by K. J. Dahlen
I swung my leg over bike behind him, and barely had enough time to grab hold of his waist before we rode away and whipped around the corner then picked up speed on the main road.
A half hour later, we passed a sun beaten wooden road sign – illuminated by the nightlife - that read: WELCOME TO TIJUANA. BIENVENIDO A TIJUANA. The moment we entered the town we were bombarded by mariachi music blasting from the clubs. The streets were lined with a wild assortment of shops, strip clubs, bars, and restaurants.
We weaved through a series of tight backstreets and finally came out onto a desolate road. The man rode along the unlit path in the darkness for at least ten minutes before we finally arrived at what appeared to be a remote cabin. The place was surrounded by tall steel gates topped with barbed wire that sealed the place off to outsiders. Two Dobermans barked furiously and chased after us as we drove past the gates to reach the entrance, growling and nipping at my legs.
When we stopped, I noticed the parking lot was empty.
“Retreat,” the man shouted at the dogs before they could get too close with their sharp teeth and bad attitude, then they whimpered as they ran off.
We dismounted and walked toward the property that had a distinctively a prison-like feel. The windows were tinted and barred.
By the entrance, the man flipped a switch, turning on the porch light above us. I glanced over at the dusty parking area outside—only to wish that I hadn’t. The light reflected off the shiny brass of spent bullet casings that peppered the entire lot.
The main door to the place was thick and heavy with a large steel latch. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and pointed with his gun for me to step inside.
I complied. The room looked vast, dark and empty.
The unknown man switched on a small light by the door; just enough to make out the main features of the room. It was an MC clubhouse. It could only be the home base for the Blood and Bones MC. Home base for drug trafficking, violence, and murder. I had sworn on my father’s grave that I would never come to this place after he died.
Mahogany leather Chesterfield armchairs were all around; some labeled: PRESIDENT, VICE PRESIDENT, and TREASURER. One wall was filled with pictures of older men who I imagine had founded the club or had passed on.
Against the far wall, there was a fully stocked bar. To the left of it, there were wooden steps that led upstairs. There was a plaque of the club’s slogan on the far wall above the bar with the clubs slogan again: BLOOD’S FAMILY: NO FEAR, NO MERCY!
The man shoved me toward the stairwell, and I climbed each step of the unlit staircase with the menacing barrel of his gun pressed into my back. At the top step, I looked left and right to see a narrow hallway that led to other rooms to my right and a single door to my left. He shoved me towards the door on my left and came up the final steps behind me.
Turning the doorknob to the unlocked door, he gave me a cold and expressionless look before throwing me into the room.
I stumbled to my knees in the middle of the carpet.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said as he chuckled cruely. The man then stepped back just outside of the doorway with a smile of triumphant satisfaction.
Shock crossed my face in a moment of profound realization. I would be trapped here. Permanently.
Leaning one free hand casually on the doorframe, he stopped and stared at me long enough to pop an unlit cigarette into his mouth, pulled out a lighter and struck it with his index finger. The flame cast light on his face which had been obscured by the darkness in the building.
I looked up into his eyes with genuine terror as the flame flickered across his face.
“Don’t worry. I’m not out to hurt you. It’s Jax that’s on a suicide mission,” he said with an unnerving smirk. The man grabbed the door handle and swung the door closed.
“NO. NO. NO!” I screamed at him as he shut me into a prison of darkness.
I heard the key turn in the lock and then two steel blots further securing the door top and bottom. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Getting to my feet in the pitch-black, I searched along the wall beside the door with both hands until I found the light-switch. I flicked the switch and glanced around the bleak and revolting room. The walls were bare and windowless. To my left, I saw a bed with grubby-looking rumpled, tousled sheets. To my alarm, in front of the foot of the bed was a stripper’s pole from floor to ceiling and a full-length mirror on the wall behind it. To my right was a small kitchen with stacks of unwashed dishes and several smashed mugs and plates. The pale blue carpet was matted and stained. There was no mistaking this for anything other than what it was; this was where the bikers kept their groupies and the club whores.
I was stricken with a fear that coursed through my veins and welled in my eyes. Fear for myself. And fear for Jax—if he hadn’t already been killed.
Suddenly, the building rumbled with the crash of the outside door slamming shut for the night. The man who’d taken me was gone, and I was alone in the Blood and Bones fortress. My solitary rapid breathing the only sound in the building.
Shaken up, I sat down on the edge of the bed and caught my reflection in the mirror opposite. The left side of my face was covered with blood, and my left eye was swollen. My body trembled at the sight of my battered face and the thought of what was to come.
Chapter Fourteen
(Jaxson)
Beaten mercilessly, I climbed the three flights of stairs up to my apartment. Pain sliced through me with every step I took leaving me panting hard, groaning, and cursing the building’s maintenance people under my breath; the broken elevator had been out of order for the past three weeks. By the top flight of steps, the muscles in my legs were so sore and stiff I felt like I’d taken the place of a workhorse wading through deep water.
Hauling my weight up the final steps with my right hand gripped around the handrail, I finally took a breather the top of the stairwell. I wanted nothing more than to give in to the pull of sleep and collapse in exhaustion on my bed ‒ with Chloe draped across my chest where she belonged. I couldn’t talk to anyone in the shape I was in. I couldn’t really think straight with my injuries and my head throbbing.
The thought of Chloe shifted my focus back to how I’d left her. The last time I’d seen Chloe, I had abandoned the girl in favor of my club. I had abandoned the only girl I had ever loved at the time she needed me most. Chloe was deeply distressed when I left, her tears flowing down her cheeks; fear in her eyes, and pain in her heart. Distress, fear, and pain I was responsible for. I was responsible for everything. I prayed to god that she would eventually forgive me—although, I knew in my heart that I didn’t deserve it.
As I looked up toward the front door of my apartment directly opposite, my grimacing face instantly transformed as though hit with cold air. To my grave surprise, I noticed the door was ajar. Instinctively, I felt for my gun – preparing for the worst.
Shit! I thought as I remembered that I had dropped my gun in the mayhem of the night before, losing it in the darkness. In the aftermath, I had neglected to look for it.
I pressed on down the corridor. When I reached the door, I turned my body and put one ear up against it, listening for any sound inside.
Nothing.
Without a single clue as to why the door was open, I pushed it forward few inches further. I leaned toward the opening and poked my head inside. Stillness and not a sound. I scanned the open-plan lounge and dining area with my eyes, but I couldn’t see anyone. At first glance, there was no intruder, but there was also no Chloe. Seething anger caused my breathing to pick up and set my heart hammering in my chest.
As I staggered through the door, my body came to a sharp, alarmed halt. Able to survey the scene clearly, I stared in muted shock at the bathroom door that had been smashed down in clear view. Angst and anger gave way to flaming wrathful hate. If anyone had touched my Chloe, I would hunt the bastard down and take pleasure in watching him suffer.
; Readying myself to fight any intruder that could still be hiding, I gently pushed the hall cabinet aside, making as little noise as possible. I pulled up a section of floorboard where it had stood to reveal a hole large enough for a metal box where I kept $50,000 in emergency cash and a stainless .38 revolver – my spare gun.
I snatched the gun and ammunition then eased the floorboard back down. As I loaded and cocked the gun, I dropped behind the hall cabinet for cover.
“Chloe? Are you here?” I shouted but got no response.
I advanced slowly through the apartment toward the bathroom, scanning my surroundings and looking into each room through the sight of my gun. As I passed the kitchen, I saw a smashed plate all over the floor, and a broken beer bottle to the side. If Chloe had been taken, she’d been gone since last night. I looked into my bedroom, which appeared unchanged since I’d left it.
When I reached the bathroom, I winced at the sight of the edge of the sink and toilet seat that was splattered with blood. I had never had a problem with blood but what it implied here scared the hell out of me—Chloe was injured, taken, and worst of all, I didn’t have a clue who the fucker was that had kidnapped her. Bitter hatred and remorse were the only feelings that made sense. I wanted to tear whoever did this apart.
I was sure Chloe had been gone hours. I only hoped I would be able to find her in time. Regardless, I had to call Bruno. I had to confess that I had let Bruno down, and he had to know what had happened to his shipment of whiskey before I could try to figure out who had my girl. If I didn’t tell Bruno the truth ASAP, my odds of him keeping me alive long enough to explain – let alone long enough to track down Chloe – would be next to nothing.
I sighed and lowered my gun. I slid my mobile-phone out of my jean pocket, only to realize it was still out of battery from the previous night. I plugged it to charge in the living room and called Bruno’s mobile from my landline. As I waited fearfully for him to pick up, I – for the first time in my life – considered calling the cops to help bring Chloe back. Even though it went entirely against the man I was and the world to which I belonged, I wondered whether the police would do a better job at finding her alive than I could. But getting involved the law would threaten the very world I knew and had worked so hard to protect. I couldn’t cause shit for myself, my brothers, and my club like that. I knew it would be something even Chloe’s father would have been against.
The sound of Bruno’s phone picked up interrupted my thoughts. “Bruno?” I said.
“Yeah,” he answered, casually.
“It’s Jax. There…There’s been an incident.”
“I know, Jax. My security guard down at the Marina building was shot dead last night. What the fuck happened? And why are you calling me so late in the morning? It’s 11:30 am!” He voice was firm and disagreeable.
“Frank, our helmsman, is dead too,” I added.
“Oy vey.” He let out a heavy sigh into the phone.
“And…” I took a breath. “The whiskey is gone too,”
“What whiskey? You watched the last shipment leave the docks, didn’t you?” he asked, sounding slightly panicked.
“Well… Frank had to wait a while for the harbor to clear; a couple of boats were pulling out real slow and—”
Bruno interrupted. “You fucking rode off and left there. Where the hell is my 200-grand’-worth of inventory, Jax? Where’s my fucking whiskey?” His voice had risen to a threat.
“I—I don’t know.” I stammered.
“You don’t know? That’s all you’ve got for me? You mean to say you have been MIA nearly all morning, only to finally call just to tell me you don’t know anything?” Bruno barked down the phone, and I heard his fist thud down on his wooden desk.
It killed me inside that I let Bruno down. I had worked relentlessly the past ten years, defending against a moment like this ever happening. The man was my hero, my mentor, and the closest thing I ever had to a father.
With tears in my eyes, I tried to explain, “Bruno, l-last night.” I cleared my throat and blinked my eyes hard. I couldn’t let him think I had turned soft, as well as having failed him. “Frank texted me about seven o’clock, and I raced down to the docks like lightning. I thought I could handle it. Never imagined I would find that we’d been ambushed. After ten years of smooth business, I don’t see what would be special about this shipment compared to the rest. Nobody had dared try to mess with your setup before. Not ever!” I said, emphatically.
“Just tell me what happened, Jax?” Bruno asked, sternly.
“When I got to the docks, I saw about ten guys loading trucks with our whiskey right off the boat. It was dark out, and the men wore all-black from head to toe. They were big men – with prison type physiques. Four guards stood watch, laden with weapons. There was another man, I think he was their leader, but I never got a look at his face. It looked like he was overseeing the entire operation, but he was too far away and too heavily guarded for me to get at him. It looked like a real professional job. I mean, these guys were hard-core hijackers,” I ranted.
Bruno blew out a frustrated breath. “Go on,” he said… his words pitiless.
“I did everything I could, Bruno, but the trucks were nearly loaded when I got there, and I was outnumbered. I had to keep myself alive. I killed some of them and was beaten unconscious that’s why I’m so late calling. I just woke up. I fucked up, Bruno. I should have stayed until the shipment left the port. It was my mistake, nobody else’s. I’m sorry, Boss,” I said, getting noticeably chocked up.
Bruno gave a long, difficult exhale. “Jesus Christ.”
I spoke again before he could say another word, “I promise you this, Bruno, your money will be returned to you in the long run. I’ll make sure of it.”
Seemingly ignoring my appeal for forgiveness Bruno responded with, “What I want from you now, is all the information you have on the incident. I want to know everything you did and everything you saw emailed to me by 3-o-clock. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Boss…And…I’m assuming the incident will have consequences for those responsible.”
Moments passed before Bruno took a conflicted breath. “It’s quite simple. So let me put it to you this way. The outcome for any man who causes loss to me or my club is in no way personal. You know I have great affection for you Jax, you’re an honorable man. The vote is tomorrow. If you become president, you will hold immense power in your hands, Jaxson. A club’s destiny. The fate of your brothers and their future. It is not to be taken lightly. Until then, I reserve judgment.”
“Promise me one thing, Bruno. Promise me that you won’t punish my brothers for this. I caused this shit, and I’ll pay the price. Whatever you decide… the outcome lands on me.”
“I’m a man of my word, Jax,” Bruno replied.
With that, the call cut out.
I buried my head in my hands and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I shut my eyes for a couple of minutes; telling myself that I couldn’t afford to lose grip. Chloe needed me, and my club needed me. When I sat up again and dropped my hands from my face, I noticed that my hands were red with blood.
I stood up from the couch, walking toward the bathroom to shower off my dirty and bloody body. About halfway between the sofa and the doorway to the bathroom, something metallic on the carpet caught my eye. I picked it up between my thumb and forefinger. A bullet. The shell of a gleaming, flesh-piercing bullet.
I rolled the bullet shell between my fingers and examined it with a practiced eye. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. The empty bullet was from a pistol that was rare they come ‒ a Colt 45. Sovereign ‒ the very gun Bruno had given me three years ago when I became vice-president of the Black Devils. The very gun I had lost back at the docks the night before. Like every one of mine and Bruno’s bullets, this shell was engraved with the shape of an eagle. Unmistakably, this was a bullet shot from my gun. Stolen and shot by the bastard who’d taken my Chloe. Whoever had taken her h
ad been at the docks last night.
This is bullshit. The whole rap was a fucking setup.
Following my curiosity, I carried on toward the bathroom. I picked up the ruptured steel handle that lay on the floor just outside the doorframe to inspect it. It had entirely fallen away from the wood of the smashed up door. The handle sported one shiny bullet induced dent in the front. The bullet shell I was holding must have ricocheted across the room.
I stepped into the bathroom and washed my face and arms at the sink, being careful to avoid the blood on the right hand side of the basin. Blood washed off my body and swirled down the sink. When I reached for the hand towel, I noticed Chloe’s phone lying in the bathtub – smashed into several pieces.
Leaving the bathroom, I headed to my bedroom to check on my charging phone. It was now reasonably charged and had flashed back to life. I wiped off my wet hands on my bath towel that sat on the radiator in my room and clicked my phone to unlock it. Then I saw the message. A message from Chloe! It read, BLOODS TAKEN.
Fuck! A foreboding feeling churned in my gut.
I balled my hand into a tight fist around the bullet, and my jaw clenched. I was sure that someone wanted to break me. Someone had wanted to kill me last night. Someone had a reason to kill me. My gut said that reason was the key to everything. I’d suspected Antonio, but now the Bloods were involved.
I knew the Bloods had been here, but I didn’t know where their hideout or club compound was. But I sure as hell was going to find out. I had learned my lesson the hard way last night. I needed backup and texted Dino to meet me over at Mandy’s Diner as soon as he could.