the President’s ol’ lady died, and we didn’t have a name to us.
Considering Mercy was undercover with the Hellhounds for so long, I came up with the idea to create Ruthless Hellhounds since the Ruthless Kings help us out so much.
Mercy was all about it and completely on board, and now I can’t get him to answer my calls.
There’s only one way to figure out why.
Annoy him.
I’m long past the point of giving a fuck about pissing people off. When I want answers, I want them. I’m not going to wait and beat around the bush. I have men who are depending on me. Don’t get me wrong, I can lead, but I don’t want to.
I’m more of a take-action type of fella than I am a logical thinker. After all, I killed my first man on impulse when I was eighteen and haven’t regretted it since.
Right now, we’re staying down the road from Mercy’s new bar at a motel that has seen better days. We used to have a rundown clubhouse on the outskirts of town near the dam because the old Prez had said he wanted to buy something nicer when his ol’ lady got better. The whole reason we even moved to Vegas was for her health. Well, she didn’t get better and the day she died, he killed himself there. We didn’t want to stay there anymore and moved to this piece of shit motel.
So it’s been rough for us. We are healing and trying to move on, but Prez was a good man. He was the one that gave me this life, and I couldn’t be more thankful. I have a little cash saved, so do the rest of the guys, and we are on the lookout for a place with enough acres that we can build as the Kings did.
My phone rings and I look down to see Taylor is calling me. She’s still a fucking mess. I love her to death, but I’m worried one day I’m going to find her in a ditch because she went and ‘fell’ in the love with the wrong man.
Again.
I mute it because I’m a shitty brother and don’t feel like dealing with her problems right now and tuck my phone in my pocket. I have my own issues and she’s just calling to ask for more money to bail her new boyfriend out of jail. She’s been asking for two thousand dollars for two weeks and won’t take no for an answer. The only thing I can do now is ignore her until I have the patience to deal with her. It sounds terrible, but it is what it is.
I tuck my baseball bat in the holster behind my back that One made me and grab my wallet from the side table. A cockroach scurries along the floor and I smash it with my boot. There’s a stack of napkins from last night’s take-out and I use a few to clean the guts off the floor.
Fucking nasty. I hate this motel. No one wanted to spring for a good hotel. Everyone thought it was important not to do anything without Prez’s approval.
Mercy.
Well, he is going to be in for a rude awakening when we show up there looking for answers. I need to know if we are hitting the road or what.
I unlock the door just in time to see One standing there with his fist raised and ready to knock. “Hey, man,” I greet him, slamming the door in place so I know it’s shut.
“Today is the day, right?”
I blow out a breath and head to my Harley where a few of the other guys are waiting for me. “Yeah, today is the day. And seriously, after tonight, we aren’t staying here anymore. I’m technically in charge until Mercy gets off his ass. I killed another cockroach and I’m telling you, I showered with a spider this morning. Its eight legs had eight tiny loofahs and she was scrubbing her body clean in preparation to kill me.” I shiver when I think about the big brown beast that was next to my shampoo bottle.
She watched me the entire time.
And then right before I turned off the water, I tossed a handful of water at her. Well, I think it was a she. The way she looked at me was with ‘kill me’ eyes is how women look at you when they are pissed.
“You’re so dramatic.” One rolls his eyes. “They don’t even make loofahs that small.”
I mount my bike and a few guys chuckle, and I’m not sure if it’s at me or at One. “That’s what you got from that? The loofahs? No shit they don’t make them that size.”
“You said it, not me,” One says in defense, starting up his own bike.
“Okay, ladies, that’s enough. I’m sure the itsy bitsy little spider was going to leave you alone,” I.E.D jokes.
“I’m sure that spider could give Halfpint a run for his money,” I throw the words over my shoulder to our shortest member.
“Hey, fuck you. I could take on any fucking spider,” he retorts. His New York accent is thick and full of attitude which just makes it funnier since he’s so damn short. “That spider ain’t got nothing on me. Let me at him.” He holds up his fists and shuffles his feet, dancing as a boxer would.
“Okay, Mohammad Ali. Let’s get ready to go.” Tutu guides Halfpint’s fists down and hops on his bike, letting the engine grumble alongside mine and One’s.
“Fuck you, Tutu.” Halfpint shoots him the middle finger.
“Let’s play nice, guys. I don’t like it when Mom and Dad fight.” Princess wraps his arm around Halfpint and Halfpint shrugs out from under him.
“Hey, don’t touch me with your pretty fingers. I don’t want that shit on me.” Halfpint runs his fingers through his hair and down his cut. “Fuck, do I have flawless skin now? I don’t
want flawless skin.”
“Wouldn’t want you to look like a doll, would we?” Princess swings his leg over his bike and chuckles deep at his own joke.
“Ah, another fucking short joke. I’m going to cut all that pretty hair off your head in your sleep.” Halfpint finally gets on his bike and I’m in damn stitches listening to them. Halfpint’s accent is the cherry on top.
“Fucking touch my hair and I’ll halve those pathetic things you call legs.” Princess kicks Halfpint in the leg.
I groan and hang my head because Halfpint hops off his bike and launches himself at Princess, who grunts at the initial contact. His laugh echoes in the parking lot. Damn short fella doesn’t stand a chance. Princess didn’t even budge off his bike.
We are never going to get out of here at this rate.
Halfpint tries to wrestle Princess off his bike but Princess screams with laughter, “Help, help! I’ve got a spider monkey on me.”
Which causes another chain reaction.
Socks spits out his water.
Zip-tie actually stops stuffing his bag with zip-ties.
Birdie snickers while the hawk on his shoulder chirps, which I think is also in laughter.
Luckily, Driller, Moose, Bolt, and Bookie are still sleeping. They got beyond wasted last night which isn’t hard when Bolt plays his “Shock or Shot” game. That game has put all of us on our asses a time or two. He has a device that he made that electrocutes people and he can change the voltage on it, so when we all get drinking, we think we can handle it.
And when we can’t handle it, we take a shot.
The rules are pretty simple.
Take it or be a bitch.
While the guys are in the middle of laughing and still giving each other shit, I do not. I pull out of the parking lot and leave them behind. I don’t have time to wait. I want answers. I don’t want to live my life in limbo. To me, there is nothing worse than not knowing where I’m going or doing.
I hear another bike behind me, and I know it’s One without even looking. I know no matter what, he is going to have my back and if I want anyone at my six, it’s him. The man only needs one bullet to kill his intended target. I’m as safe as I can ever be.
I press my hand against my thigh and sigh in contentment as we ride down the road. The Nevada sun is hot and high in the cloudless blue sky. The mountains in the distance break up the never-ending horizon of the desert. I’m so caught up in the view, I barely see Mercy’s new place coming up on the right. I slam on the brakes a bit too fast and take a sharp turn into the parking lot.
He’s only a few miles away from Hoover Dam which would make the transition even easier since we wouldn’t have to move far.
I park to the side, and One glides in next to me. The place used to be a dump, not only on the inside but the outside too. There are cute yellow flowers planted in front, which I find hilarious because Mercy isn’t the flower kind of guy, but he is trying to start over.
That means if the man wants flowers, he gets flowers.
“Place looks good. He’s cleaned up a lot out here,” One notices. “There aren’t any potholes either. Nice.” He clicks his tongue.
One really hates potholes.
“Yeah, let’s go see how our Prez is doing.” Our boots crunch against the gravel as we stroll to the front door.
Well, what used to be the front door.
“Fucking damn it!”
I pause halfway through the threshold.
“Uh-oh, sounds like someone needs help,” One singsongs and glances around the inside, then cringes.
The place is a disaster. Half the floorboards are ripped up, the bar has been taken down, the ceilings have been ripped off, and I know the only rooms that are done are the ones upstairs. The difference is that Mercy has hired a contractor for that and has taken it upon himself to redo the rest.
Seems like it’s going…well.
Another bang sounds. “Son of a bitch!” Mercy yells from somewhere in the back.
“Hello?” I call out and sidestep a tarp, then a broken floorboard.
And then an empty box that I assume is for the tools that are spread around the floor. “The man can’t build worth a shit,” I say, keeping my voice low so Mercy can’t hear me.
“He could have called. A few of us know how to work with our hands. Ah, man,” One groans. He lifts his leg and shakes it to get the paint he just stepped in off. “What is the paint for? Nothing is painted.” A splatter of white paint slings from the sole of his shoe.
“Come on.” I huff at him when the paint lands on my freshly polished boots. “You’re going to clean these later.”
“Have Mercy do it. It’s his fault for not knowing what he's doing.”
Mercy stumbles from a side room just as dust and wood clatter from his right. He’s covered in sawdust as more snows around him. He’s sucking on his thumb and from how red it is, I’m assuming it’s from him hitting it with a hammer.
“What the hell are you two doing here?” Mercy brushes off his shirt and coughs, fanning his face next to get the dust away.
“Seeing what’s going on. You haven’t answered any of my calls since our little talk,” I say, taking a step next to him.
“I’ve been busy.”
I dart my eyes around the room and nod. “Yeah, destroying the place. I can tell.”
“Hey, it’s coming along. I… hung the new light. See.” He points to the ceiling where a wire and a lightbulb hang. He tugs the string, and the light comes on. Mercy grins. “It even works.”
My god, he even looks proud.
“Prez, I hate to say this, but this place looks worse than before. And that’s saying something considering STDs lived on the Peep Show floor,” One states, not filtering his words.
Mercy places his hands on his hips. “It’s a work in progress, okay?” He exhales and hangs his head in defeat before laughing. “It’s why I called people to come today. I can’t do it.”
“Well, I don’t know why you’re acting like you’re all alone. You have an entire club to back you.”
Mercy stays quiet and wipes the sweat off his brows with his arm. “I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s been—” he scratches the side of his neck “—I’ve been in my head about a few things and living in my head. I haven’t meant to keep you all waiting. Update me? What’s going on? Duties? I’m ready,” he says, taking a step back onto a piece of wood and whacking himself on the back of the head.
One chuckles and I cover mine with a cough. “Yeah, you’re in tip-top shape, Prez.” I lift my hand above my head. “Tip top.”
“Shut up,” he grumbles, rubbing the spot on the back of his head. His eyes flicker to the space where a front door used to be when tires crunch along the gravel parking lot. “Shit. The guy for the floor is coming by to give me an estimate along with a few other things.”
“Only a few things?” One mutters as he surveys what used to be a shithole bar.
Now, it’s just a shithole.
“I need to clean up. Whistler, can you meet the guy? His name is Charlie from Fletcher’s Construction. Please? I have paint thinner on my hands.”
“Why do you have paint thinner on your hands? Your walls are wood.”
“No one asked you, One.” Mercy walks away and trips over a board, curses, and disappears in the back.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll handle it,” I shout across the room hoping he will hear me.
“I’m going to go scrub my boot.” One tries to sling more paint off his boot, but it’s already drying. “Damn it.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and wonder how all of this can come together. Did I make a mistake by asking Mercy to take over? We could be rebuilding the old clubhouse, not that any of us want to consider everything that happened on the inside.
It’s okay to want a new start. I just thought Mercy was the one to do that for us.
He’s clearly in another place. Maybe it’s time for the guys and me to move on.
I step
outside and watch a beat-up brown work truck putter to a stop next to our bikes.
The door opens and I decide to meet the man halfway and tread down the steps. A headful of auburn hair grabs my attention, and my brows raise. That’s the longest, prettiest, silkiest hair I’ve ever seen.
A woman steps out of the truck wearing white wedges, which I only know because of my sister dragging me shoe shopping. As the woman slides out of the truck, her yellow dress raises, and I get a sneak peek of her tan thighs. The dress falls right before I get to see what color panties she’s wearing.
“Sorry, Cupcake. We aren’t open for business.”
Cupcake because her ass looks made to bite into.
Something so sweet, so tempting, doesn’t need someone bitter like me.
If I had a nickel for every time a man sees me and thinks I’ve arrived for something other than work, I wouldn’t even need to work.
I’d be the richest woman alive.
Granted, my dad called me to stop by this place when I was on the way back from the grocery store. I need to be heading home. I don’t want to get in trouble with my husband.
I spin around ready to mouth off to this guy for assuming that I’m here for a damn beer when my tongue gets tied.
There is no way that he is real. He’s everything I’d ever wanted.
If I were allowed to want. Maybe in another life where I’m not unhappily married, I’d be able to dream about being with a man like the one in front of me. He is tall with a wide chest, obviously in shape, dark hair, dark eyes, with trouble written all over him.
People would say that is a bad thing, but I married a man who was picture perfect. No tattoos, money, good job, wears khakis, polos, and has a smile that could tame a cobra.
And he is the wickedest man I’ve ever come across. Not always. He had to win me over somehow but once he did, the mask came off.
I’ve been trapped ever since.
Just over four years and counting.
“I’m not here for a drink…” my eyes fall to the name patch on his cut, “Whistler.” Interesting name for an interesting man.
His eyes turn stormy and narrow when he sees the scarf I have tied around my neck. I rub it subconsciously. It can’t be that noticeable. Everyone wears a scarf.