by Naomi West
Anyway, I had more pressing shit to deal with.
“Nothing about Cruiser for the time being,” I said. “Just know that he’s fucking out. And I’ll leave it at this: betrayal is something I don’t fuck around with.”
That got the boys’ attention.
“Now we’ve got a murder of one of our own to deal with. How’d he die?”
“Gunshot to the back of the head,” said Shiv, a baldheaded bull of a biker. “Quick and clean.”
“That means someone was sending a message,” I said. “They just wanted us to know that death is on the line, that these are the stakes.”
“We just gonna let them get away with this shit?” demanded Rex, a wiry, crazy-eyed man with a mane of white hair. “That was a brother of ours they killed!”
Murmurs of agreement went up from the two dozen men or in attendance. I held up my hand, giving them the order to quiet down.
“First, we gotta find out who did this shit,” I said.
But I had a damn good idea just who had done it; it had to be Dakin. No other gang in the area would even consider fucking with the Warhawks.
Then, right at that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Anyone who’d be getting in touch with me was in this room … other than Star, that was. I pulled out my phone and read the text that I’d just received. It was from an unlisted number.
Hope you got the message loud and clear. I’m not fucking around about the girl. I want Star. Meet me here when you’re ready to do the smart thing. Come alone.
D
An address followed.
“What’s it say, boss?” asked Oslo, a big-shouldered, barrel-chested biker who’d risen to be one of my most senior men.
“I figured it was Dakin, but now I know for sure.”
More murmuring among the men broke out.
“What’s he want?” Oslo asked.
“You remember that girl, the one I paid half a mil for?”
“No fuckin’ way,” said Oslo.
I turned to the men.
“I don’t know what his terms are, but I have to meet with him. Alone.”
“Alone?” asked Oslo incredulously. “No fuckin’ way am I gonna let you meet with a psychopath like Dakin by yourself.”
“It’s what’s gotta be done,” I said, holding up my hand again. “Killing Bulldog was his way of saying just how far he’d go to get what he wants.”
Oslo slammed a fist into his palm.
“I knew that fucker was a no-good piece of shit.”
Oslo was right—Dakin was the exact type of dirty little ratfucker who’d turn on you like this. But I’d hoped, foolishly, that I’d be able to get a couple of good transactions out of him before he showed his true colors. After all, if this deal had gone through, I could have said sayonara to him for good. No chance of that now, I supposed. I’d rolled the dice, and they’d come up snake-eyes.
“He says he wants to meet me alone, so that’s what I’m gonna do. None of you boys better follow me unless you wanna catch the Greyhound with Cruiser.”
With that, I turned to leave. My crew was loyal as shit, but no matter how much they feared for my safety, they’d obey me. Especially with the recent situation with Cruiser fresh in their minds. I hopped on my hog and peeled off, the image of Dakin’s face fresh in my mind. I wanted to rip that little shit limb from limb.
Later, I told myself. First, I needed to see if there was anything I could salvage from this debacle.
After a time, I reached the house. It was out in the sticks, and I could hear the commotion from a mile off. Sure enough, as I pulled up I saw that the front lawn of the two-story house was packed full of bikes. Rock music was cranking, and men and their old ladies were gathered in front.
This must be the new house that Dakin picked up, I thought to myself. Good location, lots of space; I can see why he wanted it.
I pulled my bike into a spot out front, and I could feel the tension as soon as the first few guys near me laid eyes on my patch. Dakin must’ve spread the word of what kind of shit was going down with the Warhawks, so these rough motherfuckers in attendance knew that when someone rolled up with this patch that shit might very well hit the fan. I hoped to keep things nice and calm, however—any fight that broke out wouldn’t exactly turn out well for a man outnumbered fifty-to-one.
A beefy wall of a man stood at the front door, barring my entrance. He gave me a snort as I approached, and as I looked him over I saw that he was strapped—a huge pistol was on his hip and I spotted the outline of a bowie knife at his ankle; probably another gun down there too. Not that he’d even need the weapons; a bruiser like that could probably take down five men with his bare hands. I took a quick sweep of the crowd and saw that there were four or so other guys, just as beefy and loaded for bear as this dude.
Dakin wasn’t fucking around.
I told the guard why I was there. He looked me over skeptically before giving me a pat-down. He pulled out the buck knife that I always kept well-hidden in my boot and slipped it into his pocket.
“Upstairs,” he said, his words a creaky grunt.
He moved to the side and I entered. The place was packed with the same kind of men and women who were outside. The fact that this was a home of some sort was clear from the décor that Dakin had yet to take down. Though a few more parties like this and it’d look like any other biker dive.
I weaved through the crowds and headed upstairs. More guards looked me up and down with narrow, beady eyes as I passed. I spotted a door flanked by those goons, and I figured this had to be where Dakin was posted up.
I told the guards my business, and before they could respond I heard a familiar voice from the other side of the door.
“That Tank? Send his ass in.”
One of the guards opened the door and I entered. The space was what had once been the master bedroom of the house, though Dakin hadn’t exactly been keeping up with chores. Dakin was seated at a desk, a pretty little blonde on his lap. Two more girls were on the bed, their eyes looking bleary from whatever they were on. The bass from the music below thumped through the floor
And the guns. Couldn’t forget those. The place was packed full of weaponry. There were cases of ammo, racks of machine guns, plastic bins each loaded down with different kinds of pistols, boxes of hand grenades. As far as I could tell, Dakin had skimmed a little gear off of his weapon shipment in order to provide his gang with the goods they needed to stay competitive.
“What’s up, man?” asked Dakin, the blonde on his lap playing with the hair of his beard.
I stepped into the room, the back of my neck tingling as I did. I got a real sense of danger from this place, and I knew if Dakin wanted to have me dead for whatever reason, all he’d have to do was snap his fingers. And the neat little arrangement of white lines on a small mirror and the half-drunk bottle of whiskey next to it on Dakin’s desk made it clear he might not be in the most stable frame of mind.
“You told me to come, so I came,” I said, feeling the eyes of the girls on the bed scanning me.
“You did, you did,” he said. “Wanted to see if you’d come to your senses about the little arrangement I proposed.”
“Still thinking it over,” I said.
Dakin looked me up and down. Even through the obvious effects of the drugs on his demeanor, I could still see that sharp gleam of intelligence in his eyes. Any chance that I’d be able to take advantage of his fucked-up state was small.
“Well, I’ll put it to you like this,” he said. “If you come to your fuckin’ senses and give me the girl, I promise that things’ll be cool as cream between the two of us. Because, see, some of the boys are just itchin’ to put all this gear we got to use. And, now, normally, I’d be tellin’ ’em to calm their asses down, to not go rushing into some stupid fight with one of the toughest gangs in the region. But I couldn’t help get to thinkin’… maybe there’s something to what they’re sayin’? After all, the turf you guys got would make a nice little addition
to my, ah, growing enterprise.”
He was talking about war. He wanted to take out the Warhawks and was using Star as the pretext.
“Now, I’m a reasonable man; you know this. So, if you agree to give me Star and make a little agreement about your territory—namely that it would be mine—we can avoid this whole mess.”
I said nothing.
“What’s that word you said, Kelly-Ann?” he asked to one of the girls on the bed, some brunette with legs for days.
“Fealty,” she said, her voiced spooled out from whatever she was on.
“Yeah, that’s the word. ‘Fealty.’ You know what that means?”
I kept my mouth shut.
“Just a fancy, medieval-type word for loyalty. It means that you recognize someone as your superior, and they recognize you as below them on the old totem pole. Don’t think they had totem poles back in medieval times, though. Anyway, you pledge your fealty to me and give me that fuckin’ girl, and we can have a nice little setup. You can be my official gun-running crew. It’d work for all of us. All you gotta do is, well, bend the knee.”
I wanted to grab one of this assault rifles and ventilate this fucker right then and there. It was bad enough when he’d just wanted the girl; now he was threatening war unless I gave him everything he wanted.
“Now, don’t feel like you have to say anything now,” he said, raising his palms. “Though if you did, I’d be more than happy to share my company here, if you know what I’m saying.”
The girls on the bed eyed me hungrily.
“But I want you to think on it. Take your time. Really thing about what’s at stake. So, until then.”
He took a mighty pull from his whiskey bottle, followed by dumping a splash onto his blonde’s tits. She squealed with delight, playfully slapping Dakin.
“Ta ta,” he said.
I rushed out of the room as fast as possible. Getting my knife from the goon on the way out, I was back on my bike in minutes. And as I tore down the road, my hands clenched in anger on the handlebars, I could only think of one thing.
If it’s war he wants, it’s war he’ll get.
Chapter Sixteen
Star
Tank was nearly gone for the entirety of the next day. He’d left no indication of when he’d be back, so I was left to mill around in the house all by myself, passing the time as usual.
And though I was feeling myself drawn slowly closer and closer to Tank, I hadn’t given up on escape. Though it had its benefits, living like this just couldn’t last. I couldn’t simply be the pet of some man, no matter how, um, hot he was, or how good the sex might be. I needed freedom.
To that end, I’d been planning my escape. One day when Tank left, the door to his study remained ajar. Curious, I snuck in. It was a pretty standard study with a tall fireplace and bookshelves packed with colorful spines, a large desk towards two massive, symmetrical windows on the back wall. And on the desk was a map of the property. I couldn’t believe my luck.
I pored over the map, taking a picture with my camera phone. Sure enough, there wasn’t anything around us but Florida forest. However, if I could follow the main road, there appeared to be a small road that branched off of it and led to a small town hidden in the woods. It looked to be a five mile or so walk, which would take about an hour and a half. All I’d have to do was wait for a day when Tank was out for the day, slip through the gate, and follow the map. Once there, I could get a ride back to civilization.
What I’d do after that, however, I had no clue. But I knew I had to have my freedom. My phone in one hand and Grandma’s dove necklace in the other, I hoped that Grandma was watching down on me from somewhere up there. I’d need all the help I could get to get out of here.
I passed the rest of the day experimenting with cooking in the kitchen. Today, I made turkey sandwiches, which ended up being delicious. After that, I made a Dutch apple pie, the kind my grandma loved. I didn’t think it turned out as good as hers, but she had a special touch that I just couldn’t match.
Around eight, Tank came home. My face reddened as he walked in; I realized that I’d gotten so into my baking that I’d forgotten to dress up sexy for him. But after he stormed past the kitchen and headed to the backyard, plopping into a chair with a beer in his hand, I realized that he had other things on his mind.
I gave him a few minutes, figuring that he just needed to relax from a busy day. After a time, I went out to the backyard, the shimmering surface of the water silvered with moonlight. Tank’s shaved blond hair poked out from the back of the chair where he sat.
“Hey …” I said, not sure what sort of reaction to expect.
He said nothing, his eyes on the shifting water of the pool. He took a long swig of his beer, and I could see that his brow was knitted in thought. Tank said nothing for a time, not even acknowledging that I was there.
“You wanna go for a ride?” he asked, finally speaking.
“Yes,” I said, not a trace of hesitation in my voice.
He drained his beer and got up. Minutes later, we were on his bike, my arms wrapped around his body as we headed down the road leading away from his house. As much as I loved riding and feeling his body against mine, I still made an effort to keep my eyes on the side of the road that I’d be escaping down. Sure enough, a few miles down, I spotted a small glow of lights off the main road—it had to be that little town. My destination confirmed, I closed my eyes and resting my head on Tank’s back.
After a half hour or so, we arrived at a hill overlooking Orlando. The city was stretched out before us, the lights of the city twinkling like stars arranged into grids. Once we came to a stop, Tank killed the engine and got off. He opened up the small compartment on the side of his bike and withdrew a tightly-folded blanket, a bottle of wine, and two glasses. I gasped when he took out these items—it was … actually kind of sweet.
“I don’t really drink wine, but I thought it was a little classier than taking pulls from a bottle of Evan Williams.”
Then, a sly, boyish smile formed on his face. My heart warmed at this sight—why did he have to be so charming right on the night that I was planning my escape?
He laid out the blanket and popped open the wine. We sat in silence for a time, sipping our drinks and staring out onto the city. And as we sat, Tank would occasionally turn to me, open his mouth slightly as if to speak, but before a word came out, he’d close his mouth and turn back towards the city.
It was as though he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.
What could he want to talk about? I wondered. What would a tough-as-nails guy like him have a hard time discussing? After all, he had no issues telling me to strip, or barking orders to his men, or kicking ass when he had to.
Then, my eyes went wide with realization. Did he want to talk about … his feelings?
I knew, somehow, that this was the case. But as much as I wanted Tank to open up, I knew that there wasn’t a chance in hell that I’d be able to force something like that out of him. And it was a shame. I mean, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t developing … something for Tank. It was so strange. He was gruff and violent, but something about his strength, not to mention the way he protected me, drew me towards him irresistibly.
We sipped our wine, which was a delicious red, and watched the city. As we sat in silence, I felt myself moving closer to Tank. I couldn’t help but feel safe and comfortable in his presence … not to mention extremely attracted.
Just as I began to wonder if he felt the same way, if our lovemaking had been just a fluke, Tank took my chin into his hand and brought my face to his, kissing me slowly and sensually. The kiss was unlike anything I’d experience with Tank. It was deep, passionate, and intense. He brought me close to him as his tongue slipped into my mouth, and the heat and hardness of his body was irresistible. Just as before, I fell right into his kiss, letting Tank hold me and move my body where he wanted. He pulled my shirt off, followed by my bra.
The mild evenin
g air felt heavenly against my exposed breasts, but Tank didn’t leave them untouched for long. He brought his head in, taking my right nipple into his mouth and moving his tongue over and around its sensitive surface. I ran my hands through his hair, my head tilting backward in ecstasy as he turned his attention from one breast to the other. I moved my hands along the V-shape of his torso, his leather vest cool and smooth against my hands. When I reached his waist, I pulled his shirt off, moving the leather vest over his shoulders as I did. Soon, we were both naked from the waist up.