by Cat Porter
Butler crossed his legs at his ankles. “Me and my first wife, we tried to have a kid, but it never happened, then she died. It’s too late for me and Tania now, and I got to say, a part of me is disappointed. And yeah, it sucks that you didn’t know you had a kid.”
I grit my teeth at the stab of that uninspired, lifeless nickname of my childhood being used for my daughter.
“It sucks that you didn’t get to raise her,” Butler continued. “Or be a part of her life, that she doesn’t know you’re her dad. But bro, she exists. She’s out there. You could get to know her, right? Maybe she can’t ever know you’re her real father, but you can still have her in your life in some way, a way that you’d both cherish. Me and Tania don’t get to have that. You and Lenore do. And at the end of the day, that’s a damn good place to be.”
A place to be.
That’s why Lenore had nestled herself here in the Black Hills, to be close to our daughter. To have a place. That’s why Grace and Tania had come back home. Even Butler. To have a place.
I had the wind, the road, my bikes, my fortress, my little empire. But did I have such a place? A place in someone’s life? In their heart? Where everything made sense, where you fit.
Next to me, Butler heaved a loud sigh. “Shit, I could really use a cigarette right now. Quitting sucks big time.” He recrossed his legs, glancing at me. “I’m gonna shut up now. But I’m staying right here.”
Twenty minutes later, I tore out of Meager, out of South Dakota. I rode hard.
Tania’s words from months ago drilled in my brain as the wind pounded me. “You had it all, and you both let it go.”
I’d let it go. Me. All these years I’d thought Lenore had gotten irritated with the difficulty of being together, hadn’t been able to cope in the long term, had let her fear ride her, and ultimately took the easy way out. My scorn at her wanting something normal had burned bright. Yet all this time, she’d remained true. She’d taken our broken compass and given it a new life on her body, stamping herself with the story of us, keeping us close to her always. A fairytale of dark and light. Evil and good. Ink woven memories, ink tears splattered on flesh. Her tears, blue green tears dripping down over us.
Love. All for love.
Had her love been stronger, truer than mine?
Mine was dark and mean and cruel. Bitterness had scorched my love, fueling me like a blowtorch that incinerated everything it touched.
Lenore had stayed the course of her True North. For a place. All for love, and the fruit that it had born.
My Harley plowed through the black night, the engine shuddering through me.
“Nebraska…the Good Life”
Why, why, why did we have to sacrifice love for love?
64
I was high on rage.
Rage had never let me down. Rage always pointed me in the right direction, and this was the direction I’d been wanting to set my dogs free in for decades. Since the beginning of time.
Fuck treaties, fuck peace. Fuck all of it.
I contacted Mishap and gave him a new assignment. My plan was met with his usual silence. He calculated. I waited.
“You sure?” he finally said.
“You’ve never asked me that before. Not once.”
“I know.”
“I’m very sure.”
“Good.”
Within two weeks, Mishap brought me Scrib. We secured him in our specially-made soundproof barn, and I contacted Butler who was now Vice-President of the One-Eyed Jacks. I wanted total commitment up front or I’d crush the Jacks myself.
We met at that abandoned gas station again.
“We’re with you on this,” he said. “There’s one thing, though.”
“What’s that?”
“There’s a Blade I can vouch for.”
“The one who saved your ass?”
Butler and Jump’s teenage son, Wes, had been ambushed weeks ago on a stretch of road leading out of Deadwood, South Dakota. Led, Reich’s right hand man, had wanted revenge on Butler for double crossing Reich. Luckily, Butler and Wes survived with the help of a Broken Blade who’d happened to be there.
“Yeah, him,” he said. “His name is Pick.”
“I’ll keep an eye out.”
Butler eyed me, chewing hard on his gum. “You okay? You seem on edge.”
I scowled at him.
“You don’t usually seem on edge, that’s all,” he said.
“This edge is a very special, once in a lifetime kind of edge. Trust me, I’m liking the view from up here.”
He laughed, his face turning away.
“What’s so fucking funny?”
“Nothing, man.”
“Tell me.”
He shook his blond hair from his face. “I just got this image in my head. You on that special edge up above, hands raised, parting the raging sea down below. Claiming what’s yours. Tearing asunder all that deserve to be so torn.”
He was not wrong.
Butler straightened, his arms folding across his chest. “This guy Pick could prove useful to you. He can see the forest for the trees, unlike Notch. I figure if he’s shown some respect, he’ll show it back.”
I mounted my bike. “What are you telling me, Butler?”
He adjusted his fancy sunglasses, his lips turning up. “Maybe you don’t have to massacre all of them.”
“First I want to see how they deal with my shock and awe. That’s always telling. That’ll tell me who to massacre.”
Butler gnawed on his growing smile.
I slanted my head at him. “Now what?”
His wide grin lit up his face. “I like that about you, you know. Every decision is precise and carefully calculated, every move has a purpose.”
I hit my kickstand. “I know you like that.”
“This is how it’s going to go down.”
Notch, the Broken Blades president, struggled against his handcuffs, the thick metal chains strapped around his body. No use. He knew it too, but was giving us a good show of resistance. He had to. His men were looking on, their faces rippling with anxiety.
“You’ve pissed me off one too many times, Notch. You’re unpredictable. Which keeps things interesting, but I’ve had to put up with your shit for a very, very long fucking time. You never listened to any suggestions I made over the years to be more—let’s say, neighborly. You’ve got a mighty thick stick up your ass, and you didn’t ever want to compromise, not one fucking bit.”
“And you kept chipping away at us, bit by bit,” Notch shot back on a sneer.
“I enjoyed that. Like I enjoyed destroying your little bonding session with the Calderas Group. Thought you were going to raise yourselves up from your little patch of mud that way? Make up for your numbers, your lack of funds?”
“Times are tough, amigo. I was watching out for my club. Gotta do what you gotta do.”
“And I did what I had to do. But now you’ve been shaking hands with the Smoking Guns instead of dealing with me when I offered you the chance.”
He chuckled, a stream of throaty laughter that dissolved into coughing. “I didn’t think you’d like that.”
“Oh, I like being dared, being provoked. Brings out the best in me.”
His thin, drawn face creased like rumpled paper, his lips curling.
I scanned the faces of the Broken Blades on their knees in the room. “The rest of you get to choose. You’ll be Flames or go down as Blades. Either way, your shit’s over.”
I caught Drac’s gaze, and he motioned behind him. Catch and another bro brought in Scrib, tying him to a table next to Notch.
Notch’s eyes bulged, his face shining with sweat. He writhed in his seat like someone had just planted itching powder in his ass. “What the fuck is this? What the hell are you doing?”
�
�Exactly what I want,” I replied.
I took out my knife and ripped open Scrib’s shirt, pierced his skin, slashing down his chest, his fat stomach. Scrib yelled and shuddered, his eyes following the movement of my blade. The blood slid forth. An “F.” Huge. Glorious.
“You like my scribbles, huh? Fuck I’m having fun,” I said. “Why aren’t you laughing now? Come on, laugh!”
Scrib only shuddered. Notch was suddenly quiet and still, riveted on my knife.
I slashed at Scrib, cutting deep, my pulse beating a hammering rhythm in my head. “That looks good.”
“Fucking beautiful is what that is,” said Drac.
“Tattoos in the raw or some shit,” said Catch. “Just like what he did to my sister.”
Yes, what Scrib had done to Tania. What he’d done to me and Serena.
Blood and saliva dripped from Scrib’s mouth. His dazed eyeballs hung on mine.
Massacre, Butler had said. Yes, I wanted to massacre them all, strike hot and blind and rid myself of them. I’d felt a sense of failure as a man and as a Flame when I’d listened to Lenore confess her truth. I had to make the world safer for my woman and my daughter. Even if they would never know it.
I held my blood smattered knife up high so Scrib could see it. “What’s wrong is, I can’t leave my signature behind, now can I, Scrib? If I do, your club will know it was me. But it wasn’t me.”
“Stop, you fucker!” Scrib wailed. “God, stop!”
I cut into his skin again drawing a deep line down his belly to his raping dick. He yowled and bawled through the pain.
“Fuck me,” muttered Catch. “You’re an artist is what you are.”
“I owe that to Scrib.” I cut him again and he yelped, his body twitching, his head hanging.
“What the hell you doing to him?” shouted Notch.
“I’m making all these F’s into B’s. Double B’s for Broken Blades. So when they find his rotten corpse, they’ll know it was you who double crossed a Smoking Gun. ‘Cause you got balls, Notch, am I right?”
“Hey, that’s a B word too, huh?” said Drac. “Balls.”
“It sure is,” I sliced at Scrib’s dick, and his body writhed and shook on the table. “You remember raping Rena, don’t you? You remember that? Open those eyes and look at me, motherfucker!”
Drac pulled on Scrib’s head and Scrib’s shocked, disturbed eyes sprang open, snagging on mine.
“Have you enjoyed having all your fingers all these years, Scrib? Did you appreciate them? Did you ever once think of mine all this time?” Scrib’s arms and legs trembled, his eyes blinking open and closed. “But you know, it was your laugh that stayed with me all these years.”
I turned to the Blades and my men in the room. “Any of you all noticed Scrib’s really loud, snorting laugh, because it’s fucking grating, especially when you’re bleeding out, tied down, helpless like a fucking hog being chopped at.” I turned back to my bleeding prisoner. “I remember everything about that day, Scrib. I remember your eyes burning as you cut me. I remember you practically coming as your Prez cut off my two fingers with those nippers.”
“Oh man, oh man, come on now...” Notch twisted his head away, his fingers flexing, hands straining under his bindings.
“I don’t feel like working hard for it today, though. I prefer convenience when appropriate.” I glanced up at Drac, wiping at my face. He handed me the small axe.
“Holy fuck, holy mother of fuck!” Notch’s voice was throttled by panic.
Scrib shuddered on the table, there were no moans and groans. Only a pathetic keening rising from his chest like helium escaping a balloon.
“This axe is sharp, so it’ll be quicker, less painful. Lucky for you. But to make things fair—‘cause I’m all about the justice of the thing, the balance—since you all only cut off two of my fingers, I’m going to have to take all your fingers with this axe. I’ll leave the thumbs, though. Thumbs are useful. I’ve really appreciated mine. You’ll see.”
“No!” howled Notch. Grunts and shuffling rose up behind me.
I hacked at Scrib’s hand, and his blood splattered on my colors, my face. I hacked. And hacked. The sweep of my axe, the slicing cleanly through flesh and hitting bone, the dig of the thick sharp blade in the table, my jerking it back—all of it a roar of victory screaming through me.
I’d never tasted champagne before, never celebrated anything with a drink of that pricey golden froth. But now, a cool, searing energy fizzed inside me. My mind raced on a sugar high, a crispness lashed over my tongue, sweet warmth flooding through me.
Yeah, champagne had to be like this.
“Bring me Pick.”
“Cuffed or free bird?” asked Drac.
“No cuffs.”
Drac returned with a tall bearded man about my age. He planted his booted feet firmly in the ground in front of me. His name was clearly patched on his colors and the letters for his club tattooed on each of his fingers.
“I hear you have a brain. And a heart.”
His face stony, Pick didn’t say a word.
“Butler, the VP of the One-Eyed Jacks, told me to keep an eye out for you.”
He raised his shoulders, his head tilting at me.
“You want to prove to me why I should?” I asked him.
“You just came in and lay waste to my club. Correct me if I’m wrong?” he said, his voice deep and rumbly.
I took a step towards him, leaning in close. “I respect your loyalty to your club, I wouldn’t be talking to you if you weren’t that loyal brother. You have an opportunity here to not only stay alive, but build something new for your remaining men. I’m offering you membership to the Flames of Hell with all the resources and honor that signifies.
“I’m not interested in keeping slaves, Pick. I’m interested in leadership, responsible leadership. You know the lay of the land here. You have the trust of your brothers. This is an opportunity for you to create something new, something better.”
Pick only eyed me, his thick arms taut at his sides, big hands curled into tight fists.
“Your national doesn’t exist anymore, Pick. You have two other charters flailing on their own in two separate states. You got a kid and an ex-wife to support and a handful of men who look up to you.” I rolled the bloody axe in my hand. “What’s it going to be?”
We got word to the Smoking Guns that their bro Scrib was being held by the Broken Blades. A crew of them arrived guns blazing to find Scrib dead on the table and an untied Notch with an axe in the Blades meeting room. Catch and Drac had overseen having the remaining Blades tied up and down on their knees in a row in the yard. Their bikes were splayed on the ground like fallen toy soldiers.
Dog surveyed the detritus. “Holy fuck, what the hell happened?”
“Notch happened. And I got here first and cleaned this shit up. Thought you’d want to claim your bro.”
Dog glared at me.
“Notch hasn’t been himself for a long while,” said Pick, arms crossed, his face a mask.
Dog’s eyes darted to Pick and back to Scrib and Notch’s bloodied bodies.
“Look what he did to your bro.” I gestured with my chin to Scrib’s mutilated body.
“Holy fuck,” Dog muttered.
“Scrib came to finalize shit between our clubs, but Notch wasn’t too pleased by the money Scrib offered,” Pick said. “He’s been changing his mind a lot, was jittery with Reich out of the picture. Been mixing meds lately too. They argued. There was a lot of yelling and carrying on. The door was locked. I broke it down and found Scrib already dead. Notch was carving him up, laughing.”
“You expect me to believe this?” Dog muttered, his brow a firm ridge, his small eyes piercing mine.
“I only expect you to take your corpse and get the fuck out,” I said.
Dog wiped a hand across h
is mouth. “I wasn’t around then, Finger, when Scrib done what he did to you. Those were bad times, that was another—”
“Yeah, it was another life, Dog. And we don’t need to go there ever again.”
Dog’s shoulders shifted slowly, straining under a heavy, invisible weight.
“Now you need to get your garbage off my property and never come back,” I said.
“Your property?” Dog’s gaze went from me to Pick and back again.
“This chapter of the Blades is now Flames of Hell,” Pick said.
Dog’s eyes widened. “What?”
“I came in. I cleaned up,” I said, my voice firm. Dog turned away from me, his jaw tight.
“This shit had to end. Couldn’t go on much longer,” said Pick. “Notch was playing games with Scrib, with Finger, the Jacks, with everybody. Only destroyed his own club in the end.”
“Clear Scrib out and we’re done here,” I said.
Dog let out a breath, scrubbing a hand across his grizzly face. He knew what I meant. He needed to retreat and stay away. We were done, and we could all go back to abiding that treaty.
Dog muttered a directive at his men, and they removed Scrib’s body from the room. Pick remained, standing over Notch’s corpse.
“You get me the other Blade chapters on board,” I told him.
“You’ll have ‘em.” He grabbed hold of Notch’s thin legs and dragged the body down the hall.
I stayed and took in the fading odor of blood and battle, soaked in the sting and echo of mayhem that lingered.
But another raging fire before me still blazed.
Still beckoned.
65
I stood in the aisle with the seed packets. Chives, onions, eggplants, bell peppers, tomatoes, parsley, dill.
The girl, the young woman who was my biological daughter, arranged red glazed dishes on a shelf next to mugs. The top half of her dark hair was pulled up in a small ponytail. She wore her earbuds, listening to music as she worked, picking up small dishes from a crate at her side. She sang to herself, her thoughts coming to life on her face.