by Tillie Cole
“You ain’t gonna live,” Trace said. I clamped my hand over my gunshot wound to stop the blood. My head was getting light and my legs were giving way. Trace smiled. “Then I’m gonna blow this fucking place to the ground.” He banged his free hand over his chest, right over his 88 tattoo. “No one fucks with the Klan. Landry will see who the true soldiers are in his army. The purest brothers. Then he’ll let me in.” My eyes ran to his truck. The explosives would be in there. We’d done it to a fuck-ton of impure businesses before. Torched their premises to the ground, preferably with them locked inside.
I had to stop him. Beauty’s face popped into my mind. Her smile, her eyes, her fucking smart mouth. And I knew I had to stop him no matter what. The Hangmen liked her. I could see it. The old ladies loved her. They’d take her in. Look after her. Marie and Bone already thought of her as the daughter they never had.
I had to save my woman.
Trace tightened his grip on his knife. I reached into my pocket and grabbed the handle of the knife I’d taken from one of the pricks on the ground. Trace’s foot rocked, ready to lunge, but just as he did, a shot rang out. He hit the ground. I took a breath, then my legs gave the fuck out . . .
“Baby?”
I tried to blink. My throat was a damn desert.
“Darlin’? Tank, baby?” Beauty’s voice sailed into my ears and I felt her hands on my cheeks. I squeezed my eyes together before cracking them open, one at a time. Bright light scalded my eyeballs. I tried to move, but fire shot through my veins when I did.
“Fuck!” I hissed, my voice barely making a sound.
Beauty was there again. “Shh, baby. Careful.” It took me a minute to open my eyes properly. A room with wood on the walls came into view. I looked down at my arm; a tube in it led to an IV beside me. I had bandages all over me and a brown blanket over my bottom half. Beauty sat on the bed beside me. I looked up and saw tears fall from her eyes and down her cheeks. Her hair, normally styled and big, was flat to her head. Not a scrap of makeup was on her face. She had one of my hoodies on—it fucking drowned her. She looked like a little lost kid.
“Baby . . .” I rasped, and she fell against me, wrapping her arms around me. I could feel her tears dripping down my neck. Fuck, my chest pulled apart at my woman breaking her heart. I lifted my arm, ignoring the sting from my right shoulder, and wrapped it around her head. I kept her the fuck close as she cried.
Then I realized the dream hadn’t been a fucking dream at all . . . Trace . . . Trace had come after me and the Hangmen. I’d had to kill two of his men.
Beauty lifted her head. Taking hold of my face, she said, “I thought you’d died.” She sniffed and wiped at her bare eyes. “I thought you’d left me.” She hit me softly on my untouched shoulder, then dropped her head to mine. “Never fucking do that to me again. I don’t care what happens—never lock me in a room where I can’t get to you. Where I can’t help.”
“I wanted . . . you to be safe—”
“Fuck safe,” she interrupted, her face tight and pinched. She meant every word. I couldn’t help it. I smiled. Not just smiled—I fucking laughed. Beauty’s mouth dropped open, and she hit me again, harder this time. “You’re laughing?” But her lip twitched and then she was laughing too.
Grabbing her wrist, I pulled her to my chest, not giving one shit about the pain or the wounds that probably shouldn’t have had my hundred-and-thirty pound woman lying over them. I made her look at me. “Fucking love you, woman.”
“Love you too,” she whispered back, and another tear fell. She laid her head on my chest, and I let her get rid of all the tears. I could hear people outside, and knew by the look of the room I had to be in the Hangmen compound. Well, by that and the massive Hangmen flag that covered the opposite wall.
“You killed two men.” My eyes shot down to Beauty’s blond head. She slowly lifted it so I could see her face. Her bottom lip shook. I nodded. Her eyes closed. “Just had to say it out loud.”
“I’ve killed a fuck-ton more. You know it.” I watched her for any kind of reaction. There was none. But she let out a long sigh. I pushed a piece of hair back from her cheek. “It’s the life I live. I know you ain’t seen it in the time we’ve been together.” I looked around the room. At Hades’ face looking down at me from the wall. Just like I’d ended up with the Klan, I had now found myself here. In a fucking den of killers.
I was a killer too.
Beauty looked away, but then turned her head to me. “I don’t care.” The weight that had been pressing on my chest as I waited for her reply lifted with those three words. She swallowed and moved in closer, until her lips hovered over my mouth. “I’m with you. No matter what. That’s all there is to it.” She smiled and stroked her finger down my cheek. “These past months with you have been the greatest of my life.” She kissed my lips. “I’m not giving you up now. No matter what happens next.”
Grabbing her head, I pressed my mouth to hers. Fucking tasting her and feeling that hot tongue against my own. I only pulled back when someone cleared their throat from the door. Over Beauty’s shoulder I saw Bull in the doorway. Beauty didn’t move away from me, just tucked her head into my neck and wrapped her arm around my waist.
“Good. You’re awake,” Bull said. He folded his arms over his chest, but his face looked different when he looked at me. More relaxed. I knew then that he’d always been somewhat guarded around me. But his eyes and jaw were less tense now. “Reaper wants to see you.”
“He’s just regained consciousness,” Beauty argued, sitting up, Bull getting the brunt of her wrath. He didn’t even flinch.
“It’s okay.” I threw the blanket off my legs and ripped the IV from my arm. “Jeans?” I asked Beauty.
“Tank—”
“Baby, I’m fine.” Her eyes flared, but she got off the bed and disappeared into the hallway.
“She never fucking left your side,” Bull said.
“How long was I out?”
“Couple of days. The doc we use kept you under the first day. You slept the rest on your own.” I nodded, then Beauty came back into the room holding a bag from the store she worked at. She pulled out some jeans and helped me get them on. I could’ve done it myself, but I wasn’t risking her cutting me the fuck down if I didn’t let her help. She pulled out a shirt too.
“Don’t need it.” I held my injured shoulder as I got to my feet. Beauty helped me put on my boots. She backed away and folded her arms across her chest, looking down at the floor. I stopped in front of her and lifted her chin with my free hand. She kept her eyes cast down, until my patience won out and she met my eyes. “What?” she snapped.
“I’ll be back soon. Then you can fuss over me as much as you fucking want, yeah?”
Beauty kicked the floor with her foot, looking too fucking adorable. But then she nodded, and a smile tugged on her mouth. She stepped closer until her chest was against mine. “Go.” I kissed her on the mouth.
“Letti and Marie are in the bar waiting for you,” Bull said. Beauty took my cell off the side table and put it in my pocket. “You need me, you call.” Beauty wrapped her arms, in the too-long sleeves of my hoodie, around her waist, then hightailed it out of the room. I couldn’t help but smirk. Fuck knows what she thought she could do against the Hangmen.
I followed Bull outside. It was early evening by the look of things. He led us to a big shed-looking structure away from the clubhouse. When he opened the door and we stepped inside, I saw all the Hangmen standing around the edges of the room . . . and in the center, tied to a chair, was Trace. His head lifted when I came in. My blood boiled to fucking lava in my veins as the cunt curled his fucking lip in disgust.
Suddenly, Reaper was in front of me. “Saved him for ya.” He gritted his teeth, then relaxed. “Was fucking hard, but figure after this . . .” Reaper punched my bullet wound. Not hard, but hard enough to show me that he was fucking in charge. I breathed through the pain. “You should have the kill.”
“Turncoat,”
Trace spat. I walked past Reaper and stood in front of the asshole who’d nearly taken me from Beauty. His face was beaten, his left eye almost closed. He smiled, and his teeth were washed with blood. “You deserve to die,” he said, voice hoarse and raw. “You deserve to die on this fucking impure land.” He roved his eye over the Hangmen. “This club used to be pure until they opened it up to the fucking inferior.” He locked on Bull. “To black and brown scum that should be bowing at our superior feet.”
Styx came up beside me and handed me a German blade. Fucking ironic for a Klansman to go out this way. I took the blade from his hand and faced Trace. “You think they won’t keep coming for you?” Trace hissed. “Might not be now or soon, but one day the Klan will rise and take out the inferior races and those who left the brotherhood to fuck with the impure cunts below us.”
I leaned forward and got right in his face. “That may be so. But just like you and the fucking sidekicks you dragged with you, I’ll end them. Slit their fucking throats and piss on their dead corpses.” Trace shook with rage. “The Klan don’t mean shit anymore, just a bunch of dumbfuck assholes who hold on to the days of their granddaddies. The Klan will fall . . .” I smiled. “And if I have my way, I’ll be leading the fucking charge.”
Trace went to say something else, but I didn’t give him chance to speak. I slashed my arm out and let Styx’s German blade slice across Trace’s throat. His open eye fixed on mine, and I watched him. Watched him choke on his own blood as the slit opened and poured crimson. I watched as he thrashed in the chair, fighting to breathe. And I watched as his eye frosted over and his body went still. There was no sound in the room except my breath. Then, with a fucking endless bellow from the pit of my stomach, I kicked his chair and rounded on his corpse as it crashed to the floor. I stabbed the cunt, stabbed and stabbed until there was nothing but blood and flesh. I stood and glared down on his carcass. I stepped back, breathless, to see the eyes of all the Hangmen on me.
I wiped the blade on my new jeans, but that didn’t get it clean. I was covered in blood. I handed it back to Styx. The kid smiled. It was the first time I’d ever seen any expression from the mute Little Reaper.
“Now that was fucking awesome . . . I got a huge-ass boner. Anyone else?” Vike spoke, but I kept my eyes on Reaper.
“Church.” Reaper turned to walk back toward the clubhouse. All the brothers left, and I was left looking down at Trace. Taking my cell from my jean pocket, I took a picture of Trace’s fucked-up body and sent it to the one person I’d thought would never fucking betray me.
He didn’t succeed. If you want me dead, fucking come get me yourself.
When the message sent, I walked from the shed, leaving the Klan firmly behind. I didn’t go get Beauty; instead I took a shower in the room in which I’d been staying and threw the jeans away. I looked in the bag Beauty had brought in from Ride. Inside were another pair of jeans and a white shirt. I slipped them on, then sat down on the bed. I took a huge breath out. When I looked down, my hands were shaking. My legs couldn’t keep still and adrenaline surged through my body, lighting me the fuck up.
Trace. Fucking Trace. The guy who took me off the streets and gave me a family. A family that were evil. I closed my eyes, thinking of that first night I’d helped them take out a rival gang member.
A black gang member . . .
Trace’s loud laughter came from the driver’s side as I sat beside him on the passenger seat. He turned the wheel, and I heard the sound of the body being dragged behind the car across Landry’s land. Trace handed me the whiskey. Then he came to a stop. He got out of the car and I followed. We stopped at the back of the car. I looked down. And I didn’t fucking move as I saw the state of the body.
“Another victory for the white race.” Trace handed me a smoke. “Celebrate, Tank. You just got yourself your first kill . . .”
I pulled my hands down my face and felt my stomach fucking recoil at the memory. Because I’d been all in. Young, stupid, and high off my first kill, Trace fanning the flames of white pride.
Now, years later and grown the fuck up, I saw him for what he was . . . a fucking deadbeat loser who I’d put all my damn trust in. Followed the guy to hell with a burning cross lighting the way.
I was as stupid as his dead ass. Had innocent blood on my hands. Not all. Mostly rival gangs, but some that were just in the wrong place at the wrong fucking time.
I wasn’t sure how long I’d been on the bed, but eventually I heard Bull’s voice from the door. “You’re needed in church.”
I studied Bull’s face, trying to work out what was going on. The guy’s face was blank, not giving shit away. I followed, and as we made our way down the hallway, I let numbness fill me. Whatever was about to happen, good or bad, I wasn’t getting away.
When I walked into the room that I hadn’t ever been allowed in, all the brothers were sitting around a table. Reaper sat at the top, a gavel in front of him, Hades Hangmen patch on the wall behind him. Big Poppa was to his left, Styx to his right, Ky next to Styx.
The door shut behind me, but I kept my eyes on Reaper. If for some fucked-up reason he thought I’d brought the Klan here, I wanted to see the psycho coming at me. I wondered if this was some kind of test. Wondered if he’d kept Trace alive for me to see if I could do it. If I could kill a former Klan brother.
I tensed, fucking waiting for Reaper to speak, then he reached under the table and threw something at me. I caught it instinctively. The smell of fresh leather immediately shot to my nose. I glanced down to see a brand-new leather cut in my hands. It had the Hangmen patch on the back. On the front was the word “Prospect”, with my name beside it . . . Tank.
My head snapped up as my heart started to fucking slam in my chest. Reaper sat there in his chair like the fucker was Hades on his throne. A hand landed on my shoulder from behind. Bull.
“Well?” Ky said, smirking from his seat. “What the fuck you waiting for? Put it the fuck on.”
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I slipped the cut over my shirt. And fuck, did it feel perfect. I ran my hand over the patch. “You fucking defended the Hangmen from your old brothers. Killed for us.” Reaper shrugged. “Showed you just might be one of us.”
“I am,” I said without taking a breath.
Reaper banged the gavel down on the table, the sound echoing off the walls. I heard that sound replaying in my head as I watched, in disbelief, the brothers get to their feet. I thought my heart was about to burst from my chest when I saw their faces, felt each slap on my back. My breathing was so hard I heard it in my own ears, the air rushing through me as fast as my blood rushed through my veins. Then I glanced down to my cut—my fucking cut—and read my name over and over again. “Tank” stitched into the leather . . . the smell of that leather telling me one fucking thing: I was a motherfucking Hangman.
I’m a motherfucking Hangman . . .
The world came crashing back into real time when Reaper came over, the last to reach me, Big Poppa beside him. “Prospecting is shit. Earn your dues, then one day you’ll be patched in.” I nodded, hanging off his every word. I was trying to take it in. Trying to believe it was true, that I wasn’t still under from the attack and dreaming it all up in my head.
But I was here. As Reaper hit my shoulder in congratulations, I knew I was really fucking here. They’d let me in. Beauty and me . . . we were no longer on our own.
Bone came past me and took hold of my arm, dragging me toward the door of church. I frowned, trying to focus on what the hell was going on.
It was Big Poppa who spoke. “First you’re getting those fucking Nazi tattoos covered. If I have to see them one more day I’ll fucking slit your throat myself.” Poppa clapped his hand down on my shoulder. “And my bike never ran so good. Don’t wanna have to find a new mechanic.” Bull and Ky pushed me into the bar. As the doors swung open, I immediately saw Beauty. Her blue eyes fell to the cut and the brothers standing around me, and her hands flew to her mouth.
My heart
was a fucking iron fist when I saw the fucking happy tears sprout in her eyes, but I managed to smile. I didn’t get a chance to go over because rock music came blasting through the speakers, a bottle of liquor was put in my hand, and I was shoved into a chair beside Bone, who emerged from the back room with his tattoo gun in his hand.
“Get the fuckin’ sluts in!” Big Poppa called. “Time to get fuckin’ wasted and fucked! We got a new brother!” My cut and shirt were removed and Bone started free-handing Hades cover-ups over my Nazi ink. And with every minute, I got more shitfaced, the tattoo gun erasing the final tie to my past life. The biggest fucking mistake I’d ever made.
As I looked up at Beauty, smiling and crying, drinking whiskey that I knew she fucking hated with Letti, Lois, and Marie, I felt like I could finally fucking breathe.
I was a motherfucking Hades Hangman.
And we were home.
Epilogue
One week later . . .
Beauty let loose a long fucking “Woohoo!” as we cruised down Congress Avenue, her arms in the air. Her vest, showing everyone who she belonged to, was on her back, tight black leathers on her long legs. She had her Hangmen tank on—Vike was right. It made her tits look unreal.
People stopped and stared as we went past. I rode and rode, until a familiar building came up ahead. The building I picked Beauty up from all those months ago. Beauty’s arms came around my waist and her lips came to my ear, like she was reading my damn mind. “Best fucking thing I’ve ever done, darlin’.”
I smirked, knowing it was true. A fucking beauty queen in a crown and sash climbing onto my bike changed it all.
An hour later we were back in our home near the compound. The minute I got off the bike, Beauty jumped into my arms, legs around my waist—where they seemed permanently attached—and her lips on mine. Holding her ass in my hands, I carried her up the stairs to the porch, then through the front door.