by A. J. Downey
Low Sided
Sacred Hearts PNW Chapter - Book IV
Andrea Downey
Contents
BOOK FOUR
COPYRIGHT
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Epilogue
Also by A.J. Downey
About A.J. Downey
Published 2021 by Second Circle Press
Text Copyright © 2021 A.J. Downey
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner and are not to be construed as real except where noted and authorized. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Editing & book design by Maggie Kern @ Ms.K Edits
Cover art by Dar Albert at Wicked Smart Designs
Dedication
To Jared, I literally could not have done this one without you. Seriously.
Prologue
Mace…
“Another?”
I looked up, squinting at the plucky bartender chick that was serving ‘em up.
“Yeah,” I murmured and nodded. She gave me a look that was somewhere between empathetic and sympathetic.
“Okay, but this is going to have to be your last one, man. I don’t need to get busted for overserving you, no matter how good looking I think you are.”
I gave her a watery smile and swayed a bit on my barstool and nodded as she poured me another whiskey.
I was at this shithole bar in White Center, probably a quarter mile or so from the club. I honestly needed a fuckin’ break from the fuckin’ lovefest going on over there. Guys were gettin’ girls and settling down left and right, and shit if I didn’t want that.
I was a jealous bastard. Weren’t no bones about it.
“What’s your name?” she asked me as she tipped the bottle back up and set it just out of reach.
“They call me Mace,” I said, and took a sip of the smoky amber liquid in my glass.
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
“Not supposed to ask me that, sugar.”
“Well, I apologize then.”
“’S no worries, you didn’t know.”
She was quintessentially Pacific Northwest – her clothing organic, a mix between steampunk and hippy tree freak. Her top was a tank top looking thing with lacing like a corset in the front. Her shoulder was tattooed with a Raven, the rest of her arm crawling with lush ivy vines.
Her hair was a brownish blonde, and in thick, ropy dreads down past her waist. Wood and metal beads with runes on them decorated her thick locks in irregular intervals.
Her skin was on the pale side, a scattering of light freckles over her nose and cheeks, barely there and almost unnoticeable in the dim light of the bar. She was thin, but wiry. I didn’t think she was weak, but she certainly was willowy – almost looked vegan, but that could have just been the Burning Man style she had going on.
Burning Man was popular up here, even though it was a big musical festival, rave, party thing that happened down in the California – or was it Nevada? desert. A lot of people from up this way went down there and partied hard for like a week or two every year – pitching tents, a bunch of crazy art installations – you name it.
“What’s your name?” I asked her and she smiled at me with a wry twist of lips.
“Most of my friends call me Raven,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Raven.”
“Nice to meet you, Mace.”
A few guys came into the bar. Frat types. Asshole types, and Raven gave me a wink.
“Duty calls,” she said with a breezy sigh. She moved away from me, carrying her herbal scent down the bar with her. I smiled and thought through the haze of my drunk that she probably used essential oils for all the things.
She was pretty, and I liked the sparkle in her light eyes, but she probably wasn’t the girl for me. I mean, she was a lover-not-a-fighter type and probably couldn’t hang or go my speed. Her speed was probably saving the spotted owl on the weekends or something, spending forty-nine days camped in a tree so the man couldn’t cut it down.
I chuckled to myself and shook my head. I could respect sticking it to the man every which way, but I needed somebody that could stick with me. This life wasn’t for everyone. Still, I thought to myself, looking down the bar where she was at the opposite end talking to some old barfly regular; I could tap that.
Her legs were encased in tan leggings that looked like leather, a bunch of bronze zippers along her hips and thighs, but there were definitely no pockets. The way the material clung to those long stems of hers left nothing to the imagination. Her tank boots finished off the look she had going quite nicely.
I heard laughter and muttering behind me and turned a bleary eye on the three frat-lookin’ motherfuckers. They were sizing me up, and I turned back forward.
Little shits could fuck off into oblivion for all I cared. It happened a lot, two or even three guys getting it in their heads that they could take on a Sacred Heart. That we weren’t nothing. That was, until they lay on the pavement broken and bleeding, or until we fuckin’ caught up to their little asses later – whichever came first.
They burst out laughing about something and high-fived each other. I didn’t care except they were ruining my peace and damn quiet.
“Hey, hey yo!” one of them called out, and I knew it was to me. I just ignored them. I was on parole for another year, and I had absolutely no desire to go back to the state pen and finish that bid off, fuck them very much.
“I’m talking to you!” he shouted, irritated.
“Hey! Knock it the fuck off, boys, or you can get the fuck out my bar,” Raven told ‘em.
“Shut up and just keep pouring the fuckin’ drinks, sweetheart,” one of them called out. I turned, just in time to see him grab his crotch and tell her, “I’ll deal with you later.”
Nice.
“Some people’s fuckin’ children, man,” I said slowly. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“Man, fuck you!” the dude’s buddy, some Asian kid, said laughing.
“I don’t swing that way
,” I said, turning back to the bar. “More power to you if you do, though.”
I have no fuckin’ idea what happened next. I heard something snap, shouting, and a white light flared through my vision as the back of my head erupted in pain. Next thing I knew, I hit the sticky barroom floor, face-first and next, my ribs exploded in fire.
I managed to get up and heard more shouting, as I groped blindly and spilled out of the exit and onto the front sidewalk.
I couldn’t get air, I couldn’t breathe, and I had a second to think through my drunken haze, goddammit! They got the drop on me.
What came next was probably the most brutal ass kicking of my life, and that’s including the one I took in that yard fight when I was locked up.
I took a sneaker to the face and grimaced, immediately tasting blood as kicks and blows rained down on me.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Three deafeningly loud rapid reports sounded. I heard some muffled shouts and screams, the thudding of rapid footsteps down the sidewalk, and then the smell of essential oils assaulted my nose.
“Come on, Mace, you gotta get up! Cops are coming for sure, and we need to not be here when they do.”
I struggled, but things didn’t want to quite work. My eyes were swelling shut and every time I breathed in, it was like breathing so much bitter broken glass. I spat and tasted nothing but copper.
“Come on, Mace! Help me!” a woman’s voice cried, and I struggled to my feet. My head swam with liquor and the beatdown. I don’t remember shit else after that.
1
Mace…
“Easy.” A light hand fell on my chest and pressed me back down onto the uneven surface I was lying on. I rested my head back on the arm of what I assumed was a couch just by feel.
“I can’t see,” I complained, then I tried to look around. Everything hurt, and it was dark.
“Your eyes are swollen shut, hang on. Let me finish what I’m doing here, and I’ll get some ice on that.” The voice was kind, soothing, and female.
“Who are you?” I asked the voice.
“Raven,” she said gently, and I felt a stinging touch against my eyebrow. I flinched. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m just cleaning your cuts.”
“Where am I?” I demanded.
“My place.”
“You call the cops?”
“No. The cops aren’t my friends. You’re going to be okay, I’m a trained medic… take it easy for me, would yah?”
“I’ve never called a pig friend either…” I grunted, laying back, at this woman’s mercy. Her voice was soothing, and instilled a touch of trust. It was sort of familiar, but I couldn’t place it in my haze of pain. “Do I know you?” I asked.
I could hear the smirk on the tail of her slight laugh. “I told you, I’m Raven… you might remember me as your friendly neighborhood bartender.” I reached out, groping blindly, and captured her upper arm. Her skin was soft as silk and I felt my way to her face, startled when I encountered equally soft, silken hair. I remembered; Raven had had dreads.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not,” she said softly.
“Raven had dreads,” I said.
“A wig,” she murmured. “My own hair, I made it myself.” A rough dread was pressed into my hand.
“That’s actually kind of gross,” I muttered, and she laughed.
“Yeah, well, all that aside, I’m going to need you to try to rest.”
“My phone…”
“Trashed, I’m afraid.” She had gone back to doctoring up whatever cut was on my face, and I tried not to flinch.
“Fuck,” I muttered, and she chuckled again.
“Only thing that matters is that you’re going to be okay,” she said, low and conciliatory.
“You’re doing a lot for a man you don’t know,” I said, and she was quiet. No touching. I waited and heard nothing. I was starting to wonder if I were going crazy, if I were dead or some shit and having some weird Hell experience. There was no way I would have got into Heaven. “Raven?”
“Yeah, I’m here,” she muttered. “Some people helped me once… guess I just need to pay it forward.”
I was quiet, turning her words over in my head. Her voice had been the softest yet, and incredibly sad.
“Thank you,” I said. “For whatever you did to get ‘em off of me.”
“Just stay right here, don’t move,” she murmured. “I’ll get you some frozen peas for your eyes and then we’ll get into the really not fun stuff.”
“What’s that?” I asked, a slight smile curving my lips.
“Pretty sure you’ve got some busted ribs; we need to bandage you up and keep shit from moving. You’re lucky; you don’t seem to have punctured a lung.”
“Shit, this gonna require I move?”
“Yup.” Her voice was strained and ended on a whoosh of breath as she heaved herself to her feet.
“Fun,” I muttered.
I waited, listening to her footfalls retreat, a fridge or freezer door open and shut. She laid something cold across my eyes and face and I put a hand over it. I wanted to see her. I wanted to see myself.
“Think you can sit up, Mace?”
“I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Can you do something for me?”
“Depends on what it is,” she said.
I sighed out, “I need you to let my boys know where I am, that I’m still alive.”
“What, like your kids?”
I chuckled. “No, my club.”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“They need to know. They might think the police grabbed me, or something worse. They could go looking for me or go looking for a fight. Fuck… I don’t know where we are. Are we still in White Center?”
“Yes,” she said softly, hesitantly. “It’s not much, but we’re in my apartment, a one bedroom above Excelsior Ice Cream.”
“That’s on fifteenth, right?” I asked.
“Sixteenth,” she answered.
“Okay, seriously, I need you to go like one block east and seven blocks down to Iron Heart Salvage. You know where it is?”
“Yeah, I know where it is. I also know the Sacred Heart’s clubhouse is across the street, but I really don’t know about all that—”
“You don’t have to be scared?” I said.
“Uh, yeah.” She sounded like I was crazy for even asking.
“Do I scare you?” I asked.
“Not right now,” she said softly.
“Did I scare you before? In the bar?”
“No…”
“Then please…”
“Let me get you fixed up and let me think about it,” she hedged, and I wondered what she was hiding from. What had her hardcore lookin’ to get out of drawing any kind of attention to herself?
Shit, that hurt.
“Sorry,” she murmured quietly.
“It’s alright,” I said gently. I could feel she was trying to be careful. That didn’t make it any less painful.
“Look, you’d be a lot more comfortable in the bed, and you’re gonna need a day or two before you can really start moving.”
“You tryin’ to get me in your bed?” I asked with what I hoped was a reckless grin.
“You’re seriously trying to flirt with me right now?” she asked, surprised.
“Gotta find the little joys no matter what you’ve got going on, sweetheart.” She touched along my ribs and I jumped crying out, “Ow!”
Her voice held a hint of a smile when she said, “Sorry.”
I tried not to laugh, laughing hurt. “If you don’t like me calling you sweetheart, all you have to do is say so. I can’t exactly see and I honestly didn’t mean anything by it, just habit I guess.”
“No, it was fine,” she said and sounded almost startled. “I would never hurt somebody over something so petty. I’m really trying to be gentle.”
“Appreciate it,” I grunted as she prodded another tender spot.
“Okay, come on, we’ve got to get you sit
ting up.”
Fuck, that was no fun. I didn’t know what part was worse—the sitting up, her helping me out of my jacket and then my shirt, or the whole binding up my ribs thing.
Scratch that.
The worst thing was levering me up onto my goddamned feet and helping me shuffle over to her bed, which was low. Really low. Like a mattress on the floor low. Maybe I should be glad that I couldn’t see much.
“Easy, easy!” she hissed, and I finally made it down onto the edge.
“Fuck, I’m gonna puke,” I said – that weird taste invading my mouth, the one that was a precursor, a warning sign of things to come.
“Hang on, no, no, no, gah!” She thrust a trashcan or something into my arms and my stomach rebelled. I swear to Christ in doing so, it pulled on everything from the inside.
“Oh, God! Oh, fuck!” I moaned and I heard Raven sigh.
“Easy, it’s okay, you’re okay.”
Bullshit. I most definitely was not okay.
“My boys,” I grunted, grinding agony twisting throughout my torso. “Please tell me you’ll go get my boys,” I said as she helped me to lie down.
“I promise,” she finally said. “Just rest now.”
2
Raven…
“Woo boy,” I muttered under my breath and stared down 15th SW at the fencing and row of bikes on one side and the bikers smoking on the small back landing across the street. I leaned heavily on my staff that I carried practically everywhere with me. It was as much for my Burner chick aesthetic with its decorative wraps and dangling charms as it was to clobber anyone that decided to make a grab for me.