LOW JOB: A Filthy Dogs MC Romance Novel

by Ora Wilde

  10

  SAMANTHA

  “Stop sniveling, girl!” the biker ordered, one of many times he has done so in the course of three or four hours since they returned me to the boiler room that served as my prison.

  I wanted to cry even louder just to get under his skin, my way of getting back at him - at them - for the atrocities that they have committed. But the rifle he was holding was enough to frighten me into submission. I knew he wouldn’t kill me. Still, he could use it in so many ways that would most certainly hurt.

  So I tried to keep my emotions in check. But the events that happened made it very difficult for me to stop my tears. After a few minutes, some quiet sniffs would begin once more, and quickly they’d escalate into whimpers that would again garner my captor’s attention. It was a cycle that kept repeating itself for hours now, ever since I witnessed the savage way they dealt with Nicker.

  “Shut the fuck up or I’m gonna seal ‘yer pretty lil’ lips with super glue!” he screamed at me. He wasn’t the patient type, that much I could tell. There were only two of us in the tiny confines of the room. A normal person wouldn’t have been bothered by my whimpers. But he didn’t have the forbearance to ignore my cries.

  Many times I’ve asked myself why I continued crying.

  Yes, I saw what they did to Nicker and the horror of that wasn’t something that’s easy to forget. The mere thought of that monster munching on his arm was so much worse than the most dreadful of nightmares. It left me terrified... but my tears weren’t because of it.

  I was so helpless. I never liked being helpless. Helplessness makes me feel so frustrated and angry and sad.

  My father’s club... they weren’t coming for me even if they wanted to. They’re pinned down in San Mateo, trapped in their own clubhouse with what could be hundreds of their enemies surrounding the entire town. Even if he’d just send a couple of his men to rescue me, that would still leave the headquarters a couple of men short in defending the donut shop. That’s a very significant loss considering that they’re on lockdown and all of the club’s friends and the patches’ loved ones are there.

  And even he does decide to send some of his brothers, navigating out of San Mateo would be impossible what with Godlesses in every corner of the city. They won’t make it out of the area alive.

  And Lenny... he was dead. Somehow, that affected me the most.

  We just shared... something... the night before, and though I dismissed it as nothing more than a mistake, I remained fascinated at how special it really was.

  But he’s gone. I’m locked up. And by the day’s end, I’d suffer the same fate as Nicker. There was no room for self-pity. Only an all-consuming sorrow. And impotent rage. And desolate defeat.

  Yet, I can’t stop blaming him.

  Lenny... why the hell did you have to die?

  Tears began to trickle from my eyes once more.

  I retreated further into the corner of the small, dark room so that my captor wouldn’t notice. I guessed it was also human nature to seek comfort under the blanket of blackness in the agonizing absence of hope.

  Then, it happened.

  An explosion. Loud. Thundering. Frightening. The ground rumbled with how powerful it was. The thug who was holding a rifle was startled into uneasiness. He instinctively pointed his gun towards the door.

  The hinges creaked before the door flung wide open. The biker almost fired a shot.

  “Holy Shit, Bellies!” the goon who entered the room squealed. “Point that motherfucker somewhere else.”

  “Sorry, Goat. What the fuck was that explosion?” this Bellies asked.

  “I dunno. Came from the next block. Some of the brothers are checkin’ it out.”

  “What do you think it is? Busted transformer? An LPG tank? A fire cracker?”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Bellies. That shit’s too loud to be any of those. Didn’t you feel the fucking floor shake? It was a grenade, at least.”

  “At least?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it can be worse. A car bomb, maybe. Or a bunch of C-4s.”

  “C-4s?! Fucking shit! So, we’re bein’ attacked?” Bellies tightened his grip on his rifle. “The Dogs are here? How did those mongrels get out of their turf?”

  “We don’t know yet. As I’ve said, the brothers are checking it out. How’s the girl?”

  “Still there, cryin’ like a hag who just lost her hymen.”

  “Yeah, okay. Prez said not to allow her to leave your sight. Right now, she’s our most precious commodity.”

  “I won’t. I’ve never screwed up, remember?”

  Goat went back outside. Bellies eyed me with renewed fervor. A distorted smile formed on his face. He was seemingly proud of the significance of the task that was assigned to him.

  And then it struck me.

  I may be trapped in a small, smelly room and guarded by a thug who’s quite eager to use his gun... but everything he showed me pointed to the fact that he wasn’t particularly bright. I was smarter than him, and my mouth wasn’t gagged.

  I wasn’t helpless after all.

  “So, are you a prospect?” I asked him, compelling myself to flash a mocking smile.

  “What?” he replied incredulously. “Fuck! Do I look like a prospect to you?” He turned around to give a me a good look at the back of his kutte. His club’s logo was there, together with the top and bottom rockers - signs that he was a fully patched outlaw.

  “Oh, your colors are complete,” I said with a condescending tone. “Sorry. I thought you were a prospect, what with the way they give you orders and stuff.”

  “They gave me this task,” he answered defensively. “And it’s a very important one. That’s how much they trust me.”

  “Really? Guarding a prisoner is important? In my father’s club, he lets the prospects do that job so that he and his brothers can drink beer and party with their girls.”

  “Shut up!” he yelled at me furiously. His loud voice didn’t frighten me. His reaction just revealed that my words were venomous for him. “I don’t fucking care what those cocksuckers do in ‘yer ol’ man’s sorry excuse for a club... but here, we do things differently. Here, they ask the reliable ones to do the important stuff.”

  I forced myself to laugh, making sure that it sounded as hysterical as it possibly could. Bellies didn’t like it. He grunted with irritation.

  “Is that what they want you to think?” I asked him with a sneer.

  “That’s the fucking fact, bitch!” he snapped back.

  “Really? Gee... I dunno. When Goat was here... Goat’s his name, right? Anyway, when he was here, he didn’t sound like he trusted you that much.”

  “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

  “He kept reminding you what to do. He kept telling you how important I am to your club. Now, why would he have to do that if he knows that you’re dependable. Sounded like he wasn’t really impressed with you.”

  Bellies growled as he roughly ran his hand over his face. “Just shut the fuck up!” he repeated. “I’m an important member of this club. I know that. They know that. Prez knows that. Everyone fucking knows that!”

  Immediately after he spoke, another explosion rocked the premises. This time, it was louder. It sounded like it detonated near the building. The Godlesses screamed outside. The sound of heavy footsteps followed, scampering away from the building. Either they all wanted to check out the cause of the explosions or they were scuttling for safety.

  “If you’re that important, then why’re you stuck here with me while your so-called brothers are abandoning your clubhouse?” I continued to play with my captor’s mind.

  “They’re not abandoning the clubhouse, bitch!” he stated, though he did so quite slowly as if he didn’t even believe his own declaration.

  “I bet they are,” I told him as I intentionally made my smile even more disparaging. “I bet that no one’s left outside. They all ran away, fearing for their lives, and leaving the weakest link behind because this is thei
r chance to finally get rid of him.”

  “Shut ‘yer fucking cock hole!” he ordered once again. “They didn’t run away!”

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me up. Then, he forcefully dragged me towards the door which he hurriedly opened.

  “You’ll see!” he continued to yell.

  As soon as we stepped out of the boiler room, all of Bellies’ swagger deserted him.

  The huge hall was empty.

  Of all the forty or so men who populated the area earlier, not a single soul was left behind. Everyone indeed went out, leaving me and Bellies the only ones in the building.

  “I told you,” I said with a satisfied smirk that was meant to ridicule him even further.

  “Fuck!” he blurted out as he continued to scour the place, trying to process what might’ve happened.

  “You’re under attack,” I pronounced with feigned confidence, though I wasn’t even sure if that was the case. “Some of your brothers... the smart ones... they may have fled. Others... the brave ones... they went to battle. And you? You’re still here because no one even bothered to take you with them. No one cares about you, Bellies. You simply don’t matter to anyone.”

  He didn’t respond that time around, at least not with words. He just gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his rifle as he continued to survey the premises, hoping, perhaps, to find one - even just one - of his brothers to assure him that what I was saying wasn’t true.

  He was too busy looking for company. I was too busy looking at him. We didn’t see what was about to transpire.

  And even if I did, I would’ve just thought of it as a mere dream - a cruel one that would’ve been made even bitter if I woke up to the sad fact that it wasn’t real.

  It happened so quickly. A wooden plank struck Bellies’ nape so hard that blood immediately splattered from the back of his head even before his paunchy body dropped face-first on the floor. My eyes were glued on the long piece of timber that bludgeoned him. It had two nails protruding from its surface, both of which were smudged with gooey red.

  Then my eyes turned towards the person who was wielding it, and my heart stopped beating.

  I just stared at him for a second or two, but it seemed like time froze and I’ve been looking at him forever. I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed where I stood... in sheer happiness that he was there, and in absolute dread that what I was seeing was just a figment of my hopes and my imagination.

  But I wasn’t dreaming. He was real. He was there.

  He was alive.

  “L-Lenny?” I muttered with a lot of effort as even my mouth declined to move.

  “You alright?” he asked. He was huffing and puffing. Sweat dripped from his forehead down to his blood-stained neck.

  “H-How... why... a-are you...” I didn’t know what to say nor where to begin with my questions. And I didn’t really want to speak. All I yearned to do was to hug him and kiss him and never let go.

  “We can’t talk,” he told me. “They’ll be back any moment from now. I have to find the main gas tank.”

  “Like a boiler room?” I wondered aloud.

  “Where?” he immediately wanted to know.

  I pointed at the door that led to the small space where I was previously held.

  He dashed towards it after gesturing for me to follow him. I was lagging behind and I noticed the backpack he was carrying. Black. Leather. With two buckled straps keeping it closed. It was a Proenza Schouler. My Proenza Schouler!

  “Isn’t that mine?” I sought a confirmation.

  “Sorry,” he hastily answered as he continued to run towards the room. “I couldn’t find anything more suitable.”

  “But it’s mine!” I angrily responded.

  “I’ll buy you a dozen of these once we’re outta here.”

  Weirdly enough, I actually salivated over his promise despite the predicament we were in... that was until I realized that he was just saying that to assuage my budding anger. He wouldn’t even be able to afford a replacement strap for my bag. It was sweet, though, that he apologized. He remembered how much I hated other people touching my stuff.

  I stared at my $2,300 back pack, trying to determine if he scratched it, or worse, chipped some parts of its fine leather. Instead, I saw white, bubbly liquid and powder seeping out of its opening.

  “What’s inside my bag?” I demanded to know as we reached the boiler room.

  He hurriedly knelt at the corner nearest a giant, aluminum tank which I assumed was the main gas containment unit. He placed my Proenza Schouler beneath it.

  “Acetone, muriatic acid and hydrogen peroxide,” he answered.

  “You’re planning to some kitchen cleaning?” I asked in disbelief. Why would he bring those things here?

  “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

  “But they’re all liquid stuff. What’s the powder that’s oozing out and staining the snake skin leather of my bag?”

  “Powder?! Shit!” he exclaimed in shock. He checked the back pack and verified what I just said. “It ain’t completely frozen anymore. We have to get out of here.... fast!”

  He grabbed my hand and led me towards the right side of the building. There were around four doors that greeted us. One was already open, providing a glimpse of sunlight. We made our way through the exit. We climbed the fence that separated the Godless’ clubhouse from the small hill behind it. He allowed me to go first, assisting me as I scaled the rusty and dirty metal grating of the palisade.

  Up the mound was a thick row of bushes which was enough to conceal what was behind it... a familiar sight that made my heart explode with joy. Bigalow was there, parked in all his glory - tarnished paint job and all.

  Before I could express my delight, however, Lenny held my shoulder and pulled me down until we were hidden behind the bushes. Then he called my attention towards the parking area in front of the building where a lot of Godlesses were converging. They were animatedly talking to each other. Many of them had bewildered looks on their faces. It was safe to assume that they didn’t find the answers they were looking for.

  “How many are they?” I asked, though I already had an estimate in my mind.

  “About thirt-five, or maybe even forty plus,” Lenny replied, confirming my suspicion. “Half of them are from Tulare. The rest are splinter groups from the other charters.”

  A lump formed in my throat. I knew there were many of them. But hearing someone else verify it was still very shocking.

  “They... They went out to check on some loud explosions...” I uttered.

  “Yeah. I detonated two vans to catch their attention. I positioned them two blocks on opposite sides of their HQ.”

  “Where’d you get the vans?”

  “From the Essex clubhouse. They had five of them parked at the back.”

  “And you drove them one by one, together with Bigalow, to here?”

  “No. It just took me one trip and a pair of A-frames.”

  “And the explosions?”

  “Homemade. Not as powerful as the IEDs I’m used to crafting, but I improvised a bit. I just had to position the bombs near the gas tanks.”

  I was impressed by how resourceful he proved to be, so much so that I found myself ogling at him as he spoke.

  “Fortunately, my plan worked,” he continued. “Gave me the opening to swoop in and get you out. I was expecting a handful of them to be left inside, though. I wasn’t expecting just one of them to be guarding you.”

  “We got lucky, I guess.”

  “Yeah. That and the fact that they aren’t soldier. They don’t think like soldiers. They think like lowly criminals, because that’s what they are. A bunch of hoodlums pretending to be an MC.”

  It wasn’t the first time he described the Godlesses as such. Most of the clubs in the West Coast were mainly composed of ex-military personnel - some of whom have been disillusioned by what they’ve experienced during their tours of duty, but a lot of them were just trying to fill up the void in their souls, a
kind of emptiness that craved for the thrill of war and the call of violence. These MCs took pride in the years their members served the country. The Godless can’t boast of the same thing.

  “Lenny, let’s just leave,” I suggested, seeing as the Godlesses were slowly going back inside the building. Soon enough, they’d find Bellies’ body and discover that I was gone. They’d scour the area to search for me, and we were just a few meters away from them.

  “Not yet,” Lenny answered which frightened me even more.