Destroying the Biker

by Cassie Alexandra

  He started talking again, but I hung up, my mind on other things. In a sense, the Gold Vipers were also responsible for Dwayne’s death now, too. It made me hate them that much more. They had to pay for this.

  Murder.

  Could I actually do it?

  I reminded myself of what Dwayne had told me last night: these guys were animals who preyed on the innocent. They were involved with human trafficking, prostitution, and the kind of drugs that turned good people into addicts. Not to mention that the Gold Vipers were cold-blooded killers. I didn’t know if I had it in me to actually pull the trigger, but I was hell-bent on finding out who was responsible for all of this. I wanted to confront them and make them pay. If it meant using a gun, I’d make sure that I was the last one standing.

  Chapter 9

  Ava

  IT TURNED OUT that Dwayne did have an aunt still living, because I met her at his funeral a few days later. It was a small, private affair, and from what I gathered, paid for by a man he’d worked for. Someone definitely associated with the mob. At least, I assumed that was the case after meeting a few of the attendees, who literally reminded me of some of the characters from The Sopranos. From the way they spoke to the uneasy and shifty looks they were passing to each other. Almost like they were waiting for someone to waltz into the church and open fire. It was a little unnerving.

  “You’re Ava, right?” Dwayne’s aunt asked me after the service. She was a short, squat woman who walked with a cane.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “My name is Beatrice. You can call me Bea.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “You, as well. Your brother, my nephew, used to speak so highly of you,” she replied, smiling at me.

  I smiled sadly and wondered if she knew that Andrew was dead. I didn’t have the heart to tell her, considering how devastating the blow had been for me at my mother’s funeral.

  “It’s such a shame. I always told him that he needed to quit drinking. Ever since Andrew left, he hit the bottle really badly though.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know how to find Andrew and really don’t know what I’m going to do with all of Dwayne’s things.” She put her hand on my arm. “You wouldn’t be interested in helping me sell his house? I’ll split whatever profit we make on it with you.”

  “I couldn’t do that,” I replied. “I’ll help you, but you don’t have to give me any money.”

  “At least let me pay you for your time,” she replied firmly. “Please.”

  “Okay,” I said. “If you want.”

  She smiled in relief. “Thank you.”

  I thought about the trip I was planning. “I’m going to be busy for the next few weeks, however. So, I won’t be able to get to it for a while.”

  “No worries at all. Just call me when you’re ready and we’ll discuss what needs to be done at that time.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I know you were just at your mother’s funeral a little while ago. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  We exchanged phone numbers and then parted. Now I had two properties that needed my attention. I’d already decided to donate my mother’s trailer and sell anything worth value, which was probably nothing. I had a feeling that Dwayne’s house was a different story.

  INSTEAD OF DEALING with either of the homes, I spent the next month preparing myself both mentally and physically for what was needed in Minnesota by visiting the gym every day, going to the shooting range, and researching everything I could about the Gold Vipers. From what I’d learned, there’d been a lot of scandals surrounding the club and they had a keen knack for staying out of jail.

  As I dug deeper into their past, I learned that most of the drama related to the club had occurred with the Jensen, Iowa Chapter. The current president, a man named Tank, was particularly interesting. An old girlfriend of his had apparently been murdered a few years back by a rival club and it was rumored that his father, a man dubbed “Slammer”, had also been assassinated by the same group. Of course, nothing was ever proven and nobody went to jail. The writer of the article hinted that Slammer’s murder might have been related to retaliation, but nothing was ever proven and violence continued on both sides. If that wasn’t interesting enough, I also learned that Tank was now with a woman whose son had been caught in the crossfire of a war between the clubs, right after his father had been assassinated. The boy, who’d been two at the time, had recovered and the couple actually got married.

  Married? Really?

  I decided that the woman had to be a total nutcase. I couldn’t understand why anyone would raise a child in such a dangerous environment, especially after he’d already been shot once. But then I thought of my own birth mother, who hadn’t been a saint herself. I could still remember all of those times she’d gotten so high, leaving me unattended to fend for myself. It had been tough, especially during the week, when Andrew had been at his father’s place. Most of my meals had consisted of Doritos or pretzels or whatever else I could get my hands on. I was forbidden to go outside when she was in her room “resting”, so my life revolved around watching television and playing numerous video games.

  Pushing the memories aside, I continued reading about the Gold Vipers until I eventually reached an article about Peyton Francis, the woman who’d claimed my brother had tried to assault her.

  Seething, I continued reading. Apparently, she was involved with the vice president of the Gold Vipers in St. Paul, Minnesota. A man named Dominic Savage. Of course, he was nowhere to be found during the shooting. The man who killed my brother was the woman’s neighbor, a retired cop. No charges were filed against him because it had supposedly been in self-defense and of course, Peyton had backed his story up. As far as I could tell, there were a lot of holes in the case, and to me, it was obvious that there’d been more going on there than what it looked like. One thing I knew for certain was that Andrew wasn’t a rapist or sexual predator. Plus, the fact that she was dating the Gold Viper’s V.P. was very suspicious. Reading the article made me even more determined to find out what in the hell had been going on. There was no way I could sit back and turn the other cheek. I was even more bound and determined bring justice.

  BEFORE LEAVING FOR Minnesota, I purchased an old beater off Craigslist so I could leave my Lincoln Navigator at home. I didn’t want to stand out or be remembered. I wanted to fit in with the type of crowd I assumed hung out with the Gold Vipers. The Chevy Malibu was a piece of crap, but that was fine. It just needed to get me to Minnesota. My plan was to do what I needed to, ditch the car, and rent a different one to get me back home. Another reason I wrote down a fake name and address when he sold it to me. I couldn’t afford to have the car traced back to me.

  After packing for the trip, I called Millie and reminded her that I was leaving town.

  “Where are you going again?” she asked.

  I told her that I’d been hired to do some stunt work in Minneapolis, but would be home soon.

  “Another movie?”

  “Yeah,” I replied. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

  “Okay, dear. Drive safely and call me when you get out there,” she said.

  “I will.”

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “I don’t know. You’ve just been so quiet lately.” She sighed. “I can’t even imagine how difficult it was, not just going to your mother’s funeral, but finding out about Andrew and then of course, Dwayne. I know we’ve talked about it, but I just want to make sure you’re doing okay.”

  “I’m fine,” I replied. “Really.”

  She sighed. “Okay. I love you, Kiddo.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  After we hung up, I walked into my bedroom and pulled out the small gun safe from under my bed. I unlocked it and removed my 38 Special. As I held the revolver in my hand, I was suddenly hit with the reality of what I wa
s considering and the gun felt like it weighed a ton.

  Could I actually kill someone?

  I had little doubt that if I confronted one of the Gold Vipers about murdering my brother, it would be the last thing coming from my lips, unless I was prepared. If anything, pulling the trigger would be an act of self-defense, which definitely helped to ease my conscious. I needed answers and someone had to pay for killing my brother.

  I packed the gun, along with a box of bullets, and walked into the living room. I set the suitcase down on the carpeting and looked around my condo, wondering if I’d ever see it again. It was my first place and I’d spent a small fortune on the shabby-chic furnishings, trying to emulate something that wasn’t just inviting, but cute. Oddly enough, I suddenly felt like a stranger in my own home. Maybe it was because I’d been visiting my past so much in the last few weeks, and this place was such a far cry from where I’d come from. Truthfully, I’d paid quite a bit for the condo, mainly because of the ocean view. I’d wanted to treat myself and hadn’t thought twice about signing the paperwork. But now… I almost felt like I didn’t belong here. That it was too luxurious for someone who’d come from nothing.

  Angry with myself, I pushed the thought aside. There was no reason for a pity party. I’d worked hard for the money and I deserved it. Screw Hunter Calloway and anyone else who dared to try and make me feel inadequate.

  Raising my head up high, I walked out of the apartment, locked the door, and headed down to the parking lot, prepared to make sure others got exactly what they deserved, too.

  Chapter 10

  Ava

  THE DRIVE TO Minnesota wasn’t bad, although I did stop in Tennessee to rest. I checked into a nice hotel, ordered room service, and tried to sleep, which was next to impossible, especially with everything on my mind. So, I tossed and turned for most of the night, dreading what was ahead of me. A couple of times I caught myself wondering what in the hell I was even thinking, going out to Minnesota alone to take on the Gold Vipers. But then I pictured my brother getting shot and them grinning over his dead body. It kept me motivated.

  When I did finally make it to St. Paul, I found myself stuck in rush-hour traffic, which was annoying as hell. Especially since I was new to the area, the car really was a piece of shit, and I was nervous as all hell. Eventually, I found my motel, a seedy one near a tattoo parlor the Gold Vipers were said to frequent. After thinking long and hard on the matter, I’d decided to bite the bullet and get a tattoo. It wasn’t anything I’d ever imagined doing, but if it helped to get me closer to the club, then totally worth it in the end. Plus, whatever I got would be a tribute to Andrew.

  My first night in town, I planned on taking it slow. I would visit the parlor, inquire about getting a tattoo, and see if it was true about it being a Gold Viper hangout.

  After checking into the motel, I got to work. First, I changed into a pair of lacy white shorts and a black Harley Davidson tank. I then teased, fluffed, and spritzed my hair with hairspray until I looked like I belonged in an eighties rock video. From my research, it appeared that one-percenters, especially, preferred women with big hair, big boobs, and small brains. I’d been in show business long enough. The part wasn’t hard to play.

  Easier to control, I mused as I shakily applied dark eyeliner to my lids. As I concentrated on getting the line straight, I prayed that I wouldn’t prove to have all three myself. Back home, I’d felt confident and courageous. Now I was trembling so badly, I could barely keep the liner straight.

  After a few swear words, I finished up my makeup and put on a pair of black Converse Chucks for an easier getaway because… one just never knew. Heels would have been sexy, but stupid as hell. I decided that if they weren’t impressed with the package above the high tops, then it wouldn’t matter anyway.

  I kissed my lucky necklace for good luck and then stared into the mirror at the stranger looking back. In my line of work I was used to makeup and costumes, so it wasn’t anything new. What I wasn’t used to was being in charge of the transformation. Fortunately, I had to admit, I’d aced it.

  I checked my ass in the mirror, grateful I’d been doing extra squats and leg lifts at the gym, and then finished my disguise with a spritz of perfume. It was new and smelled like candy, which is what I’d decided to call myself.

  Candi.

  I popped a piece of gum into my mouth and smiled at the mirror.

  “Hi. I’m Candi. With an ‘I’,” I said, in my version of a bubble-headed bimbo. I cracked my gum and smirked. Maybe I should have gone into acting?

  On my way out, I slipped a small bottle of tequila into my purse, knowing that I might need a little liquid courage.

  DEVON’S TATTOO PARLOR was seven blocks away from the motel. I drove, mainly because I didn’t want to be mistaken for a prostitute with what I was wearing.

  Although it was just past eight, I noticed that the streets were already filled with shady-looking guys hanging out on street corners, and women strutting around in heels and eyeballing cars.

  Hookers and drug dealers. Awesome.

  Noticing that the women were dressed less provocatively than I was, I had to chuckle.

  When I finally pulled into the studio’s parking lot, which was located across the street from a strip club called Danny V’s, I noticed a row of Hogs lined up, and that’s when the panic set in. There was no doubt about it. I was in Gold Viper territory.

  “Oh, my God… what in the hell are you thinking, Ava?” I whispered to myself, breaking out into a cold sweat. I stomped on the brake, feeling as if my heart was about to leap out of my chest. Trying not to hyperventilate, I reached into my purse, grabbed the bottle of tequila, and took a swig. The taste was horrible, especially without any lime or salt. Shuddering, I recapped the bottle, feeling the heat of the alcohol. It slowly began to do it’s job and calm me slightly. Blowing a curl away from my eyes, I cranked up the air conditioner and counted the motorcycles. There were ten.

  Knowing I must look suspicious idling there, I took my foot of the brake and found a parking spot, away from the bikes. I cut the engine and took another swig of tequila.

  “You’re just getting a tattoo,” I said breathlessly, talking myself off the ledge. “There’s nothing suspicious or alarming about it.”

  Knowing it would look a little strange if I didn’t do something soon, I grabbed my purse and got out of the car, leaving the tequila in the glovebox. Staring at the flashing neon sign, I mustered up some courage and walked to the entrance. When I stepped inside, music played in the background, a popular song from the White Stripes. Looking around, I thought the place looked edgy, but in a good way. It was also clean and smelled like disinfectant, which was a relief, considering I was getting a tattoo. There were no signs of bikers, however.

  “Hey, sweetie,” one of the gals called out to me, a busty woman with jet-black hair and tattoos sleeved over both arms. She was sitting down next to a burly-looking man and holding a tattoo gun. “If you’re looking for the party, it doesn’t start until ten and it’s across the street at Danny V’s.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Party?” I repeated.

  “Club party, you know?” Her mouth formed a circle. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. Are you here for a tattoo?”

  “Actually, yes,” I replied and smiled. “I’m sorry, should I have made an appointment?”

  “We usually prefer it if you do,” she said. “But, we do accept walk-ins.” She looked up at the clock on the wall. “I just don’t know if we can fit you in for another couple of hours.”

  “I can wait,” I replied quickly.

  “That was hours, not minutes,” she said, looking amused. “You sure about that? Maybe you should just come back?”

  “No. I’ll stick around. I’ve got nothing better to do,” I said, glancing toward two other artists working on clients, one a bald guy with tattoos all over his head, the other, a heavy-set woman with red hair. They ignored me and continued what they were doing.

  “You know wha
t you want done?” the dark-haired woman asked.

  “I have an idea,” I told her.

  “I’ll be right back,” she said to her client and stood up. She walked over to me and introduced herself as Devon.

  “I’m… Candi,” I said, the name still so foreign on my tongue.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Candi. Why don’t you tell me a little bit about this idea of yours?”

  Devon reminded me of an amazon, especially with the heels. Not only was she tall, but it was obvious she spent a lot of time at the gym. Although my arms were toned from lifting weights, she looked like she could bench-press me without breaking a sweat.

  “I want the name ‘Andrew’ tattooed on my hip,” I said, pointing to where I wanted it.

  “Boyfriend?” she asked.

  “No. He was my brother.”

  “Ah. I was going to say, I’m not a big fan of inking names on a person unless it’s a family member or spouse. You said he ‘was’ your brother?” she replied, her eyes softening.

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, sweetie,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “And it think it’s really cool that you want to honor his memory by getting a tat.”

  “Thanks.”

  “So, do you want just his name or an image with it?”

  We discussed different ideas until I heard her mention something about a dragon.

  “That’s it. I want his name and maybe a small dragon.” Dragons were supposed to be brave and fearless. That’s how I wanted to remember Andrew.

  She grinned. “I love it. You sure you want to go small with the dragon though? I have a guy who I bet can come up with something that will look both sexy and cool on the side of your hip.”

  “I don’t know. This is my first tattoo,” I replied. I wasn’t even totally sure I was all in with a small one.

  “Let me show you my guy’s portfolio of dragons. He’s kick-ass at what he does. The last dragon he did was incredible.”