Explosive (A Bleeding Scars MC)

by McCarthy, Abby

The shop was basically like a cement block with no windows. In front of the shop, there was a hallway with an office and several other rooms. The rest of the clubhouse was an open space filled with couches, a few tables, some stand-up coke coolers that weren't filled with coke necessarily, and a bunch of random chairs. At one of the tables, Reggie, Finn, Jerome, and Knuckles played a hand of cards.

  In the middle of the shop was all of the machining equipment. Towards the back, there was a giant boxing ring and a makeshift gym where Gun Jr. was currently shadow boxing. Beside the ring were large garage bay doors that frequently opened for trucks coming in and out.

  We made a lot of our money off some valves that helped the airflow in kegs, of all things.

  Max sat on a stool on the far corner of the room welding a fender. A few other guys were also hard at work. Everything was as it should be. Nothing was out of place.

  Upon logging into my computer, I did a check on our exterior security system. My phone would alert me if anything was amiss, but I always did a sweep just in case it missed something. I had alerts pinged for every car that came and went. Shane and Gunner didn't know it, but I had some trips I'd installed too. It wasn't that I was keeping anything from them; I was just that good with explosives. I liked to make sure they had no idea they were there.

  My email dinged at exactly eight-thirty, precisely like it was supposed to. On the screen was the second picture that I received from my Colombian contact of Alejandra Santos. She was standing behind a window staring at what looked like nothing. She had long dark hair. From the picture, I couldn't make out small details like the color of her eyes, but I could recognize that lost look on her face. It was how she stared out through the glass, her expression hauntingly empty, yet there was something evocatively beautiful about her.

  The next ping to my email came indicating geographical coordinates along with the number of guards on her location. I closed my laptop and met Gunner's eyes. He'd been waiting to hear if my guy had any intel on the whereabouts of his sister, that he'd only recently found out he had. Gunner's life had been fucked. Shortly after reconnecting with Charlie and his kid, he found out his mom had been keeping a secret. He had a sister.

  We'd been searching for a while, and finally, I had something concrete. Gunner met Shane's eyes, and the three of us silently walked to the office. I didn't waste time, once we filled the narrow space. "I have a solid lead on her location. She was spotted at one of Santos's properties in Colombia just outside the city."

  "Did your contact say how she looked? Do we know if she's okay?" Gunner asked.

  "There's a picture." I reopened my laptop and clicked on the attachment. So fucking beautiful.

  Gunner reached out to my screen and touched it. "I can see my mom in her." He stared at her as if he was memorizing her features.

  I imagined that it had to be hard looking at her. His mom was killed shortly after he found out he had a sister.

  Shane cracked his neck. Something he had been doing for years, whenever he was anxious. He sucked at poker. "When do we want to leave?" Shane asked.

  "Yeah, when can we get to her?" Gunner also questioned.

  I eyed the two, knowing they wouldn't like what I said next. "I'm flying solo on this one."

  "To hell you are," Shane's voice boomed around the room.

  "Hear me out. We just ticked off a major player, and if you think he's going to be quiet about it, you're fooling yourselves. Gunner, do you really think you can leave your wife and kid right now? And Shane, they're going to need you here when the shit hits the fan. This is what I'm trained for. If anyone can go in and get her, it's me. I have a few contacts who I trust. I need to do this alone."

  I could see the conflicted thoughts filter through each of their heads. Gunner, surprisingly, was the first to give in. "I don't like it, but you're right. I can't leave my family."

  "Fuck," Shane cursed under his breath.

  I clasped my hand on his back. "You know I'm right on this one, brother."

  He sighed, "When do you plan to leave?"

  "I have to make arrangements, but I don't plan to be here when the sun comes up."

  Gunner's eyes filled with emotion, "Thank you."

  I didn't wait to hear what else my brothers had to say on the matter. They knew I was a man of few words. Instead, I slipped my laptop into a backpack, slid my shades over my eyes, and rode away on my bike. Hopefully, the next time I returned, I wouldn't be alone.

  Chapter Three

  Alejandra

  I hated Hades. I hated everything about him. Yes, he was my father, and yes, deep down, I’d wished for some type of love from him. Still, the callousness with which he informed me of my mother's death and my brother's existence, painted him as the unredeemable monster he was.

  I went along with his plan. I had to. It was the only way out of this that I could see. It didn't mean the idea of it didn't make me feel sick.

  With each passing day since Hades left, my nerves became more and more shot. I was pouring coffee, knowing my coffee intake was becoming somewhat of an addictionary level, when I noticed the tremble in my hands. Hades told me he would let it slip where I was and that some dramatic rescue would probably happen. I knew it was coming soon, and I had to act surprised. I wasn't even sure how I could do that? My acting skills were exemplary, considering my upbringing with my evil Uncle Enrico and the men he needed me to "entertain" but, I was nervous.

  The truth was, I liked the idea of having a brother. I never had any real family; Enrico and Grandpa surely weren't that. My entire life had consisted of me being a prisoner, either in Enrico's home or my villa, which I moved into after Enrico's house partially blew up. I had guards around the perimeter, but I had my own space. I wasn't so naive to think this would last. When Dearest Daddy showed up, as shocked as I was to see him in my space, a huge part of me wasn't shocked at all... until he opened his mouth and told me about my mom. Worse than that was his plan to use me to get to my brother. I had to go through with it, though. If there was a chance at freedom, I had to take it. Otherwise, I feared I wouldn't last much longer in this thing called life that I'd been living; if you could even call it that.

  The tremble in my hands became more prominent as I heard a small thump outside the door. I set my coffee down, unsure of what was to come. Hades had explained that this would probably be some extreme rescue. I didn't know what to expect or if I could pull it off. I heard another noise, and I knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was go-time.

  I moved near the knives on the kitchen counter and waited for whatever was about to happen. I had to act surprised, but defensive. I wasn't supposed to know if they would be good guys or bad.

  I expected the door to crash open, but it didn't. There was a small click, and the door crept open.

  It felt as if the air had changed, becoming more weighted. I found it hard to breathe. I was face to face with a behemoth of a man. He was tall, and I was tall, so he was really tall. He wore black cargo pants and a black fitted T-shirt that showcased his muscular frame. Large guns were strapped to his back. He held his hands up and slowly approached me, the way one would approach a wounded animal. I knew he was here to rescue me, but I had to play my part. I steeled my eyes on his and put my hand on the knife block. "Don't come any closer."

  "Good, you speak English," he said on a sigh. "I'm not here to hurt you. You have a family that's been searching for you; a brother, sister-in-law, and a nephew. They're in the States. I'm here to take you to them. To take you out of this prison."

  I searched his dark eyes. Beads of sweat ran down his face, and a small red trickle of blood dripped from his tattoo-covered forearm. His eyes seemed trusting. I already hated the fact that I'd be playing him.

  "I don't know you. I don't know what you say is true. All I know is that I have a piece of shit sperm donor in America, and that's it." My voice was firm. "I have blood, and he's not searching for me. He knows exactly where I've been all my life. He's nothing," I spat out the l
ast part. My Colombian accent made the word nothing sound like a dirty word. To me it was a dirty word because that's how Hades made me feel; dirty and like nothing.

  "You have another family. Family you don't know. A brother. Different dads." He was speaking softly, trying to get me to take him at his word. "Take your hands off the knives. I won't hurt you."

  I eyed him up and down, wary of what I should do.

  He stared at me for several beats then sighed, "Look, I just disarmed eight men outside by myself. Sorry to break it to you, Princess, but if I wanted to take you out, I'd be able to do it before you could blink. Now, I need you to pack a bag. We have to go... unless you want to wait for the second round of men to come through the door."

  "You think I should just take you for your word and leave with you?"

  "Yes, that's precisely what I think. And if you don't make a decision here soon, we might be facing a firestorm."

  "They won't shoot me." I straightened my shoulders.

  "You sure about that? It seems to me they're not really in it for your best interest."

  "And you are?"

  He wouldn't take his eyes from mine. We were in a fierce stare down, filled with questions and promises. I felt like he was asking, can you trust me? I'll have your back. He nodded his head, and that was the only indication he gave in response to his silent questions that I apparently must've somehow answered. The seriousness of his gaze made me want to do whatever he asked. Even if I didn't have a heads up that he was coming for me, I would've gone with him regardless of Hades.

  I didn't wait any longer. I moved away from the knives and caught a glance of him, silently approving of my movements. I moved to my closet, grabbed a large Prada handbag, and began stuffing jewelry into it. Clothes, I could replace, but the jewels were worth a ton, and I had a feeling that whatever was in store for me next, I'd need money.

  A moment later, the bottom of my bag was filled with emeralds, diamonds, rubies, and other gems. They were my showpieces meant to make my uncle's clients think I was something coveted, that I was something special. The jewels that filled my bag were more than monetary; their cost was invaluable. It was a cost I feared I could never get back. It was the cost of my dignity.

  I tore my nightgown over my head and heard the man suck in a breath. I'd forgotten that my modesty was also something I let go of a long time ago. It was nothing for me to be mostly nude in front of a man. I ignored his shock, grabbed a black lace bra because sexy was all I was allowed and slipped it on covering my breasts. I pulled a black tank top on next, knowing how hot the Colombian sun could be. I grabbed a pair of black leggings from my drawer and could no longer feel his eyes on me. Next, I donned a pair of socks and a pair of pink and gray Nikes that I was permitted to have for running on the treadmill. I threw a few pairs of panties in my bag, a couple of tanks, and a fresh pair of leggings. All these clothes were small and could be balled up to fit in my bag with no problem.

  I moved out of my closet, past the man who was watching me and simultaneously watching the door, then walked as quickly as I could to the bathroom. I threw a toothbrush, a hairbrush, a tiny makeup bag that had the disposable phone that Hades gave me, and a few tampons on top just to keep anyone from wanting to snoop, into the bag.

  "Let's go," I said, walking out. The man looked me over. His gaze was quick and assessing. I felt as if he was examining me to make sure that I was prepared for anything.

  He didn't stare at me the way I was used to men looking at me. Usually, a man's attention on me meant they wanted something. I didn't get that sense from him, and it was a bit unnerving. I don't think I had ever been looked at like I was just a person and not an object. He took a long black gun from a holster and ordered, "Stay close." My nerves immediately skyrocketed. I’d said my grandfather's men wouldn't hurt me, but the truth was they hurt me all the time. I just wasn't sure if they would kill me.

  I followed him out of my villa and to a stairwell that eventually led outside. My villa was on stilts keeping the jungle below at bay. He moved with stealth. If I’d had the time, I would've marveled at the swift way his massive size moved almost gracefully. We passed by Marco, one of the watchdogs that was assigned to guard me. He was with me longer than any other guard, and because of that, he'd taken the most liberties with me. He was on the ground, a small puddle of blood pooled beneath him. He wasn't moving, but I never wanted to wonder if he was alive and could come after me. I'd had enough blows dealt by Marco that I did not doubt that he would hurt me if he survived. I hated him.

  'Wait," I said, stopping in front of Marco and pausing the man in his tracks. "Is he dead?"

  "Should be."

  "Make sure of it," I commanded as if I had a right to command anything. Commando didn't hesitate, he aimed his gun and fired a shot at the man's head. The weapon was quieter than I expected. My eyes traveled the length of the gun and noticed a silencer on it.

  He gave me a quick glance to see if I was affected by the fact that he put a bullet in Marco's head. I wasn't. I'd seen worse. "I'm good," I assured him.

  He grabbed my hand, and we began to move down the stairs and over bodies. My hand felt secure in his, and it was the strangest feeling I'd ever felt. Never in my life had I felt security, let alone placed my hand in someone else's, and trusted that they'd bring me to safety. Giving that trust for the first time changed me somehow. It was the oddest, most remarkable feeling for me to trust someone. If we had time, I'd have analyzed it right then and there, but we didn't. We had to move and fast.

  Outside, the thick jungle was everywhere. The air was thick from the humidity. It mingled with the dust that swirled up from the road. Even though there was a bend in the street, I knew that a car approached. He yanked me into the brush. "Stay down."

  I watched as he pulled a small black device from his pocket and waited. It was eerily silent around us. Even the dense jungle surrounding us seemed to know that the air was thick with violence. Seconds ticked by, and I found myself watching the Commando who came for me. He was apparently trained in combat, hence why my brain kept referring to him as Commando, and it made me wonder who my brother was, that he was capable of sending a man like this to retrieve me.

  "Cover your ears," he whispered.

  I did as I was told and still flinched, hearing the loud boom. The ground shook beneath me. Black billowing smoke shot straight into the air. Smoke briefly filled my lungs, but before I had a chance to register it, he was pulling me up from the ground and grabbing my hand again.

  We moved past a burning SUV. A man who must have been ejected from the vehicle was still alive on the ground. His leg was mangled. My savior didn't hesitate—just shot him and kept dragging me along. We moved about a thousand yards when he stopped next to denser brush and pulled a camouflage netting off of a motorcycle.

  "Crotch rockets aren't usually my thing, but it was the best I could find. Get on." He ordered as he threw a leg over the neon painted bike while simultaneously discarding some of the guns strapped to his back.

  I stared. I’d never been on a bike before. The truth was that this journey outside of my villa was shaping up to be a lot of firsts.

  He handed me a helmet. "Do you know how to put this on?"

  I was still staring. Maybe I was dumbfounded by the last twenty minutes. I didn't know. I didn't answer him. He gently moved my hair back away from my face. The care he took in doing so, surprised me. He placed the helmet on my head and tightened the strap under my chin. He grabbed a pair of sunglasses, and covered his eyes, then grabbed another pair from a small compartment on the bike. He moved his sunglasses down on his nose. His dark eyes stared deeply into mine while he put a pair of glasses on me.

  The intensity with which he stared at me both unnerved me and drew me in. Even covered in blood, sweat, and ash from the explosion, he was beautiful.

  "You and your brother have the same eyes."

  I didn't blink. I was utterly transfixed. His eyes were a dark brown, so dark that, at first gla
nce, I would have thought they were black. I barely noticed what he said about my brother's eyes because I was so transfixed on his.

  "Get on," he ordered, breaking the spell.

  I listened, throwing a leg over the seat. He grabbed my knee, lifted my leg, and angled my foot to the footpeg. Once I knew what I was supposed to do, I put my other foot where it belonged.

  "Hold on."

  I didn't see anywhere for my hands to go and was surprised when he grabbed my hand and put it around his waist. Like before, I followed his lead and wrapped my other hand around his waist. He took off quickly, and I realized how much tighter I needed to hang on.

  The bike was fast. I was plastered to his back as he zipped through the rough terrain. It occurred to me that I didn't even know his name yet, but I was stuck to him, quite literally. Trees moved past us in a blur, the warm wind from our momentum hit my skin. We drove through the outskirts of town with a precision that made me think he knew his way around, which was funny because I'd lived here my entire life, and there was no way I felt like I'd ever know my way around. Every street was filled with people, and more buildings smashed together, virtually stacked on top of one another.

  We weaved down another road, and eventually slowed then turned down a small alleyway. The motorcycle idled, and a man wearing tan linen pants and a black button-down shirt motioned with his hand, "Aquí, aquí," which I knew meant here. A large burlap covering was moved, and the bike glided into the small space. We were lodged against a building, the burlap closing us in. A moment later, a door opened, filtering light through the small area. "Aquí." the man said again.

  I followed my motorcycle savior's lead and got off of the bike then quickly took my helmet and sunglasses off. He grabbed my hand, and we followed the Colombian man inside. It was still strange to me that the Commando took my hand;even stranger that I allowed it, not even flinching at the contact.

  We were in a modest home. A woman stood at the kitchen sink, washing dishes, ignoring us. She hummed a song and gently swayed her hips. We continued to follow the man down the hallway until he brought us to a room in the back of the house. He opened the door to a small bedroom and closed the three of us inside.