by Adair Rymer
“The fuck are you?” I asked.
She didn't answer. I could see her surprise as she surveyed all the damage. It didn't look like this is what she had prepared herself to walk into. I whistled. It startled her, she was no threat. Deciding I needed a cigarette more than answers at the moment, I tapped my face with a two-finger smoking gesture and pointed to a pack on the ground near her. She carefully picked it up and walked it over to me through all the debris.
I snapped the pack out off her hand and bumped up a cigarette. My body ached something fierce. The dull exertion of muscle pain mixed with the sharp, continuous sting from the multitude of fresh cuts. The sink was completely fucked. I'd have to move the upside down couch-chair to even get to the shower.
Fuck. No lighter. I riffled through the glass and displaced plaster to no avail.
She said something and handed me a lighter. That wasn't English or Spanish. Wonderful.
“Know any English?” She looked at me regretfully. At least she had some comprehension. “Who let you in? Why are you here?”
She started talking. I got about as far as her name “Katya” before I held up a hand to stop her. She was too fast and too foreign for me to understand what she was saying. At this time of the morning, I'd barely understand English, let alone the Russian she was rattling off. She stood there and waited for instructions.
I coated my lungs with breakfast, nicotine and rat poison, while I put on my best Sherlock Holmes. I gathered from her gestures that her name was Katya, not that that mattered, and something about Los Lobos. This was solidly their turf and from the way she was dressed I’d say she came with the room. Similar deal as how Muse ran shit at her place.
I looked her over. Waist-length, cherry cola hair, bright blue eyes, a thicker build but with some banging curves. Here-for-the-fuck strapless red dress over smooth, yellow beige skin. It was a good thing Muse didn't have whores like this, else she'd never be rid of us. Maybe that's why she went with that good-if-you're-drunk quality. She was a savvy business woman after all
OK, that's the Why, so now for the How. Didn't matter where it was, it'd be too audacious for whores to unlock— Ah. I chuckled weakly. I never locked the fucking door. Any one of the bangers, dealers or junkies outside could've rolled in here while I was passed out, but none did. Lucky for them. The locks were a joke anyways. Management didn't even bother taking the busted ones off the wall, they just bolted on new ones above them. Lazy fucks.
Katya swept off a spot on the bed and put her purse down. Then she started to unzip her dress.
“Seriously?” Yes, I was naked and obviously not bashful and she was pretty enough, but not even my dick was in the mood for this. I cocked an eyebrow and held out my blood stained arms. Undeterred, her dress dropped to the floor, then bra. I had to hand it to the Russian girls, they just didn't give a fuck.
She looked at me and leaned forward. Gravity hung her full tits perfectly. They swayed and giggled as she worked the black cotton panties down over her pale, two-handfuls ass.
Katya stood there and slid her hands between her pillowy mountains, over the slim-enough stomach and down to an appetizing pussy. She had her pubic hair expertly groomed into a landing strip. Didn't take long for what little blood I had left to start flowing to my cock.
Still, as hot as this girl was, thoughts of Star kept seeping in. I felt stupid for even thinking that way. Star was gone. I gave her up, she was outta my fucking life completely. I should fuck this whore because of that fact alone! Star was just another ghost to me. Katya was hot, smooth flesh. All tits, ass and fuck-me.
At Katya's grasp my cock hardened fully. She spit on my swollen head to use as lube and slowly brought her hand over top, then back down the shaft to the balls. It felt damn good, the girl knew how to handle a dick.
Completely unphased by the bloody warpaint I was wearing, she leaned in to kiss me. This girl was a freak like I'd rarely seen. I turned my head at the last moment. She kissed the side of my face instead. Never had any qualms about being kissed by whores before. If it happened, it happened. This time though, I didn't feel like letting that shit fly.
Katya smelled all wrong. Not bad. I just hated perfume and hers, although subtle, was just not doing it for me. The rings she wore were round and smooth but I didn't like their pressure as they crested the head of my cock. Her makeup was a little too heavy and her eyes looked sleepy.
I was being critical and I didn't know why. Her makeup? I've never even noticed makeup on a whore I was about to fuck before.
Her jerking quickened. She leaned back and squatted down in front of me. Her pussy lips separated, revealing the hidden pink folds beneath. She swallowed a finger just to pull it out in a kiss, then dragged it down the length of her curvy body. I could feel the heat from her pussy on my thigh. She rubbed her clit a moment then plunged the wet finger inside.
It was a hell of a show but it still felt wrong and I didn't know why.
No. I knew why. I just didn't want to admit it to myself.
I hated getting bogged down by the past and Star Keller was solidly in my past. So why couldn't I just fuck the shit out of this hot-ass Russian whore? I would fuck her. I needed to. You never get over your fear of heights while standing on the ground.
This was happening. Man the fuck up and get over her. I grabbed the Russian girl's waist tightly. Those sleepy eyes opened to reveal a little life. Not fire, but just enough to show that she was here and wanted it. She let my rigid cock go and placed both hands on my shoulder. I should wear a condom, this was a whore. Fuck it.
I jerked her forward, she hovered expectantly over my ready dick. Her pussy was wet, full and waiting. I stopped.
She was confused and motioned for us to continue.
I pushed Katya up into a standing position. My dick started to sag right away. Fuck. Star had a hold on me way more than Maria ever did. I just couldn't go through with the sex.
If I can get out of all this, shake the kill teams and hook up with the Lobos... Maybe I can find Star again. I've never been to New England. She could show me those changing leaves. It was an interesting array of feelings. Concern. Anticipation. Hope. I felt alarmingly human, like someone pulled me off a forgotten shelf and dusted my off.
Katya didn't understand, she tried coming in again, taking a dominant role this time. The girl was good but I was stronger. I pushed her away. Cute girl, but I was over her and this whole situation. I had other shit to do.
“Stop.” She didn't. But to her credit, I'm sure she didn't hear the word often. So I repeated it forcefully. “Stop!”
Katya looked utterly dejected. I forced myself not to smile, but the show was almost worth the blue-balled ticket price. She awkwardly stood up and dressed. She would remember the time she walked into a naked biker's destroyed hotel room and left unfucked.
I finally found my legs and made my way over to the sink, bringing only my gun with me. I wasn't bashful and my pants couldn’t shoot me in the back. The TV was moved and the sink cleaned out in short order. I could see it in the glass shards littered about everywhere. I was a fucking mess. To my surprise, I didn't need stitches, most of the cuts were shallow. There were just a shitload of them. The warm water felt nice, though. Felt like I was washing off not just the layer of blood but some of my grief as well.
“Steel Veins?”
I stopped cleaning and turned to the Russian girl across the room. Comprehension that I wasn't Los Lobos was dawning on her as she held my vest. The gun was in my hand like it was magnetized. She staggered backwards and dropped my vest when she saw me staring at her. Katya threw her hands up and apologized.
I should have shot her. Regardless of my current affiliation, she was the only one that knew a Steel Vein was here. It just made sense. If I let her walk out of here, I'd have fifteen minutes at most before the Lobos showed up. I could be gone by then but that would eliminate the element of surprise. I drew down on her. She screamed and fumbled to find the doorknob but was too terrified to br
eak eye contact with me and actually look for it.
“Cut off their feet,” Bren's memory whispered into my ear. He was right. The gears of a plan rotated in my head. The element of surprise was overrated. I lowered my gun. Although I would have, I didn't want to kill her, especially if there was a better way to get what I wanted.
“Tell them all I'm here, darlin'. Let's give them a show.” Katya didn't hesitate. She found the door and was gone. If she moved any faster, she'd have left a smoke trail.
The alarm clock was miraculously spared and was even still plugged in. Nine-seventeen a.m. read the digital display. Plenty of time. I threw on my clothes, checked my boots for glass then tossed them on as well. There was going to be plenty of bloodshed soon, but what I really dreaded was what was coming next. As much as I really didn't want to talk to him yet, I had to hope Top had his cell on him.
The shell of the phone was broken but looked otherwise usable. A dial tone. Excellent. I'd left my cell in my room back at Muse's. I never brought it with me to the bar when we stayed there. I never needed it, I knew all my numbers by heart and everyone I wanted to talk to was usually with us already.
“Yeah?” Top answered.
“It's Remy.”
“Wonderin' when you'd call.”
“Yeah, Top... been a busy few hours.” My words came out almost automatically.
“It sure as fuck has.” I could hear him starting to rev up.
“How's Tee?” I diverted.
“Well, he's pretty pissed that you shot him!”
“Tell him to stop being a pussy. I knew he was wearing a vest.” I'd seen the vest straps through his shirt.
“Yeah? And Skinpipe and Rio?”
“Scum. Fuck them.”
“Doesn't matter, Rem. They're still Veins, you know that! You don't get to just walk away from that. What the fuck has gotten into you?” Top was intent to reel the conversation back on topic.
“This path... What we've become. It's hollowed me out, Lawrence. Ever since Maria, I haven't been able to find meaning in any of the shit we do. And now with Bren gone... Fuck, man. Our brother died because some stupid old fuck at a gas station owed us a couple grand! Was that worth it for you?”
Top didn't say anything. It'd been a long time since anyone'd called him his real name. I don't know why I said it, it just slipped out. I know the whole Bren thing's been eating him alive, as well.
“I just, I don't know. I needed to get away from from it all,” I continued.
“You picked a really, shitty fucking way to do it. Deadeye's raging over what you did to Rio. And even more so because he vouched for you against the club. You went too far, little brother. That bitch has got you all fucked up. If you just let us deal with her—”
“That's exactly what I’m fucking talking about! Yeah, she was the catalyst, but Star wasn't the problem. I know I'm no saint but I needed to save her. Needed to let her decide what's gonna happen to me. To do one good thing and just deal with whatever consequences followed. And you— you and the rest of the club fought me tooth and fucking nail at every turn. For fuck's sake, Lawrence! You sent that dog, Rio, out to finish her off behind Deadeye's back. That was fucked up!” I tried to reign it in, but I was pissed.
“It was for your own damn good, you stupid sonofabitch! She's a witness to your murder! How do you not fucking get that? Of all the shit you've done, there's no way in hell I was going to stand by and watch my only flesh and blood get hauled off to prison for killing the fuck that killed Bren!” Top roared. Through the phone, I could almost feel the spittle and anger coming off the man.
“Yeah, well, maybe I should've been put away for that. It was my fault that Bren died but we shouldn't have been there at all. The Steel Veins have lost their way. There was a time where I'd have taken a bullet for every last one of our brothers, but now? Would you take a bullet for Rio? For Skinpipe? Lorenzo or Twisty? What's happened to us, man? I used to be so damn proud of the SR tattoos running up my arms. Now I just wanna carve them out.” I calmed back down.
There was a long silence. Top knew my mind was made up.
“Goddammit, Remy...” Top's tone filled with resignation. I knew he felt the shift, too. We'd never talked about it because some things were easier left unsaid. We were too proud to recognize it. Top still couldn't face it fully. “Word went out that a convenience store went up last night in Vegas. Even up there, Deadeye's got a few cops on the payroll. They didn't give him a name but he's convinced it's you. It's that damn Jap bike of yours that gave you away. He's got a KT en route. Hell, they're probably already in town. I can't call them off, Rem. I'm sorry.”
“I don't want you to. Let Deadeye know that I'm at the Super 8, off 85.”
He howled with indignation. “Why would I—”
“Top. You gotta trust me this time. Who are they sending?”
“They tapped Kale first, but once they told him how it all shook out and that it was you, Kale told them to 'get fucked.'” Kale was an old friend, he led one of the other kill teams. Top continued, “I think they settled on Lorenzo, unfortunately.”
“Call Lorenzo directly and tell him where I am,” I told him.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Top's voice was filled with incredulity. Like I knew it would be. Lorenzo was a sadist of the purest form. Neither of us liked the man but we were forced to respect the patch. He was a brother in strictly the most technical of senses.
“You gotta make sure he gets here as fast as possible. If Deadeye's as pissed as you say, he'll be looking to make it mean and that's Lorenzo's team's specialty.” They were no joke. The worst we had to offer.
“Fine, I’ll call the... I'll call him. But I'm tired of burying brothers! So you better know what you're fucking doing,” Top grumbled.
Yeah, I'd better.
Click.
I let the phone drop and grabbed the rest of my shit. I needed to move fast. The front hallway and parking lot looked empty. I could see the Russian whore outside hobbling into the main check-in building. Looks like she snapped a heel and took a dive. I headed toward the same area but stayed on the second floor.
Eight rooms over— the closest to the fire stairwell that led to the back of the building. I tapped on the door. Nothing. I moved to the next one and tapped a little louder. With my ear pressed against the wood, I could hear mumbling inside. Good. I knocked again, louder. I could break any of these doors in but I needed to be let inside so as to lock it behind me.
“Fuck off!” The voice behind the door warned.
I knocked again.
“What'ya want? Who—” The door opened to the length the chain would allow. I threw my shoulder into it and busted through both the door and the fat fuck behind it. A woman screamed and covered herself with the sheets up to her nose. I already had my gun out, oscillating between them so no further protests were made. I closed the door quietly behind me.
“Take whateva ya want,” groaned the fat man on the ground. I ignored him and peeled back the curtain. The manager was just outside the check-in building on his cell phone, looking at the room I had rented. There were only two ways this was going to go down and it all depended on who was on the other line of that call. If it was the police, I was fucked.
“What'ya want?” he pleaded, waddling his way back to the bed like a turtle after he'd righted himself. Briefcase on the side wall, pressed suit hanging over a chair, empty bottles of wine. Wife and kids probably at home waiting for him to come back from some bullshit conference. Sure, fuck, but don't be so damn spineless about it. Assholes like these made me sick.
“Shut the fuck up and get in the bathroom. If that door isn't locked when I come over there and check, I'm going to fuck you both to death with this gun. You understand me?” They nodded gravely and complied for the most part. The woman dragged the bedsheets with her to preserve some laughable modicum of modesty. The irony forced the corner of my mouth up in a sliver of a smile. I dismissively waved the gun toward the bathroom then turn
ed back to the window.
All that was left to do was wait and see.
I'd rummaged through their shit for valuables and was a few sips into an unopened bottle of wine when I heard the noise. Motorcycle engines. Music to my ears. If this works, it'll be a fucking masterpiece. Now which shade of evil was it?
I couldn't make out the name at that distance but I could easily see the colors they were flying. Yellow and red. Los Lobos. They knew the area better, it made sense that they would get here first. Fifteen bikers pulled in, not a bad showing to deal with one guy. Although founded in California by some white guy veteran, most Lobos up here were Latin and they fucking hated the Veins. Lots of bad blood, hence all the muscle.
They didn't even bother going in and talking to the guy that called them. They parked, pulled out whatever weapons they had on them and half of them bee-lined to my old room. The other half stayed behind to catch me if I came out another door or to spot other Veins or cops. I heard them kick the door in all the way down where I'd been earlier.
When they didn't find me they kicked in the next door down. The manager hollered as he came rushing out with a set of keys. He didn't want all his doors busted. The third room had people in it. Junkies, high on a nod, ran screaming down the hallway. There wasn't many doors left between me and them.
Slam. Another door unlocked and thrown opened. They were two doors down and it started looking pretty grim. I quietly lowered the table on its side. It would do fuck-all for protection but at least it offered some cover when the busted in. If the Kill Team were already in town they should've been all over me by now. Where the fuck were they?
Slam. That was the last one, next is mine. Any second now, I would hear the keys manipulating the lock and the door would be thrown wide. This was about to get messy and the odds weren’t in my favor. I had no additional ammo, just whatever was left in my gun. Five shots. I snapped the clip back in.