Abe (Savage Kings MC Book 2)

by Lane Hart

  “Did you tell Chase to leave me at the clubhouse with Fast Eddie and Reece? Come on, man, you don’t have to pull this big brother shit on me with the MC. You guys can use me out there tonight.” Gabe says, low enough so that everyone in the hall doesn’t overhear.

  “You know I don’t tell Chase how to do a goddamned thing,” I reply shortly. I almost add that, if he had asked, I would have told him to keep my little brother out of harm’s way. But for once, I manage to grit my teeth before my first thought falls out of my mouth. “Think about our last run,” I add, to console him. “We left Reece here with just the prospects, and the place got torn up. If Chase wants you here, it’s because he trusts you to hold down the fort.”

  Gabe nods, thankfully accepting the reasoning. “Yeah, when you put it that way, it makes more sense.” Raising his hand for a fist bump, I hit his knuckles and we share a grin. “You know I’ve been meaning to talk to you…” he starts to add, before I cut him off.

  “Later, wild man. I’ve got to get ready.”

  “All right, Abe, I hear you,” Gabe says with a sigh, before turning to head upstairs.

  Once I’m back in my room, I start digging my gear out of my closet. I debate taking a few minutes to go to one of the clubs’ computers and run a quick search on Mercy, maybe find out more about her or just see some pictures, but I quickly dismiss that notion. Chase didn’t give any of us our phones back after the meeting. Most of the brothers don’t know, but he’s still worried about a rat among us. If anyone is seen making a call, or anyone besides Reece is on a computer, it will draw attention. I don’t need these guys riding my ass about my ravishing redhead while we’ve got work to do.

  I take off my cut and hang it up for tonight, replacing it with an unadorned leather riding vest. It looks plain, but it’s anything but ordinary. All of my brothers have one just like it, lined with Kevlar and reinforced polymer plates. I rack the pump on my shotgun, fill the tube with shells, and then place half a dozen more in the loops on the carrying strap before throwing it over my shoulder. After I check my pistol and slide two more clips into the holster on my hip, I’m ready to ride.

  When I stomp up the stairs to the bar, I can see immediately that Torin or Chase already cleared everyone out. The only people here are my brothers, with the two prospects behind the bar serving the drinks. I lean on the bar beside Chase and motion for Holden to pour me a tall one.

  “You been keeping an eye on everyone?” I lean over and say quietly to Chase.

  “You’re the only one that’s been out of my line-of-sight since we were in the chapel,” Chase assures me. “Don’t give me that ugly look,” he laughs, patting me on the back when I scowl at him.

  “It’s the only look I’ve got,” I growl, before taking a long pull on the frosted mug Holden slides over to me.

  “I wasn’t hinting that I think you’re…you know, the rat,” Chase whispers. “I’ve never had any doubts about you, brother. Not once.”

  “Same,” I reply, clinking my glass against the bottle he’s holding. Nodding over to where Torin is sitting at the other end of the bar, I tell Chase, “Glad to see he’s switched to soda tonight.”

  “That ain’t soda,” Chase grumbles as Torin crumples up a red Solo cup and tosses it towards the trash can. “He’s drinking that damned Evan Williams that makes him get even more ornery than usual. He dropped a bottle earlier, so I told him he had to use sippy cups and ride in the van with the prospects.”

  I snort my beer when Chase tells me that, which sets him off cackling as I splutter and laugh. Torin’s head snaps over, and he glares at us as he stomps around the bar. “You two jokers having fun tonight?” Torin demands. “The show’s over, and I’m ready to get to the afterparty.” Slapping each of our chests, he gives a satisfied grunt. “I checked the rest of them. Everybody’s got their plates on. Let’s go, Kings!” he roars as we all jump up and file out to our bikes.

  Chase pulls his bike across the parking lot to make sure he’s in the front of our convoy with the van bringing up the rear. Sticking to the back roads, we barely see any other vehicles on our ride over to the Aces' clubhouse. Torin has the prospect flash the van’s lights to pull us all over when we’re about a mile away and calls Reece. After he makes sure that any surveillance equipment is shut down, he gets us back on the road.

  The Ace of Spades' clubhouse is a traditional pool hall, with a gravel parking lot. It’s just after two a.m. when our crew roars onto the property, our bikes slinging rocks at the few vehicles still parked out front. Torin’s been inside before, just like Chase and I have, so he has the prospect drive the van around to the back of the building. We’ve planned to have him lead War, Sax, and Dalton in that way.

  I’m off my bike with my shotgun in my hands before the dust we kicked up has even started to settle. I run ahead of Chase, Cooper, and Miles, shoving one of the double glass doors open with my shoulder. Letting out an ear-splitting roar, I swing my shotgun around the corner of the small foyer leading into the main room, unloading a blast into the lines of bottles behind the bar. Glass explodes and rains down around a huge, bald guy that I recognize as the bartender who was here the last time Chase and I visited. He’s got a pistol in his hand; and as he hops backwards, he fires a shot at me before he slips and falls on his ass.

  I can’t laugh at him, because the slug this bullseye motherfucker fired hits me square in the chest, blasting the wind from my lungs and staggering me backwards. Miles races past me, the AK-47 in his hands blinding me as it spits fire and brass across the room. I can see Torin and War at the back of the room, ushering club sluts out the back door as Chase helps me back to my feet.

  “Abe, goddammit, how bad is it?” Chase yells at me, jerking on my damned beard to get me to look at him.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” I wheeze as I lean on him for a moment. “The beard is sacred, man. Let’s handle our business. I’m fine, bro. It didn’t go through,” I confirm, slapping my right side with a wince.

  “Stay down, motherfucker!” Miles shouts as Chase leaves me to collect myself. I can see now that Miles has three dudes down on their knees, while War drags the bartender by the scruff of his cut around to join them.

  Letting him go, War looks directly at me as the bartender gets to his knees. “All right, Abe?” War grunts.

  “Yeah, Abe, how’s that feel, you bleeding pussy?” the bartender snorts. “You think you’re some kind of fucking hero, storming in here like Clint Eastwood or something?”

  “I ain’t no hero,” I tell him, racking another round into my shotgun. “But I am a man that will take a bullet for what he loves. Can you say the same?” I ask him, levelling the barrel at his face.

  “I can’t believe I missed your fat fucking head…” the bartender snarls. Before he can say anything else, War’s lips twist in a furious scowl, and he raises the .45 he’s got gripped in one massive fist up high, before bringing it crashing down right on top of the big guy's bald head. His scalp explodes, and he collapses faster than if War had actually shot him.

  With the girls gone and the exits covered, Torin stomps over to the other bikers sprawled out on the floor. Looking them over, he spits on the hardwood floor before dragging two of them to their feet by fistfuls of their hair.

  “Fucking prospects,” he hisses, looking at their cuts. “How old are you little shits?” Torin asks.

  One of them is cross-eyed drunk, and just stares in awe at Torin towering over him, knowing that he is looking at the reaper made flesh. The other one seems to have his wits about him, and stammers, “Eighteen…sir, we’re both eighteen! Please, we didn’t….we don’t…”

  “Shut the fuck up!” Torin barks, slapping the kid across the face. “I’ll give you three seconds to take off that cut and get the hell out of town. This charter of the Ace of Spades MC is getting decommissioned, you understand?”

  “Yes, sir!” the scrawny little punk stammers, shedding his cut like it just caught fire. He rips the one off his friend
too, throwing them both at the man still lying on the floor. “This ain’t what you promised, Johnny,” he whines, before he and his buddy start easing towards the back door.

  “Take that pile of shit with you!” Torin yells, pointing at the bartender bleeding on the floor. The two former prospects both grab an ankle and, under War’s watchful gaze and gun, begin dragging him out the back door.

  While Torin was taking out the trash, Chase directed Sax and Dalton to pull the Ace of Spades' club president, Johnny Martin, to his feet. They each had one of his arms, but to Johnny’s credit, he was standing tall with his head held high. “You still alive, Chase Fury?” he laughed. “Figured Hector Cruz would have done you in by now.”

  Before Chase can respond, Torin steps in front of him. Johnny pales when he stares into Torin’s bloodshot eyes. “Hector fucking Cruz gunned down my wife, murdered my son, and you’re going to stand there and laugh?” Torin screams into his face.

  “I didn’t have shit to do with that, Torin. You know we don’t go after families…” Johnny starts.

  “You had everything to do with it!” Torin screams, almost incomprehensible in his rage. “You made the deal that brought them here. You got in bed with the fucking Cartel, and MY FAMILY DIED!” Torin roars the last few words, and then grabs Johnny by his ponytail and slams his fist into his face repeatedly, punctuating his outrage.

  “Now tell me,” Torin gasps. “Where the fuck is Hector hiding? So help me Christ, if you say ‘I don’t know,’ I’ll make you eat your own cock.”

  Johnny sags down between Sax and Dalton, apparently defeated. Off balance, Sax staggers a bit, and Johnny flashes a grin as he rips his arm away from Sax and shoves him backwards, where he falls over a chair. Dalton tries to grab his other arm, but Johnny snatches the knife from Dalton’s belt sheath, lashing out at Torin with it.

  Torin quickly grabs for his own knife, but it’s War who is the fastest. One of his huge arms shoves Torin back as Johnny lunges, plunging the knife into War’s forearm. War jerks his arm away as Torin catches his balance then charges forward, slamming his knife into Johnny’s guts.

  “I…don’t…know…” Johnny gasps, still grinning, at Torin.

  With another scream, Torin rips the knife upward, staring wild-eyed into Johnny Martin’s face as the blade finds his heart. Johnny collapses at his feet, as the rest of us stare in shock.

  Sax staggers to his feet, looking at Torin and War in horror. “I’m sorry, man, he was heavier than he looked, and…”

  “Shut up,” War snaps, gingerly pulling Dalton’s long knife out of his forearm. The blade went all the way through the wide, meaty area, and he draws it out clean with a scowl. Going around the bar, he finds a towel; and Dalton helps him tie it around the cut. “It’s fine,” War huffs at Dalton. “Eddie can stitch it up. Clean your knife and let’s finish this.”

  Torin is still standing there, staring down at Johnny’s body. Chase looks like he’s about to put an arm around him, but instead waves to Sax. “You and Cooper take Torin outside and keep watch. Everyone else grab the cash or any souvenirs you might want while Abe and I get this place cooking. Miles, get to the trailer out back and get it rigged.”

  I’m already on my way to the kitchen behind the bar. Reece had checked the club’s utilities, and we know they’ve got a natural gas stove. I’ve got my wind back now. And with my adrenaline up, pulling the oven away from the wall barely takes any effort. “I see the gas line,” I call to Chase, who is in the main room spraying around bottles of liquor that I didn’t destroy with my shotgun. “I’m poking a hole in it now. Tell Miles he can light up whatever he brought.”

  I run back into the main room to find that Miles is already back from lighting up the trailer out back. He has kicked Johnny’s body over, and has jabbed a bunch of sparklers into the former Ace of Spades president’s cut. With a huge, childlike grin, Miles lights them up, and we all rush outside to our bikes while Johnny begins to pop and spark cheerily.

  Torin is just standing there stone-faced next to the van as we all mount up. “Get in the fucking van!” Chase roars at his brother. “If you stay here until it blows, it will come back on the MC. The cops will be here soon!”

  With a startled jerk, Torin snaps back, giving Chase a nod before he finally jumps into the passenger seat. We all peel out of the lot as the first sparks of the fire that Miles set in the Aces' meth lab trailer flicker over the roof from behind the bar. We’re less than a mile away when the foggy gloom of the late coastal night erupts in a plume of light behind us. All of us pull to the side of the road to watch the fireball erupt into the sky.

  Dalton is the first to break the silence, as his howls of laughter suddenly trigger the joy that had been building inside all of us. We got out of there in one piece, and we put the final nail in the coffin of those fucking pricks who had tried to spread their filth in our town. The fire will destroy Johnny’s body and any traces we may have left behind, but those who need to know will get the message. The Savage Kings are fucking true one-percenters, born in blood and fire.

  We make it back to the clubhouse by three-thirty in the morning, all of us trudging in wearily to see Turtle, Fast Eddie and Gabe still hanging out at the bar. Eddie jumps up when he sees the blood dripping down War’s arm, mumbling, “I’ll get my kit,” as he limps off to the storage closet.

  “Get your asses behind the bar and take some orders,” Chase barks to the prospects, as we all collapse into chairs around the bar. Holden and Maddox scuttle, passing out bottles and glasses.

  I see Cynthia and another girl, whose name I can’t remember, come out of the kitchen when they hear all the commotion a few minutes later. I stop at a table and take a moment to peel off my vest and t-shirt. When Cynthia sees the fist-sized bruise still spreading across my chest, she rushes over to me.

  “Damn, Abe, what happened to you tonight?” she whispers, taking a seat at the table with me.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask her since Chase had cleared everyone out before we left.

  “You know I can’t stay away,” she replies. “Now why the hell does your chest look like it’s about to split open?”

  I roll my vest over on the table, showing her the bullet embedded into the mesh. “Got shot,” I say simply as her mouth falls open. “War got it a lot worse, though,” I add, hoping to get her to go away. “Maybe you ought to go see if he…needs anything.”

  “Yeah, Abe, okay,” Cynthia agrees, giving me a sad, little smile. For some reason, that look makes me feel like a fucking swine, and I gently take her hand before she can walk away.

  “Hey, wait a second…” I pause, trying to get a grip on what the hell I’m feeling. It suddenly hits me, harder than that damned bullet from earlier. That look on her face, that feeling of rejection when you’re putting yourself out there…that’s how I felt when Mercy asked me to leave earlier. It was actually physically painful, almost nauseating, and I just did it to this poor girl.

  “I’ve taken a lot of shit for granted,” I begin, as her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “What I mean is, I’ve taken you for granted. I’ve always thought that you ladies were just here for a good time, you know, free drinks and easy rides. We used you, and you used us, you understand?” I ask her, as I struggle to express this new, foreign idea.

  Cynthia sits down at the table with me again, nodding in understanding. “Abe, we know the score. We love you guys, your lifestyle, everything about the club. But you know, when two people get physical, the way we do, sometimes…”

  “Yeah,” I agree, “Sometimes it’s not just fucking. If your partner is special, feelings get involved.”

  “They do,” Cynthia nods, before staring at me with her heart in her eyes. “You’re special to me, Abe.”

  “That’s why I wanted to apologize,” I say firmly as I lean across the table to her, getting close to make sure there are no more misunderstandings between us. “You and me, we were always just sex. You’re amazing, but that’s all
this ever was. I just realized tonight that maybe, for you, it was more, and I wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I’m not gonna put you in that situation anymore, string you along or anything like that. I only recently realized how shitty it feels, and I’m not going to be the cause of that for anyone else.”

  Cynthia gives me another small smile, before standing up from the table. “Thanks, Abe, for being honest. I’ll be around, you know, if you change your mind about things. And listen, try not to spend so much time in your own head, honey. Don’t let that little bullet that hit you get you all twisted up,” she tells me, flipping her long, red hair back over her shoulder, before she struts off back behind the bar.

  I don’t bother telling her that it wasn’t the bullet that got in my head or under my skin. It was a few hours with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and God help me, I need more Mercy.

  The rest of my brothers are gathered around the bar where Fast Eddie has opened up an old, beat-up tackle box revealing an ambulance load of medical supplies. He’s already popped on some latex gloves; and while War is taking pulls from a bottle of scotch, he’s sticking needles into the big man’s arm and getting the sutures ready. After watching for a few minutes, Torin, Chase, and my little brother Gabe break away and all head towards the table where I’m sitting.

  “You need anything, Abe?” Chase asks me as Torin and Gabe take seats with me.

  “Nah, man, pull up a chair and let’s rest a bit. Been a hell of a day,” I reply.

  Torin nods to me as Chase pulls another chair over. “I wish I had more men like you in my unit back in Iraq, man. It takes a big, steel pair to be the first man into a hole like that, and you were great.”

  I just snort, then point at the big-ass bruise that still seems to be spreading on my chest. “I wasn’t great.”

  “Yeah, you were,” Torin tells me, reaching over to grab my shoulder. “You went in firing, and sent those fucking bastards diving all over the bar. Ain’t your fault that boy was a good shot. When you lit up the bar, you knocked his ass down and let us get in. You didn’t hesitate, and you helped me…well, you know. Tonight, you helped me start handling my fucking business. You’ve been a good friend to my brother, to my family. I just want you to know even with everything going on, I appreciate you.” Sighing, he looks over and says, “I better go make sure Eddie isn’t fucking up War too bad. Get some rest.”