Devil's Claim: Apaches MC

by Claire St. Rose

  I sigh and lift my hands up. I can’t speak, at least not in front of these men. What could I say that wouldn’t land me with a bullet in my head anyway? I know how club hierarchy works, and women are at the very bottom. They’re the old ladies, the sluts, the pass around’s. Once in a great while, you might hear of a woman who earns a real spot, but she usually has to degrade herself first. Me being here was certainly not going to win me over Apaches.

  And then, my worst nightmare comes true. “Tank!” a voice calls out from behind him. “You know this bitch? She’s an Aztec. I seen her hang around that girl in the hospital. And she’s with Abe.” The man steps out in front of the rest of the group and sprints towards me. I only cower towards the ground, as he grabs me by my waist and forces me into the center of the plaza. I fall to my knees and look up, just as I hear the click of a bullet being pushed into the barrel.

  “Stand down, Rafa!” Tank drops his weapon, but he refuses to look me in my eyes. “Yeah,” he says, a little more quietly, “yeah, I know her, and she’s not with Abe. She’s the girl’s roommate, and I brought her here to help me catch the real attacker in case he was hiding out with Guzman.”

  “How do you know she ain’t some spy? She doesn’t look like no Aztec girl. She’s actual good looking.” A small group of men standing by Tank snickers. At least he’s making jokes as he points the loaded gun at the side of my head. Tank, however, isn’t laughing. All his anger is directed squarely at me.

  “Put down your fucking gun. If I say she’s with me, she’s with me.” He walks over to Rafael and grabs the pistol out of his hand. It’s bold and terrifying. I can’t imagine being that in control of the situation in a room full of loaded guns and hot tempers. He obviously knows his place.

  Rafael lifts his hands in concession and walks slowly back to the group of Tank’s men. They all stand down and return to the huddle they were just in. But I can tell that they are all waiting to hear and see what happens to the girl who snuck in. Tank senses it, too—so he barks an order about the drugs and meeting up with some dealer outside the border. When he finishes, the men scurry in every direction. Some mount their bikes and the rest sit in the back of a large, white van with cardboard boxes mislabeled in Spanish.

  As Tank watches them go, one at a time, I see his hands flex and stretch. They make strong, large fists with white knuckles and red fingertips. Suddenly, I remember that I am still kneeling on the ground. I attempt to stand, but he places a strong hand on my shoulder and pushes me back to the ground. “Stay down,” he whispers, still angry with me. “Don’t you even move a fucking muscle.”

  A man in a large white hat appears from the top of staircases at the side of the fort. He sounds jovial in a way only an evil, deranged man could. It’s as if his voice just knows how to twist words around to make them sound worse than they are. “I see we have an intruder in our midst,” he says cruelly. “Do you want my men to handle it?”

  Tank doesn’t flinch. In fact, he moves two steps to the side. My heart races rapidly. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen!

  “She’s nothing. Just some bitch that got mixed up. I’m sending her back to my villa now to wait for me. I’ll punish her when I get back.” He turns towards me, fire in his eyes. His hand clutches again. I can’t imagine what punishment he has in store for me, and after last night, I know that he’s capable of just about anything.

  The man in the white hat smiles at him approvingly, as he snaps his fingers towards the door he just walked out of. “I’ll send one of my men to escort her out,” he says. A young kid of maybe thirteen or fourteen appears. He looks just about as terrified as I feel. “Romeo,” the white hat barks, “make sure this woman gets back to the villa immediately. Do not let her go anywhere but her room. Do you understand me?”

  The boy nods and walks towards me. I size him up just in case I need to plan an escape. He’s roughly my weight and height, and his scrawny arms aren’t that intimidating. But I can see the gun in his back pocket as he walks. He certainly has that over me.

  When I don’t move, Tank strides over to me and hoists me up from under the hook of my arm, as if I am some child throwing a tantrum. He doesn’t say a word to me though. He just thrusts me towards the kid and turns to talk to the man in the white hat. As I follow the kid out the gate, I look back at him, hoping I’m missing something. But he doesn’t even give me a sideways glance.

  Was this the true Tank? Was I getting a glimpse of the man at work?

  My stomach lurches as the large metal gate closes behinds us. I turn towards the boy and study him a bit more. Now that we are out and away from his boss, he looks different to me. His shoulders relax. His body softens. He is staring almost directly into the sun that is now high in the sky. Something tells me that he doesn’t get many chances to go outdoors like this.

  I try to smile at him as I say innocently, “I don’t know how to get back, señor.”

  “My papa works there. I know the way.” He begins to walk quickly towards the alleys I previously traveled down to get her. There’s actually a little spring in his footsteps as I am putting everything together. I hesitate before he turns around to exclaim, “Follow me!”

  I catch up to him and force him to slow down. I try to make some small talk with him, asking him about the vendors we pass or the shops that are opening slowly. But he doesn’t know much, so instead I get to the point. “I need to get away. Can you tell me where I can get a car?”

  “No, no, no, miss. I am supposed to bring you to the villa. Guzman would be angry if I didn’t. He will punish me and my family.” He looks at me, terrified as his hand reaches back for the pocket where his gun is still sloshing around in his oversized pants.

  I stop in my place and reach out to touch his shoulder. “I don’t want to do that. How about you get me back to the villa but tell me where I can get a car. I’ll pay. I have money.”

  The boy looks around silently. The walls of this town have spies I bet, and they are all in the pocket of his boss Guzman. I almost feel guilty putting this young kid at risk, but I have to do something. He starts to walk again towards the villa, and I feel all the hope drain out of me quickly. But just as we turn the corner, he says, “In twenty minutes, my papa goes to the market. No one guards the villa. There’s a car in the garage that belongs to that man you were with. Keys in the ignition. Go quickly.”

  I look at him in both surprise and awe. I know what he is risking, and I have no way to thank him. I swallow hard and nod, as we walk to the entrance of the villa. As I walk inside, he calls after me, “Twenty minutos!”

  The boy is right. After almost exactly twenty minutes, I hear the slam of a heavy door echo throughout the silent bedroom. I give it five extra minutes—just in case this is some sick test. But there’s nothing. No sound of footsteps, no voices, no people working in other rooms of the villa. I peak my head outside the window where I can just catch sight of the front. It, too, is unguarded, just as he promised.

  I set down a note on the table that I scribbled for Tank while I waited. It’s just a quick explanation—not that he deserved it. After what he did to me, I would rather just leave him completely high and dry and tell Abe all that I heard. But I also know that if I didn’t end this on somewhat friendly terms, I could be added to the list of hits Tank probably had circulating. And if he was involved in Carmen’s beating after all, I certainly didn’t want to end up like her.

  With the note in place and my clothes tucked in a sack I found in the kitchen, I run out towards the attached garage. Like promised, there is a black, sleek car waiting for me. It’s a luxury car, a brand that I can’t even begin to pronounce. Its black tinted windows and thicker outer shell make it clear to me that this was made to protect. It was made for the man who started wars, sold drugs, and hired hits. This is a Tank car.

  I open the door, throwing my purse in the backseat, and grab the keys. The car almost silently purrs as it starts. I fumble around till I find the garage door trigger. Sun comes
blaring in the entrance as I back out slowly. The last thing I want is to get unwanted attention. Though in this car, that’s all I can do. It’s nothing like the vintage VW Beetles and old Cadillacs littering the street of the town.

  Once I’m out and back on the highway, I allow myself to turn on some music and drink a luke-warm water bottle sitting on the dashboard. For now, I’m free. The radio plays an old rock song, one that I know all too well. I roll down the window a bit as I sing along, blasting the lyrics as loudly as I can. After all, who is going to stop me?

  Towns and cities fade into the background of the highway as I get away from civilization. It’s about four hours from the border, if I am remembering it correctly. And that gives me just enough time to figure out how I am going to cross without Tank’s help or my IDs.

  But before I can come up with a solution, the answer comes to me…in the form of a motorcycle speeding down the highway in my direction. I roll the window back up and pray that it’s just a coincidence. The Harley slows behind me before pulling alongside my car. Every bit of me tenses up as I try to say any and all the prayers I know.

  The driver lifts his helmet before pulling right alongside the car. I stare straight at the road, avoiding the glare of my stalker. If this is my death, I’d rather not see the person who is about to kill me. There’s a loud bang as he rattles the window with his fist. I see the outline of the bike swerve a bit towards the other side uneasily. There’s a sound of a crash as gravel goes flying over the top of my car.

  I know I should go on and let it go, but I can’t. Something is telling me to go back, to see who or what that was. I look behind me before stopping the car with a jolt and then turning it quickly around. I see the rider stand slowly as he wipes the dirt from his jacket. His face is clear except for one streak of blood running from his temple. And as I pull alongside him, my heart beating firmly in my chest, I stare into the familiar fiery blue eyes.

  Chapter 13: Wipeout

  I feel the crash before I can hear it. Metal and gravel scrape against my body, and my hands instinctively shoot up towards my head where my helmet once was. Then, there are screeches and the familiar smell of burnt rubber. I land somewhere soft and wet, rolling myself away from my motorcycle in case it explodes.

  I’ve been here before.

  When I was fourteen, I stole my old man’s chopper and took it for a joyride around my neighborhood. No one paid any mind to it. I was a huge teenager, so I looked at least twenty and the bike only aged me. Plus, the rest of the neighborhood wouldn’t dare mess with my daddy. He was spitfire mean and didn’t give a fuck about what people said about him. And when I rode his bike, I could understand why.

  But it was short-lived. Just like today, I rode too close to traffic and managed to spin out on a slick patch. The bike went flying underneath me, and I ended up about twenty feet away in the muddy marshes. Unlike today’s crash, the bike wasn’t damaged. I was able to get up, dust myself off, and ride home without anyone knowing what I had done.

  This time, I had an audience. Sierra rides her car past me, her window finally rolled down. I had been trying to get her attention for the last few miles, but she was hell-bent on making it home. The note she had left me said as much. And frankly, I wouldn’t blame her with what I did inside Guzman’s compound. That little stunt lost me whatever points I had from dinner and screwing.

  After a few seconds of staring at me blankly, she turns the car off and darts from the driver’s seat. I watch wordlessly as she grabs at the hem of her new red skirt and begins ripping at a long strip of fabric. Her hands shake, as she reaches up to my forehead, just barely able to get to the spot where I had cut myself against my handlebars.

  Her voice sounds frail, as if she was the one in the accident. “Are you okay?” she whimpers. “Are you hurt? I don’t know who to call here or where to take you. What can I do?”

  I grabbed hold of her hand, steadying her enough so that she can finally look me in the eye. “Sierra,” I say, more tenderly than I’d intended, “I’m okay. I’m fine. I’ve done much, much worse on the road before. This is nothing.”

  She looks down at my Harley; its bike tire still spinning and the engine smoking dangerously, and says, “But what about the bike? What are you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry about it. I have guys on call who fix things like this. But we need to get off the road and into the car. It’s not safe out here. Abe’s crew is running routes from Carrlito apparently, and if they see me, you’re dead too.” I grab hold of her shoulders as I emphasize my last part. “And this time, I mean it. I can’t protect you against them out here.”

  She hesitates, as she drops the cloth off of my head. “So what happened in that guy’s place was a…?”

  “It was a lie. If my men wouldn’t have killed you, they would have. You were fucking stupid to follow me in the first place. If they found you after I had gone, you wouldn’t be alive to steal my car.”

  A small smirk of a smile crosses her face, and she lightens up almost instantly. Whatever I said had relieved her. “Sorry about the car. It’s a really nice ride.”

  “It should be for as much as I paid for it.” I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell phone. I dial my man back in town and speak quickly in broken Spanish. I then turn back to Sierra, who is practically pacing up and down the empty highway with her arms crossed around each other. “Manuel is coming,” I say, “but it’s going to be about an hour or two. We have to wait here. I suggest we pull the bike and hide it behind that tree and then take the car and pull it over as much as possible so we aren’t seen.”

  “Is that,” she pauses, knowing the answer, “safe?”

  I walk towards her slowly with my hands shoved deep into my pockets. I hover over her as I speak in a low and serious tone. She needs to understand this if she is going to go any further with me. “Sierra, nothing about me is safe. This is what my life is like. It’s plotting and kingpins and guns. It’s ordering people around to kill and die for me. I’m not asking you to be a part of it, but if you’re going to get my help with the Carmen stuff, you’re going to have to forget about being safe all the time.”

  Something I said triggers that leopard in her. She spins away, her shoulder-length, dark hair spinning with her in midair. “Helping me? After what I heard at that man’s place or fort or whatever, it sounds more like you’re helping yourself start a war against my friends and family. I don’t think you want to help Carmen out at all.”

  “It’s true.” She looks over her shoulder, totally shocked. I continued slowly, “I don’t want to help Carmen. I don’t give a fuck about your roommate. And yeah, I want a war. Because those bastards are trying to start something with me. Guzman proved it to me. They are the ones instigating this. They are the ones you should be afraid of.”

  She kicks dirt backwards as she heads again towards the car. “You’re lying to me, Tank. This whole thing, last night included, was just some game to you. Bed an Aztec legacy girl and see what happens… but I’m not going to let you get away with this.”

  I grab her arm and throw her hard against the glass window of my car. She doesn’t flinch or try to wrestle away. Instead, she looks up at me with her jaw thrust out. Sierra is trying to fight back the best way she knows how, but I can’t let her win.

  “You think last night was a fucking lie? I could have any girl I wanted. And I screwed you, and you liked it, too. Didn’t you, you little tease?” I place one of my hands on her shivering thigh and begin slowly tracing my hand up the bare skin and under the ripped hemline.

  She slowly moves her hands to my chest, sinking them underneath my leather jacket before pushing me backwards. “Don’t treat me like that! I’m not one of your women ready to blow you. I’m not here to have sex with you! I’m here to get answers. I don’t want to be used by you.”

  Her honesty strikes me like a baseball bat to the head. Usually that whole bad-boy attitude works wonders with chicks like her. But I can tell by the way she shakes an
d her voice waivers that I’m getting nowhere with her.

  I decide to try another approach. I slow my voice, as I approach her again. I stand next to her, leaning my back against the hot black car. “I’m not using you,” I insist. “I need you here. And I need to protect you.”

  “Then say that, Tank. I don’t want to be jerked around.”

  I smile at her, my eyes dancing in the sunlight. “I wouldn’t call what we did last night ‘jerked around.’”

  And then, she snorts. It’s one of those surprised laughs most girls are embarrassed over when it happens. But she just keeps laughing. Her mood eases, her shoulders rise and fall as they settle in a more relaxed position. She turns back to look at me, just in time for the sunlight to illuminate the brown halo of hair.

  “Are you going to help me move my Harley or not?” I ask, changing the subject.

  She nods, as I give her instructions on how to safely lift it. The machine is still hot, so I use the red cloth from her skirt to wrap around my hands as I push up from the motor and she helps balance the handles. We slowly push it up a small hill and place it behind a tree about two hundred feet from the road.