Revved Up Soul: A MC Romance

by Lorde, Liz K.

  When the group rolled over to the mark’s house, they parked their bikes at either side of the mechanic’s truck. Benny hurried along to the back, jumping the tall dark fence – Gabriel could hear the thud of the man landing. The rest of the group took purposeful strides up to the front door. He thought that it looked like an old, quaint little home – perhaps the man’s mother had left it to him, or their mother’s mother.

  Regardless, the man would die if he truly had a hand in Able’s murder. Gabriel was convinced, much like Luke was, that this was the guy.

  One of them, at least.

  Gabriel pulled out his black pistol and glanced at Luke, an unmistakable anger flashing in his eye. As their footfalls sounded off of the concrete, Luke and Allen got into position, counting to three quietly and bull rushing the front door. There was a wicked snap as the door flew off of its hinge, splinters of wood and paint chips flying through the air – the flimsy lock crashing against the wooden flooring, the panel itself clattering.

  Allen’s voice boomed as Robert kept lookout behind the three men. “Come out come out, the harder you make this on us, the harder we’re going to make it on you.”

  Gabriel knew there was truth to that – but if he had to offer any advice to the dead man, it would have been to bite the bullet on his own terms. No matter what happens tonight, it won’t be pretty for him. The three men fanned out and the two unholstered their Glock’s; Luke taking the stairs, Gabriel to the right, Allen to the left.

  There was an open door, which from what he could tell, led to a bathroom. Gabriel listened intently for any sign that the man might be on the move, but all he could hear was the rustling of Luke making his way above.

  It was difficult to make things out in the dark as Gabriel moved through the dining room and into the kitchen. He felt his hand up the wall at his side, looking for a switch – the outlines of things were all that he could make out, leaving the black that was beyond all the more frightening. Finally he found the nub and the lights flicked to life, dispersing the darkness.

  Nothing.

  There was a loud thump, and then a crash – Luke’s voice rang out in a roar, warning not to move. Gabriel’s heart lurched into his throat and a wave of heat cloaked him; he caught Allen’s eye as the two flew up the stairs – the steps clacking beneath their footfalls.

  When they got to the top of the stairs, Luke was already dragging the man by his stained wife beater. “We’re taking this downstairs,” Luke huffed, his gun jabbed against the man’s kidney, “go back down.”

  Allen grunted beneath his toothy smirk and retraced his steps, Gabriel quickly followed. Better to not stay so long, Gabriel thought as he reached the bottom and glanced where the front door used to be. Allen walked over to the light switch, a golden illumination poured from overhead.

  Dale protested and pleaded and begged, he questioned and struggled against Luke – but it all fell on deaf ears, his scream booming as Luke gave him a firm shove down the small flight of stairs. The man’s body rolled clumsily down, thudding against the steps between painful grunts and pitiful whimpers.

  When he finally crashed against the dark polished wood of the living room floor, Allen put a boot on the man’s back, pressing down hard – Dale wheezed and moaned, a thin film of nervous sweat coating his red face. Allen husked low and dark: “You scream, you die,” his smile, like that of an alligator, widened a degree.

  Gabriel stepped forward as Luke slink-ed his way down the stairs, his face dark with murderous intent. Don’t be too quick, we need to find out who paid this idiot. “Slow down,” Gabriel warned through grit teeth, bending down and taking a fistful of the mechanic’s hair – yanking his head up, a cry escaping the man’s throat.

  “Please!” He whined, “take whatever yah want, take it all I don’t care,” he wheezed and groaned, “just let me go. Just lemme go?”

  Gabriel wagged his head from side to side as Luke reached the floor and holstered his piece. “We’ll let you go,” he assured, softly as he could manage, “so long as you tell us the truth.”

  Dale nodded as best as one could expect a man in his position, “Yes,” he said, “just let me go and I’ll tell yah whatever you want to know.”

  Luke unhooked the ring off of his necklace.

  Gabriel pulled tighter the man’s hair, looking him dead in the eyes, “Someone pay you off to kill Able Reynolds?” His words were deliberate, cold as ice. Don’t try to hide from me.

  The man’s green eyes looked away for the briefest of moments. Gabriel slammed the man’s head into the floor, the shock wave pulsing through his fingertips and up his wrist – a sharp yowl escaped Dale’s lips. Luke put the ring on his finger, beside its matching twin.

  “Jesus,” he groaned, “please! I don’t know what you’re – what you’re talking about!” The smallest trail of red leaked from the scoundrel’s nostrils.

  Wrong answer. Gabriel slammed the man’s head against the floorboards again. “Horeshit,” he seethed above the man’s wails.

  Crimson bridged the gap between the floor and the man’s nose, droplets falling from his face, “P-please, I don’t—“

  “Ah-ah-ah,” Gabriel started to wind the man’s head up again for another hit, watching his eyes carefully. He could smell the guilt.

  Luke calmly produced a lighter, “Let him up,” he announced, “come here,” Luke put the dancing strip of flame to the ends of his rings, waving it all along the length of them for as long as he could stand – his face screwing up from the pain.

  Gabriel lifted the man who called out to God – he pitied the creature for beseeching something that wasn’t there; of course, if it ever was, even the supposed almighty itself would rightfully take an eye for an eye. Allen helped and the two pressed the man hard against the wall leading up to the staircase, Gabriel pressing his hand over the man’s fat mouth and muffling his cries – his eyes thick with fear.

  Luke closed in and stared Dale down, bringing the two rings precariously close to the man’s sweat laced forehead; the beads rolling lackadaisically down his skin. “If someone paid you to do this, you’d better start talking,” Luke glanced at Gabriel then, “never done this before have ya?” He chuckled and looked back to the struggling wreck of a man – he wouldn’t last much longer. “It’s kind of like frying bacon,” Luke noted, bringing the rings to just above the man’s eyebrows.

  The breath against Gabriel’s hand was hot and the pressure of Dale’s scream pounded into the palm of his hand.

  The two rings never touched the man’s flesh, and Luke pulled them away – Gabriel quickly following suit.

  Clear little droplets pooled at the corners of the man’s eyes, “I-I dunno know their name!” he confessed, “I never met the guy I swear,” he continued, taking in rapid breaths, sinking back against the wall, cowering. “It was all done through the phone – I-I tried to tell him no but he just kept offering more and more; he had a real deep voice, that’s all I know! He, he said that, that if I didn’t take the job he’d burn my place to the ground.” The weasel just kept on wheedling.

  Heat blossomed deep in Gabriel’s chest. The ends of his knuckles throbbed with the need to hit the man. Luke’s phone went off then, it barely got a second ring before he stopped it.

  “Come on,” the man croaked, “I-I was scared for my life guys. It was fifty bones or risk my fucking life! What the hell would you have done?!” You’re just a cowardly, pathetic excuse for a man.

  The flame from Luke’s lighter flicked to life and licked against his rings once more, “Don’t worry, soon you won’t be scared anymore,” Luke assured.

  Dale’s eyes went wide and Gabriel swore that his skin became pale as milk.

  Gabriel pressed his hand over the man’s mouth and the ring pressed against his flesh – a hissing sound piercing the air, the music of agony gracing the evening: there was a sweet, sadistic pleasure that coursed through Gabriel, at holding the man down.

  Allen and Gabriel made their peace with Able�
��s murderer, kicking and punching and stepping on him; the President spat and cursed at him before Luke dragged the bloody, barely clinging to life, to the bathroom adjacent the stairs and kitchen.

  Luke gave Gabriel one last look before closing the door. “Give me five.”

  The two turned their backs and listened. No! Nooo! PLEASE. It was the longest, most hauntingly satisfying minutes of Gabriel’s life.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Romance In Red

  The night was dead and the leaves beneath Jasmine’s sneakers crunched as she walked down the sidewalk, the sole provider of light being Luke’s house. There was a rhythmic sound of crickets – it felt as though she was intruding on territory that was not her own. Jasmine felt a chill of excitement dance along her spine as she grew near and nearer still, clutching tight the six pack of bottled beer in her hand. He definitely sounded off, she mused, maybe he really is sick and doesn’t want to admit it?

  Walking up to the door, Jasmine hesitated a moment – nervousness becoming her, why did it thrill her so much? The idea of spending time with him, seeing him and holding him. The way that he made her feel was nothing short of incredible.

  Was this what it was supposed to feel like?

  She rapped on the door three times. No answer. That was strange. She hadn’t seen his bike out in the driveway, but the lights are on – maybe it’s in the garage? “Luke?” She called. She noted the dark yellow curtain that somewhat obscured the living room window. Inside, she noted, there was a massive flat screen playing some black and white horror show that she did not recognize.

  On the other side of the door, Kayla’s stomach twisted into sickly warm knots – her heart beating fast against her chest. She should have put a note on the door, that would have made much more sense.

  Come inside, come on. I’m going to carve you, you stupid whore.

  It killed her inside, the waiting; her fingers coiled around the handle of the knife. There was a painful silence now as she listened closely for Jasmine; she was ready to hide in the coat closet just beside the door – which was purposefully left ajar.

  Open it, Kayla repeated in her mind as though it were a mantra.

  Fire shot through her veins freely. She took a tentative step forward, and then another – each silent footfall made her second guess herself; could she hear that? Did she leave?

  No, no you would have heard her car.

  Jasmine brought an ear close to the frame of the door. Chirp, chirp, chirp. The cacophony grew louder; there was nothing else to hear, nothing else to listen for. She stepped back and turned her head, a sense of unease cloaking itself around her. Was someone watching me?

  Kayla crept up to the front door, stilled her breath and peered through the peephole.

  There was only darkness. Black as pitch.

  Chirp, chirp, chirp – the faint chorus of bugs was all that filled her mind and it made her skin crawl; it made her skin crawl to not know – where did she go?

  She silently exhaled, smooth as smoke. Kayla then bit down on her lip, rewrapping her slender fingers around the kitchen knife and moving over to the window, which was partially covered by the thick, rustic yellow curtain.

  Jasmine moved over to the window, peering as best she could – what was that? It was blurry and dark; it definitely moved. Her pulse quickened. “Hey,” she called out, tapping twice on the window pane with her knuckles, “Luke?” She paused and listened, keeping alert – she was certain now that he would pop up any second and scare her half to death.

  But that did not happen.

  Jasmine padded back over to the front door and considered a moment before slipping her hand through the gap in the iron door handle. She was starting to get annoyed, figuring that if it was locked, she would go home – if the door was open, she would chew the man out for not saying something.

  She pressed her thumb down on the small button of the iron handle. Pushing forward, the door opened slowly – golden light escaping between its crack. Jasmine called out again, opening the door all the way now and taking soft, calculated steps forward. Where the hell was he?

  There was only the monotonous drone of the TV and the chirping of crickets.

  Jasmine clutched the six-pack of bottled beer in her hand, moving forward another pace and looking around. She glimpsed that the closet door was open maybe two inches, and craned her head.

  Shivers ran through her bones all at once, her flesh becoming nothing more than goosebumps – hairs sticking up. She called out Luke’s name and dubbed him king of asshole mountain; trying to push out the weirdness and closing the front door. Jasmine decided that if she could not find him, she would wait several more minutes before taking her leave. One step, and then another.

  Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. There was a burning sensation just behind her head and above her neck, no larger than a penny – and then, the susurration of feet against floor.

  Jasmine twisted, catching sight of two icy eyes and a blade.

  Oh god! No! The knife swung down.

  Red spurted and a sickly heat bloomed in Jasmine’s right shoulder.

  The pain came next, like agonizing needles punching her skin a hundred times over. Then the wail; she heard the bottles of beer crash to the floor before falling backwards.

  Kayla fell along with her, grunting as she collapsed on top of Jasmine. Her face was still messed up, flecked with jagged little bits of dark red.

  Jasmine exhaled sharply, something horrible escaping the depths of her voice. The knife slipped out, coated in red – a fresh torrent of pain assailing her body.

  Ff-huck. “Get off!” Jasmine shoved at Kayla with all of her might, pushing her onto her ass.

  “You stole him from me,” Kayla wailed, “you ruined me!” Crazy fucking bitch.

  Jasmine’s heart thumped hard and fast. She desperately clawed at the floor, crawling a couple of inches – each snaking motion sending fresh stabs all over again. She wanted to strangle the life out of the woman and watch her eyes glass over.

  Kayla clumsily found her footing and motioned a wild stab.

  Stinging in her eyes, Jasmine gave a hard kick to the woman – throwing off her aim; the edge only grazing Jasmine’s knee, drawing a thin line of red.

  Kayla’s shorts became wet from the beer and blood, fingers of glass raked along her thigh as she twisted to recover, a yelp escaping her.

  Scrambling to get away from her, Jasmine crawled another couple of feet – an ice overcoming her. She pushed herself up to her knees and started to climb to her feet.

  Her hand shooting out to catch Jasmine’s foot, Kayla brought the knife down hard.

  Jasmine yanked her leg with a great force, only narrowly escaping the bite of the blade. Jasmine redoubled her efforts, a laborious breath escaping her and regaining her footing; her heart was hammering in her chest and when she glimpsed back at the door – she knew that it was too risky to try and move past the psycho.

  The knife shaking unsteady in her hands, Kayla started to get to her feet.

  Jasmine’s eyes settled on a thick, crystal ash tray resting on the coffee table. Her hand quickly snatched it and she scanned the room for the nearest door – her vision falling on the open bathroom door. Jasmine’s muscles betrayed her, they refused to move, save for the shaking of her legs. Move, move, please god just go!

  Kayla found her footing. “Where do you think you’re going? I haven’t prettied you up yet,” She taunted, spying the chunk of crystal and lunging forward.

  Jasmine threw the heavy ashtray as best she could at the crazy woman’s head, sprinting hard for the bathroom door.

  With an arm coming up to deflect the object, Kayla turned her head away and grunted as the crystal crashed against her; disorientating her a moment. She spat out a curse.

  Hands clinging to the walls as she ran, Jasmine found the bathroom, glimpsing Kayla moving towards her as she slammed the door and hastily locked it with unsteady hands.

  Bang. The door rumbled against the weight thro
wn upon it. “You think this is going to keep me out?” Kayla screeched from behind the door.

  Jasmine tried to steady herself with a deep breath, retreating several steps backwards before bumping into the sink. She reached for her phone. Shit, shit where is it? Her searching became frantic, the blood rolling down her arm. The pain continued making its presence known, every second sending another fresh wave against her person.

  Her heart sank in her chest as pandemonium set in. Somewhere along the way her phone must have fallen from her person. Mind racing with a hundred different thoughts, she turned and looked over the sink mirror – she hardly recognized the frightened face staring back.

  Jasmine brought her fingers to the mirror and opened up the medicine cabinet; hastily rifling through the rows of medications. Mostly just vitamins and other junk. Another couple of bangs resounded against the bathroom door. I don’t want to die; the words swam in the dark mire that was her mind. She screamed at the top of her lungs, for someone, anyone, to come and help her. The sound of dark laughter filled her ears at that.

  Heart jumping, she noticed the thing of gauze and plucked it from the cabinet. How can you not have peroxide? She spun on her heel and caught something by the end of the bathroom’s tub. A bottle of whiskey; a lighter and a partially filled black ashtray.

  Quickly moving towards the tub, there was another bang on the door – another series of threats. Jasmine picked up the honeyed whiskey and looked it over; it was still half empty. Glancing back at the door, she swallowed hard – the first thin lines of sweat forming along her body, soaking into her clothes. If I could just get home, I could suture this up.

  If I get home, she reminded.

  Jasmine downed a swig of the liquor, its fiery contents flowing down her throat and settling hard and deep within her stomach. She screwed up her face and pulled the bottle away, taking off her top and sitting on the rim of the tub.

  Another bang. This time the door buckled beneath the force. It won’t hold much longer, she thought.