Damaged & Dangerous

by A. J. Downey

  I woke to the shrill ring of my phone. I plucked it off the nightstand and dragged it under the quilt with me.

  “Hello?” I answered and winced. I was so stuffy, and I sounded just plain awful.

  “Coon, get your ass to the club.”

  I tried to suck in some air through my nose, but it so wasn’t happening. I struggled to sit up, and opened my mouth to speak, but that touched off a fit of coughing.

  “Let me take a shower and I’ll be right there,” I moaned. There was no telling Pig-Pen no, so I didn’t try.

  “Jesus, what the fuck is the matter with you?” he asked, disgusted.

  “Just a cold coming on, I’ll be fine as soon as I get moving.” Which was true. He grunted.

  “Hurry the fuck up,” he demanded, and the call ended. I dragged myself to my feet and trudged into the bathroom.

  Chapter 3

  Red-XIII…

  I leaned back in an old, tired recliner, and watched Raccoon move behind the bar. Girl was getting sick. She looked wrung out. Just exhausted; deathly pale, and she had a dry cough coming on. I got up, went to the very end of the bar, and took a seat there. She drifted over after the patched members were all served, and her so-blue eyes drifted slowly from the bar top, up to meet mine.

  “What can I get you,” she asked. I titled my head, considering. She had on a tight, long-sleeved, black top that accentuated her curves. The material was cut in front, over her chest, to create the illusion of an asymmetrical window pattern, giving glimpses of the pale skin beneath. It was sexy as hell. Not because of what it showed, but more for what it didn’t. Small peeks, the illusion of mystery. I liked her style.

  My eyes fixed on a necklace below the hollow of her throat. It was a crown. White gold, or maybe silver? Nope, gold. By the way the dim light of the club was reflecting off it, I was pretty sure. The piece was wide, the necklace chain attaching to points at either end of the crown. It was made to look like the real deal, set with diamonds in a Marquis cut at regular intervals. Between each set of diamonds was a blue stone – something super light, maybe sapphire, in round cuts. The crown sat on the flat of her chest, beneath her graceful throat. But the piece de resistance was a sword, thrust up through the circle of the crown, at an angle, just like the Suicide King on the playing card.

  “Hey, Prospect! My eyes are up here,” she snapped her fingers in front of her chest and my eyes snapped to them. She brought her hand up and, of course, I followed her fingers up to her equally snapping blue eyes.

  “What’s your name,” I asked. She frowned, her dark brows crushing downward.

  “You know my name,” she said thickly, “They call me Rac on a good day, Coon the rest of the time.” She shrugged, “Now what do you want?” It was one of the things that impressed me about Coon. She still stood up for herself. Even to Pig-Pen, on occasion. But, looking into those blue eyes of hers, I could see it was pretty much all bravado. The glint of fear was always there, just beneath the surface.

  “Now, we both know that ain’t your name, Gorgeous.” I gave her my best smile, which made her frown.

  “What does it matter? It’s who I am now. You drinking or not?” Her irritation was clear but I wasn’t easily deterred.

  “Jack and Coke. And, it’s what they call you, not who you are.”

  “Okay.” She leaned forward with a quick, spidery glance around us to take in who was there. Satisfied that no-one was paying attention to us, she spoke just loud enough for me to hear. “What’s your real name, then?”

  Interesting. So she’d been around the MC life long enough to know that you just didn’t ask that, but she was still brave enough to do it anyways… I smiled genuinely. I liked her moxie. The girl had a fire inside, or a death wish. I couldn’t help my mind drifting back to her sprawled on the fucking pool table while Pig-Pen rutted away. Back to the glazed, faraway look in her eyes. To the shame and pain in those eyes when she’d caught me looking at her, before she’d turned away.

  I looked around and leaned forward. This was dangerous. Names were powerful things. Names led to records, records to histories best left buried. Especially in my case. But I wanted her to trust me and in order to earn trust, you had to give a little, right?

  “Chris,” I told her. It was true, but it was also pretty generic. She rolled her eyes and I smiled. I knew she was smart. “You gonna tell on me?” I asked. Her expression cooled considerably, and she looked up the bar toward Pig-Pen. He was deep in conversation with Spade and Dredd, the club’s Treasurer and Secretary. She turned back to me, her china doll face so solemn.

  “Don’t tell me your last name,” she said quietly. I raised an eyebrow.

  “Now, why would you say a thing like that?” I asked. Her cornflower blue eyes flicked to my own and, with another careful glance to see who was nearby and who was listening, she resolutely shut her mouth and poured my Jack & Coke, shaking her head just a little. I leaned over the bar, reaching out a finger. She flinched backward, but in the end she stood her ground.

  “Nice piece,” I said. I brushed the crown where it rested against her chest, the metal warm from her skin.

  “Thanks,” She said with a tremble, visibly nervous.

  “Pretty-boy!” Pig-Pen slapped the back of my cut and I sat back. Coon slid my drink across the bar to my hand. I smiled at her as I took it. “Got a thing for my bitch?” he asked me.

  “Nope, just got a thing for her taste in jewelry, that’s a nice piece she’s got there.” Pig-Pen looked at the crown and sword necklace. She took it off and handed it to him.

  “I was waiting for you to finish talking, I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she said. Pig took the necklace from her hand and stared her down. She licked her lips and rushed out, “I finished it last night and that other thing you wanted done? It should be done in a day or two. I just need to cast a couple more settings for it, find the right size and shape stones.” She smiled bravely and Pig-Pen pocketed the necklace, nodding.

  “You just keep being useful,” he said quietly, menacingly. Coon nodded rapidly. Pig pointed down the bar, away from us, “Now go be useful over there.”

  I raised an eyebrow and watched her, shoulders hunched, head bowed, as she ghosted down the bar to the other end. Skid was there, and he smiled at her, engaging her in conversation.

  “Got somethin’ for you to do,” Pig-Pen commented dryly.

  I turned my attention back to the man. “I’m listening.”

  “The bitch Gordy has in his pocket came through. Found out where one of those holier-than-thou fucks is layin’ his head at night, and it ain’t at their clubhouse like a lot of the rest of them scared-ass pussies.” Pig-Pen eyed me carefully. “Go with Axe and Corbin while they take care of business,” he grated. I nodded slowly.

  “When we doin’ this?”

  “Now! Jesus Christ, Man!” he gave me a little shove with his shoulder.

  “Like Jack & Coke?” I asked with an impetuous grin.

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Had one made, just for you,” I handed him my drink, and he boomed out a laugh that sounded like fucking cannon fire. I walked down the bar and caught sight of Corbin and Axe by the door to the parking lot. They each nodded at me before slipping out. I moved that direction, pausing when something caught my sleeve as I passed the hall to the bathrooms. I turned and looked over my shoulder.

  “Dani.” She swallowed hard and let the sleeve of my jacket go. “My name is Dani,” she said nervously, melting back into the shadows of the corridor, where she was less likely to be seen by Pig. I made like I was going through my pockets looking for something.

  “Thanks for telling me, it’s a pretty name,” I uttered and continued to search my pockets. “Why don’t you want my last name?” I was genuinely curious. I caught her sad, one sided smile out of the corner of my eye before she drifted back further into the shadows.

  I shook my head and, making like I found what I was looking for, slipped into the cold, dark night. The final glim
pse I caught of her face was a startled expression mixed with relief that I hadn’t pressed. Yeah, it was a dangerous game I played, expressing any kind of interest in the VP’s Ol’ Lady. But the gnawing impression that shit just wasn’t right wouldn’t let me go.

  Dani was smart, pretty, and didn’t use. The cherry on top? She was clearly unhappy about being with that dirty, nasty fuck. It was an interesting mystery wrapped in an enigma, why she was with him. But it also wasn’t why I was here. Still, the damned girl tugged at my heartstrings which could be bad news, but only if I let it. Only if I wasn’t smart about it.

  I put on my facemask goggles, fixed my helmet, and pulled on my gloves after zipping my jacket. Axe and Corbin were similarly suited up and sitting astride their bikes. We had the machines warming up while I fiddled with my wardrobe and they smoked. I furiously tried to think about where we could be headed, who it was they had in their crosshairs, and more importantly, how the hell I could tip off D before we got there.

  “Where we headed?” I called above the chugging bikes, trying to make it sound like an idle question.

  “You’ll see!” Corbin called.

  “We sure this fucker’s alone?” I called.

  “No, you dumb cunt! Which is why we’re just watching for the first bit. When we’re sure, we’ll move,” Axe yelled. He kicked his stand out from under his bike, righting it, and I nodded once.

  “You scared, Prospect!?” Corbin yelled, and I could see the outline of his grin through the bandana that covered the lower half of his face.

  No, but you should be. I thought to myself.

  “Lead the way, man!” I called, and we pulled out. The ride was cold, the night clear, and the moon hung about half full in the sky. It may have only been half, but the moon’s light was still bright enough to illuminate the surrounding countryside by a fair bit. We pulled off at a cheap station to make sure the bikes were gassed up and I knew where we were, whose place we were close to. I made an excuse to take a piss and shot D a warning text.

  Close to Lucky’s – Rat gave up his 20. 2 SK’s & me.

  I pissed into the urinal and the burner pinged back.

  Watch yourself. Place Trapped. Lucky warned.

  I texted back I was burning the burner, snapped the old school flip-phone in half, and ditched it in the trash, which was one of those metal domed affairs, just as Axe came through the door.

  “Ready?” he demanded. I hadn’t washed my damned hands but he’d seen me throw something in the trash so it was best to let him think it was paper towels. There were worse things in life than not washing your hands once after you’d pissed.

  “Yeah, let’s go,” I grumbled.

  “Fuck, Man, you take forever to piss,” Corbin griped.

  “I got a thirteen-inch cock, it’s got a long way to fucking travel,” I shot back over my shoulder as he followed me out. I put my helmet on to the track of their laughter after he shared what I’d said with Corbin, and started up my bike. They probably wouldn’t be laughing in a couple of hours. They’d probably be dead. I almost felt bad about it. Corbin and Axe weren’t half bad when they weren’t high, except I couldn’t shake the image of them double teaming a girl who was clearly fucking out of it and unable to consent. Still, not going to lie to myself about it, that was pretty much the worst sin I’d seen ‘em commit compared to a lot of the others. Which, that really just told you how fucked up and depraved these assholes were.

  At least, from what I’d gathered, under Sparks they had tried to maintain some kind of mask of humanity. But Griz? Griz was so hell-bent on revenge he didn’t bother with such pleasantries. I had a sudden stroke of inspiration… which had to wait until we were stopped up the block from Lucky’s run down, tired, old house.

  It was a little two bedroom in a rough part of town, built back in the 1910’s, maybe the early 20’s and looked like it had just about fucking had it. His bike, an old but fully resto’ed Indian, was parked in the carport that had been a ramshackle add-on in the 60’s or 70’s and didn’t fit the rest of the house, like, at all.

  “Griz know we’re doing this? I mean, six guys went down raiding these asshats’ club and he was fucking pissed!”

  Corbin snorted, “Griz knows everything that’s going on. Pig-Pen is just a fucking scape goat. So busy kissing Griz’s ass, he doesn’t realize Griz is having him hand out the orders.”

  Axe put his two cents in, “Griz is ready to burn the whole fucking world down around him - the club, and everyone who gets in his way - for revenge. Pig-Pen is just a fuckin’ patsy in case the club revolts. We’re out of dumb fuckers.” He eyed me, “I can tell you ain’t one of ‘em, which is why I’m telling you this. He doesn’t care who gets dead in the process just so long as they’re taking Sacred Hearts with ‘em. Only reason we’re out here now is it’s one dude,” he shook his head, “I mean, how fuckin’ hard can it be?”

  “No shit, three against one, what could possibly go wrong with odds like that?” Corbin grinned through his five o’clock shadow that looked like someone had packed coffee grounds against his face. I nodded.

  “Gotta like odds like that,” I agreed and brought out my piece, a tried-and-true Beretta. I pulled back the slide and checked the chamber to be sure it was ready to go and Corbin and Axe did the same with their guns.

  Lucky’s property sat between two vacant lots overgrown with blackberry vines. The house was on a raised foundation, so there were three narrow cement steps with these thin, rusted out rails to either side. The front stoop was just big enough for one guy to either side of the door while the third kicked it in, and apparently Axe and Corbin seemed to think this was the ideal way to do it.

  I didn’t know much about Lucky, other than he came by his road name honestly. To hear it told, he was a crazy motherfucker with a penchant for explosives and explosive devices. A cool hobby for sure, but fuckin’ crazy as hell if you wanted to keep breathing and didn’t feel like raining from the sky in nasty, wet chunks as your way of going out.

  I took the left side of the door, while Corbin took right. I glanced across the street to the house there and, satisfied that it was totally abandoned, with the way the roof sagged in the center and how the windows were either busted out or boarded, I gave Axe a nod. He heaved up a leg and smashed his booted foot into the door by the lock and knob, and the whole thing gave with a boom and a crash much louder than a dude in motorcycle boots kicking in a door was capable of.

  Gun smoke filtered through my facemask and burned my nose as Axe fell backwards and slid head-first down the stairs, a hole bigger than my fist in the center of his chest.

  “Son of a bitch!” Corbin yelled and went in first, which was good, because it put me right behind him. I raised my gun and double tapped him right in the back of his fucking head.

  “Clear!” I called and Lucky rounded the kitchen doorway. I looked up at the shotgun hanging from brackets bolted to the ceiling.

  “Really?” I asked pointing up to it. Lucky dropped the cord in his hand leading to the pulley and trigger mechanism.

  “Worked, didn’t it?” he grunted.

  “Thirteen,” I said.

  “Lucky,” he came forward and we grasped hands, “Thanks for the warning.” He sniffed and looked down at Corbin, whose blood and brains were leaking out onto the hardwood.

  “This get you the rat?” I asked.

  “All but a done deal now. Soon as Shelly gets back to us, we’ll have proof in the puddin’ and the bitch will be all kinds of hosed.”

  I nodded gravely, “You got neighbors we gotta worry about?” I asked.

  “Nope, that’s why I live out here, or I did before I went up to help my folks. I been pretty much living at the club,” he wiped some sweat off his upper lip. I nodded.

  “Got some brothers coming to help with the mess?” I asked.

  “Right here,” we heard from out the front door. Lucky and I went to it. Trigger stared down at Axe, who was still breathing, or trying to. His breath was coming i
n short, hurried gasps, sawing in and out of his ruined lung. Trigger leveled his handgun right between Axe’s eyes and pulled the trigger. The big man’s light colored eyes had gone cold and distant, the way a lot of guys got when they killed. I’m sure mine had held the same look more than a time or two.

  “How the fuck you gonna spin this?” Revelator asked from behind our SAA.

  “You’re gonna hit me,” I said, “Make it look good. Then you’re gonna send me back to ‘em with a message,” I knew I sounded grim, that was because of the ass whoopin’ I was about to get.

  “Oh yeah, and what would that be?” Rev raised a dark eyebrow over his equally dark eyes. Of course, we were only operating by moonlight right now, which was barely enough to see by. Couldn’t really tell you what his eye color was other than brown. Wasn’t no way we were switching on lights, even in a rundown half empty ‘hood, for me to check for sure.

  I explained what Axe and Corbin had told me when we’d got here. About how Griz was out for revenge, and fuck anyone who got in his way. How he was taking his club name a little too literal and for real, at least the ‘Suicide’ part of it. Except that it wasn’t his life he was playing with. The club was dividing on it, apparently. And Pig-Pen, who was Griz’s mouthpiece, was too stupid to realize he was putting his ass on the line with every order he issued.

  Trig listened thoughtfully while Rev and Lucky started to clean up. Finally he nodded.

  “You understand we have to make this look good?” he asked. I nodded.

  “Just don’t hit me in the balls. I fucking hate that.” They chuckled dryly and we all uncomfortably cast looks in the direction of the dead.

  “Where you gonna bury ‘em?” I asked.