by Jackson Kane
“This has to happen, Junk. Let him go,” Tex calmly explained, as if attempting to comfort a grieving child in a patronizing sort of way.
I was stunned to see the other members had lowered the guns they had been aiming at Tex. What the fuck happened to this club that something like this was allowed to stand? Tex shot a member in front of everyone! My heart boiled over with betrayal and hate. I couldn’t think straight. It all came crashing down—the pact, the brotherhood, everything I had started with this club for. We were supposed to be family! Now my closest friend was bleeding out. I didn’t have anyone else outside of the club… or in. “No one gets to kill us! Not the Wild Boys, not the Veins, and not you, Tex.” Venomous rage dripped from each of my syllables.
With what must have been the last surge of energy he had, Skids grabbed my arm and stared at me intently, occasionally flicking his gaze over to Maya. There was no fear in his eyes now, just the grim determination of a dying man trying to relay one final message. He could no longer speak, but his features said everything.
Keep her safe.
Then Skids pushed us away. Too many bullets in all the wrong places. Too much active hemorrhaging with nothing to stop it. No available ambulance to get here in time. He knew it was the end, and he decided to face it the only way he knew how—on his terms.
“No! Don’t do this! We can help, we can!” Maya struggled with him, not allowing him to deny her help.
One eye closed, the other struggling to stay open, Skids gazed back at me. I hung my head and exhaled before I grabbed Maya and pulled her away. She was a fighter, I realized, as she thrashed against me, focusing all her own strength to get back to him, unable to surrender to the inevitable. But there was nothing she could do. Nothing either of us could do.
No one else moved or spoke aside from just lowering their heads as well. When Maya finally stopped protesting, she hugged me and softly sobbed into my shoulder. Skids lay there, motionless, his hacked, last gasps sporadic, each interval between becoming more and more prolonged until there was nothing except the sounds of birds chirping and the wind swaying clusters of branches above in the treetops.
My friend, Skids... my friend Robert was dead.
Maya slipped free of my loosening grip to hold Robbie’s hand. I stood as a wave of numbness rolled over me, and my vision tunneled down into the immediate. I was a man inside my own head, watching my body move under its own autopilot. I strode directly to Tex at a slow gait that picked up gradually as I drew closer, my gun abandoned somewhere behind me. My fists trembled.
“Hendrix... I know it’s hard, but you have to listen to me. It was the only way. You have got to think about the bigger picture here.” Tex probably spoke more than that, but only one in a few sentences pierced my haze.
As Tex spoke, he hurriedly went for his gun. His guys grabbed at me, trying to stop what they knew would come next. So singular was my focus that I barely noticed them at first. People were saying things to me, but I didn’t hear them. Everything around me was hazy. Perhaps there was grabbing and then blows landing on my person....
Each man who got in my way crumbled to the ground seconds later. My world was only that of Tex and me. And there was one too many men alive in it.
“Hendrix! Listen! Listen, dammit! I—” The blur of motion ended with my hand around Tex’s throat, choking his words off. A gunshot rang out somewhere close, but it didn’t slow me down one bit.
Tex struggled, swinging his gun around to shoot me, but I slapped it away. His hands clawed at me, dragging long lines down my face, searching for my eyes. His thumb slid into my mouth as he desperately lashed at me, but I sank my teeth into and tore a large, fleshy chunk from his hand then spat it in his face.
The veins in my arms raised with the exertion. My hands now shook violently at their approaching muscle fatigue, but I could feel his pulse weaken beneath my grip. I leaned closer, letting the weight of my body add to my strength as I strangled him. The cartilage in his neck clicked rapidly and cracked, his larynx and trachea popped, then collapsed. I watched his eyes bulge, and his face turn purple from undrained blood. His eyes brimmed with tears, disbelief, and terror.
Coldly, I watched the flickering electricity fade from his pupils as they began to dilate and become fixed. I rode his writhing as everything eventually slowed to a stop.
It was done and over now. He’d killed my last friend, and I refused to live in any world where Tex was alive when Robbie wasn’t.
Without warning, Tex’s bowels loosened, and the front of his pants darkened with urine as it drained down his left leg. Then Tex’s head lolled to his left as I squeezed even tighter, dropping to my knees and eventually following the corpse to the ground. Despite the completed kill, my hands needed to tear his fucking head clean off his neck.
“Let him go, Junk! It’s done! It’s all over!” Miles shouted frantically.
My narrowly focused, merciless glare widened from my singular, murderous task and finally flickered over to see that Miles had his gun drawn, keeping the other guys at bay, but it wasn’t really necessary anymore. They had only tried to stop me out of their allegiance to Tex. Had they wanted to, they could have easily overpowered Miles and shot me where I stood, but on some level, they all had to know that it needed to happen.
Death for death.
It didn’t matter the justification for it. When a member kills another member without a vote, there would always be retaliation, often immediately. Tex had lost sight of that. He thought that it didn’t apply to him because he was The Club. Looking around at the rest of the members made me feel like Tex was right. If I hadn’t done what I did, they might have let him walk because of his flawed reasoning. I would never let something like that slide. Robbie wouldn’t have either. No, not even the president was above that law. It was the very foundation of the Coffin Eaters.
The old Coffin Eaters, that is….
I rose to my feet as the haze began to lift. My arms hummed and pulsed, vibrating with residual energy. Blood of Tex’s maimed hand plastered my mouth, and I was covered in oily sweat. My eye twitched as I matched glances with each man in turn, their discomfort at my brutality written on their faces. Most had their guns out in case I turned on them next.
It was Maya’s terrified gaze that woke me fully from my killing fog, bringing me back from the primal brink. I couldn’t meet her eyes for long, so I looked away and exhaled what fighting frenzy was still remaining deep within. Goddammit, she had a knack at being there, seeing me at my worst.
I felt exposed and rightfully so, I guess. I’d just killed a man. It wasn’t the actual killing that bothered me. Tex completely deserved it. What frightened me was how easy and quickly I had lost control and plunged into the physical, hands-on brutality of the much-needed execution without any warning from my personal, otherwise reasonable, conscience. I could’ve just shot him and been done with it, but every step toward him made my heart race and sank me deeper into the depths of unyielding rage.
“Everyone, mount up!” Miles quickly stepped up and took control, barking out orders. “We gotta go! Lump, take Maya!”
What did he say? Take Maya? Where?
“What the fuck?” I shouted at him. I wasn’t just going to let someone else take Maya after what happened to Robbie.
“I didn’t know what Tex was going to do. Skids... I’m going to miss him.” Miles picked up my gun off the ground near Robbie’s dead body. “Tex was a worthless piece of shit, but we’re going to finish that deal with the Veins.”
“Miles, you can’t, man. You know Slick’s rep. You do know what he’ll do no matter what he might’ve promised. Maya is Robbie’s niece. He’s not even cold, and you’re talking about delivering her to a monster like Slick?”
“Jesus, brother, look at yourself. You just strangled a man to death with your own bare hands.” Miles exhaled deliberately then shook his head. “We’re all fucking monsters.”
I shot a desperate glance over at Maya. Her inability to meet my
gaze stung me worse than any gunshot. So I turned my attention back to Miles. “She’s not.”
“We don’t have a choice!” It was a long time since I’d seen Miles get this riled up. “The Steel Veins weren’t bluffing. It’s either her or us. It’s what’s best for the club. I’m sorry, but it’s gotta be done.” His tone was loaded with deep resignation. Frowning, he aimed his gun and shot the front tire of my bike.
“Don’t do this, Miles!” Out of all of us, I couldn’t believe Miles would be the one to finish Tex’s dirty work. I guess it was a long, five years for everyone.
Miles shook his head again. “By the time you get it towed back to the clubhouse, all this will be over. I’ll get you everything that’s owed to you. As acting president, I’ll make sure you’re voted out in good standing with both the Coffin Eaters and the Steel Veins. You get your full freedom, brother. Everything you wanted.” He slid out and pocketed the clip, then racked the slide, popping the last chambered round from the gun, completely emptying it. Finally, pocketing my gun’s clip, he tossed the harmless weapon back to me. “All you gotta do now is nothing.”
“Hendrix! Hendrix, please don’t let them do this—Get your fucking hands off me! Hendrix! Hendrix!” Maya struggled and pleaded, but I just stood there, paralyzed, and watched them drag her away from me. If I made a move toward them, Miles would’ve shot one of my legs, if one of the other guys didn’t outright kill me.
All I could do was watch.
The bikes started up, and they all sped off as Maya’s screams of my name were quickly drowned by the engines and distance. Soon, they were gone from sight.
And just like that, Maya was out of my life.
I sank into the dirt between the bodies of my best friend and worst enemy where all I could do was sit there and think.
In the end, which one of them had I become? Did I get what I wanted? At what cost?
Complete freedom, protection by a much larger club, and enough money to start again in any life that I chose. It was everything I had wanted since getting out of prison, and now it was laid at my feet. I had even got my revenge against the man who killed my friend. What else was left for me to want? Beneath the tremendous amount of grief for my friend, I should have felt at least a little bit of closure and relief at how it was all over now. I could go my own way and never look over my shoulder again. My new life started right now.
And all I had to do was nothing.
Beneath the grief was a profound sense of loss. I felt like I was in prison again, trying to imagine what the stars looked like. Trying to feel connected to something, but instead just floating alone within space. Though I never thought it possible, there was now a pit inside of me that I knew couldn’t be filled by pussy, money, or freedom.
The rustling trees swayed indifferently. For hours, I swore I could still hear Maya’s pleading voice calling my name on the wind. I saw her face whenever I closed my eyes. I could lie to myself all I wanted, but if the Steel Veins were willing to risk us killing each other by ordering Robbie shot, then there was no way they would allow Maya to live.
I crawled over to Robbie. “She wanted to leave and go home, but I talked her into staying the course. I didn’t know it was the Veins she was running from, but, shit, I can’t pawn it off on that. This is on me. I’m sorry, brother.” It was a worthless apology. The damage was already done.
I studied him once again. Robbie’s top half was ringed in a darker brown, dirt drinking up his spilt blood. A little beyond him, I saw a glint of light off something metallic… his ever-present pocket watch. It must have slipped out when he was shot. Picking it up, I wiped it off and opened it.
The clock had stopped and the knob that set the time was broken off, the damage having been done for what appeared to be far more distant than Robbie’s death. Why would he have kept a pocket watch that didn’t work? Robbie was a problem solver, the kind of guy that filled his downtime with straightening things out and fixing them. There was no way he’d be carrying around something without a function, especially a watch.
Then I saw the picture under the cover on the opposite face—the faded visages of a middle-aged woman holding a baby in her arms. The resemblance of the woman was uncanny. It had to be Maya’s mother, but the baby in the picture wasn’t Maya, though. So this must be her sister, Anna.
The one physical possession that Robbie valued was a broken watch with a picture of his estranged brother’s family in it? Nothing about that added up. The one possibility I could think of didn’t make any sense at all. I closed the watch and pocketed it.
“All I have to do is nothing, man. You heard Miles. When I get back to the club, I’ll get everything I wanted.” The words rang out hollow. Cowardly. In complete denial.
Could I really let my friend die for nothing?
Robbie’s watch weighed heavily in my pocket. Like my cut and colors, it wasn’t the leather or metal parts that were the burden. It was the weight of the responsibility that came with it. Symbols and ideals could make a man or crush him.
Tex pulled the trigger, but Slick pulled the strings. I didn’t kill the man responsible for my friend’s murder. I just destroyed one of that man’s weapons. I had to go after Maya. It was easier for me to think that the decision was to honor Robbie and to avenge his death.
I sorted through Tex’s pockets and found his cell phone. I didn’t know where Miles was taking Maya, but browsing through the recent calls, I could sure as hell could find out.
“Yeah, you’re right, Robbie.” I was the only person in the world who could help her now. “Besides, I was never very good at doing nothing.”
Chapter Eight
Maya
My resolve wavered as we rode into the gated compound of closed, nondescript warehouses of Batesville Casket Company. It was dusk, and it’d been several hours since Robbie was murdered. It made my heart ache seeing him gunned down so horribly. I didn’t know my uncle all that well, but he seemed like a decent man making the best out of some bad situations. I wish I could’ve had the chance to get to know him better. I still had so many questions that I’d never have answered.
The hard reality sank into my bones. How was I going to get into that safe-deposit box now? I’d spent ten long years endlessly datamining to prove that she wasn’t living on some Polynesian isle, sipping tiki cocktails by an infinity pool but never had enough for her to be declared legally dead. Mom left without her phone, passport, or even her purse. It was insultingly obvious for anyone who knew her personally, but the courts didn’t care about that. Because of the right of marriage, only my father—her murderer—could have her declared legally dead, but he’d never allow that kind of closure. It was his way of diverting attention away from the possibility of foul play being the reason for her disappearance—it was all her fault, not his—while maintaining the air of a heartbroken husband to the authorities and the public at large.
Fucking bastard.
As infuriating as it was, I had become numb to Slick’s brand of social manipulation. Growing up, I had heard him say countless times that she was a selfish, heartless bitch and had run away, leaving behind two needy children who sorely needed a nurturing mother. The obvious lie used to churn my stomach, but now the memory of his claims only widened the chasm of hate I already had for him in the pit of my soul.
So going through Mom to get into the box wouldn’t work.
As for Uncle Robbie, the shortest it would take was a month for a death certificate to become available, but only his heir could get that. Unless I could dig up his last will and testament—something he probably didn’t even have—saying something else, right now that heir would be Slick again. Long before I could even get any kind of process started, the bank would’ve closed and none of it would matter.
I only had one option now, and to say it was a long shot was being extremely generous. I’d have to basically throw myself upon the mercy of the bank officers, begging on behalf of my missing mother to recover her property. If they let me us
e their computer or even one of their phones, I could show them the archives of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch for the specific articles documenting her disappearance. Hell, I’d even show them my own research by logging into my personal subscription account.
But all they’d have to do is say no, and I’d be fucked.
All that, of course, assumed I made it out of wherever I was headed to alive, which I wasn’t too optimistic about. It would take a miracle, and I was running low on those lately.
Inevitably, Hendrix crept into my mind, and the ache in my heart doubled. I was really beginning to like him, to even trust him. Considering they were holding his freedom over his head, I understood why he had to let me go.
Understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.
I still felt disappointed and abandoned. I couldn’t help it. But then again, what was I to Hendrix? Just a cock tease with a distant connection to his now-dead friend? What allegiances did he owe me? I knew he wouldn’t be coming for me, not with his ultimate freedom from the MC life hanging in the balance. I’d never see Hendrix again. I wasn’t worth that much to him.
But my brain wasn’t allowing me to let it all go. He was handsome, charming, and funny, but he was still an outlaw biker in the vicious MC world. I couldn’t hate him for his decision. I was madder that I allowed myself to, I dunno... dream? But in the end, I let myself be hurt by yet another biker.
Anger, heartache, sadness... all of it wilted at the same rate in which one particular warehouse’s large, corrugated metal doors opened. Rows of hanging fluorescent fixtures snapped on in consecutive sections with a flash then settled, bathing the assembly line of coffins in a drab, bluish-white light. The shadows lingered sickly and jumped while the bulbs overhead flickered as they heated up to full brightness.
The warehouse was gigantic but was also full to an alarming degree. The near building-length conveyor belt was burgeoned with finished, stretch-wrapped caskets that waited patiently for trucks to pick them up. Seven-foot-long coffins stood on end atop flat, wheeled dollies, ranked and filed like platoons of soldiers to either side of us as we walked toward a silhouette of a man who was exiting a free-standing, brown-doored office in the middle of the assembling plant. He was joined by two other shady-looking bikers as well.