by K. L. Savage
She has no idea just how dangerous we really are. I’ve been waiting for this for four years, ever since the bodies started popping up. We kill when we have to, and no one in my city is going to hurt kids.
It makes me sick that Hawk’s daughter was almost dead on the side of the road. His fucking daughter!
On my life, brother, I’ll protect her with my own.
She’ll never be alone again. She has the entire MC behind her, and nothing is more dangerous than a woman with the Ruthless Kings by her side.
“She’s asleep,” Doc says. “I gave her something that will keep her out for a while.”
“What the fuck; you drugged her?” I hiss, stuffing my gun into my holster. Tool is sharpening his screwdriver, which is a thing apparently, and Tongue is sharpening his blades along with Knives.
He deadpans me and nods. “Yeah, I did.”
“I want to come,” Jenkins says from the door. “Whatever you’re doing, I want in.”
“No. Absolutely not. You’ll stay with your—” Shit, this is not how this day is supposed to go. We’re supposed to be partying, celebrating his birthday, and I want to see his face light up when he gets his dad’s bike after so many years. “Jenkins, you and I need to talk.”
“Just say it, whatever it is. They will find out eventually. Just say it,” he says, and the look in his eyes tells me he already knows.
“Kid, let’s go somewhere and talk, okay?”
“No. Just fucking say it, Uncle Reap.” His eyes are red, and his cheeks are flushed. He knows exactly what I’m about to say. “Go ahead. Say it.” The sorrow in his voice tears me to pieces. “Say it!” He takes his arms and shoves everything off the kitchen table. A few plates fall and shatter against the ground, and Tool looks down and takes a step back. Jenkins takes something out of his pocket and slams it on the table.
It’s the same picture Sarah had.
I nod my head and place two fingers on the photo and slide it back. This photo looks newer. I think he might have made a copy of it. “She’s your sister. Your half-sister,” I admit and watch as he takes his wallet out and puts the picture inside it.
“I know. I noticed it the first time I saw her. The picture fell from her pocket, and I grabbed it off the floor before anyone could notice. We look too much alike for it to go unnoticed.” Everyone stops what they’re doing. If a needle fell to the floor, I’d be able to hear it. Everyone thought this was just revenge for what happened to her and the other teens, the ones who weren’t as lucky as her to live.
“Hawk’s kid?” Tool asks, grabbing another screwdriver from his stash.
“Yeah,” I say, staring at Jenkins. His face turns white as a sheet and he loses his balance, falling against the counter. His hips catch him, and Doc is close enough to react quickly and grabs his arm to keep him from falling face-first to the floor.
“She’s my sister? Why didn’t... Did Dad know?”
“No, he never would have let her get lost in the foster system.”
“You have to let me go,” Jenkins says through clenched teeth, squeezing his fists at his sides. “I deserve to be there, more than any of these guys. She’s my blood. The only blood I have left, and I could have protected her all this time. I couldn’t. I can now.” He hits his chest. “I. Can. Now.”
“Jenkins, you don’t have to do this. It will get gonna be messy. It will change you forever.”
“I changed forever when my dad died. I changed when I just found out I had a sister who was abused by someone she should’ve been able to trust because we weren’t there for her. God, Dad would let me do this! Damn it!” He slams his fist against the wall, punching a hole right through it. “You’re going to let me do this,” he heaves.
“Fine, but the emotions? Cut that shit off. They have no place here,” I tell him. “Grab your gear.” He goes to walk by me, but I grab him by the arm. “You don’t have to do this. I’ve got it. Tool, Knives, Tongue, we have it. The blood doesn’t have to be on you.”
“Yes, it does.” He shrugs his arm from my hand and disappears into his room, slamming the door.
I glance around the room to see all the guys staring at me. Tongue licks his blade, his lip curling in disgust I guess when he realizes it isn’t sharp enough. He goes back to making sparks fly along the metal.
“Shit. Hawk has a daughter. That’s crazy,” Tool says, jerking the screwdriver from the dart board.
Bullseye is sitting at the table, grumpy as fuck because I told him to stay behind and protect Sarah.
“I’m not surprised. The fertile fucker never knew how to wrap it. He probably has a hundred other little spawns running around,” he chuckles and then gives me a hard stare. “I’m not happy about staying, but I’ll protect her with my life.”
“No one ever touches her. You hear me? She’s sixteen, and if any of the members get too close, cut off their hands and bring them to me, understood? I’m saying this to all of you.”
“Jenkins going to be okay, Reap?” Tool asks, staring at Jenkins’ door. “He hasn’t had it easy.”
“No, he hasn’t, but I know he’s happy and he wants this. The kid doesn’t kill tonight, understand me?”
“What if he wants to?” Tongue asks in his quiet hushed voice. “He has every right. It’s his blood he’s fighting for. I won’t stop him from taking what’s his, Prez.” Tongue picks his teeth with the knife, the sharp end of the blade nearly cutting his gums.
“He’s too young for that. I won’t take what is left of his innocence. I won’t be responsible,” I say.
Tool sighs and then throws the screwdriver into the dartboard, right near the bull’s eye. “He stopped being innocent the day his dad died, Prez. This is his sister, the person he never knew existed, and now here she is, beaten to a pulp, and you want him to do nothing? Come on, that’s not how it works being a Ruthless King. You know that, and he knows that.”
I’m not sure why I’m having such a hard time thinking of Jenkins having to killing someone. Most of the guys have taken a life, but Jenkins... He had nightmares as a kid, and he’d come into my room to sleep. I wouldn’t know until I woke up the next morning to find him curled up in a ball on the floor.
How am I supposed to let the same kid get blood on his hands?
“Go outside. Get ready to go. We’ll be out there in a minute.”
Tool rounds up the guys and heads outside, letting the saloon doors sway in his retreat.
“I’m going to stay here with Sarah in case she wakes up in pain.” Doc plops down at the kitchen table and drags a novel from his backpack. It has a shirtless guy on the cover staring into a woman’s eyes. It’s a romance book. He doesn’t even look at me as he opens it. “Don’t judge me. Just like I’m not about to judge you. Go on,” he shoos me away.
I snort but leave without saying a word and head to Jenkins’ room. I knock and open the door at the same time to see him lacing up Hawk’s boots on his feet. “Kid?”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Just leave it alone, okay? Let me do this.”
“I want to give you something real quick, that’s all...”
He lifts his head from between his legs and gives me a slight nod of his chin before standing tall. I can tell he’s in his head, thinking of everything that’s going on. He’s thinking of Sarah, of his dad, and of how guilty he must feel.
“C’mon. I had the guys deliver it earlier.” I walk out and wait for him to follow.
The night is warmer than usual when I step outside. The men are on their bikes, and the slight rumble of their engines seems to go carry on for miles across the desert plains. It kind of reminds me of the wild west; except we are on bikes, still outlaws, taking matters in our own hands.
Tool throws the keys to me, and I catch them mid-air, placing them right on top of Hawk’s bike’s black leather seat. Damn, it looks just like it did the day he went down. My bike is right next to it, and I hop on, cranking the engine as I wait for the kid to come outside. His boots
scuff against the floor and when he climbs down the porch steps, he doesn’t notice his dad’s bike at first. He lifts his head and pauses on the last step, staring at the bike that’s been waiting on him for the last eight years.
Tool worked his ass off on that bike whenever he had the downtime. It was all but scrap metal eight years ago. The engine is much better than it used to be, and the tires are a bit wider to grip the road better. The fuel tank is a bright yellow, Hawk’s favorite color, with a black strip down the middle.
“Happy Birthday, kid,” I mumble around the end of my cigarette and blow out a cloud of smoke.
“What.... You remembered!” He hurries down the steps and stops just before he can touch his father’s bike. “I thought it was ruined in the accident?”
I can tell by the sound of his voice that his voice is all choked up. He reaches for the keys that are lying on the seat with trembling hands, and then he runs his palm down the fuel tank.
“Like I’d ever forget your birthday. Shit has been busy, but I’m not stupid. It was his final wish to give you his bike. We made sure that happened.”
It’s hard not to get emotional when I see Hawk’s son straddling his old man’s bike, but I choke it down, not wanting to look like a bitch in front of my guys.
“Thank you. This is the best birthday a man could ask for.” He inserts the key and cranks her up, letting her idle for a minute. “What would be the icing on the cake is getting vengeance for my sister.”
“Let’s roll out then.” I motion for us to leave, and six bikes head out on the road.
Having Hawk’s bike back on the road, and his son right next to me, it’s like my brother is back for one last ride, getting his last taste of blood before his soul can settle.
Later That Night
After about fifteen minutes of riding backroad, we turn left on a dirt road. Everyone slows down so they don’t ruin their bike with the potholes. Eventually, I hold up my fist, telling everyone to stop. My feet hit the ground, and I shut off my bike as everyone else does. There isn’t a house in sight.
“What are we doing?” the kid hisses from behind me. “Why the fuck are we stopping now?”
“You have a lot to learn, kid,” I say as I toss my cigarette on the ground, stomping on it with my boot. “We don’t want to alert anyone that we are here. For all we know, there are other kids here. That monster is here. We don’t want to give ourselves away because of our bikes. Set your bikes to the side. Let’s go; we’re walking.”
I can see Jenkins’ fingers twitch from the corner of my eye. He does that when he wants the lighter in his pocket. We follow the long dirt trail, causing dust to cloud from all the boots kicking it up, but we’re well hidden by the congestion of trees. The kid’s hand reaches for the lighter again, but he stops himself. I’ll tackle him to the ground if I have to so the flicker of the flame doesn’t give us away.
I’ve had to be careful over the years with the kid’s fire obsession, which is why he decided to go to school for fire science. If he’s going to play with flames, I want him to at least be smart about it.
When we’re done with this bastard, I’m going to let Jenkins burn this house to the ground with Sarah’s abuser inside.
A house finally comes to view, and my blood boils when I see how fucking quaint it is. It has red shutters with white siding, a wrap-around porch and a swing. It looks so homey. It’s the picture-perfect home someone imagines for themselves.
“Make rounds,” I whisper.
A few of the guys spread out and vanish into the night. It’s hard to believe these big fuckers are so stealthy, but I can’t hear one boot to give their location away. I grab the kid by his shirt, pushing him forward. “You want to take the lead?”
He nods, and I ignore the sickening twist in my stomach from what I’m about to let this kid do. I shouldn’t allow it, but if one day he wants to be a Ruthless King, he needs to understand what being ruthless really means. Part of me hopes it is too much for him, and he’ll decide to go off and be a fucking lawyer or some shit, but I know better. The kid has crazy in his eyes and ruthless blood in his veins.
“I’ll be right behind you then, kid.”
Jenkins opens the gate to the front of the house, and we step onto the skinny concrete walkway that’s lined with plants and different multicolored flowers. The bushes are trimmed to perfection, and a small sign decorates the yard that says, “Hate has no home here.” With a growl, I pluck it from the green grass and snap it in half. I take the pointed edge of the stake with me, tossing the broken sign in the yard.
Gripping the wood until I have splinters embedded into my fingers, I make my way up the steps. All the lights are out, and it doesn’t look like anyone is home, but a red car sits in the driveway telling me otherwise. It’s around one in the morning; I wouldn’t be surprised if the bastard is asleep. He’s about to have a rude awakening.
“Any alarms are cut off. We’re set,” I tell the kid when I receive a message from Tool.
The door squeaks around the hinges, but my rage festers. We have to be patient, but it seems Jenkins can’t wait any longer and lets rage get the better of him. He steps back, lifts his leg, and kicks the door open.
“Kid! Fuck!”
Broken wood flies everywhere, and I stomp behind Jenkins through the pristine hardwood floor fucking hallway and head straight for the back rooms. A few of the other guys fan out and check the other rooms, but I know for a fact this asshole is sleeping, probably dreaming of his next victim. I stay right behind the kid to have his back.
A bedroom door opens, and an older gentleman wearing a white robe fills my vision. “What in the world is going on here? Who are you? I’m calling the cops!”
I grin, and the familiar feeling of my heart blackening fills my chest. I throw the stake in my hand right toward the abusive bastard. It pierces the middle of his palm, through-and-through, pinning him to the wall. He screams in agony and tries to pull the stake out. Blood drips down his wrist and arm, pooling on the spotless hardwood floor.
I take the cell phone from his other hand and throw it on the floor, smashing it with my boot. Yanking the stake from his hand, he collapses on the ground, cradling the giant hole in his palm. I bring my knee up and smash it against his face. The guys hang back, allowing me to do my thing. Tongue has a wicked smile on his face.
“Why are you doing this?” the man moans.
“We know what you did,” I sneer in his face and yank his head back by the hair. “You’re a killer.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he sputters through the blood filling his mouth.
I drag him by his scalp down the hall until we get to the kitchen and throw him in a wooden chair. Tool gets to work and ties him up. I want to rip this man’s fucking throat out, but I promised Jenkins that Sarah’s vengeance was his to seek. This will change him forever, and he may hate me for it, but if this is what he wants, then this is what he will get.
“Nice place you have here,” I say, noticing the fine china in the armoire in the corner. Yeah, I know what the fuck an armoire is. Shit is expensive. “I’m here for Sarah, you know, the girl you tried to kill. She lived, by the way, and then she came to us. Her home.” I get him ready for Jenkins, nervous to let the kid have the reins.
“I don’t know who you are talking about!”
“You’re lying,” I roar and punch his jaw. “You’re a fucking liar. We know because she gave us this address.”
“Basement looks like a torture chamber,” Knives says, and then he tosses a few videotapes on the table. “It seems he likes to watch the movies he makes.”
They’re all labeled.
Kenneth.
Maria.
Heather.
Thomas.
Kendall.
It goes on and on until I find the one I’m looking for.
Sarah.
“Jenkins? After you,” I take a few deep breaths while the kid steps forward. He doesn’t look nervous or
scared. He looks like a man who is ready to kill.
“You sick fuck!” He slams the tape in his face. “I’m going to cut you limb by limb, and then I’m going to pull every single one of your teeth out. Then I’m going to have my brother here cut your tongue out, and do you know what I’m going to do after?”
I watch the kid’s sanity snap.
The smell of piss fills the air, and Jenkins laughs, a bit mad with bloodlust. “I’m going to shove a stick of dynamite down your fucking throat and watch from the road as your blown to bits.”
Jesus. The kid is manic. I step forward to stop him, but Tongue slaps his hand on my chest and gives me a slight shake of his head.
Sarah’s abuser’s eyes are round with fear. Jenkins take one of Knives’ proffered blades and starts cutting into the man’s skin like he promised. Names of the people he killed. Those poor kids.
“This is for my poor fucking sister!” Jenkins voice breaks, and his eyes swim with water, but he doesn’t let the tears fall.
“Damn, maybe we should call you Picasso or some shit,” Tool says, appreciating Jenkins’
handywork.
The kid is impressive, but I hate that I’m thinking about how much of an asset he would be to the club with this mania. A voice in the back of my head tells me to stop him before the kid is too far gone.
Next, Jenkins takes a pair of plyers out, and the man coughs up blood with every tooth pulled. I hum as Jenkins takes sweet time until this sick fuck is toothless, crying, and begging for his life.
“Please,” the abuser sobs with a lisp. Blood and tears drip from his chin in red streaks, and tears run through the dried red liquid on his face. “I’ll never hurt another person again.”
Jenkins nods and hands me the knife, and I wipe the blade on my jeans before giving it back to Knives. “You’re right. I’ll make sure of that.” He steps back and nods to Tongue and stands right next to me. Tongue’s cold, frosty blue eyes are like lasers, nearly glowing through the long tendrils of black hair covering his face. A crooked grin forms on his lips, and when he brings his knife up to the light, it sparkles.