by Brook Wilder
It never helped. Actually, shit only got more vivid the drunker I got. So now I stayed away from the alcohol, having an occasional beer or drink but always keeping my head clear. Instead, I had found my solace in this place, beating the bag and lifting weights until I could barely drag myself to bed.
The workouts were my version of therapy.
I was going to need a hell of a lot of sessions now.
Dropping my hands, I grabbed the swinging bag and pressed my forehead to it, taking a few deep breaths to slow my heart rate.
Damn Elisa McDermott.
It wasn’t her fault though. I thought she was pretty damn smart to get away and come here, showing her resourcefulness.
And she was a nurse. I had often wondered if she’d ever gone to UT like she’d planned or if her brother’s death had changed the trajectory of her life.
I know it had changed mine. I’d had plans myself before Will’s death. I wanted to get out of active duty, go into something like training or private sector type shit so I could keep my ass in the country.
Then I would probably meet a woman, have a couple of kids, and live in one of those cookie cutter houses next to Will and his future family.
Funny how dreams turn into nightmares in the span of a few seconds.
Now, though, the past was coming back to haunt me in the form of a girl next door who just happened to be my best friend’s little sister.
With a growl, I pushed back from the bag and began my routine again. Something was already apparent to me just in the span of a few hours. I wasn’t gonna beat Elisa’s face out of my mind.
Especially since I was fucking in charge of her safety. Damn Rex. He could sniff out a story a mile away and he knew there was something between us, something that would just drive me fucking crazy.
Not that I would want anyone else watching over Elisa. There wasn’t another fucker in the Jesters who deserved to even look at her, much less be by her side.
Rex knew that, too.
I went through ten more reps, the sweat rolling down my back, and the pulled on my biceps until I had to stop, then stripped off my gloves. This wasn’t helping. I could beat the damn bag into a pulp all night and still I wouldn’t forget her face.
Or the events of today.
“Dude, you do know the rest of the club is at the bar, right?” Chains stood in the doorway of the gym, a stupid ass grin on his face.
“You know I don’t like loud noises, including your damn mouth.”
He chuckled, leaning against the door frame. “Yeah and I don’t like your face most of the time, but I deal with it.”
“That’s because you can’t find anyone else to do this damn job.” I placed the gloves on the rack mounted to the wall. “Something up?”
“No,” Chains answered. “Just checking in on you.”
Fishing for information more like it. I could tell by the gleam in his eyes. He was dying to know what was up between me and Elisa, but I wasn’t about to air my dirty laundry around the club. I knew the moment I told him, he would tell his wife, Kris, who was also the leader of the Hell’s Bitches, and I would never get a moment of sleep.
Besides, all Chains knew about my past was what I wanted him to know and it wasn’t a hell of a lot. “I’m not telling you.”
“I know,” he answered, his grin fading a bit. “And I don’t need to know, alright? I just need to know if you are able to keep her safe.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I got it.”
“You know,” Chains continued, clearly not done talking. “I always wondered if there was something else that could get under your skin other than these prospects. It’s nice to see you’re human after all, Machine Gun.”
Chuckling, I picked up the towel from the rack and wiped my face. “And just when I was settling into my superhero status.”
“Yeah right,” Chains exploded into laughter. “Superhero? Maybe more like super zero. We put her in Crankshaft’s old room. Not that you care, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I came here for a reason. Someone’s here. Says he wants to talk to you and you only. Said he’s a friend of Gun Jesus’s, except I’ve never met him before.”
Fuck. I swore silently and my grin faded. “I’ll be right there.”
“Is there something I need to know?”
“I’ll tell you when I’m done,” I replied.
“Be sure that you do.” And with that, he disappeared from the doorway, leaving me to contemplate my next move.
If this was who I think it was, then I wasn’t particularly eager to see him.
Right around the time Gun Jesus told me he’d been unwittingly helping the CIA push guns, this bastard started showing up.
It didn’t take long for me to figure out exactly who this guy was: a CIA spook here to keep an eye on things, and if necessary, apply a little direct pressure—a nice reminder of just hard Uncle Sam can fuck you.
His arrival meant he either wanted to talk or demand something. I hoped it was tied to the village massacre. Nobody had said anything, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he knew; he had his ways of figuring things out.
Like I said: a nice reminder of just how hard Uncle Sam can fuck you.
I threw on my long-sleeved shirt, colors, and left my gym shorts on. I wasn’t planning on spending a lot of time with him. Once we were done, I would be bunking in one of the rooms at the clubhouse tonight.
If I was to keep Elisa safe, I sure as hell couldn’t do it from my house.
I made the trek across the courtyard and stepped into the main room, where the music was jacked up and the bar crowded with both Jesters and Bitches.
It was just a typical night at the club, especially when we were all attempting to remain as close as we could to home base. The cartel recently began targeting both clubs, and there was still wariness whenever we rode out alone, wondering if there was going to be a second wave of attacks.
He stood against the wall, ignoring the suspicious glances thrown his way by bikers of both clubs.
“We need to take this outside,” I said. If the rest of the club got wind of what I suspected, the man would be dead in a ditch before the sun could rise.
Once outside, he lit a cigarette and blew a perfect smoke ring into the night air. “Name’s Voodoo. I heard you’re a friend of Gun Jesus?”
I grunted. “Acquaintance, really.”
“That man did not strike me as someone who has a bunch of friends,” he said softly, pulling out his cellphone. “What do you know about me?”
“I’m not saying shit without a lawyer.”
“Let’s just drop this charade. I’m not a cop,” he said as he scrolled through the phone. “I’m from Langley, and I’m here to talk to you about an incident that happened south of the border.”
The village. “What incident?”
“Don’t be dumb,” he said. “You know exactly who and what I am. You know exactly why I’m here. So I’ll just cut to the chase: I got a job for you.”
“Why me and nobody else?”
Voodoo chuckled. “Let’s just say I have a soft spot in my heart for some of America’s veterans who’ve sacrificed so much in their mission to safeguard our freedoms at home, Private Gibson.”
I stilled at a name I hadn’t heard in years. The bastard had looked into my past.
“Think about it,” he continued. “You will be able to walk away and move on with your life. Like all of this never happened. With the right kind of service, you might even continue to receive your military benefits.”
“Fuck you.” I wasn’t about to betray the clubs like that. “If you think you can get me with that song and dance, then you can fuck yourself all the way back to Langley.”
“I figured you would say that,” Voodoo sighed. “But you’re forgetting who you’re dealing with. The Agency knows about everything. The human trafficking, the drugs, the dead cop and dead ATF agent that all of you somehow pretend don’t exist. Do you really want to play this game
? One call and I’ll have them re-open the investigation on both Officer Walker and ATF Agent Branch’s deaths. With all the shit your clubs have been involved in, how easy do you think we could build a case that those fine law enforcement officers were set up by criminals in the pocket of the cartel? All of you are looking at twenty to life if you’re lucky. We have more than enough evidence for it.”
A shiver ran down my spine as I listened to him. He wasn’t bluffing.
“What do you want?” I finally said.
“Nothing too complicated.” He tucked the phone back in his pocket. “I need your help with killing Raul Villarreal.”
Nothing too complicated. The man had a very different fucking perception than I did on ‘complicated.’ Raul Villarreal was Hector Villarreal’s first cousin. Hector was at the top of our rid-the-world-of-these-scumbags list. Known as the Butcher of Sonora, his brutality was likely what Elisa had witnessed at the village. When he rolled into a new village, he’d kill anyone who resisted, then gather the survivors in one location for processing.
The prettier women he gave to his commanders, the rest sold off for prostitution--some as young as ten-- to the highest bidder to work on the streets until it killed them.
The men and boys were given weapons and forced to fight each other to the death. They gave survivors a choice: join or die. If you just killed your own son, brother, or father, there wasn’t much left for you but a life of servitude.
As a result, Hector had amassed quite an army. It was a sick, sick operation, and for the last few months we had been trying to find a way to take it all down. Imagine my surprise when I learned Voodoo had the exact same target as us.
Even though I knew the answer, I asked it anyway. “Why Raul and not Hector?”
“I like your enthusiasm, Private Gibson.” Voodoo took a drag on his cigarette. “But we can’t touch Hector right now. I know you are good, but you’re not that damn good. Besides, we take out Raul, there’s no one in line to take over if something was to happen to Hector.”
Of course. Regime change, a CIA specialty. I arched a brow. “Is something going to happen to Hector once we get rid of Raul?”
“Pretty much,” Voodoo laughed, blowing a puff of smoke in the air. “Like I said, we aren’t ready to go after him yet. Raul’s the easier target.” He flicked the cigarette into the grass, the ashes glowing in the darkness.
He clasped a hand on my shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Look, I’m sure Gun Jesus has already told you everything you needed to know about the Agency’s involvement here. I’m not here to break up these little parties of yours. All I’m asking for is a little help from a local to deal with a local problem.” His grip tightened. “You don’t want my offer, fine. But do understand that it’s better for you to be on the same side as the Agency. Don’t drag your friends into a world of shit just because you’re too goddamn stubborn to accept a good offer.”
Arrogant bastard. He left me no choice. “Fine. I’ll do it,” I growled, cracking my knuckles with my other hand. “But don’t expect me to be your lackey.”
“I would never suggest such a thing, Private Gibson.” Voodoo let go. “I’ll be in touch.”
He walked off, and I wondered if he was half expecting a bullet to slam into his back. He had us over a barrel, that was for sure. But hell, it wasn’t his doing. We had done some shit that had attracted the feds and hadn’t covered our tracks well enough.
It was bound to happen.
“Shit,” I swore, rubbing a hand over my face. I was going to have to tell Chains about this. Voodoo hadn’t said I couldn’t and what the agent didn’t realize was that the club stuck together. There were no secrets.
And I wasn’t about to fucking start with this one.
Chapter 5
Elisa
I sat at the bar, a cup of coffee warming my hands as I watched Sabrina stir the pancake mix. “Are you sure I can’t help you?”
Sabrina shook her head as she poured the mix onto the griddle. “I got this, really. I don’t think they ever truly ate breakfast before I got here.”
I watched her work, wondering how a seemingly normal woman got involved in a club like this. So far it seemed like most of the members here had some rough edges.
Nice, but a bit scary. Oh and lots of leather and bikes.
I pushed my hair out of my face, wishing I could go home and forget this had ever happened, that my friends weren’t dead, and that I had never laid eyes on Damian. He hadn’t sought me out last night. I’d holed myself up in a bedroom, listening to the muffled laughter and music and wondering the entire time if Damian would come to see me. My time with Rex and his wife, Kris, had proven to be not much help. I couldn’t identify anyone from their photos and had to stop a few times when the emotion grew too much for me to continue.
All I could think about was how my friends were dead and I wasn’t. No one would ever know what truly happened there in that village unless I told the story, and from the way Rex was protecting me, if I did, I would be dead shortly afterward.
I couldn’t very well just call up their next of kin and tell them what happened, which was the absolute worst. I thought about some of the phone calls I had witnessed, wondering how long it would be until their families started to worry and contacted authorities.
There were moments I wished I hadn’t survived. This heavy guilt inside me seemed to grow steadily by the minute and I couldn’t get past the memories of them falling into the dirt, their eyes unseeing.
“Yoohoo, Elisa?”
I shook out of the memory, giving a concerned Sabrina a faint smile. “Sorry. What did you say?”
“I was asking if you want one or two,” she said slowly, holding up her full spatula.
“Two please,” I answered, rewarded with the grumble of my stomach.
Sabrina placed the pancakes on a paper plate before sliding them to me. “You know, I’m a pretty decent listener if you need to talk.”
I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to relive every moment of the massacre over in my mind, especially with a stranger I wasn’t sure I could trust. “Thanks for breakfast,” I said instead, picking up my fork.
“You’re welcome,” Sabrina said, leaning against the counter as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. “I’m sure you’re wondering how I got involved in the club.”
“I am actually,” I answered with a laugh before shoving a section of the pancakes in my mouth. They were pretty good.
She grinned. “I could tell by the look on your face. It’s a very interesting story.”
She told me her story, pausing every now and again when I needed a second to recover from the shocking parts or to answer one of my questions.
“You’re telling me that your father used to work with the cartel?”
“Unfortunately,” she sighed, throwing the towel over her shoulder. “But he’s on the good side now. We want to make sure the cartel pays for what they did to him and to my family.”
I wanted the same thing. I wanted the cartel to suffer the same way I was suffering on the inside, the grief I had yet to show.
“So,” Sabrina said as I polished off the rest of the pancakes. “What about you and Damian? What’s the story there?”
I stilled, thinking about the man I didn’t even really know anymore. There had been one time I thought I knew him pretty well, but since Will had died, I had washed my hands of knowing him period. “There’s nothing there.”
“Yeah right,” Sabrina laughed. “If he had been a bear, he would have eaten you alive yesterday. I saw that look on his face. You rattled him and Machine Gun is never rattled.”
I snorted. I doubted Damian got rattled about anything. Where there had been some softness in him before, there wasn’t now. I didn’t even recognize those eyes anymore.
Ugh, what was I going to do the next time I came across him here? I really didn’t know what to say, though I had rehearsed it for years in my mind. After he didn’t reach out to me or my family
, I pieced together an angry tirade for the next time I ran into him.
That had been ten years ago. Now, I wasn’t so sure it even applied anymore. The hurt was still there, though. I don’t think it would ever go away.
But the anger, it had faded over time, just like my memories of Damian and of Will. I couldn’t even conjure up my brother’s face anymore, or his laugh, or how it felt when he hugged me tightly. My mom had said the same thing a few months ago, that she was afraid we would forget him all together one day. Back then I’d told her I would never forget him, but now, I was afraid I was starting to.