by Paula Cox
I dash back to the bathroom and throw on the same clothes I was wearing earlier. I had planned on taking a nice long shower to wipe the smell of sweaty bathroom sex off of me, but now I knew that had to wait. Something instinctive warned that Breaker needed me. The louder the men outside became, the more I knew I could trust what I was feeling.
A few minutes later, he came.
“Just shut up,” Breaker said. “Keep your head low, and don’t speak to Biggs unless he talks to you. Be honest with him.” He reaches for my arm, taking out a gun for show. “I need you to trust me here. Can you do that?”
“Yeah. I trust you.” I shouldn’t. I should run crying and screaming out of here, but there’s no way out of this. Breaker hasn’t steered me wrong yet, besides the whole strip club thing, but even with that, my anger was more directed at Biggs than Breaker.
“Remember what I said earlier. No one is going to hurt you. You’re my woman no matter what they say or what I have to do when we get to where we’re going.”
My heart skipped several more beats again. The instinctive feeling I felt only minutes ago returns; somehow I know that after tonight everything will change. But for the better or worse… I have no damn clue.
“Where are we going,” I ask as the motorcycle lurches forwards with me just managing to grab hold of his waist. But under the roar of the engine, I can’t hear his reply.
I’ve been sitting here on the back, grinding my teeth together and contemplating what the hell has been happening while I was busy just trying to survive. The whole world seems to spin without me even realizing I am in motion. And now that I want to get off this crazy ride, it’s not an option anymore. I just have to hold on for a bit longer and hope that Breaker is true to his word.
To my surprise, Breaker pulls up at the bar. It’s still too early for drinking, even by MC standards. A few barflys sit outside with their cups, pretending not to be breaking a few laws. Their heads spin a little off kilter as they spot us. I don’t recognize any of them, but they sure seem to know who we are and why we’re here.
Breaker takes my arm and pushes me forward. I feel something against my back, too hard to be his hand and too lean to be his arm or any other body part. I turn my head to see the shimmer of a jet-black handgun pressed to my spine.
“Is that a…” my voice shakes as I try to figure out why he would ever think to do this.
“Again, you have to trust me here, Aimee,” he murmurs, his tone more hard and serious than I’ve ever heard. “This is how it has to be.”
“With a gun at my back? You have to be kidding me. You can’t just expect me to trust you when you’re thrusting a gun at—”
“Carlos!” Breaker shouts, cutting me off and snapping my attention away from him. A large man I barely recognize as one of Biggs’ personal guards stands before us like an unmovable wall in front of the back entrance to the bar. He doesn’t answer back. Instead, Breaker continues on through the ominous silence. “Where’s Biggs? He told me to meet him here with the girl.”
The girl. I hate it when they refer to me as that. There were other women as part of the club, after all. Plus, Breaker only called me that when he was clearly trying to hide that I was more to him than just some tailpiece he picked up for fun. Something tells me it has to do with the gun burning a hole in my back.
“Biggs is in the den with Henry. He wants her in there too. No weapons,” Carlos finally speaks, his voice flat and his eyes expressionless; a real biker poker face if I’ve ever seen one.
“Come on, man. I’m the head enforcer. If he wants me to do my job, I would think he’d want me to have my gear on hand.”
But Carlos doesn’t budge. He folds his arms across his Hulk-like chest and shakes his head. We’re not going anywhere until Breaker disarms.
Breaker removes the gun from my back and pulls out another that was tucked at his hip. That one doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. When I’ve undressed Breaker before, I’ve seen him detach it. What terrifies me is the one strapped to his ankle, along with the huge bowing knife. Then there’s the tiny handgun in his coat pocket and another in his back waistband. He came armed for anything.
“I’m still going to have to pat you down, Breaker,” Carlos sneers as he takes hold of all the weapons and places them in the bed of a truck parked close to the door.
“You know me. You really think I am going to fucking lie to you about what I’ve got on me? Screw this, man.”
Breaker tries to lead me through, but Carlos is frozen in place again. Breaker pushes Carlos off of him and he tumbles towards the truck. His body slams into it and the veins in his neck are bulging when he gets back on two feet. He charges at Breaker.
I have just enough time to dart to the side before the two men collide. Carlos delivers a hard punch to Breaker’s chest, causing Breaker to grunt from the loss of air in his lungs, but he still manages to use his legs to turn Carlos so that he flips back onto the ground. Breaker’s fist is in the air, his face twisted in rage and blooming red.
“Cut the bullshit and get inside!” Biggs stands only a few paces away from me, his arms crossed with a slight smile holding up a thin cigarette. He takes a puff before adding to Breaker, “You unload your weapons?”
“I did. But this motherfucker wants to pat me down. I don’t play that game.” Breaker pants, his chest heaving from the effort of throwing Carlos off of him. The two men glare at each other, neither reacting with even so much as a twitch of a muscle.
Again, Biggs is the one to break the silence. “Get inside with her. I don’t want anyone else to see you before the bar opens.”
Breaker positions himself behind me again and urges me to walk with a pat on the back. As we approach the darkness of the hallway, my legs feel like they’re wading through wet cement. It reminds me of the first time I stepped foot in Gravedigger territory, with the old office building and its winding halls and confusing corridors. My mouth goes dry as my hands begin to shake. I have the sudden urge to burst into tears, but I keep my shit together.
With me in the middle of the two bikers, Biggs shows us to a side room I have yet to be allowed in. It looks like an old sound room at the back of a theater. Tight and narrow, the walls are painted black and red, with white wires dangling from spaces in the ceiling. One glass window looks out at a fake wall the boys must have put in when they converted the event space into offices. Under the window is a long, built-in table where I imagine equipment for running the music would’ve been placed. Three folding chairs are lined up against it, but only two are empty.
The occupied chair holds Henry. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of the blood on his low hanging head. Sweat or water trickles down from his hair into his lap. His chest looks heavier as if he is laboring to breathe but a weight keeps him from inhaling completely. His long, tattooed arms are wrapped behind his back and tied together with plastic zip ties.
“What the hell is going on?” Breaker demands. Does he not know? Was I wrong thinking that they were acting together on some kind of plan against Biggs? Is this an act? I try to remember what he told me. I need to keep my mouth shut and trust him like he told me to.
“This fucker was found conspiring to get me removed from the Gravediggers. He told at least a few of the guys he was going to have a meeting about it. Everyone knows the penalty for bringing a fucking mutiny against the leadership!” Out of nowhere, Biggs slams a knife into the table. It rattles, shaking the window. I step back towards the door, but it has closed without me even noticing.
“Are you sure?” Breaker asks, keeping his head turned towards Henry, “You know the guys like to talk…”
“We found these in his motel room.” Biggs pushes a small stack of papers towards him. I get a glimpse of them over his shoulder. They’re spreadsheets with financial accounts. Something’s highlighted with Biggs name next to it. “He was planning on using it as evidence against me to rally support. There’s no other reason he took classified docs from his office back
to his room!”
“What’s the girl here for then? Is she involved?” Breaker looks back at me with an expression that is completely blank and uncaring. It’s as if he’s going through some motion he already pre-set.
“I want to know what she knows. And then I want her to see it.”
“See what?”
Biggs walks over to Henry and grabs the back of his head by the hair. His face tilts up so we can see the gash where someone has struck him. “There’s only one option for traitors, and it’s your job to take care of him.” He spits in Henry’s face before he lets it fall back down. “I want it done tonight. You’ve got the truck for that.”
The blood drains from my face to my toes as I push back into the wall. My leg knocks into something, some old piece of equipment that tumbles to the ground with a small clink. Biggs’ attention flies straight to me and a second later he’s right in my face. I try to duck, but he grabs me by the throat, practically lifting me off of the ground. I try to push away and wiggle out of his grasp, but I can’t. I can’t do anything but gasp in horror.
“What do you know, Aimee? What the fuck are you hiding from me?”
“I—I—nothing… nothing… please.” My hands hook around his as I stare into those beady black eyes in search of something.
“She’s telling the truth. Henry did his business with her. She knows nothing.” Breaker doesn’t try to get Biggs off of me, he just stares at the pair of us.
Biggs’ grip tightens around my neck. “How the fuck do you know? How do you know she ain’t playing us?”
“Because I saw her yesterday. I checked in on one of her jobs without them knowing, making sure this clown was doing his business, and Henry didn’t speak to her. He just drove. If they were plotting, I would think they’d be together more.”
Biggs seems to consider this for a moment. His lip curls as he pushes down on my throat with the palm of his hand. I try to think of a happy thought—something to get me through to the next moment—but there’s nothing. Only the push of air back into my lungs, and my heels touching the floor again. Biggs steps away from me as I hold my hands up to my throat. The muscles in my neck can’t seem to get it together as the air comes too quick and not enough, all at the same time.
Still, I’m alive. He let me go. I survived another damn moment of this hell I’ve found myself in. Overwhelming grief and relief take over as I reach for the wall again for support.
Biggs pulls the knife out of the table and hands it over to Breaker. “Gut him.”
Breaker turns the handle of the blade over a few times, avoiding looking at Henry. I want to close my eyes and spare myself from what I’m about to witness, but I don’t. I force myself to watch as the man I’m supposed to trust with my life, the man I’ve come to care a great deal for, walks towards his best friend and digs a knife into his side.
Breaker hesitates, looking down at his victim for a second, before pulling the blade out again. The tip is covered in red. It’s less bloody than I thought it would be, but still, the thick, ruby liquid sends a cold shiver up my spine.
Satisfied, Biggs strides towards the door. He adds one last thing over his shoulder, “Call me when you’re done disposing of him. Make sure she sits here and sees all of it. I want her to know what happens when someone crosses me.” He gives me one last glare before walking out of the room.
A few moments pass as we both seem to listen to Biggs’ footsteps fade out. Without a sight of him, Breaker walks to Henry with the knife in his hands.
“No! No! You can’t do it. Please! Breaker!” I whisper, my voice desperate, pleading.
He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t even look back. He takes the knife to Henry’s throat. With a quick run of his hands, he digs down into the shirt, making a long, quick vertical line down Henry’s chest. I gasp, this time forcing myself to look away. I half expect Henry to scream this time or there to be some kind of sound as one man kills another. But there’s nothing. Just more silence.
I open one eye, willing myself to see it. But there’s nothing. Breaker stands back with a grin. This time, the knife is clean. But more so, Henry’s chest is clear. “The motherfucker…” Breaker mutters under his breath. I knew it… I knew it.” He moves the shirt further off of him before adding, “How the fuck did this guy get a bulletproof vest?”
“He’s alive?” I ask, the words coming out hoarse and shaky due to the soreness of my throat. Biggs really did a number on it.
Breaker shakes his head, still smiling. “He knew. He knew they were coming for him and he fucking planned this out. The bastard…”
“So what are we going to do? You’re supposed to kill him?”
He turns to me, the knife still in his hand. “Who the fuck do you think I am? I’m not Biggs. I’m loyal to my brothers. But I gotta think about what’s important here…”
“So what does that mean? You can’t…”
“Turn around.” He looks over at me, unblinking. I swallow the lump in my throat and turn back to the wall, my hands over my ears this time.
A few minutes pass, and I feel Breaker’s hand on my shoulder. He spins me around to a bloody mess. His hands are covered in blood; it’s smeared on his shirt and pants. Henry’s vest is gone, and this time I see the marks leading a trail along his side and front. His head is still hung low with that gash still bleeding fresh. But he’s breathing. His chest caves in and out slightly.
“You didn’t?”
“I cut him where I knew it wouldn’t kill him. I’ve been diced up enough to know.” He lifts his shirt up. I can’t believe the marks I’m only just noticing. They blend almost seamlessly with the tattoos. My heart quivers for him.
He uses the knife to cut the zip ties off Henry’s hands and then walks over to the door. He sticks his head out and calls for Carlos, asking for some tarp and ropes.
The two men lay the layer of blue plastic on the floor and place Henry’s body on it. They wrap him like a sheet, tying him around his arms and legs before Carlos notices the shallow breathing. “Ya know he’s still alive.”
“He won’t be for long. I’ve drained him good.” He points to his hands and the pool of cold blood on the cement floor.
Carlos doesn’t say anything else, just nods and leaves us with the body. Breaker easily hoists Henry up onto his back and leads the way to the truck.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask, realizing that I don’t know the game plan or if I even want to know what is coming next.
“You get in the truck, and I drive you to the hotel. Make sure someone sees you. The back door of your room is unlocked now—”
My mind races as I try to take in all the details he’s giving me. “Someone needs to see me? Why? Why does that matter?”
“There are keys there too for a white minivan. I put some cash in the glovebox. You’ll have about two solid hours to go when Biggs calls the meeting. Wait for that.”
My voice falters as I try to understand what he’s saying. “Go? With you?”
Breaker doesn’t respond this time. He dumps Henry in the truck bed with a gentle thud and then walks around to the driver’s side door. I climb up into the passenger seat and just stare at him as he revs the engine to life. His hands wrap around the steering wheel, the whites of his knuckles visible as he flexes. Those bottomless, mulled brown eyes are focused ahead, with his mouth locked shut.
But I still see it; that twitch of his lips and the way his eyes close in a long pause. I know what’s going to happen next whether he wants me to know or not.
This is the end. He is saying goodbye.
Chapter Sixteen
Breaker
The words, you have to run away, now, had been on the tip of my tongue the entire day, ever since I’d formulated the plan in my head. But no matter how much I’d practiced saying them over and over again in my mind, I couldn’t get them out now.
Look, I’m definitely not the type of guy who hides his emotions behind some bullshit macho face. When I feel something,
you’ll goddamn well know what I am feeling. And when I’ve got something to say, you’re going to hear it even if you don’t want to. It’s gotten me in trouble more than once, especially with girls. There was one, in particular, Rhonda, who wouldn’t leave me the hell alone no matter how much I tried to get her off of me. It only took an hour or two of us playing this game before I snapped on her, leaving her crying on the roadside outside a hotel in Cheyenne.
Aimee wasn’t any different. When I parked the truck, she didn’t move. She stayed stiff in the seat, her eyes glazed and staring straight ahead as if a movie were playing in front of her.
Now, as the song on the radio changes over to a commercial, she begins simpering. “I can’t leave now, Breaker,” she says, her lower lip quivering. “I know what I’ve said in the past, but I can’t leave right now with Henry and…”