by Paula Cox
The entire parking lot goes silent, and all fighting stops. The men stand arm-to-arm, and in a few cases, pause their bloody knuckles in mid-air to see what comes next.
"Looks like your man won. Good. More for me to pick off!"
Pick off... I don't know why that phrase rings to me. Pick off...
"Come on, Aimee. We've got work to do." He holds me close as we peel off towards the groups.
Breaker doesn't notice us as he addresses everyone. "Devil's Fighters! I ain't got no beef with you. You're free to leave and do what you do. Take this as a peace offering between our two clubs from now on. We respect your territory. You respect ours, and we won't have any problems. You wanna join up with the Gravediggers; we can discuss that too."
The Devil's Fighters look to their interim-president, the second-in-command. When he drops the pipe he was using to beat the back of one of the younger Gravediggers, the rest follow. Defeated ghosts, they march off towards their bikes.
The remaining men look as shell-shocked as I feel. Breaker beat the most legendary club president currently roaming the streets. And he did it on his own turf using Vice's own men. They stare at him from afar as he directs the boys on how to go about the cleanup.
With his arm still around my neck, Biggs interrupts the silence with five loud, slow claps. One-by-one, the men turn to see him. They part before us till Breaker finally spies us in the crowd. Biggs pulls me in so that I'm practically wrapped around his body. A gun points up against my forehead.
"Tsk! Tsk! I thought I taught you better than that, Breaker! You don't let clubs retreat back home when you got them on the run."
Breaker drops Vice's gun on the ground as he replies, "It's not your club anymore, Biggs. You see these guys, they're with Henry and me now."
"Traitors!" Biggs calls out. "Fucking traitors! The Gravediggers is my club! This is my bar! And this is my territory!" I can feel his rage radiating off of his body as his arm tightens. I begin to cough from the pressure.
"Oh yeah," Biggs adds, "And this bitch is mine as well." The gun pushes further into my temple. I look up at Breaker, wanting to scream out his name, tell him to just let me go and run, but I can't. I'm silenced.
"Let her go, Biggs! Walk out of here now, and we won't have to kill ya!"
"You know how I know you won't come a foot closer to me? It's because you're vulnerable. You let this bitch get close, and now I know you'll do what I say."
"What do you want?"
"I want you down on your knees begging for her life."
I cough out, "No!"
"Aimee!" Breaker scolds me before turning his eyes back on Biggs. "Let her go, and I'll leave."
"That's not good enough." He looks down at me, licking his big, dry lips with his pale tongue. He's not the only one radiating rage now. I take a few deep breaths to steady myself. "First, I'm going to make you watch as I take Aimee. She must be good if you're willing to just beg like a—"
I drive the knife, his knife, through his side, twisting it out as I go and then pushing it into his stomach.
"Gah!" I cry out, and Biggs lets go of me, stammering forward on his toes towards Breaker. He leaves a trail of blood behind him while his mouth spurts out rusty, red splats.
"Breaker... I..." Biggs can't get the rest out. With an arm outstretched towards Breaker, he falls and does not get back up.
I sink to my knees. Two dead men before me, and one alive. The one that matters. Breaker. I place the knife on the ground, just out of the way of Breaker as he slides over to me.
"Aimee... how did you? Where did you?"
"It was his," I say, my voice hollow. "I pickpocketed him."
Breaker scoops me up like a noble prince carrying his wounded princess and heads back toward the bar. His men watch as we leave the scene, never looking back. It’s all finally over.
Epilogue
Ten Months Later
Breaker
"Come on, Breaker! Come get some lunch!" Aimee leans against the metal fence of the patio. The wind blows through her newly dyed and cut hair. The sunhat blocks her face, but I can tell she's smiling. She always smiles now.
I dust off the sand from my hands and grab the surfboard from its perch up the beach. Aimee's brother-in-law has tried to convince me a million times that I'll learn to love surfing as much as I like riding a bike, but so far, that’s turned out to be a crock of shit. It had some of the hallmarks—the wind hitting your face, the sun on your back—but where is the thrill? Where is the feeling of your life entirely depending on how well you can control your bike? Last time I tried surfing all I got was a strained calf muscle and a wasted hour coughing saltwater out of my windpipe. If I’m entirely honest, I miss that feeling of control that being on a bike gives me.
But then again, that control—that rush—was what almost killed me. Giving it up probably has saved my life, and as much shit as I give Hawaii, there’s a lot of good going on along the waterfront. The town we are calling home—at least for the time being—makes me feel as if I’ve stepped back in time. It’s much more innocent and pure than anywhere I’ve ever known, even the place where I grew up. I can tell why Aimee wanted to get back here; it has this crazy way of making you feel like a completely different person. It purifies you—body, mind, and spirit—with every bath you take out in that salty ocean or when you step out into the warm rain.
God, I sound like a hippie who’s hit the bong one too many times. But this shit is infectious, and I’m shocked at how much I actually enjoy the peace it gives me. After everything that went down last year, this is like a reprieve, a world so far removed from the one I’ve known that it might as well be another damn dimension.
Our cottage is this little wooden house the locals all dig. Without a doubt, it’s a far cry from living on the road or back on the reservation. And honest to God, I don’t have a fucking clue how we're going to pay Aimee's sister back for letting us stay here while we figure out whatever comes next. Not that she expects it, I guess. But I hate owing anybody anything.
Thankfully, we've got just about enough money to buy our own place. Henry and the new Gravedigger's administration made sure we walked away with more than our fair share. Henry himself had insisted. "Payment for taking down our biggest enemies," he explained as he cut me the check with more dollar signs than I’ve ever seen in my life. "Now, don't spend it all at once, ya hear?"
He shook my hand, and I turned towards the waiting car. Aimee had her bag and that picture of her family ready to go. All I took with me to the airport was my Gravedigger jacket. Now, it hangs on a wall hook near the entrance, patches still on display, even if I’m nothing more than an honorary member.
Aimee got the same treatment. Henry gave her some cash for her troubles and paid for the plane tickets back to Hawaii. It wasn't easy telling him we were leaving the Gravediggers and Texas behind, but he knew it had to be done. With the Devil's Fighters regrouping, we were sitting targets.
Once we got off the plane, Aimee's sister was waiting. Aimee had worked it out with her, over many long phone conversations, for us to stay in their beachside home while Aimee’s sister and brother-in-law were on the mainland working some legal cases.
They're scheduled to be back in a week or two, which means time is ticking down for me to make a decision on what road I want to take. There isn’t much here in Hawaii for me, or for Aimee, but there’s a fresh start to make or do whatever we want with our lives. Aimee can stop stealing and running, and I can start living life on my own terms. Maybe form my own club and map out my own territory in a place low on guys like me.
Whatever we chose to do with our lives, at least we can do it together.
Aimee’s waiting inside, cutting up some fruit. Her skin has gotten darker since we’ve been here. It practically glows. I walk up to her, and she shines as she says, "I got some coconut water for you. It's not exactly shitty bar beer, but I swear it's good."
Coconut water. Jesus. This was never the life I’d envisioned for mys
elf. Granted, I’d never really seen myself as much of anything—figured I’d probably end up dead first, anyway—but serene forests, Zen-like beaches, and fucking coconut water? Never would’ve thought this would be my life, not in a million years.
But it’s what I want now. Or, more accurately, Aimee is what I want now. I want to be where she is.
My long arms drape around her body from behind, as my lips find her soft neck. Aimee tilts her head back to peer at me. Her hands trace the lines of my face, scraping away some sand stuck to my cheek. "I like this sun-drenched look on you, Breaker."
"Well, I like the look of nothing on you."
She laughs, her head pressing back against my bare chest. "Later. Right now, let's eat."
I take her hand as we walk out to the patio. “Let’s hold up on that for a second,” I say. “Right now, there’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
Aimee bites down on her bottom lip, looking a bit apprehensive. "Should I be scared?" she asks, a nervous lilt to her voice.
I sit us down on one of the long wooden benches facing the ocean. She leans her head against my shoulder, her hand resting on my swim trunks pocket. The expert at pickpocketing, it takes her only a few seconds to feel the outline of the box.
"Breaker?" she asks, sitting up a bit straighter.
I whisper back, "Go get it." I lean my hips to the side so she can reach her tiny hand into the pocket to retrieve the blue, velvet box. She studies it with widening eyes.
I open the lid for her as she gasps. The diamond stone glints in the sunlight.
"Aimee," I begin, my nerves suddenly getting the better of me, but I manage to keep my shit together, "it's time we take the next step. I made an oath before, but it's nothing like this. This means more. My blood is your blood. My heart is your heart. And my oath to you is that, as long as you're wearing this ring, I’ll protect you and love you until my dying breath."
Aimee lets out one last long sigh before cupping my face in her hands, a water veneer glazing her eyes. She leans in and presses her lips to mine for a long, deep kiss, and as she pulls away, she smiles and says the only word that matters.
“No.”
I lean back, startled. “N-no?” I stammer, thunderstruck. “Aimee, I— I—”
But the smile on her face says more than I could’ve asked for. “I totally had you there for a sec,” she laughs out. “You’re still an idiot.”
“And you’re a damn vixen.”
“In that case,” she says, holding out her hand and motioning to the ring, “I think I’ll revise my answer.”
“Oh you will, will you?” I say, grinning, and slip the diamond ring onto her slender third finger. I wrap my arms around her waist and gently guide her back inside, towards the bed. “And what will you revise it to?”
“I dunno,” she teases. “I’m thinking, maybe.”
I kiss her again, letting go of all the anger, all the resentment, all the needless bullshit of my past life.
“And now?” I ask finally after I release her lips.
“Oh, you big moron.” She slaps my chest playfully. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
“Marry me?” I ask, pretending to be startled. “I was just hoping you wanted to go steady.”
“Go steady?” she mocks me. “What is this, 1955?”
“It could be any era, any year,” I say. “I would want you no matter what.”
“Damn right you would,” she purrs. “Well, I guess I could say…”
I don’t let her utter another word. I press my face to hers, our deep love bubbling between us. I kiss down her lower lip, her cheek, her neck, her shoulder. She brings my face back to hers, and she’s started to cry just a little bit. I catch a glimpse of the shiny ring as I kiss her again—one full of the promise of a fresh start and a real future. And I think—for the first time since this craziness began—this is what I’m meant for. This is who I’m meant to be.
THE END
Read on for your BONUS book – Dirty Whispers!
DIRTY WHISPERS
Chapter One
Jude
If there’s one thing guaranteed to get your blood pumping in this life, it’s a cocktail of whisky and bare-knuckle boxing.
I feel the whisky in my bloodstream, making me reckless, making me not give a damn. I savor the sensation, feeling invincible. All around me, the crowd is cheering. The crowd filled with hungry-eyed bastards from a hungry life, eager to get their fill of bloodshed for the night, before slinking off to the strip clubs and bars and squatter’s houses where they can lose themselves all over again in drink or drugs. One man doesn’t wait so long. As I leap back in the circle, I see him between my raised arms, pushing a mound of powder around on the back of his hand and then, in one quick snort, vacuuming it all up.
I focus on my opponent. He’s a big man, at least twice my size, but that doesn’t bother me much. I learnt a long time ago that big men fall just as easy as little ones when you catch them right. Just got to find the right angle, the right amount of power. Just go to reach deep into that killer’s place and show them what’s what. A tall, wide vending machine of a man, ugly as all hell with a ten-time broken nose, all mangled and twisted.
We stand at opposite ends of the circle. The crowd screams:
“Get him!”
“End him!”
“Knock him out cold!”
“Do him!”
“Take him!”
“Fuck him up!”
Anybody’s guess as to who they’re cheering for, and against. Doubt even they know themselves. They just want blood.
The man squints at me. He’s not calm. I can tell that right away. A calm man’s lips wouldn’t tremble. A calm man’s hands wouldn’t shake. A calm man’s chest wouldn’t rise and fall so dramatically. No, this man’s feeling the pressure. And that’s a damn good thing, because I never feel pressure. Easygoing, even when it comes to blood. Easygoing and carefree. Life’s more fun that way.
“Come on, you prick,” the man grumbles, lumbering toward me. “Come on. Come and get it.”
“You that eager to spend the night in the hospital, eh?”
My tone pisses him off. He flinches, as though my words hit just as hard as my punches.
“Cocky bastard,” he hisses.
“Yep.” I grin at him sideways. “This is one cocky bastard who’s about to show you what it means to be put on your back.”
The man growls through gritted teeth, spraying spit everywhere.
He charges.
He comes at me like a bull at full tilt, no patience, no practice, no strategy apart from the desire to cave my skull in. I watch, his charging form made hazy by the whisky surging through my body, and then, at the last moment, I weave aside. He charges straight into the crowd, is thrown back in by pushing hands, and launches himself at me. I’ve been in so many fights, sometimes it’s like time slows down. But sometimes, even time slowing down doesn’t do a bit of good. Too much whisky . . .
The man’s giant fist catches me cleanly under the chin, knocking my head at such a severe angle that the back of my skull touches my shoulder blades. The rest of my body follows, flipping over. I land in a heap, grunt, and try to rise. Dizzy, dammit. I stumble again. I look up with hazy eyes and see the vending-machine fucker at the other end of the circle, arms raised, lapping up the cheering like a cat at an all-you-can-drink milk buffet.
My gaze snaps around when she emerges from the crowd. What the . . . Maybe it’s the whisky or the blow to the head, but she looks like an angel. I’m not one for that sentimental shit, not since my first love turned into a junkie, was shipped away by her family, not since Mom and Dad drowned to death because I was too damn weak. No, that sentimental stuff isn’t for me. But this girl . . . Is she really an angel? My drunk mind wonders.
She walks timidly into the circle and kneels beside me. She’s young, probably a few years younger than me, nineteen or twenty, and breakable-looking. Looks like she’d shatter if she tripped.
Her hair is long and flowing, red like fire, and her eyes are enormous saucers of green, the sort of eyes that seem to invite a man in. She wears a modest shirt and pants, not one inch of skin showing, and around her neck is a small, gold cross.
She takes me by the arm and before I register what’s happened, this angel has helped me to my feet.
Maybe I’m not thinking too clearly, but with this good luck charm right in front of me, I can’t resist.
I lean in and steal a kiss, full on the mouth. She’s caught unawares and for a few moments, she kisses me back. I feel it, I hear her soft moaning even over the gasping of the crowd. Then something in her triggers and she takes a step back, forehead creased, eyes burning in confusion and outrage. She shoves me hard in the chest.