King's Ransom: South Side Sinners MC

by BT Urruela

  “Well, unless there’s another guy in this town named Rodriguez who is a patched Sinner and delivers vegan food on the side, then that would be our guy. I didn’t know about him before all this. Robbie had hi—”

  Suddenly, the door opened, and Dimitri’s mouth slammed shut, his eyes going wide. He slid over from her a few inches just as Trigger appeared in the doorway with a ski mask on, a smile stretched across his face as the door slammed back against the brittle frame. Trigger held up his tatted right hand, which gripped a brown paper bag. “Got what you asked for, boss.” He moved forward and set it down at their feet, the knowing smile still wide across his face, a twinkle in his clear blue eyes. “Raviolis, waters, Ibuprofen,” Trigger finished.

  Dimitri pointed to Trigger’s other hand as the big man stood back straight, the hand that clutched a massive chocolate bar. “And the gigantic fucking Toblerone?” Dimitri asked, grinning.

  Trigger looked guiltily around the room. “Well, uh, that’s for me.” He pulled the chocolate into his body like a football, guarding it, as he backed away slowly. “Don’t even think about it, man. I’ve been waitin’ all day for this shit.”

  Dimitri laughed. “It’s all yours, big guy. Have at it.”

  Trigger glanced back at Annalise when he reached the door, his hand settling on the handle, his eyes taking her in. He sighed. “Do you want any?” he asked, reluctantly, his pathetic eyes falling to the footlong chocolate bar still clutched tightly in his mitts.

  She watched him holding on to the candy and couldn’t bear to take it from him. “Did you say ravioli?” Annalise piped up, her eyes widening as she eyed the bag, praying it was already cooked, but at that point, she would eat it straight out of a can. “I won’t take your chocolate.” She smiled up at him. “But I could do some damage to the pasta.”

  She watched the pity in his eyes as he took her in and wondered if he was bothered by her disheveled appearance or what was to come tomorrow. He must be one of the good ones.

  He nodded appreciatively toward her. Glancing over at Dimitri, he smirked. “Have a good one, you two,” he said, and then made his way back out into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  “That man loves his chocolate,” Dimitri said as the door shut. He motioned to the can she handled. “Sorry about the cold ravioli. These houses don’t have any electric. No stove or anything. Best we could do for now. No fast food joints for miles.”

  She reached over and grabbed the Coleman lantern, placing it between them before pulling the tab to open the can. As she laid the lid on the floor, she started laughing. “This is very Lady and the Tramp, in a dungeon-y sort of way.” She continued to chuckle as she offered him the can.

  He put a hand up. “I’m okay, thanks. I don’t eat much.” He grinned wide. “And well, Trigger eats cold cans of ravioli all the time and for whatever reason, it makes my stomach turn. I love them warm, but the thought even of eating them cold bothers me.” He chuckled nervously. “So, when I told him, ‘Get her some food from the gas station,’ Trigger heard, ‘Get her a can of raviolis, good fella.’” Dimitri shook his head.

  “Well, I’ve never tried but you’re certainly not helping me here,” she said, handling the can and eyeing its contents warily.

  He laughed. “Was I just talking out loud?”

  "You were …” She narrowed her eyes on him, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “I’ve found out over the last two days that there’s a first time for everything.” She stared down at the pasta in its orange gelatinous sauce. “How do you get it out?”

  “Well, Trigger would just hold the can up and let them drop down into his mouth one by one, just to fuck with me.” He let out an amused laugh, and then he added, “But check the bag. I imagine he would’ve gotten you a fork or something. If it were for me, no way, but he’s not a total dick. I had him grab you some meds for the pain too. Nothing like what Doc gave you, but it’s something.”

  She rummaged through the paper bag and triumphantly pulled out a spork, knocking the bag over in the process. The remaining contents spilled onto the floor between them. Two bottles of water went rolling, a few travel-sized packets of Ibuprofen, and two similar-sized foil packets. Scrunching her face in confusion, Annalise started to reach for one of the foil packets in the dim light but Dimitri stopped her, his hand on hers.

  “Don’t you worry about that.” He snatched the two condoms from the ground and shoved them into his pocket in one fell swoop. “Just a little joke from the big guy. They’re giving me shit on account of I don’t usually spend so much time with the captives if I’m not making them pay or making them talk, and, well, he has the mind of a twelve-year-old. If he could’ve found extra small in stock, it would’ve made his day.”

  “Oh …” she responded, getting the picture, her cheeks glowing. “Here I was, hoping it was some kind of hot sauce.”

  He laughed loudly, patting the condoms concealed in his pocket. “I mean, you can try it out if you want. Could be quite something.”

  “I’ll pass. I’m guessing these will be chewy enough on their own.” She decided to just brave it and took a spork full of cold pasta and shoved it in her mouth.

  “I imagine having not eaten in a while, that’s gonna taste a lot better than it should,” Dimitri mused.

  “You’re not gonna pass out or throw up on me, are you?” She shot him a scrutinizing stare. The grin though, fought to come, and she had such a hard time making it go away.

  He laughed, shaking his head. “I promise. It’s not that bad. Please, eat.”

  She chewed and forced it down. His eyes remained steady, but she could see the grimace on his face in her peripheral, and she fought back a laugh. “It’s not that terrible,” she lied and scooped up another bite. “This is just like camping, right?”

  Despite the taste, Annalise was starving and had every intention of eating the entire can.

  His eyes were away from her then, and he replied, “I don’t camp much. Maybe, it’s because of the cold canned food.” He chuckled, and then his eyes trailed the space between the two of them. “Well, and the whole sleeping on the ground thing. Is that what you’ll tell your friends? You were camping?”

  She started laughing and flicked a little ravioli at him. “Well, I’ve never really been before this weekend. I used to pretend it all the time when I was little. My mother would have absolutely died if we set foot in the woods. Somehow, this isn’t exactly how I pictured it.” She wrinkled her nose and nudged him.

  “Minus the cuffs, the captivity, and the ransom, it’s about like this. You aren’t missing much.” He hesitated before he asked what had been grinding at him since they took her. He didn’t want to pry, or to bring up some hard truths, but his curiosity and concern overwhelmed him. Maybe it was because he never had a mother. Not even a mother figure. Maybe he wondered how one could give up on their child, could let them fall into the abyss, and never reach a hand to pull them up. “You don’t talk about your mom much. I mean, I know your dad’s a piece of shit. But is everything I’ve read about her true? The pills and all that? Do you guys have any relationship at all?”

  “My mother’s relationship with her skittles began shortly after I was born. She blamed me, I guess, for, I don’t know, aging, the changes from childbirth.” Annalise started picking at the ravioli with the spork. “Whatever it was, she started taking pills to be happy and thin and have energy, then she couldn’t sleep, so she would drink. Over the years, it just got worse. My job is to keep her out of the press as much as possible. Dancing used to make her happy. She loved it when the teachers offered praise. It built her up somehow, so I just kept doing it.”

  He took a deep breath, and let it out slowly, his hands running down the sides of his face. “You think maybe living with your father had a little something to do with her downfall? I’ve never seen a man more power-hungry in my life. He was working with my dad, you know? For years.”

  “I had no idea that any of this existed until I woke
up in your cage.” She smirked. “I wonder how our dads got along? As for my mother, I’m sure living with him drove her crazy. I … guess I should feel sorry for her in some way.” Annalise set the can on the floor, spork still sticking out the top. “I guess I should feel something. It’s just …” She hated that she couldn’t tell him everything. He is the only person she’s ever really been able to talk to but not this. “Hard to make sense of anything right now. With all this going on.”

  He nodded. “I imagine it’s all been like a ton of bricks. Knowing what you know now. All the ugly secrets out in the open. I remember hearing my dad and Preach talk about your old man. Preach is the guy I was telling you about. My mentor. No use in hiding it now. You know everything already. You could bury us if you wanted. And fuck, you have every right to.” He looked to her, his eyes sincere. “Preach told me your dad was the mayor at the time. Youngest St. Louis ever had, if I’m correct. Grew up around the area and had heard about the Sinners, as everyone around there had. Needed some help. He was looking to progress, to be president one day, and he didn’t trust the press, didn’t trust his competition, didn’t trust anybody. Wanted a little influence. A little turned into a lot, and by the time your pops hit the Senate, he’d been working with the Sinners for twenty years, and used our influence more with every new election. He rode our backs to Washington.”

  Annalise sat silent, shaking her head. All that time, her father was nothing more than the political hand of a motorcycle gang. Eyes wide, she studied Dimitri. “So, you guys practically paved the way, the whole thing. That’s a big investment on both of your parts, why the fallout now?”

  “To be perfectly frank, our club is in a bind. Lots of mismanagement over the years. My father was no good, but demanded he be in charge, even when he was so drunk, he could barely talk. Preach did the best he could, but my dad became more controlling with age and drink. Your dad, he had a really nice deal going with us, one of several, and it involved a general down in Leonard Wood. That deal fell through, which caused everything to spiral. And now we owe some people, he owes us, and he stopped taking our calls.”

  “Oh, I know the general!” she responded. “And his wife. I met them a week ago. He and my dad were dealing with some kind of problem.”

  “He’s a middle man, really. Doing your dad a favor. He’s old college buddies with your dad, right?”

  “I believe so. I was busy answering all his wife’s questions. Evidently, she’s a big fan of the ballet.” Annalise half-laughed; that night seemed so far away. “I guess I acted pretty spoiled. She was asking a million questions and though I answered her, I didn’t want to be at another fancy dinner with my parents. I just pushed the food around on my plate and inwardly complained about the dress and heels I had to wear.” She looked down at her haggard appearance. “I sorta wish I met you looking like that instead of like this, and I would give my ballet shoes for that plate of food now.”

  “I can only imagine how you’d look dressed up, considering you haven’t showered in days, haven’t changed, and you still look incredible. You ought to see me in the morning. I scare myself when I look in the mirror.” He smiled, rubbing a hand through his thick brown hair. Sweat lined his forehead. “My hair is going every which way and my eyes after the few hours of sleep I manage make me look like a crackhead.”

  “You’re painting a real sexy picture of our hygiene challenged conditions,” she said, laughing again. “If it starts raining, I’m gonna beg you to take me outside.”

  “‘Homeless chic,’ I think it’s called. You’re not gonna want to wash that off. It’s really in right now.” He laughed, his fingers running through his beard, his hand resting where the cigarette pack made an indentation in his jeans. He fought the urge to light one, his hand drawing back and resting beside hers. He wanted to move close again, wanted to feel her skin against his, but he was nervous, and acutely aware of the fact this would be his last night with her, and that she was his hostage, of course. How quickly he forgot.

  “So, I guess in some weird way, our families are at war?” she asked, looking at him quizzically.

  “More or less. If your father had paid us the three hundred thousand he owed, as we asked when the general was transferred, which we know he has access to, things never would have come to this. He had a week. A week, and he told us to fuck off. Literally, told Preach to ‘Fuck off.’ That he wouldn’t pay any motorcycle club a dime. We called his bluff. So, yeah, I guess we are at war. But it’s one he started. If he doesn’t come through with the money, the cartels go to war with us. And nobody on earth wants that. Compared to them, we’re kittens.”

  “Too bad they can’t go after him,” she mumbled quietly.

  “Their deal is with us, unfortunately. Not him. So, it’s our blood they’ll spill if we don’t turn up with the money.”

  “So, you owe them money and he owes you money?” she asked, then stopped. “Wait, maybe better if I don’t know.”

  He nodded, his lips tight. “And we don’t have the reserves to cover our asses. One bad deal meets another. That’s all it is. And you got caught in the crossfire.”

  “The pawn,” she said quietly, then leaned toward him with a little smile. “So, if our families are at war and this is our tragic story, are you a Montague or a Capulet?” She sat, face upturned and eyebrows raised, waiting to see if he would get her corny joke.

  “To be perfectly honest, I’m an Edgar Allan Poe man myself. Which one is Romeo?” He half-laughed, his face flush, a little embarrassed by the fact he couldn’t remember. He had always hated Shakespeare, never understood a damn thing he read, preferring contemporary novels about detectives and serial killers, or adventures in fantastical lands. Too busy being a class clown to ever pay much attention in school anyhow. He cracked a nervous smile. “Sad thing is, I really don’t know. I know they kill themselves in the end. That’s pretty sad. And I know Leo and that chick from My So-Called Life… did a really weird movie I only watched half of. Does that count?”

  She laughed, leaning into him for a second too long, wishing like anything to be close to him again. “Totally counts. So, Bonnie and Clyde, Romeo and Juliet. Shit, does anyone ever make it?” she asked, searching for some kind of hope. “Do you think there’s some version of our future where you show up at the theater and watch the show, and we go to dinner and life is … I don’t know …”

  His curious eyes flitted to her, a smile begging to come. “I’ve imagined that a lot these past few days. And I know it’s the weirdest fucking thing because of the situation, but I can’t help thinking about it.”

  “I’d really like knowing you were out there when I’m on stage.” She paused. “I’d like knowing you would be there when I was done, waiting to be with me.”

  His eyes smoldered, his lips in a slight smirk. “In that alternate version of reality, do you see us kissing?”

  Annalise took a short breath, the room growing warm again. She started to speak but the words failed to form on her lips. “That would be the fairy tale, wouldn’t it?” She found her sense of humor. “But you don’t like fairy tales.”

  He shrugged, a silly grin on his lips. “Well, I mean, Lady and the Tramp did. The Disney formula is a winning formula for a reason. Everybody wants a happy ending. I just don’t know if they’re real.”

  “They slurped spaghetti noodles …. Now where’s that can of ravioli?” She giggled and flicked another cold ravioli at him.

  He laughed, but his thoughts had wandered. Everybody wants a happy ending. He paused, and then asked, “You ever look at your parents and wonder if two people could ever really figure it out? Forever?”

  “Not looking at them,” she answered, then paused, dropping the can and looking at him, the intensity in her eyes growing. “But … well … I guess since meeting you, I’ve started to wish it was. I guess that’s kinda pathetic in my current position, huh?”

  He grinned. “What a Disney movie we would make, huh? The outlaw and the ballerina hostage.
I can see the movie posters already.” His hands were high and he made a frame with his fingers.

  “That sounds more like a movie on Cinemax really late, rather than Disney.” She shook her head, laughing and posing in his frame.

  He laughed loudly, before placing a balled fist to his mouth to catch it. Then, in the best New York accent he could muster, he said, “’Ey, Louie, we did pizza guy and babysitta last week. Ya got any new shit?”

  Annalise put her hands on her hips and tried a Jersey Shore response. “You already get beach bum and school teacher too? What about an outlaw bikah and, hmm, what would be so fucking fah-fetched. Wadda ’bout a ballahrina … one of them frilly ones.”

  He really laughed then, his hands meeting his gut. “That accent is fucking great! If the ballerina thing doesn’t pan out, you got SNL on the backburner, for sure.”

  “I was kinda hoping for outlaw biker.” She smirked and leaned into him again. “Of course, I’ve never actually been on one … a bike, I mean.”

  A silence fell over him, his heart pounding so hard, he felt like he could hear it. His thoughts roamed again to her and him, in another reality, where it made sense for him to have his hands on her, to strip her, one article of clothing at a time, to have his way with her. He had fought the thought away too often to count since she’d had her body against him. He cleared his throat. “You’re missing out. It’s the freest feeling I’ve ever felt. An empty two-lane road on an autumn Missouri morning.” He smiled wide, his eyes roaming the empty space around them as his thoughts went to that familiar feeling, a buzz of red-hot energy in his chest, the intense combination of thrill, fear, and adrenaline. “There’s nothing like it.”