The Assassin

by SE Chardou

  Without motive or thinking it through, he kissed her passionately and it was the sweetest, most tender kiss in the world. Although their lips bruised one another from the pressure, and their tongues swirled around each other, battling for dominance, they were officially together.

  Pyro could forget about everything—even the atrocities he’d witnessed in Afghanistan and Iraq—but he’d never realize that moment he’d betrayed her. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was lying by omission, and regardless of his intentions, she still didn’t know the truth about him.

  Mira was never supposed to learn it.

  She’d think he was using her when in fact, his emotions had rudely interrupted a perfect plan and turned it upside down as well as inside out.

  This was something no one could teach you to avoid or side step. Unfortunately, it happened, but it shouldn’t have happened to him.

  Pyro grinned at Mira as their lips parted reluctantly. “Come on, babe. Let’s go celebrate the New Year in style with our friends and family.”

  She pressed her forehead against his and whispered, “Thank you.”

  They both left the chapel together and as soon as they entered the clubhouse, brothers from the club, old ladies and Saint Slappers, surrounded them. Most of them had had more than their fair share to drink, and drugs were more than a possibility. Although Hardy didn’t tolerate addiction to heroin, he didn’t mind his guys letting loose every once in a while with coke or crank. It was just part of the culture.

  Pyro, unfortunately, hadn’t had enough to drink and still felt dead fucking sober every time he thought about how close Mira had come to dying. Fernando was a live wire no one could control, and he knew the possibility existed the fuckhead would regroup and come directly after her.

  He led them over to the bar and squeezed in between his sister and Chemist. Was it his fucking imagination or did the bastard have his arms wrapped around Estelle’s waist?

  “Yo, prospect! I need three shots of Jack and two Heinekens,” Pyro shouted over the noise.

  Mira wrapped her hands around his waist from behind. “Come on, you owe me a dance and a kiss before the New Year.”

  He downed his three shots of Jack and chased more than half his beer immediately. “What’s goin’ on between my sister and my best bud?”

  She maneuvered herself until she stood in front of him. “Estelle is an adult, Pyro. She’s in love and she wants to be a part of the Saints whether you want her to or not. Why don’t you ease up on her and let her spread her wings? She would never do anything to embarrass or disrespect you but you have to do the same.”

  He wanted to grab Chemist and bash his face in but instead, he allowed Mira to lead him to the dance floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head on his shoulder as a remix of “Jealous” played in the background. Chantal must have been picking the music; it was the only reason why he could imagine he was dancing with his old lady to a song by a guy that used to be part of The Jonas Brothers.

  What the fuck was next? One motherfucking Direction?

  “Before the New Year, how about one more sexy song before everyone actually drifts off to do just this?” Chantal shouted from the DJ booth.

  T.I.’s “Private Show” began, and instead of feeling annoyed, Pyro held Mira closer and cherished having her in his arms, where she fit perfectly despite her height.

  The woman was such a contradiction in terms. He’d always been attracted to tiny, small-boned women but with the heels she wore, they were almost the same height.

  Pyro enjoyed playing the hero, mostly because he failed that aspect in both his career in the Marines and as a mercenary. However, Mira would only let him get so far before she jerked away, and waved the white flag of independence.

  She wanted him but she didn’t need him.

  She loved him but being the damaged woman she was, she could also walk away.

  She was perfect because there was no guarantee they would ride off into the sunset together, and as much as Pyro hated not prematurely knowing the outcome, the adrenaline fueled him like no other drug in the world.

  He found himself so deep in thought he didn’t realize the countdown was happening until it was almost over. The music had been turned off and he caught on toward the end.

  “Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one! Happy New Year!” He gazed into Mira’s ice blue eyes as he said this.

  “Happy New Year,” she whispered in his ear as they embraced. “Take me home and make love to me. Technically, we’ve known each other for two years.”

  Pyro chuckled at her response. “You mean just because we met each other last year, all the sudden we’ve known each other for two years? Babe, it doesn’t work that way.”

  She pulled away from his before she grabbed one of his hands possessively and began to lead him out of the clubhouse. “In my world it works that way. Don’t argue with me because in the end, you’re gonna lose.”

  He couldn’t disagree with her last point.

  No matter what he did, he would lose everything in the end, and it was that sense of urgency that drove him to follow her, even if it led to his ultimate destruction.

  Chapter Seven

  Mira

  I led Pyro away from the party as everyone celebrated the New Year and prayed he was sober enough to get us home.

  “You don’t want to stay at the clubhouse?” Pyro asked me as we crashed against his truck in a tangle of limbs and passion.

  “No. I have no intention of you fucking me in the clubhouse for the first time. I want it to be in your bed, and I want us to have some privacy. Fucking a man in a clubhouse is so passé. If I was a club whore, I’d expect nothing different but I hope you never view me that way . . . despite my family legacy or my past.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” He grabbed my face but he held me so gently in his hands as if he applied too much pressure, I might break. “I know what he did. I know why you can’t talk about it but with me, you never have to relive those nightmares again. As far as I’m concerned, your history is a blank slate, and you didn’t begin your life until we met each other.”

  I breathed against his cut, burying my nose in the mélange of scents battling for dominance. “Thank you,” I whispered.

  “Come on, let’s go home.” He wrapped an arm around me before he unlocked the doors with his remote. I crawled past his driver’s seat and settled into the passenger side as Pyro climbed in and placed the keys in the ignition.

  “Do you need me to drive? I’m pretty much sober. I haven’t had a drink since I left Fernando’s club,” I offered with a gentle hand on his bicep.

  “I’m sober enough to drive us home. It’s only a few miles.” Pyro grabbed my left hand with his right while we drove out of the compound and entered the street.

  At a red light, he fiddled with a few buttons on his stereo, and “Drive” began to play. I closed my eyes, listening to the lyrics; the soft palm of my hand encased in his rough, calloused palm and enjoyed the contrast.

  “Is this Octane?” I questioned while I listened to the truck’s powerful engine and the song turned down low.

  “Nope. It’s my own mix on Spotify. I’m not a complete Neanderthal, you know. I do have an iPod and I’m not afraid to use it either.”

  For some reason, I laughed out loud but it was a joyful, hearty sound. “I don’t think you’re some uncouth redneck that doesn’t know how to operate electronic devices, Pyro. This isn’t the original though. Ric Ocasek . . . he was in a band—I can’t recall the name—only that he married a model, Paulina Porizkova.”

  “Good ear. Nah, this is a remake by Sixx:A.M. And the group was The Cars. They weren’t exactly part of our generation but my step-mother and dad played a lot of oldies when Estelle and I were growing up.”

  I opened my eyes and looked at his profile. It was rugged yet beautiful, much like the man himself. “When did your parents divorce? You said it was acrimonious but how could you remember? There are
only four years between you and Estelle.”

  “Estelle was the reason why my parents divorced. Technically, they were together until I was ten years old. My dad was basically living a double life.” Pyro was quiet for a moment before he continued. “I remember visiting my step-mother and my sister. My pops would tell me that it was our secret, and I never told my mother.”

  “How’d she find out?” My voice was small as if I was afraid to know the story.

  In a way, I was.

  It would prove to me there were no happy endings, not even when a person’s intentions were pure and they meant the best.

  “Mom followed us one day. I guess she got suspicious of our Saturday and Sunday outings. My dad would lie and say he was taking me to Hoover Dam or Death Valley. He’s always been an excellent liar—didn’t even flinch when he told my mom. Maybe that’s where I got my ability from or maybe it’s just something they teach you in Marines.”

  He was quiet for a moment as the song ended and “Smoke and Mirrors” began, the haunting beginning somehow echoed his mood. “Anyway, I remember I was playing with Estelle. She must have been almost six because I was ten but her birthday is a couple months after mine and I’d just celebrated my own about three weeks previously. We were in the backyard when my mom showed up. My stepmother answered the door and Mom went absolutely berserk.”

  “You remember?”

  “Hell yeah, I remembered the incident like it happened yesterday. I put my hands over Estelle’s ears and told her to close her eyes as my mother fell apart at the seams. ‘All this time you’ve been seeing this nigger whore and fucking me at the same time? I feel sick, impure and disgusted by your behavior. You’ve probably given me AIDS—you know they all have it, don’t you? You dumb son of a bitch, I will take Maarten and you won’t ever see him again. Never!’”

  Pyro paused as he fiddled with the playlist until “Bleed it Out” began to play. “Surprised I like Linkin Park?”

  “Not really.” I tucked my feet under my ass and turned toward him. “Did she take you away?”

  “For a while but my dad used the court system where my mom was too dumb to utilize it. She just moved us back to Black Oak, and Nel put us in one of his rental properties that was in the last decent part of town. I didn’t stay more than a year with her. She ignored the divorce paperwork and all the legal documents my father sent to her. Eventually, CPS came, and fortunately for me, it was a day she decided to get wasted. She was high on meth, and they removed me from the house immediately. My father was fighting for full legal and physical custody of me. The actions my mother did that day pretty much sealed her fate and mine. I was sent to live with my dad and stepmother.”

  “Do you resent the court system for what they did?” I wondered as I caressed the back of his neck.

  “Hell no. My stepmother was a damn good mother. She made sure I did my homework and my dad kept me outta trouble. I graduated high school with honors but that didn’t mean shit to me. Hell, as a joke, I applied to Harvard, and I was accepted but I didn’t have any use for college. I knew I was gonna join the Marines as soon as I graduated. I had the smarts and the I already knew a great deal about guns thanks to my dad.”

  We pulled into the gated community and he opened the garage door before he swung his truck into the stall and shut the door behind us.

  “Why the Marines? If you got accepted to Harvard you could have done anything you wanted in the military. You would have never had to see combat.”

  “Yeah but I was an eighteen year old adrenaline junkie that had been nearly emasculated thanks to my dad and my stepmother. They controlled every aspect of my life. The Marines wanted me in their Intelligence Department, gathering information on Al Qaeda and shit. I had no interest. All I wanted to do was kill some motherfuckers in that bullshit war and blow shit up. I was stupid, and I didn’t have all the facts.”

  He was quiet for a moment. The only sounds were the truck once it had been turned off and our breath inside the cab. “I was a Republican before I was old enough to fuckin’ vote. I believed in what we were doin’ but when my dad told me who to vote for in the elections, I did what I was told. Even though I was halfway around the world. All I could think about was that idiot gash ending up our President after poor McCain had a heart attack and it made sense. I voted for a Democrat . . . can you fuckin’ believe it?”

  “So I assume you won’t be voting for Hilary this year?” I taunted.

  “Fuck no. Some things are a man’s job and being President is one of them. I never said I was perfect, Mira. I’d rather a black man any day than a dried up old hag sittin’ in the White House. It was how I was raised. I never said I wasn’t a misogynist. Yes, I love my sister but women have their place the same way men have theirs. It’s the reason why we don’t allow women to join the club. You can be an old lady but we don’t have any queens or princesses in our clubs. Misty knows her place as does Bronaugh and Gisela. Hell, you can go so far as to say that Gisela runs Cillian but at the end of the day, he is still VP of our parent chapter. That’s how it is until Dizzy steps down.”

  “Why weren’t one of the Originals made President?” My hand ran through his scalp until it came upon a scar buried underneath his hair.

  “Dizzy has been preppin’ Cillian for Prez since he was a kid. None of the Original members wanted the job. They’re too set in their ways and to be honest, they’re tired. One of the guys from the Vegas chapter tried to raise a fuss and said he was more qualified that Cillian. Legend has it Dizzy planted enough cocaine on his drunk ass that when he was stopped by the cops, he became belligerent and they ended up shootin’ his ass to death.

  “This was before my time. It’s just . . . always been that way with the Saints. It truly is both a family club and a one percent club. Family is everything to Dizzy and . . . he would never allow someone who wasn’t family to run the club. It’s his legacy.”

  “What’s this?” I asked as I ran a few fingers over the scar.

  “Military accident. I was shipped to Germany after being whacked over the head with an AK-47 wielded by a fifteen-year-old, Afghan boy. He split my skull but no major damage was done. They patched me up . . . I took a few months off, and then went right back to Afghanistan.” His ice blue eyes stared at me with so much intensity, I wanted to look away.

  “At nineteen, I thought I would live forever. That’s what my unit played for me when I got back. ‘Live Forever’ by Oasis. They were shocked I came back but what else was I gonna do? Go home? It was a hairline fracture to the scalp. My brain wasn’t affected and there wasn’t any memory loss or damage so I fuckin’ went back, and fought for my country.”

  I looked away and snatched my hand from his head.

  Were these secrets he was telling me and I was too stupid to see past the usual chit-chat bullshit?

  “My mom died when I was eight. I don’t remember her that well . . . only that Nel and Stella took me in—much to her chagrin. She didn’t want to raise me but Nel thought it was his duty, after all, she died on an overdose of his meth. Stella made the batch and she fucked up. It was too strong. There were at least ten or fifteen other overdoses in Black Oak alone. Nel blamed it on the addicts and not Stella’s shitty fucking batch of meth.”

  I breathed out loud. “It was the same all the way up the west coast. Addicts were dying left and right. It got so bad the Kentucky and West Virginia chapters said they wouldn’t buy any more meth from the mother club and would use the Vegas club as their main source instead. It was . . . ugly. Almost tore Nel and Brad apart but Stella got her comeuppance. He beat her ass black and blue for the loss of business. I took care of her while she was laid up with two black eyes, a concussion and a broken arm.”

  “Yet she still turned her back on you when became of age?”

  “Yep. I guess I was too pretty, too innocent . . . too everything. I shouldn’t have been such a striking girl because Stella didn’t believe in whores with hearts of gold. I was supposed to be ugly and repr
esent everything repugnant and disgusting about ‘race-mixing.’ She hated me for the way I looked and said I was a genetic mistake. I shouldn’t have existed. I was an abomination—it said so in the Bible. ‘Man should not lay with an animal,’ and that’s exactly what my mother was to her. She didn’t even acknowledge her as a . . . human being.”

  Pyro turned toward me and studied my face before his hands traced my jaw. “Stella is full of shit, Mira—”

  “Well, I know that now—”

  “—you’re not understanding me. She comes from a very wealthy background. Pennsylvania Dutch, and all that shit. She ran away from home at seventeen because apparently, her stepbrother was rapin’ her, and moved to Philadelphia. She lived in an ethnic neighborhood and dated one of the biggest dope dealers on the East Coast. Anyway, he found himself another white girl but not before he got her knocked up, and she had his kid. He took their son away from her and she’s hated black people ever since.”

  “I noticed most of the time hatred and prejudice is based upon one’s own personal experiences,” I said in a quiet voice.

  “Well, of course. That, and indoctrination. The military does it—despite who our ‘enemy’ is. If you don’t view them as a human being then it’s easier to snuff someone out. We were trained to kill and that’s what we did. No matter how many innocents got in the way, we were repeatedly told no one was truly innocent. They all wanted us dead for tryin’ to save their sorry asses, and that’s when I became disenchanted with my time in the service.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I served my tours and I accept full responsibility for what I did. Since I’ve been home, I’ve got a strong sense of right and wrong. All I have ever wanted to do is serve my country, and now that I’ve done that, all I wanna do is give back.”

  I felt my heart as it skipped a beat. There was something in the way Pyro spoke that made me feel like his speech had a double meaning but I wasn’t getting it. Not at that moment. Eventually, it would click but would it be too late?