by S. Nelson
Jagger
Rampant thoughts kept me awake the rest of the evening, sleep continuing to evade me. Taunting me with promises of submersion, only to be thrown back into consciousness. Even lying in the pitch black, my shallow breaths the only sound cutting through the air around me, I couldn’t let go and give in. My mind raced, first to thoughts of Kena and how she felt about everything she’d seen, then to how she truly felt about me.
Was she as intrigued with me as I was with her?
Did she feel the same pull toward the unknown like I did?
Did she rationalize against it?
When I wasn’t thinking about Kena, my brain switched to thoughts of Sully. I couldn’t even imagine what she was going through. I would’ve loved nothing more than to be her true friend, out in the open, but her husband wouldn’t allow it. Maybe once he saw I was interested in someone, he’d rid himself of the silly notion that I was in love with his wife.
Knowing the men didn’t divulge club business to their women or families, I wondered if Marek had hinted at the reason for his departure. Maybe she’d want to know that the man who’d attacked her would be disposed of, never to walk the earth or breathe the same air as the rest of us again. It would give her solace. Some, at least.
Before long, the soft burn of the sunrise sliced across the horizon. An orange glow lit up the sky, the white haze of light filtering through my bedroom like fog billowing across the moors. Stretching, I yawned and allowed my body to flex and constrict before finally mustering enough energy to rise from the bed. Planting my feet firmly on the ground, I massaged the back of my neck. Tight muscles had always been my dead giveaway of the stress I’d harbored inside, whether from an upcoming fight, tension whenever Marek and I were in close proximity to each other or impending club business.
Specifically revenge.
Padding across my bedroom, the worn carpet cushioning the soles of my feet, I walked into the hallway, lost in thought of the upcoming hours . . . days. Not only did I have to do my part in the death and disposal of Yanez, but I had to convince Kena of my regret at her having witnessed something which most likely terrified her. If I weren’t in the lifestyle I was, I would’ve been unnerved, and that’s putting it lightly. Though I knew the threat against the club was dwindling, after what transpired with Snake, how did I convince her she’d be safe with me? That I could protect her? Because honestly, I had my doubts at times.
My life was my own. I took care of myself the best I could, but I hadn’t thought about what it would mean to bring someone else into my world. For as bad as I wanted her, for as desperate as I was to have her in my life, I could admit the thought of something happening to her frightened me.
Don’t get ahead of yourself. She just agreed to hear you out. Nothing more.
How people outside my club perceived me had never mattered before. I was proud of being involved with the Knights Corruption, even at the prospect level, and being an undefeated fighter in the underground world always spoke volumes to the type of man I wanted to become. One who had the loyalty of his brothers, and someone who was feared in the ring.
Turning on the water, I busied myself with brushing my teeth until the temperature warmed. Finally stepping inside the shower, I exhaled a satisfying groan, the spray helping to ease the stiffness from my limbs. I stood still and let the water cascade over my body, my head hung low while the heat drenched my hair. If I could’ve stayed in there until it was time to travel to the safe house, I would have.
My hands skated over my chest, then my arms, around to my back, then finally down my legs. I washed away not only the prior evening, but the early morning residual sleep as well.
Fully awake, my thoughts returned to Kena. Her beauty stunned me. Her body turned me on, but she was more than her physical appearance. A quiet desperation lived behind her eyes, a plea to be more like everyone else—to be “normal,” without a handicap. But in reality, everyone had their own challenge to overcome; some were physical, while others were mental or emotional. She didn’t strike me as someone who felt sorry for herself, but I had a funny feeling she hid from the rest of the world, only showing a close few her true self.
I want to be included in her inner circle.
New goal: penetrate Kena’s world.
Oddly enough, or expectedly enough, my brain instantly flooded with images of her naked, fantasizing what she would look like silently pleading with me to possess her. Before I realized, my fingers circled my arousal and I pumped it from root to tip. My grip tightened the more I pictured her underneath me, writhing in pleasure as she clawed at my back, hooking her legs around my waist and anchoring herself to me. With every jerk of my hips, I imagined thrusting inside her, the warmth of her flooding over me and ruining me for all others. I wanted to draw out my pleasure, but my orgasm threatened to rock through me at any moment. My spine tingled while my balls drew tight. My stomach muscles clenched, an ache I hadn’t realized was present until it was too late. Kena’s delectable mouth was the final image I saw before my release rushed forth, my moans infiltrating the enclosed space, echoing against the easy thump of the water hitting the tiles.
Damn, I needed that.
As soon as my breathing slowed, I shut off the water and stepped from the shower, doing a quick pat down before tying the white towel around my waist. Shuffling down the hall, I entered my room and rooted through my closet, grabbing the first pair of jeans I could find. Opening the drawer of the only dresser housed inside my small bedroom, I grabbed a pair of socks, boxer briefs and a plain white T-shirt, quickly dressing before shoving my feet inside a worn pair of brown boots.
I lounged around for the remainder of the day, ordering takeout to ensure I had something in my belly before I got the call. Who knew when I’d eat again? Or would want to, for that matter. Having no idea what type of actions I’d be expected to perform, I wanted to at least have the vigor to contemplate the severity of them. Nervous energy surrounded me while I watched the sun disappear, its soft glow illuminating the night, promises of calm and tranquility a lie.
Passing out on my worn fabric couch, I awoke to the piercing sound of my cell. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I turned the phone over and saw Cutter’s name flash across my screen. The man rarely called me, but since he was assigned to the safe house, along with his son, Breck, and Trigger, it wasn’t a complete shock that he’d called me.
With a flick of my finger, the call connected. Before I could say hello, however, his raspy voice paraded down the other end of the line.
“Get a move on, prospect. We’re headin’ to the safe house in an hour. Meet you there,” he said before hanging up. I’d quickly learned Cutter was a man of few words. I’d heard he had a daughter he never saw, but other than that personal tidbit of information, the man was a mystery to me.
Rising from the sofa, I took a quick look around and counted my blessings, as meager as they may be. While my apartment was humble, at least it provided me with a roof over my head. I preferred to spend my time at the clubhouse as much as I could, though, simply because I was around other people. When I was home, I was alone. And if the solidarity wasn’t enough to deter me from staying there a lot, the lack of décor amped up my loneliness. Finally having some money in the bank, courtesy of the fights, I thought it was time I seriously considered buying a few things to spruce up the space. But who would help me? I didn’t know the first thing about tackling such a feat.
The couch I’d crashed on earlier was a dark green sofa. Or at least it had been, the color fading over the years since I’d bought it. Even then, it was secondhand. A barely held-together TV stand and an end table were the only other items in the living room. My bedroom consisted of a simple queen-sized mattress, sans frame and box spring, a small dresser and nightstand.
I didn’t require much, but some new things would certainly put me in better spirits when I stepped foot inside my home.
Snatching my keys, I twirled them around my finger while I walked toward the
front door, locking up before I headed outside.
While I straddled my bike, I prayed everything would go according to plan and that I could put the upcoming days behind me as soon as possible.
Jagger
We’d been at the safe house for almost two days, impatiently awaiting Marek’s return. Which wouldn’t be for quite some time yet. He wanted everyone ready to go, and while Trigger, Cutter and Breck occupied themselves with games of poker, I vegged out in front of the television, watching hours of mindless shows. But at least we’d kept up with the cable; otherwise, I would’ve been sitting around twiddling my goddamn thumbs.
The safe house had timers for everything, from the sprinkler system, to the lights, to the television. It always appeared as if someone lived here, or the neighbors would be a bit more suspicious than I was sure they already were.
As the many hours ticked by, the building eagerness rattled me. While I wasn’t a newbie when it came to killing, torture was a whole new ball game. And if I knew anything about Marek and what he’d been through, Yanez would beg for death more often than not. I knew where our leader’s head was at; he wanted justice for Sully. While I was completely onboard, the unknown distressed me, something I kept secret for fear the other guys would think me to be soft.
And how would it look like if the fighter of the group showed an ounce of indecision? Bad. It would look bad. No, I’d buck up and help orchestrate Yanez’s demise when the time came, if Marek wanted my help at all. He might just need me to clean up like he’d mentioned during our last meeting.
“Yo, prospect,” Breck shouted from the kitchen. “Grab me a beer.” The only reason I didn’t tell him to get fucked was because I knew my place in the pecking order. Still trying to prove myself, I had to take orders, no matter how small, like this one. What Marek would require of me later would be considered a big one.
Night and day, but I was obligated to do both.
Normally, I liked Breck, but during times like this I wanted to show him how much damage I could do to him with a quick shot to the jaw. Slowly rising off the couch, I walked the short distance to the kitchen where he was playing cards with his father and Trigger. Even though the fridge sat directly behind them, I still proceeded without a single complaint uttered. Internally, I told him right where to go. Roughly pulling open the door, I reached inside and grabbed a beer, flicking off the top before slamming it down on the table in front of him.
No ‘Thanks.”
No ‘’Bout time.”
Just a cocky smirk before he tipped the bottle to his lips and swallowed half of the alcohol in a few short gulps. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he focused back on the game, his face scrunching up in concentration as he tried to win the pot of money in the center of the table.
Twisting an empty chair around, I straddled the seat and rested my arms over the back. “Who’s winning?” I asked, looking first over Trigger’s shoulder and then Breck’s.
“I am,” Cutter divulged. “These two bastards been losin’ their money to me all evening.” After fifteen minutes of watching them bluff and curse each other, I’d had enough.
“Do you guys need me for anything? If not, I’m gonna catch some shut-eye until they get here.” As I hopped up from the chair, Trigger’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then quickly at all three of us, a warning look in his eyes he couldn’t hide even if he wanted to.
“Yeah?” he answered, nodding while intently listening to whoever had called. A few more intense seconds of waiting and Trigger finally ended the conversation.
“They’re a few hours away.” He jerked his chin in my direction. “Brew some coffee, prospect. It’s gonna be a long fuckin’ night.”
Headlights lit up the darkness, and everything became real when the heavy garage door started to open. Then the screech of the van’s engine sounded as it lurched inside. We all scrambled to our feet, wired and ready to jump into action. Flinging open the door which separated the house from the garage, we rushed forward, coming to a dead stop when we saw Marek and Stone heave a limp body from the side of the vehicle.
Yanez.
His head was down, and at first it appeared as if he were unconscious. But when they jostled him, soft, pained moans escaped his mouth. Dropping him, Yanez hit the ground with a heavy thud, more groans cutting the otherwise silent air. Seizing his arms, Tripp and Ryder pulled him behind them as they walked up the three steps into the house. Yanez’s body awkwardly slid over every bump and rigid surface as he was dragged through the kitchen and eventually down into the soundproof basement below. As I walked behind them, careful to keep my distance and not get in their way, I heard Yanez’s head hit off every single step, the sharp thud jolting me each and every time. Don’t get me wrong, the despicable piece of shit deserved whatever Marek had planned, but that didn’t stop my body from reacting. My heart hammered double time, my palms starting to sweat in expectancy.
“Put him on the table,” our leader shouted, switching the light on and walking across the small room. Shrugging off his cut, he laid it across the chair in the corner, cracking his neck briefly before fiddling with what sounded to be knives of some sort. His back faced me, and while Tripp and Ryder heaved the barely alive man onto the table, Stone walked up behind Marek, talking so low I couldn’t make out a single word.
Cutter walked past me, his shoulder brushing against mine when he entered the dank room. The light above slightly illuminated the space, shadows dancing next to us and creating the perfect atmosphere.
For death.
“What you gonna do to him, Prez?” Cutter asked, rounding the table and glaring down at Yanez, although the barely breathing man hadn’t taken notice. Instead, he turned his head to the side, the loud clanking sounds Marek made drawing his attention. I moved closer while still being mindful to stay in the background until instructed otherwise. Not sure whether or not I wanted to witness Yanez’s ultimate demise, I pushed all doubt to the side and just watched the scene unfolding in front of me.
Turning around, Marek stepped toward the table, a pair of pliers in his hand. He spun them around and around before lightly tapping them against his temple. In the soft light, the leader of the Knights Corruption resembled a deranged lunatic, the lost look in his blue eyes hazed over with a sort of delirium. Fear ripped through me right then, and I had no doubt his victim felt it as well. In that moment I couldn’t help but envision hearing Rob Zombie, the unease of his music a perfect fitting to the horror-type scene unfolding.
Shaking my head to rid myself of the odd thoughts, I glanced toward the men milling about the room. All of them were there because of their loyalty to Marek, as was I. Even though I knew he didn’t like me, I would do what was asked of me without second-guessing him.
Locking eyes with Cutter, Marek’s voice finally rang out, hatred and desperation mixing together to form an odd sound. “Remember what we did to Vex?” Cutter nodded right away. “Worse than that,” Marek declared.
“Fuck,” I heard Tripp and Ryder mutter. Everyone, including myself, heard about what Marek and Cutter had done to Vex. After carving the letters ‘KC’ into his chest, they finished him off by using a bat. And not by beating him with it.
Marek stood next to the table, Yanez’s beady eyes intently trying to watch him as best he could given the damage to his face. Carrillo’s ex right-hand man was beaten to a pulp, both of his eyes so swollen I was surprised he could see anything at all. He was littered with cuts and burn marks, on his face as well as his neck and what I could see of his chest, his tattered shirt torn to reveal parts of his damaged skin. Normally, I would have hated to see someone treated like this, but he certainly deserved it for what he’d done to Sully. And if I had to wager a bet, she wasn’t the first woman he’d brutalized.
Rico Yanez lived in darkness, his soul blackened with what I was sure he’d done during his wretched life.
Raising Yanez’s hand, Marek inspected it briefly before letting it drop back to the table. “Looks
like Carrillo beat me to it,” he mumbled, walking around the table to look at the man’s other limb. I moved closer, wanting to see what he meant, but before I opened my mouth to ask Stone, who stood in front of me, I saw it.
Yanez’s fingers were missing.
All ten of them.
Whoever had cut them off had also cauterized the wounds. My guess was so he didn’t bleed out, ending his torturing sessions too early.
“Oh well,” Marek said dismissively, waving his hand through the air like it was no big deal. “Looks like we’ll just have to get right to it, then.” A glaze washed over our leader’s face, and right before my very eyes I saw him shut down, going into whatever headspace would allow him to deliver justice for his wife. Briefly turning around, he fiddled with a few things before donning a pair of latex gloves. Then he reached for a dull scalpel-type knife as well as a vice grip before walking back toward Yanez’s limp body. “Prospect,” he addressed, turning his gaze to me. “Grab some gloves, then yank down his pants.”
My mind was a flurry of thoughts, but I had no time to indulge any of them. Hurrying across the room, I threw on a pair of the same gloves, a bead of perspiration trickling down the side of my face. Hesitation held me prisoner until I heard Stone clear his throat behind me.
“You good?” he asked, concern slithering around those two words. I quickly turned around and saw him quirking his brow in wait.
“Yeah,” I muttered before taking the few steps necessary to put me right next to the table. I had an idea what Marek had planned, and while the thought sickened me, I knew it was the only way for him to purge. My fingers fumbled with Yanez’s belt buckle, and once it was undone, I popped open the button of his jeans and tore the zipper down. After dragging the material down his legs, I stepped back, my eyes locked on my president.
“The underwear too,” he instructed, a sick sort of smile tilting up the corners of his lips. Marek looked haggard, deep stress lines marring his face. His eyes were bloodshot and his hair stuck up around the edges of his head. Again, he looked a bit deranged, but plotting revenge and then finally seeing it through had to take some sort of toll on the mind and body. Hell, probably even the soul.