by Paula Cox
“Shit! Breaker! You fucking have to pound that into my face?”
“You came to kill me, Henry. You think I wasn’t going to try to protect myself and at least get a swing at their enforcer? I didn’t know it was gonna be you!”
“Still—damn!” He sits up, a hand on his bloodied and swollen lip. “I wasn’t here to kill you.”
“Then why the fuck are they calling you their enforcer and sending you in here to deal with me?”
“Because I am their enforcer. When you dropped me off at that field, I walked back towards the road. About twenty minutes in, I flagged down a biker I knew was with one of the local clubs. I offered my services, telling him I was on the lookout for a new, local based club. I didn’t realize then that their club was bought and paid for by the Devil’s and Vice. When they figured out who I was and worked for, they promoted me.”
“You’re fucking kidding me.”
“No, I’m not.” He lowers his voice as he says, “I’m not exactly happy to be wearing these colors, Breaker. But I gotta do what I gotta do to survive.”
“So your oath to the Gravediggers means nothing?”
“Not when they put me in a grave. And you’re one to talk? You don’t think I didn’t hear about your offer to Vice to sell the club down the river so you can get your piece of ass out of that other room? You’re lucky if she’s still alive.”
“My loyalty is for the person who’s stood by me the entire time, and that’s Aimee. You don’t think I want Biggs gone? Then you’re crazy. I want Biggs out of my club and buried in that grave I dug for you. But I can’t do it alone, not right now.”
“So you come here? Rob the club’s enemy and then try to sell your club’s secrets down the river?”
“Who’s on trial here? I’m not the one wearing their patch,” I fire back, “I’m doing what’s best for the club and for me—like I always have.”
“And you don’t think I want that?” Henry looks hurt by my accusation.
“I don’t know what the hell your endgame is here, Henry. And I don’t think I want to find out.” I hobble back towards the corner. “So if you gotta do something to me, you get it the fuck over with. I’m done waiting to be killed.”
Henry marches over, the piece of metal I used to hit him back in his hand. “Good. I’ll make it quick.”
I rise to my feet, my fists clenched, and wait for the first hit to come.
Chapter Twenty-One
Aimee
I knew this day would come. All this running, hiding, stealing, planning… it had to catch up to me eventually. I just didn’t think it would be so soon, and I’d hoped it wouldn’t be someone like Breaker orchestrating it.
Replaying the sound of his voice calling us out to Vice has been more torturous than the actual torture. I’d honestly take the brute of a man, with the smoke-smelling hands, slapping and kicking me around, over listening to Breaker’s voice repeat itself in my head. That’s why I’d screamed—not because I thought I’d be rescued, but to overpower the noise.
Right now, the room is silent. It’s been awhile since anyone has appeared or the man with the cracking slap, who terrorized me until my nose bled. Even though it kills me to open my eyes, my tears burning my hot cheek, I force them open so I can take a longer look at where they’ve put me.
It’s dark, save for the metal desk lamp they’ve strapped to the wall. The cord winds out of the room, through a hole in the door someone has shaved away. Below it is a metal desk, like one of those old-style versions you’d see in a 1970s classroom. The man who hit me over and over again would take breaks by leaning up against the side of it, his raw hands curled around the edges.
There’s no chair, though. Probably for their own good. I could makeshift something with a chair if given the chance. That or I could swing it in the air down on some unexpecting person’s back like one of those insane wrestling TV shows my old boyfriends loved to watch. Instead of risking that, they have me on the floor with a blanket that smells as if it hasn’t seen the clean end of a washing machine in decades. It’s covered in little black specks I suspect belong to an entirely different species.
I lift myself up off of it, scooting towards the cold, cinder block walls. The itchy carpet scrapes at my hands as I move, but damn does it feel good to stretch my legs. I need to muster up some energy before they come back for round two. Or was it three—it’s all blended together…
Deep breath in, deep breath out. I can do this. I’ve been living with a motorcycle club for the past month. What would they have done to get out of this situation? What would—no, I won’t think of his name right now. He’s dead to me, utterly dead to me. This plan will be my own and have no credit to that trading bastard who sold me out to save his own ass.
I need more light besides the lamp, but by the looks of the long wire leading around and then outside the room, this is all I’m going to get. Then a plan formulates, like one of those cartoon light bulbs popping over a character’s head. It’s risky, but I have to try something.
And by the sounds of it, I haven’t got much time. The noise from the offices around me has picked up. The men’s voices grow louder and small movements seem to grow and grow into thuds and then crashes. The Devil’s Fighters were getting anxious, and no doubt they’ll be coming for me next.
I rise to my feet, using the side of the desk, willing myself to just get going. Resting my weight on the desk, I reach my sore and stiff arms up towards that dangling wire hooked to the lamp. The slack is relatively tight, but it gives when I unplug the lamp from it. In the dark, I climb onto the desk so that I’m standing barefoot on the cold top. Squatting down just at the entrance of the door, I wait with the power cord wrapped around both of my shaking hands.
The voices get closer. I can hear them saying my name, giving mumbled instructions on what to do. Nothing is clear, so instead, I count the seconds. One… two… three… My plan replays itself over and over in my mind, giving me the courage to hold out to some hope that this is going to work. It has to work. I have to make it work, or I’m dead.
Someone grabs the door handle. A deadbolt glides out of its place with a metallic click. A chain rattles. And then there’s the twist and push. I bite my lip, keeping myself from screaming. The timing is right. The man is just the height I need him to be. Like a waiting cheetah, I wrap the wire up and around his head so that the thick, plastic cord wraps around his neck. I yank it back so that his body falls down over the side of the desk.
He stutters and spits. In the small light of the hallway, I watch as his feet attempt to get some balance on the floor, but they just scrape at the carpet. His hands wrap around mine, trying to push me away, but I’m too strong for him when he’s losing this much oxygen. He coughs, trying to scream out, but it’s of no use. I’m not listening to him.
I tell myself to look the man in the eyes. If I’m going to kill another human, I should have the balls to look at him as I do it. His dark brown eyes bulge as they meet mine. They’re older, wiser, familiar. I lose my grip, letting him slide out and down from the cord’s grip on his neck. He falls to the ground, his hands around the deep red lesion I’ve imprinted on his skin.
“Henry?” I whisper. “What the hell are you doing here? I could have killed you!”
He rubs at his neck, still coughing and sputtering. I stand back against the wall trying to catch my breath while he recovers. I take this time to stare him down. The last time I saw him, he was wrapped up in a tarp and bleeding out. Even though I knew then that he wasn’t dead, and would most likely survive, it felt like a ghost had appeared before me.
“What… the fuck… was that?” he asks, gasping.
“What do you think it was? I’m trapped in some dungeon hellhole with the country’s most deranged motorcycle gang. I was trying to get the hell out of here the only way I know how!”
“You could have, at least, waited to see who I was.” He shakes his head in disbelief as he adds, “We don’t have time for this shit,
Aimee. You’re coming with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you until you tell me what the fuck is going on! Why are you here? How did you get in—” Suddenly, I spot his jacket. It’s not the usual Gravediggers colors with the shovel decal. This one features horns around the words “Devil.” My feet scuttle back towards the wall as it dawns on me. Henry is working with them.
He knows I know. He can see the recognition and fear in my eyes. He reaches out a hand to me as he stands on his feet. “You have to come with me, Aimee. I’m not going to hurt you. You don’t understand what’s going on here.”
“Understand? What is there to understand? I should have fucking killed you when I had that cord wrapped around your neck,” I spit towards his feet, not caring what danger I’m putting myself in. It was over for me anyways. At this point, I want to die with some answers. “Was this part of your plan the entire time? Get Breaker to let you go while you join up with the club you always wanted to be a member of? Then have him and I killed? I thought you were on our side, Henry!”
“I am on your goddamned side, Aimee! That’s why you need to let me get you the fuck away from here before they notice.” He looks towards the door, panic in his eyes. Finally, he huffs and grabs me, slamming me to the ground. I feel like every bone in my body is about to crack as he pulls and yanks me the small length of the room and towards the door.
I kick, scream, and dig my nails into his arms, but he manages to hold on, step by step, until I’m outside in the empty hallway. The industrial light above us flickers, casting an eerie glow over Henry—my ghost captor. I watch his face transform once he hears the sound of others coming down the opposite end of the hallway.
“Go limp. Don’t say a fucking word. Don’t move a muscle. Let me handle this!” he tells me. I have a split second to make a decision to trust him. It’s my only option at this point, so I close my eyes and let my body fall slack to the ground with my head tilted in the opposite direction of where the men are coming from.
They approach laughing to one another as they get louder. Finally, they stop, scuffing their heels at me.
“You do your job, Henry?” I recognize the voice straight away. Vice—it has to be him by the way he says everything with a throaty growl.
Henry laughs as he replies, “I knocked the bitch out… for now. I’m going to bring her down to the basement and finish her off there where I can make a bigger mess, ya know?” He says it so casual, so cool. It’s as if killing me is like skinning a fish he caught on some camping trip with his boys.
“Must have been rough. She looks like she put up a fight there.” The second man with Vice has apparently noticed the mark around Henry’s neck, or the fresh scratch marks up and down his arms. At least I’m giving off the impression that I’ll fight back when necessary. I hate to admit feeling proud about this.
Henry pauses, probably to show off his wounds. If he’s trying to pass me off as nearly dead, it would make sense that he would have something to show for the messy job. “She wasn’t too bad. Got me with that damn light cord. We really need to check the rooms before we put them in there. Breaker got me with the pole earlier.”
No one speaks. It’s the first time I’ve heard his name since I left him. I get that overwhelming urge to scream again, to cancel out whatever explanation or update they are about to give, but the hairs on my neck prick up, and I can’t help but let out some of the air stuck in my throat.
Vice is the one to break the silence. “Yeah. That reminds me, Henry—”
Henry interrupts him as if he can sense that something is up. “I’m gonna get the job done—get them done together. Make it easy for the boys to move their bodies off site. It’s how we did it in the Gravediggers. Leave no trail back to the site, ya know?”
“That’s not what I was going to say.” Vice sounds impatient, but that could just be that tough guy edge he’s trying to give off. They all sound impatient when they’re trying to lead. “It’s about the girl. I was thinking about her and Biggs. He was charging a huge ass price for her. It’s got me wondering what it’s all about… if that pussy can be put to good use...”
The second man chimes in, “Plus, we took out those girls who let her in last night. We need some bodies to pick up some slack.”
Shit. Those poor girls. They had nothing to do with this. They were played! My body feels clammy and shaky, like it does before I’m about to be sick. I grit my teeth and bare the pain and guilt. I’ll deal with it later.
“She’d be a fine piece of ass to get out there,” Henry answers back, “I worked with her as her supervisor with the Gravediggers. She certainly knew her way around a guy’s cock when she was playing them.”
The second man sniffles as he says, “I’d be interested in taking a piece of her…”
“Shut the fuck up, Rick. Ain’t no one taking her but me. If she’s Biggs’ pawn, I’m going to make sure I understand why he’s trying to sell her myself. Plus, I think there’s no better way to punish a chick than making her get on her knees and—”
Henry cuts him off again, “Yeah. Totally agree. So you don’t want me to kill her then? You still want me to bring her to the basement or take her up to your room? I just needed to get her out so we could bring in the guards from last night. It’s their turn to talk.”
Vice doesn’t answer right away, seeming to mull over his options. Finally, he replies, “Bring her down to the basement first. I want her to see Breaker’s corpse when she comes to. When she knows you killed him, have one of my guys come and bring her back up to my room. They’ll clean her up for me there.”
Corpse? What Henry’s done? Breaker’s… dead? During the hours I’ve spent locked away, I’ve wished him dead. I’ve wanted to do it with my own hands but actually hearing it confirmed tears my stomach apart. I try to choke back the brick stuck in my throat, as the sob vibrating in my chest threatens to come out. I have to keep my shit together. Only a single tear streaks down my face.
“Sounds good, boss,” Henry answers. “I’ll bring her up as soon as she’s awake. Should be a while, though. I knocked her out cold.”
“That’s fine. I want her to be good and ready for what I’ve got planned for her.” I hear Vice walk towards me. He kneels down so that I can feel his warm body hovering over me, his hot breath sticking to my hair. A wrinkled, scraped up hand grabs at my chin, forcing my face up. He hums to himself, sounding satisfied, and then lets my head fall back down to my chest like a rag doll.
Henry begins to move again, this time taking both my arms and legs like heavy grocery bags. He gets about three or four feet when the second man asks, “You want help with that, Henry? I can take her down for you if you’re too—”
“No, I fucking got this,” Henry quips back. He moves forward, a little faster, even though my weight slips in his arms. Finally, he bends down and throws me over his shoulder. I have no choice but to hang there, bouncing uncontrollably off of his back, until he is safely in an elevator.
When the doors close, I whisper, “I can’t believe you. I can’t believe you killed Breaker! Was that part of your plan? After he saved you, you go and do this. You’re a bastard, a fucking traitorous piece of shit bastard!”
“Shut up, Aimee,” Henry hisses back. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“Do you think I was deaf back there? I heard you! I heard you!” I beat my fists on his back, not caring what he thinks or tries next. I just want him to know the pain that has taken over me. This is not what was supposed to happen. We were supposed to make it out of here alive, with the cash, so we could … I don’t know… keep fighting for our damn lives! Not this.
The elevator beeps, and the door opens. I go limp again, unsure of what or who will be down in the basement waiting for us. All I know is that I don’t want to see what is there. I can’t bear to see his body—Breaker’s body. That was mine to care for, to make love to, to punish when I was angry. And now, I get to see it at its end, and I can’t stand
it.
Henry kicks the door to one of the last rooms in the hallway three times with his boot and then knocks once before fishing a key out of his pocket. With no one around, he places me back on the ground and holds a finger to his mouth. “Stop,” he orders me before I can say anything.
The door opens, and I hold my breath. Breaker sits upright, slumped on the ground, with his head hanging low. My feet can’t fly fast enough over to him. But just when I’m about three feet away from him, I stop mid-stride. His head lifts, and he smiles; that invincible, impossible smile, all white teeth and thick brown-pink lips.
I fall to my knees. “Breaker!” I whimper, letting the tears cascade down my cheeks. “I thought you were… They said you were…”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Breaker