by Nikki Groom
“Enough!” JJ yells, and I step back, wiping the sweat from my face on my forearm. “Rip open his shirt,” he orders, and Tex steps forward immediately, pulling a knife from his waistband he slices Dago’s bloody, sweat-stained T-shirt open, exposing his chest. JJ pats Tex on the shoulder, and Tex moves aside as JJ places his boot on the seat of the chair between Dago’s legs, tugs up the leg of his jeans and pulls out a knife. “I’m not going to kill you,” he says quietly. “I’m not going to kill your sniveling little friend here either, but you are going to take a message back to your president.” He runs his knife under Dago’s chin with the blade flat against his skin. “You tell the Rev, that this stops right now.” He draws the tip of his knife down his throat just deep enough to draw a trickle of blood, and Dago struggles to hide the shudder in his shallow breaths. “It all stops, and you and your friends can go on your way nice and quietly.” He starts to carve into his pectoral muscle, pushing the knife deeper and causing a bloom of red to rush out of his skin. “You also tell him that he won’t win. Reno is my town. I run it. I own it, and it’s not his to take. So it all. Stops. Now.” He finishes with the knife, wiping it on Dago’s denim jeans and sliding it back into the sheath strapped to his leg before stepping back and admiring the deep, gaping wound in the shape of an ‘S’ on his chest.
An ‘S’ for Souls. A reminder. A big, fat fucking warning that they’d be really, really fucking stupid not to listen to, and one that Dago and Spice are never gonna forget.
“Load ‘em up, and let’s get the fuck out of here,” JJ orders with a curl of his lip as he drops the crowbar with a thud and leaves us to carry out the battered Wolves.
Chapter 13
I zero in on the target. Feeling the power I hold in my hands and the thrill that precedes that bang as I start to squeeze my trigger finger. The bullet leaves the chamber in a clean, swift movement, and I follow it so closely that it almost happens in slow motion. Such a smooth, classy piece means barely any recoil, and I can stay focused on the target and watch as the bullet penetrates right through the center of my aim.
“Nice work, Sadie girl,” a voice comes from over my shoulder.
I turn with a smile to see his happy bearded face and those navy blue work dungarees that he never seems to take off. “Thanks, Mac.” I place my gun on the shelf in front of me as he hands me a coffee and clicks the button to reel in my handiwork from the back of the range. The paper target is a silhouette of a man. Pierced with perfectly aimed bullets that no real person would ever survive. Two shots to the abdomen to warm up, one in the center of the chest, two to the heart, and the final touch of glory, a solid hole in the center of his head.
“You thought any more about coming to work for me?” Mac says, unclipping the paper and inspecting it with a smile.
“You couldn’t pay me enough,” I joke. “Plus, I’d never do any work, I’d be playing with your pretty guns all day.”
“Here, try this.” Mac hooks up another target, takes the coffee from my hand, setting it down on the shelf before unclipping a gun from his own waistband holster. “.44 auto mag. It’ll have a little more kick than your piece there, but I want to see how you find it.”
“Okay,” I say with excitement, taking it eagerly. Trying new guns out is like Christmas to me. Working here would be like living Christmas day, every day. I weigh the gun in my hands. It’s heavier than mine, but sits tighter and more snugly in my palm. Mac clicks the button and the target slides to the back wall of the range. I take my stance, narrow my concentration and hone in on the golden spot. Front and center of his forehead. I pull the trigger, and the kickback is powerful, throwing my arms back and almost above my head. “Shit,” I mutter, and Mac laughs behind me.
“Try again, Sadie girl, settle into it,” he says, stepping back and watching with fascination.
I line up the sight, ready for the after force, and pumped with adrenaline at being able to fire something new. This time when I squeeze the trigger, I’m ready for the recoil. I take aim almost immediately after the first shot to pierce the target again, picturing Donny Carden—visualizing the other scum of the earth that I feel the need to serve justice to and repeating this until I am breathless and out of ammo. I drop my head, weighted with a heavy heart but an adrenaline-fuelled mind.
“You visualizing an ex-boyfriend?” Mac chuckles behind me. “I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of you. You’re a mean shot, girl.” He rests a large hand on my shoulder and reaches over me to take the gun from my hands. He hands me back my coffee. “You like it?”
“Yeah, I like it.” I grin. I like the power, the force, the sheer presence of it and the damage it can do in a split second. My little handgun is fine for personal protection. It was perfect to put a bullet through Donny’s skull, but I’m not sure I’ll get such a golden opportunity like that again, and I want a bigger arsenal. “Can I buy it from you?”
“Not this one. But I can sort you out with the relevant papers if it’s something you’re interested in. You can always use it here though. Anytime you like.”
“Thanks, Mac.” I smile and give him a hug. He mumbles under his breath as he usually does when I give him a hug and removes himself from me awkwardly. He’s been so sweet and friendly to me ever since I found this place, and I would even go so far as to say that he’s my only friend around here. I haven’t exactly tried to make friends with anyone else. I’m not interested in shopping or mani-pedi’s with the girls, and my design job doesn’t contribute to me getting out and meeting people, so I haven’t bothered conversing with anyone since we moved here other than Mac—and Ramsey, I suppose. I let my thoughts drift to Ramsey. To the crazy few days that I’ve had. More has happened in the last seventy-two hours than it has in the whole other six months I’ve lived here in Reno. Up until now, I wished every day that we would just go back home. To the place I know like the back of my hand, the familiar people, the well-known streets, my favorite coffee shop, and the tree at the top of the hill in the woods that I would use for target practice when the range wasn’t open for me to be able to unleash my pent-up frustration and anger at the world and everyone in it.
“Hey, old man,” someone shouts unpleasantly from the doorway. It gets my back up immediately, and I jerk my head around to see but Mac steps in front of me.
“I’ll be right there,” Mac calls over, but I detect uncertainty in his voice.
“Mac?” I say, placing my hand on his upper arm. “Everything okay?”
He sighs before turning and putting a fake smile in place. “Of course!” he answers with as much of a cheery disposition as he can muster. “Not everyone is as polite as you, Sadie girl. You in again tomorrow?”
“Try and stop me,” I answer, narrowing my eyes at him. It’s none of my business, and I know Mac isn’t my concern, but unease prickles at my skin. If Mac’s in trouble, I want to help.
“Take it easy. I’ll catch you tomorrow,” he mumbles through his wiry beard as he walks off with his eyes downcast and his shoulders rounded.
“Okay, thanks for letting me use your gun!” I call out after him, and he smiles sadly over his shoulder. I wait for him to leave, then run over and crack open the door to see if I can see anyone, but I only see Mac as he rounds the corner to his office.
I spend another half an hour shooting. Some people go for a run, some people sketch or read, and some people go for a massage, but for me, the range is the perfect place for me to think. I can focus, unwind, and usually work things out in my head, well, some things anyway. I feel powerful when I’m here—without responsibility. I’m free for just a fraction of time. I also felt free when I killed Donny Carden. Something I never thought would happen. I always heard that the first time you killed someone, it stayed with you forever. It’s something that will never leave you. Well, I hope this feeling never leaves me. I’m pleased I shot him. In fact, I didn’t just shoot him—it wasn’t an accident or a mistake. I killed him. I took his life, and I did it with a smile on my face bec
ause he deserved it. Not only that, it prevents him from ever hurting a child ever again, and for that alone, the sound of the bullet piercing his skull will sing in my veins, and I will remember that moment for as long as there’s blood in my body.
I finish up in the gallery and pull the door closed behind me. As I walk out into the parking lot, I scan the area for Mac. He’s nowhere to be seen, but what I do find unusual are the three Harleys parked next to my van. My initial thought is Ramsey. But how would he know I am here, and where is he? The range I was shooting in isn’t the only one here, so he could be anywhere on the complex. But as I get closer, I see a logo on one of the bike’s tanks.
A white wolf.
Shit.
Was it one of The Wolves that called to Mac earlier? Was the guy wearing a cut? I didn’t get a clear enough view and can’t say for sure. But what are they doing here, or is that a stupid question? Maybe I’m overreacting. They’re entitled to be here like everyone else, I suppose. But knowing Ramsey, and the fact there’s rivalry between them makes me wonder what’s going on here, and for once I feel I would be better off not knowing anything. Did they recognize his van? I move swiftly to the van and get in, jamming the key in the lock and starting it up as fast as I can to pull away.
When I get to the end of the drive, I stop to look behind.
No one following. Thank God.
And then I feel like a complete fool. If I had never met Ramsey, I wouldn’t have even blinked at their bikes being parked next to me. Guys with Harleys use the range all the time, and not everyone with a Harley is in an MC club. But I guess the fact that someone had been unpleasant to Mac, and me having Ramsey’s van, even though it’s plain black and in no way obviously Ramsey’s, makes me uneasy, especially knowing the rivalry between the gangs. I pull out onto the road with no destination in mind. I don’t want to be alone right now, and with Vaughn away, it’s prime time for a panic attack to hit me as soon as I walk in through the door of the place I should now be calling my home. They consumed my life for many years, and Vaughn was the only one that could ease them, but now that I’m an adult, I find that his presence doesn’t even do that for me. They come when I let my guard down. When my mind relaxes. When I least expect them. It’s like a constant reminder that the pain is always going to be there. That I’m destined to be broken, and that the innocent light of an eleven-year-old girl was extinguished that night and it’s impossible to get it back.
I drive until my mind takes over my sanity with such intensity that I start to lose focus on the road, and I pull over into a nearby park. I hop out and walk for a few minutes, taking deep breaths and wandering around the area to find somewhere to sit. I perch myself on the back of one of the benches around the perimeter, observing from a distance. The children play, scream, and laugh. I smile. This is what it’s all about. Innocence. This wonderfully naïve and carefree approach to life. The fun, excitement, and wonder in the simplest things. It’s a big park, and there are children and parents everywhere. Mainly moms, but there are a few dads here too, playing with their children. One dad spins his twin daughters on the roundabout, and as they squeal with delight, I actually see the love and elation in his eyes to see them so happy.
I throw my head back, facing up to the sky and close my eyes with a sigh. I never had that with my dad, at least I don’t think I did. I don’t remember back that far. In fact, I don’t even remember what he looked like. I know he had dark hair, and he was tall, but every man is tall when you’re a tiny four-year-old. If he had stuck around, I’m certain my life would have been so very different. Maybe I would have been one of those kids that got amazing grades at school and went on to university where my parents could have come to see me graduate. Then I’d settle down with a husband and have two adoring children who I would take to the park just like these moms do. My thoughts solidify my heart in my chest, weighing it down with regret and resentment, and making it hard for me to draw breath. I snap my eyes open and widen my feet on the bench, resting my elbows on my knees as I drop my head low and try to take small breaths and calm my racing heartbeat. Please let this panic attack pass.
It doesn’t usually happen like this.
Children play, and shout, and laugh.
Why is it happening to me in public?
Their laughs start to echo in my head.
I need to get out of here. But I can’t move.
Their laughter turns to tears.
There’s no air in my lungs. I can’t breathe.
Screams. Cries for help. A plea from a young, frightened girl.
That voice wasn’t in my head.
It isn’t in my head.
I snap my head up, my eyes wide and scanning the area, and the second I see her, I don’t even think about fighting to breathe, it just happens because it has to, for her. I move as fast as my body will take me across the grass. The girl I hear, the small, fragile, innocent little girl that broke through my all-consuming panic attack is being yanked through the bushes and into a wooded area with a yelp as her little blonde pigtails fly out behind her, and her polka dot sundress gets caught on the brambles. The rest of the park is oblivious—no one even seems to notice she’s missing. How can no one hear her? Her cries are the only thing I hear.
I’m there in a matter of seconds, pushing through the bushes just in time to see a man, dressed in dirty denim and a lumberjack shirt, carrying her away, wrapped tightly in his arms as her little legs kick hard and fast, back and forth, trying to get free.
I yell desperately, “STOP! Put her down.” He stops dead and looks back at me over his shoulder. I draw my gun and aim it at the center of his head as the small girl wriggles in his arms. He has his hand gripped firmly over her mouth, and she struggles even though she’s no match for a grown man of his stature and determination. His eyes dart between the girl and me as he weighs up his chances, then he drops her. Literally just lets her fall to a heap on the damp, bramble-covered earth and she scrambles away from him and towards me as he reaches into his pocket.
Shit.
“Run to your momma, honey,” I say to the little girl, keeping my aim on the center of his head. “Now!” I yell, and she runs as fast as her legs can carry her. He draws his arm back from his pocket, revealing a gun as I suspected.
I know it’s him or me. So I shoot.
And just like that, as unplanned as it is, I’ve rid the world of one more asshole.
I let out a breath, closing my eyes momentarily to try and find some rationale with what just happened and what the hell I’m going to do with the body? Shall I just leave it here to rot? I can’t hang around, everyone in the park will have heard that shot, and if I leave it is there a chance it’ll lead the police to me?
I pull my shoulders back and take a deep breath. A gloved hand slides across my mouth, and a strong arm tightens around me, lifting me off the ground and carrying me away like I was never here.
Chapter 14
“Hold still, for fuck’s sake,” I growl, tightening my hold on her. She stills at the sound of my voice, but only for a moment and then she’s thrashing even wilder than she was before. We come out of the other side of the wooded area, and I drop my hold on her, cursing her under my breath as her boot connects with my shin.
“What the fuck are you doing?” she screeches at me.
“What the fuck am I doing?” I step into her, meeting her almost chest-to-chest. “What the fuck are you doing? I told you not to kill anybody.”
“How do you …” she trails off, looking around with her jaw slackened and a frown between those pretty, deep eyes of hers. “How?”
“Fuck how. We need to get out of here, now.” I brush past her, starting to get annoyed.
“No.” She looks at the ground, shaking her head.
“No?” I say, turning back to her and scratching my head. I push her shoulder with my palm, turning her toward me. “You just shot a man in the woods next to a public park, do you not think everyone will have heard that shot? You don’
t think someone will come running to see what the fuck is going on, and then call the cops?”
“Well, yeah, maybe, but … what are we going to do with the body? I can’t just leave it there.”
“We?” I choke out a laugh. “You think I’m going to help you out of another fucking mess?”
“Yes,” she says, placing her hands on her hips and getting up in my face. “Why else would you be here?”
A smirk creeps across my face, and as much as I would like to stay here and fight with her all day, we’re on borrowed time. “You’re right.” I tilt my head and angle my lips across hers. “I’ve saved your ass yet again, you owe me,” I whisper, before pulling away abruptly, grabbing her wrist and dragging her to my van.
“What are you doing? There’s a fucking dead body in the woods, you douchewank!”
“Calm yourself, Raven,” I say with a huff, tugging her forwards. “It’s in Tex’s truck. If you want to be an assassin, you need to learn stealth.”
“Wha—” I give her arm a tug, and she stumbles forward muttering curse words under her breath and half-heartedly protesting. I open the door of my van, indicating for her to get in. She hesitates for a second, and I raise a brow at her in warning. She rolls her eyes, then climbs in, stamping her feet harder than is necessary. I get in and start the van up. It’s not until we’re out of the park and down the street that she speaks. “How did you know where I was?” she grumbles, folding her hands in her lap.
“What does it matter?” I shrug.
“I want to know.” She points her gaze in my direction. “Did you follow me?”
I choke out a laugh. If only she knew what I had been doing for the last couple of hours, she would run for the hills, I’m sure. “Do you not think I have better things to do than follow you around and make sure you don’t get into trouble?”