by Naomi West
I can’t stop thinking about Yazmin in the next room. She’s supposed to be in there getting more scared the longer we leave her. I look at the clock and see that it’s almost six o’clock in the evening, which means she’s been in there for seven or so hours. And yet I know that she isn’t scared, or if she is, she’s amazing at hiding it.
Georgia nodded to me earlier. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have let her stay hungry. But the idea of starving her left a sour taste in my mouth. I want to laugh at myself. Can big blue eyes really have this much of an effect on me?
I drain another whiskey. It must be my tenth or eleventh. I see Red-Eyes roaming across the room, two girls on his arms. Part of me wants to go over there and backhand him across the jaw for pulling a knife on Yazmin, but of course I can’t do that. I’m the president. I can’t attack my own men because they scared my prisoner.
“I’ll never get used to days like these,” Justin says, sipping his whiskey. “Never.”
“How d’you mean?” I ask.
“I went to college, Spike, and I thought that was crazy. The partying, I mean.” Justin sways in his chair. “But this is madness. It’s like something out of ancient Rome, one of their crazy end-of-empire parties. Look.”
Two women kiss in one corner, their hands roaming over each other. A few of the guys smoke and drink. More guys and women walk toward the dormitories. The music blares and burgers are lined up on the bar like a buffet, waiting to be devoured.
“You ought to see soldiers party,” I tell him. “If you wanna see people getting so drunk they can’t walk, just go to a barracks when they’ve got their hands on some hooch. I’m telling you, Justin, that’s when you’ll see men go absolutely crazy. Men drinking to get to oblivion ’cause they know tomorrow they might be dead.”
“You never talk about the army.”
“I was only in it for a couple’a years. What’s there to talk about?” I see dead men, blood, sand. “What about your mom?” I ask, changing the subject. “How’s she doing?”
“Lucky to have survived this long,” Justin says grimly. “The doctors are always harping on about experimental this, experimental that, but what they leave right up until the end, when Mom’s all excited, is that none of this shit is covered in her insurance. So then I have a skeleton of a woman coming to me begging for more cash for these miracle treatments. What am I supposed to say to that?”
“That’s rough,” I mutter. “But you’ve got her, at least.”
“Yeah.” Justin looks at me like he might want to say something, but then he swallows it down. “Yeah,” he repeats, draining his glass. “What about the girl in your office? What’re you going to do about her? You want us all in there when you question her?”
“No,” I answer, too quickly. I think of Red-Eyes and his knife. “No, I’ll do it alone.”
“What’re you hoping to get out of her, anyway? I thought we were using her as leverage against Snake.”
“We will, but it can’t hurt to get some information first. She must’ve heard some shit while she was in the clubhouse. We like to think women have no idea what’s going on in here. Some of the guys do, anyway. We like to think they’re dumb as sin, but they hear more than we’d like to admit.”
“You’re probably right, but try telling them that.” Justin points to Knuckles and a couple of the others, pawing over the girls, the girls turning their giggling faces toward them, completely captivating them.
“Yeah, right. Exactly.” I stand up, stretching my arms from side to side. Looking down at the scorpion in the jar, I say, “How long do you think we can go on like this, with the Scorpions fucking with our business?”
“Financially?” Justin shakes his head. “Not long. A year, maybe less.”
“Fuck.”
Justin nods. Again that odd look comes into his face. But it passes just as fast. “Fuck,” he agrees.
“I’m going to get some information,” I say.
But as I walk across the bar toward my office door, I know it’s not just information I want. I’m not so drunk that I don’t know I’m a little tipsy, tipsy and maybe horny, too. I just want a look at her, all squeezed together in her running gear, her big blues watching me with what I think might be attraction. I open my office door and lock it behind me, feeling her eyes on me right away. She has the sort of eyes which can make a man nervous. But I can’t show that. I need to remain the president in her eyes.
Making sure I’m looking into her face and not at those perfect tits, I walk across the room and stand over her, trying to intimidate her. I’ve been in situations like this before, but never with a woman. Maybe right now I’d punch her across the face if she was a man, let her know I’m serious, but her face is too damn beautiful. I can’t stand the idea of bloodying it up. I kneel down so that we’re staring eye to eye. I look for fear in her eyes but I don’t find any, just the same defiance she had in her expression when I pulled her from the trunk.
“Listen to me,” I say, “I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them, all right? I don’t want any fuckin’ around.” I realize I’m talking in the gruff, threatening way I usually reserve for business meetings with gangs. I can’t show any mercy. “You’re my pawn now, Yazmin. Do you get that?”
She just stares at me. There’s a twinkle in her blue eyes, almost playful. I can tell she isn’t taking this seriously. No, it’s more than that. It’s like she’s waiting for something. I don’t like the look in her eyes. I’m supposed to be the one in charge but it’s like she’s set this whole thing up, like she’s waiting for me to slip up instead of the other way around.
I lurch forward, getting into her face. She flinches back. My lips are inches from hers. When she breathes, I feel her breath on my cheeks. “Listen to me,” I say, voice low. “I need to know what your fucking game is. What’s with this performance? Either you’re a damn good actress, an idiot, or you don’t realize the situation you’re in. Let me explain it to you. You’re going to give me information about your father’s club. And then I’m going to use you as leverage against him. So tell me every damn thing you know about his club, before I get angry.”
She watches me for a long time, perhaps a minute, me just staring into her eyes. Then she giggles. It starts softly, but after a moment she tips her head back and starts laughing like a mad woman. Maybe being tied up in here has sent her crazy.
I step back, watching her warily. “Stop laughing,” I say. “Right now.”
The laughter dies on her lips. “What did he do to you, Spike?” she asks. “He must’ve done something for you to be coming hot and heavy like this. He’s a real bastard, isn’t he? Snake. Snake. What sort of man calls himself Snake? Come to think of it.” She smiles up at me. “What sort of man calls himself Spike?”
I jump at her, slamming my hands down on the arms of the chair, near her hands. “This isn’t a fucking joke!” I snap. “Give me something, or I’m going to have to hurt you.”
“Hurt me?” She stares into my eyes. There’s no fear there. There’s something else. Sadness, maybe. But no fear. “What are you going to do to me, Spike? Are you going to rape me? Is that it? Are you going to cut me?”
“Yes,” I say, but even I don’t believe me.
“Do it, then.” Her defiance doesn’t waver. She looks like a woman ready to die. “Go on. You want information out of me. Do it, then!”
I go to my desk and take out my old army knife, sharpened every week, so sharp I can shave with it. When I return to Yazmin, her eyes go wide at the sight of it, but only for a second. Then the look of calm derision returns. She looks at me the same way I imagine she’d look at a drunk creep in a bar, like she has better things to do than to deal with me.
“Just tell me what I want to know,” I say. “It doesn’t have to be like this.” I want to fuck her; I want to bury my cock in between her legs; I want to see her squirm. But I want her to want it, too. I don’t want to hurt her against her will. Fuck, but I
have to. She’s making me. Fuck. I bring the knife to her arm, pressing down on her flesh. I don’t slice, I don’t cut, not yet. “Give me something I can use, Yazmin. Or this situation is about to get a hell of a lot bloodier.”
“Cut me, then.” Her voice is firm. Her lips don’t tremble. Her hands are still. She looks ready to be cut. “Go on. If you really think that’s what you need to do. If you really think that’s the man you are.”
I have to do it, I tell myself. The future of my club depends on it.
“Or . . .” She smiles wickedly. “You could sit down and let me explain to you why none of this is necessary.”
I take a step back without really meaning to. “What do you mean?”
“I have information you can use against the Scorpions. Quite a lot, in fact. I listen closely and my memory isn’t half-bad. And cutting won’t be necessary. I want to bring my father down just as badly as you do.”
“If that’s true, why the fuck did you wait so long to tell us?” I snap, not sure what game she’s playing.
“I needed you to get here.” She nods to the knife. “I needed you to want to hear what I’m saying. Otherwise you’d think I was just talking to try and save myself, just blabbing for the sake of it. Why would I wait so long? Precisely because waiting so long is strange. To prove a point.”
“And you expect me to just believe you?” My head is spinning. Maybe I’ve had too much whiskey. Or maybe this blue-eyed trickster is too good at making men’s heads spin.
“The Port of San Diego, warehouse fifteen, two o’clock tomorrow morning, the Scorpions have a shipment of heroin arriving which they intend to distribute in Sunnyside.”
“Bullshit.” I watch her closely, trying to tell if she’s lying. “Even the Scorpions wouldn’t be that stupid.”
“Are you sure about that?” She tilts her head at me. “You want to use me as leverage against my father. Here’s the truth, plain and simple. My father doesn’t give a damn about me. My father killed my mother for borrowing ten thousand dollars from him. I want to be here, Spike. I want your protection from the Scorpions, at least for now. And I want to see my dad hurt for what he’s done.” Anger makes her voice rise on the last sentence, her teeth grinding together. “Okay? So why don’t you untie me?”
“Why would I do that?” I laugh. “We don’t even know if what you’ve said is true.”
“Then go and find out! But there’s no reason keeping me tied up as you do it.”
“This could be a trick,” I say. “No, I ain’t just gonna give you free roam of the place. But I can make you more comfortable until we return.”
I go outside and bring Justin and Danny in, the two men I trust most not to try anything funny with her. “Take her to the basement room and untie her. Get her some food and water and then lock the door. Come meet me afterwards. We have a raid to plain.”
“Boss.” The men pick up her chair with her still sitting in it, carrying her through the bar to the sound of catcalls and whooping. I see Red-Eyes stare at her, but when he sees me watching him he looks down at his feet. I must have a wicked look on my face.
I return to the office, sitting behind my desk, wondering what to make of all this.
Chapter Eight
Spike
As the men deal with Yazmin, I turn on my computer and navigate to the basement cameras. I tell myself this is to make sure that Yazmin doesn’t get free somehow, but I know the real reason. I don’t want Danny or Justin touching her, even brushing against her hand. I don’t want them saying anything suggestive, either. I feel a possessiveness over her I can’t understand. I feel more possessive over her than I ever did over Christina, poor woman. She never had a chance with me. She couldn’t break through all the shit that goes whirring around my head. But somehow Yazmin has done in hours what Christina couldn’t do in weeks.
The basement room is like a miniature apartment with a bolted lock on the outside of the door. Inside, there’s a bed and a sink and a microwave, a fridge and a freezer, all the shit a person needs except for a window and a chance to escape. There’s even an en-suite bathroom. Justin and Danny untie her and step back warily, as though expecting her to start fighting. But she just backs away to the bed. Then Justin stands guard as Danny brings down bottled water and some food for the fridge.
When that’s done, they leave, locking the door behind them. I watch as Yazmin struts around the room before walking right up to the camera. Her lips are moving, but the audio is switched off. I switch it on.
“. . . Do you like watching me, Mr. Viper? Does it excite you?”
I switch off the camera. I’m too aware that this girl could be a plant. What she told me about her old man and her mom could be a lie to get me to trust her. I guess I’ll know more after this raid. I could be walking my guys into a trap.
A few minutes later, the officers are sitting around my desk. Red-Eyes is drunk but sobering up now that he knows we’re working tonight. Knuckles looks ready for a fight after learning about our dead brothers. Justin and Danny look ready for business. Alfred looks like he’d go out there himself if he wasn’t too old, his eyes full of death.
“I think I have some information about a Scorpion drugs shipment.”
The men lean in, listening.
We move quickly after that, getting ready, tooling up. I always feel oddly comfortable when I’m tooling up. I know it would make other men uncomfortable to have guns pressing against their ribcages and their calf muscles, but for me it’s the norm, something I know how to do. I may be lost when it comes to knowing whether or not Yazmin is playing me, but here, riding with my men toward the city, I know exactly what to do. Watch, wait, kill, steal or burn.
Around eleven p.m., we ride out toward the docks, thirty of us in a line of bikes, growling through the summer’s night, cutting a wide line around Sunnyside proper and the Scorpions’ clubhouse. We can’t let them know we’re coming. They have no reason to suspect we’re going into San Diego to mess with them, anyway, unless Yazmin really is a plant . . . The idea bothers me more than it should. She’s my prisoner. That’s all. Sure, she’s got some nice tits and some nice legs and an ass that needs to be spanked, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to lose my head over her. I’m not a love-at-first-sight kind of guy.
But as we near the city, the lights rising out of the darkness like never-ending fireworks, I know I’m bullshitting myself. There’s something about Yazmin. I get a feeling of dread in my belly when I consider that she may be lying. If she’s lying, I’ll have to kill her. I won’t have a choice. If she’s managed to work her way into the Vipers and lead us into a trap, she has to die. I swallow, nervous like I haven’t been since I was a kid. I don’t want to hurt her, I realize, not like that.
We stop a good half mile from the port, everybody climbing from their bikes and checking their weapons. For a few moments, the night is filled with the click-click-click of guns being checked and loaded. Then we’re walking through the city in packs toward the docks, five to a team, using different streets so we don’t draw attention to ourselves.
“I’m going to kill these bastards,” Knuckles says, gripping the spiked knuckle dusters that give him his name. “I’m going to kill every goddamn one of them.”
“Not if I get there first,” I mutter, my rage growing larger by the second. I think of the scorpion in the jar, the dead men the Scorpions have left in their wake, the pain in the ass they’ve been over the past few months.
When we get to the port, standing in crowds along the perimeter, I nod to one of my men and he goes forward with the bolt cutters, clipping the gate, making a hole big enough for all of us to crawl through. All along the perimeter, men are doing the same. Even if the guards happen to pick one or even two or three groups up, there’s more of us. That’s the benefit of having so much manpower to hand. It gives you power.
I take out my pistol and jog across the parking lot toward warehouse fifteen, its number visible in the streetlamps which light up the lot,
a low-lit blue sign. As we get closer, more men join us, more and more until there are thirty men with their backs to the warehouse, waiting for my command. We’re all completely silent, listening to the night. The docks are deserted except for the sound of the waves and then, rising slowly and becoming louder, the sounds of Scorpions unloading the shipment.
“Good stuff, this,” one man says.
“It better be,” another man replies. “Standing out here in the middle of the goddamn night.”
“Don’t let Boss here you talkin’ like that.”
“Do I look like a fucking idiot to you?”
“You hear about the boss’s daughter?”
“Yeah, I heard. Ran away, I reckon. What else?”
“That’s a damn shame. One more week of sitting around on her ass and I swear, man, I swear boss was gonna let us take turns on the slut.”
Hearing this shouldn’t make me angrier than anything else, but it does. I imagine five Scorpions standing around Yazmin, all taking their turns to steal pleasure from her. Closing my hand around my pistol so hard it hurts my palm, I send word down the line. It’s time to hit these bastards.