HOT as F*CK

by Scott Hildreth

  Wherever he was he was half-naked, shoeless, and without transportation.

  And then, it hit me.

  No. No. No.

  “Nooooo!”

  I hoped my memory was correct. Finding them was my only hope. I screeched around the corner as fast as my Beetle would go, and as the sight of two motorcycles came into view, my heart raced.

  I sped into the lot, and before my car even came to a complete stop, I jumped out and ran into the shop.

  I had no idea what the club’s procedures or rules were regarding women, but I really didn’t care.

  Pee Bee stood at the far side of the shop beside Crip. Both of their eyes widened as I ran toward them, blurting out everything I knew as I approached.

  “Slow down, little girl,” Crip growled. “It really doesn’t matter what you’re thinking, you can’t come here looking--”

  “They took him,” I huffed.

  “Who took who,” Crip asked in a snide tone.

  “Adam.” I pressed my hands to my knees and fought to catch my breath. I cleared my throat. “Cholo.”

  I took a deep breath. “His bike…his bike’s in the garage, his wallet…and his jeans…were on the floor of his bedroom…and his shoes were in his doorway.”

  I took another breath. “His nightstand drawer was half opened, and his gun was right there in it. Someone came and took him.”

  They looked at each other.

  Pee Bee looked at me. “Bike, wallet, and his Van’s? All there?”

  I nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You got the garage open?” Crip asked.

  “He gave me a key. His bike’s right there in it. Oh, and the back door. It was unlocked, and when I went to leave…”

  My eyes began to well with tears, but I wasn’t about to cry in their presence. “It…It. Uhhm. The door frame. It was splintered. Someone pried it open.”

  “Fuck,” Pee Bee said. He looked at Crip. “Calle 18?”

  Crip nodded. “Anyone else went in Cholo’s house looking for trouble, we’d be haulin’ ‘em out on a stretcher.”

  He looked at me. “Fuck.” He looked at Pee Bee. “We need to go to his house and look around. Clean the place up, just in case the cops come.”

  “Follow us,” Crip said.

  “She’ll never keep up,” Pee Bee said. He turned toward me. “Just hop on back of mine.”

  I left my car where it was parked and hopped on the back of Pee Bee’s bike. As we rode to Adam’s house, I realized that there were going to be times where a motorcycle ride could not dull the pain, or fix what was broken.

  And this was one of those times.

  Chapter Ninety-Nine

  Cholo

  I had no idea how many teeth I was missing. Although at that point I don’t think it would have made much difference if they just would have taken every last one.

  I had reached a point during their makeshift extractions that the pain I was feeling was replaced with a ringing in my ears. The ringing became incessant, but it was much more manageable than the alternative.

  Sweaty, exhausted, and covered in my blood, they’d left with the promise of returning the following night for more torturous fun.

  I’d been burnt, beaten, had my teeth pulled, and endured more pain than I would have expected any human being could possibly tolerate without dying as a result.

  My eyes were swollen shut, my lungs were filling with liquid, and I barely had enough energy to turn my head to the side and spit out what blood drained into the cavities of my swollen cheeks.

  I despised whoever took the money, but couldn’t force myself to imagine one of the Fuckers had done it, especially after Pee Bee and I had taken the time to explain how important it was that we leave it where it was.

  I closed my eyes and prayed until there were no more prayers to say.

  In one respect my prayers had been answered, but the answers provided weren’t in respect to my most recent discussions with God. They were prayers I’d said many, many years prior.

  As the afternoon sun bore down on the storage building, the temperature inside increased to a point that it became difficult to breathe. The temperature, my exhaustion, and the loss of blood eventually made me delirious.

  After spending several hours alone in the sweltering heat and silence, I began to lose touch with reality. An hour or so was spent laughing at nothing at all. Soon thereafter, I began to cry. Incapable of stopping, I cried about everything, and about nothing.

  And then, the hallucinations began.

  While fading in and out of a dream-like state, I had a revelation. Upon realizing it, I decided I was growing closer to meeting my maker with each tick of the clock.

  I closed my eyes and began what was certain to be my last prayer.

  Thank you Lord for allowing me to realize that I am a man with little self-worth. I lay here before you filled with shame for allowing myself to lack the confidence required to live a fulfilling life.

  I waste hours each day lifting weights and exercising to attempt to perfect a body that I see as nothing more than disgusting fat.

  I’ve lived a lifetime incapable of committing to women because I fear that any relationship I might attempt to play a part of will certainly crumble due to my inability to be a man worthy of my spouse.

  I fear the commitment of a relationship due to the undeniable failure that is sure to follow. As a result, I believe I have caused damage to the woman I am growing to love, Alexandra.

  I’ve fought so many other men that I am incapable of counting them, all in hopes of convincing myself that I was superior, better, more worthy, and more capable as a fighter – and as a man.

  I’m sure all the things I have done as a result of my lack of self-esteem are miniscule in comparison to other things I’ve done under your watch, but I only ask that you take time to consider fixing these things within me, Lord, as the others aren’t able to be fixed, only forgiven.

  There are rules that you have commanded that man make no effort to break, yet I broke them willingly, and wantonly, and I will break them again if given an opportunity.

  You know, as I know, that each and every commandment that I have broken, I have broken with the belief that in doing so rids this earth of someone far worse than me.

  As this day – and my life – come to a close, I ask that you consider the men who are destined to return, Lord.

  If my fate is to die at their hands, allow me to die with dignity.

  After I pass, I ask that you please consider Alexandra, my mother, my sister, and the fellas.

  Please allow Alexandra to come to an understanding of how I truly feel about her. I further ask that you watch over her as she proceeds through life, providing her with a man who will care for her, admire her, and touch her with hands that are kind, caring, and compassionate.

  I ask these things in your gracious name.

  Amen.

  I thought of Alexandra, and of living what little life I had left without seeing her. My thoughts soon migrated to her, and of her living a life without someone as willing to care for her as I was.

  And I began to weep.

  Chapter One Hundred

  Pee Bee

  We’d met with the President and SAA of every club we were friendly with, and in no time we’d found out where Calle 18’s new dope house was. According to those who were in the know, going in wasn’t going to be an easy task.

  Following the ‘robbery’ of the last dope house, rumor was that there were a dozen men armed with machine guns guarding the new location. The information left us no alternative but to go in at night, and as heavily armed as we could be.

  After leaving Alexandra with Tegan and Peyton, we took a ride to Coronado Island, and were at Mc P’s Irish Pub, a known Navy SEAL hangout.

  “Look what the cat dragged in. One Shot! Hell, I thought you’d been buried at sea,” the bartender shouted.

  “Grab me a couple Bud’s?” Crip asked.

  “You got it, One Shot.”
<
br />   One Shot?

  The bartender, who was apparently an old friend of Crip’s from his Navy SEAL days, handed us two beers and then grinned.

  He was tall and wore a thick beard and had curly hair. His shirt clung tight to his chest, and he had forearms that were as big as my biceps. Tattooed across his bicep was the same SEAL Trident that Crip had on his upper arm.

  “Pleasure trip to your old stomping grounds?” the bartender asked.

  The Navy Amphibious Base where the Navy SEALS were trained was two minutes from where we were, but going there wasn’t our objective – or at least I didn’t think so.

  “Business,” Crip said.

  The bartender arched an eyebrow.

  Crip glanced at me. “Give us a minute?”

  I motioned toward the patio. “I’ll be outside.”

  It was late afternoon, and the bar wasn’t busy yet. I walked out to the empty patio, and sat down at one of the larger tables. I realized there was very little we could do about the situation Cholo was in without help – and a lot of it – but sitting and drinking a beer while one of my brothers was in danger wasn’t my way of doing things.

  According to Crip, going to the dope house in daylight would assuredly lead to our arrest, and I couldn’t disagree. Drinking a beer with Crip’s SEAL buddies while Cholo was being held hostage, however, ground on my very last nerve.

  Before I’d taken a drink of my beer, Crip sat down beside me. “Just hold tight. We’ll have some company in a few. Let me do the talking.”

  “You’re the boss,” I said snidely. “But I’ve got a question.”

  He took a drink of beer. “What’s that?”

  “There’s nothing we can do right now? Nothing? I have a real tough fucking time believing that.”

  He crossed his arms, met my stare, and narrowed his eyes. “Cholo’s not your brother. He’s our brother. I want to save him just as much as you do. If we go there during the day, they’ll see us coming. We’ll be gunned down, and he’ll be executed. Or, the neighbors will see us, and then call the cops. The possibilities are many, but they all end with us, and him, being killed. We have to wait until after dark.”

  I let out a sigh. I didn’t like it, but it made sense. “Alright. But, swilling beers with your old buddies ain’t fucking cool. Not now.”

  Two guys about Crip’s age – and two seemed to be in their latter twenties – stepped to the table, interrupting our conversation. The all wore beards like the bartender, and had similar builds.

  No names were exchanged, and it was clear that they’d never met Crip, but they started talking like they were old friends.

  “What’s the mission?” the one at Crips side asked.

  “Extraction,” Crip said.

  “How many tangos?”

  Crip shrugged. “Uncertain. Maybe a dozen.”

  The man nodded once. “Zero dark thirty?”

  Crip shook his head. “Twenty-two hundred. Tonight.”

  The man looked at the other three men. Each man nodded once.

  Crip leaned onto the edge of the table and looked at the man at his side. “The five of us--”

  “Excuse me?” I growled. “Six of us.”

  Crip glanced over each shoulder, and upon determining we were alone, locked eyes with me. “This isn’t going to be easy, Peeb,” he whispered. “We’re going to be up against--”

  “I don’t give a fuck who we’re up against,” I snapped. “Cholo’s my brother. My fucking brother, Crip. Just like these four whistledicks are yours. Looks like this bearded bunch of fuckers are willing to help you. Well, motherfucker, I’m willing to help Cholo. So, you can include me…” I stood up and clenched my fists. “Or, you can fight me. Take your pick.”

  The man on Crip’s left chuckled. “Looks like there’ll be six of us.”

  “God damn it, Peeb.” He shot me a glare. “You could get killed. No bullshit. Killed.”

  I shrugged. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Following an impromptu training session at our shop that included hand signals and the proper use of weapons, I was fitted with modern-day military gear and loaded into a van.

  Thirty minutes later, just before 11:00 p.m., and we were poised and ready to enter the home.

  Our instructions came over a headset.

  “Raven One to Raven Three, we’ve got six tangos at the east side of the residence. Appears to be a kitchen. Copy.”

  “This is Raven Three. Roger six tangos. Be advised, west bedroom, north side. We’ve got four tangos, copy.”

  “Roger four tangos, Raven Three. On my four count.”

  “Roger your four count, Raven One.”

  “One.”

  “Two.”

  My heart was in my fucking throat and my stomach was twisted into a knot. My only hope was that we got to Cholo before they killed him.

  If not, there was going to be hell to pay.

  “Three.”

  “Four.”

  The back door was blown from its hinges, and we burst through it one after the other. I was the last man through the door, and I heard the sound of a silenced rifle fire six times before I planted one of my feet inside the house.

  “Kitchen clear.”

  Crouched down with my weapon pointed ahead, just as they had taught me, I entered the kitchen immediately behind the man in front of me.

  Six men were dead on the floor.

  I stepped over them, and with my rifle at the ready, I followed the man they called Tree Top down the hallway.

  “First bedroom clear.”

  “Bathroom clear.”

  “Garage clear.”

  “Four Echo Papa Whiskeys in bedroom two. We have no asset. Be advised, hold your fire. Repeat. Hold your fire.”

  I was a part of the mission, and I was glad that I volunteered. But, we hadn’t even been in the home for two minutes, and the threat of death was long gone. It was obvious why Navy SEALs were touted as being bad-asses.

  It was because they were.

  Certain Cholo was being held captive in the back bedroom, I eagerly elbowed my way into the small room.

  Much to my surprise, six Hispanic men stood with their wide eyes fixed on Crip, but there was no sign of Cholo.

  With a rifle trained on each of their chests, the men stood in fear for their lives, or so I thought. Crip stood in front of the group of men with his rifle slung over his shoulder, and his pistol gripped tightly in his hand.

  He raised the pistol and pointed it at one of the Hispanic men’s head. “Donde esta el jefe?”

  I didn’t speak Spanish, but no differently than most people in southern California, I understood it enough to know Crip was asking where the boss man was.

  Stone-faced, the man glared back at him, and then closed his eyes. “No se.”

  Crip pulled the trigger.

  The man fell to the floor with a thud.

  Blood poured out of the man’s forehead and onto the carpet. Standing only a few feet away, Crip pointed the pistol at the next man’s head. “Donde esta el jefe?”

  The man spat at the floor. “No se, pendejo.”

  Crip pulled the trigger. The man’s legs buckled, and he fell into a pile beside the first man.

  Jesus fucking Christ.

  Crip pointed the pistol at the third man’s thigh, and without warning, pulled the trigger. The man screamed and fell to the floor in agony. In response, Crip pointed the barrel of the pistol at his head.

  “Donde esta el jefe?” he seethed.

  The man clenched his bleeding leg and moaned. “Cual queres? Hay dos?”

  “El mero chignon,” Crip said. “El hombre que secuestro el bandido.”

  “En el edificio junto al mar,” the man said.

  I thought he said he’s by the sea in a building, but I wasn’t certain.

  I’d felt apprehensive and half-sick since we entered the home, but upon recognizing what the man said, my heart filled with sliver of hope.

  “What’d th
e fucker say?” I blurted.

  “He knows where Cholo is,” Crip growled. He motioned toward the floor. “Get a tourniquet on his leg. He’s going with us. Keep him alive, I’ve got plans to use him later.

  “What about this one?” I asked, motioning toward the last remaining man.

  Without a word, Crip pointed the pistol at face and pulled the trigger. “Don’t trip over that piece of shit on the way out.”

  Chapter One Hundred One

  Cholo

  “Half a meelyun dollars ees not crumbs, pendejo,” Tattoo said as he paced the floor in front of me. “And, I weel torture you for half a meelyun days just for fuhn. It makes me happy.”

  Dressed in silk slacks, dress shoes, and a white wife beater, he paused, smiled from ear to ear, and then motioned toward his partner, who was standing beside him holding a hammer.

  “Where’s my mahney?”

  Wearing nothing more than the blood-stained boxer shorts I’d worn for the last two days, I’d been moved into a folding chair. Held in place by the third man, I provided no resistance.

  I simply couldn’t muster the energy.

  I was slowly letting go, and I knew it.

  I turned my head to the side, spit on the floor beside the man with the hammer, and then locked eyes with Tattoo.

  “Fuck you,” I spat.

  He glanced at each of his accomplices and then began to laugh like a madman. After he caught his breath, he looked at me.

  His eyes thinned to slits.

  “Eet was two or maybe three years ago. I took a hammer and smashed a man’s toes, one then another, until he had no toes left.” He pressed his hands to his knees, lowered himself down to my level, and then cocked an eyebrow. “Then, I hit him in the head with eet until he had holes in his skull. His brains leaked out on the floor, but he leeved long enough to tell me what I wanted to know.”

  I realized my feet were flat on the concrete floor.

  I imagined the hammer smashing my toes into something resembling hamburger. My stomach began to knot up, and then it started to convulse.