Explosive (A Bleeding Scars MC)

by McCarthy, Abby

  "Pablo, this wasn't the plan."

  The man I now knew as Pablo, threw his hands up in surrender, "Ace, Ace, I know. It's my plane. I went to start it and it no work. My brother good mechanic, si. This is my home. You will be safe here. My wife, she is in the other room. I will get my plane fixed. You will see it. No problemo, si."

  So, Ace was his name. It suited him.

  Ace growled, "This is not what I'm paying you for."

  "It will all work out. You'll see. You want some aqua? Cerveza?"

  "What I want is to be on a plane on my way back to the States."

  "You rest. My brother works hard. It will run."

  Sensing Ace's frustration, I told Pablo in Spanish to get us some water. Relieved by his dismissal, Pablo rushed from the room. As if we both forgot my hand was in his, he immediately dropped it.

  I felt bereft without it, and that made me uneasy. I looked around the sparse room, attempting to take my mind off why that was. A double bed with a sheet and a small nightstand was the only furniture in the room. The walls were off-white, but maybe it wasn't off-white, perhaps it was years of filth built up on the walls. Nonetheless, my guards were not right outside, and for the first time, even though I had that stupid phone in my purse, I felt the smallest amount of freedom.

  Ace watched me. I could feel his eyes on me, but I didn't look at him. I heard him as he spoke into his cell phone.

  "I got her," pause. "She seems ok," and then another pause, "We had an issue. Pablo says the plane is out of commission, but it should be up and running soon. I don't like it. Hold on," Ace called my name, and I took my eyes from the dingy paint and met his, "Your brother wants to talk to you."

  My pulse throbbed steadily in my veins. This was real. I had a brother who wanted to talk to me. I had a brother who sent someone to come for me. I had a brother.

  I knew it was a fact when Hades told me, but he was on the phone, and the reality of that struck me as Ace handed me the phone.

  "Hello."

  There was a moment of breathing, and then I heard, "Alejandra." Relief flooded through the line. "It's so good to hear your voice, God, sorry. I'm Gunner Reed. I'm not sure what you know yet, but we have the same mother, and sadly, I have to tell you she recently passed. It was right before she died that I learned you existed. I'm sorry. If I knew sooner...," He paused as if he was trying to collect his thoughts. I could tell his feelings were heavy about everything he was telling me. "We've been doing everything we could to track you down, and as soon as Ace got a lock on you, he was there. He's the best there is at what he does." It sounded like he wanted me to know why it was Ace and not him that was there. "Are you... shit, are you okay?"

  I gulped, he had a genuine concern for me. In some ways, he seemed nervous. There was a pause, and I realized he was waiting for me to answer. "I am fine. Thank you."

  "Ace is the best at what he does. Don't worry. He'll get you out of there safely. I trust him with my life. He's a good man."

  "Are you a good man?" I couldn't help it, I had to ask. Despite his nervousness, and the subtle ways in just this quick conversation it sounded like he was genuine, I'd been lied to and used my entire life, and I was scared.

  "Alejandra," he sighed, "I'm sorry I wasn't there sooner. If I had known..." His voice trailed off as guilt laced his words. "Be safe, all right? I look forward to meeting you." He disconnected. I wished our conversation didn't end the way it did. I wished I didn't sound cold. I wished I was able to tell him I was grateful to talk with him as well.

  I should've told him how nice it was to hear his voice and how much I looked forward to meeting him too. I wanted to tell him that he didn't need to carry guilt, and the fact that he sent someone to "rescue" me was more than anyone had ever done for me. There were things I wanted to say, but didn't. Words, too thick, caught in my throat lodged behind the sick feeling of betrayal I already carried.

  I handed Ace the phone, and again he grabbed my attention. I didn't know what it was about his dark eyes and the way they seemed to sear into me, but I was unable to look away every time he caught them.

  A quick knock thwarted our stare down. Pablo was there handing us bottled waters. "Luciana, my wife has empanadas ready. I bring you some, si?"

  I nodded, "Gracias." I wasn't exactly hungry, but it felt like the right thing to do. We were in his home. We should accept his hospitality, right?

  Pablo left again, and it was just the two of us.

  "I don't like this. I got a bad feeling," Ace brushed his hand through his short hair. "I like things thought out, no deviations. This isn't what's supposed to happen. We should've been on a plane by now." He started hitting buttons on his phone, and I had no idea what he was doing, but I watched him intently. It looked as though he was checking on something. After several minutes he asked, "What do you know about your grandfather?"

  He might've seen me pause and then pale. I wasn't sure, because he began to deliver a briefing, and I say briefing because that's exactly what it felt like.

  "Not sure if you know all of the players, and I'm not sure how caught up you are. I don't know how much time we have before we have to move, but I want to give you as much information as I can. So here you go. Gunner, Shane, and I are in a motorcycle club. There's a bunch of other guys, but you'll meet them when the time is right. We're the Bleeding Scars MC. We're not above board, but we got a code we follow.

  Enrico Santos is dead, killed by your biological dad, Hades. Hades is the President of Hades Runners—another MC. We know that Hades and Enrico were half-brothers, they shared the same mother, sort of like you and Gunner. We're bringing you back to the States. Still, your grandfather, Juan Santos—Enrico's dad—apparently hates Hades, and part of the reason you've been caught up in their shitshow is because of this hatred. My sources relayed a story of how your grandma birthed Enrico. You should know she hated your grandpa. He's a sick kind of evil."

  I sucked in a breath. He didn't have to tell me about the evil that was my grandfather. He was the kind of man who'd make me lick his shoes, for the sole purpose that he could. He was power-hungry, and I'd witnessed him kill more than one man. Even Enrico was afraid of him. I'd also learned over the years that Enrico was as twisted as he was because of his dad. You don't learn to be a monster by accident,that has to be ingrained into you, and Enrico's lessons were vast.

  "The story is that your grandmother fell in love with an American who was working undercover to take down Santos. She found out what he was doing, and instead of turning him in, she ran away with him. They had a baby together. It drove your grandpa mad. He searched for his wife, and when he finally found her, he killed her, then he searched for the child. By the time he finally found him, Hades was an adult."

  I'd never heard this story before, and as much as I hated hearing it, because I knew how it ended, I was also drawn to the story as if it were feeding a starving child.

  "Hades was already in the ranks of the Hades Runners who were called the Road Runners at the time. When Santos found him, he found out that he was going to father you. So, rumor has it that Santos told him he either would destroy his club, or he'd get to keep you. He chose the club."

  I closed my eyes for a moment. The ugly truth of everything was laid out before me. I guess there was some solace in finally knowing that my grandfather took me as revenge, and my father chose his club over me.

  I was as disposable as ever, and still, my father continued to use me.

  Chapter Four

  Ace

  Holy shit. She was beautiful and fierce. The emptiness behind her eyes haunted me since I first saw a picture of her. It's what drew me in. It was a look that tore through me. Even as I laid her history before her, the way she seemed unaffected was eerily familiar. I should know, I'd mastered that look. I knew that there was so much behind that look. There was so much I could relate too. She was guarded, but so was I. The way she held herself drew me to her even more, because it made me relate to her in a way that few people had
.

  I normally would never take such an interest in a woman. Bad shit happens to people all the time, and truthfully, it wasn't just that she was my brother's sister. It was more than that. Something about her story, the vacant look in her eyes, and her dark, beautiful, skin called to me. This was before I even heard her voice. Once I heard her voice and her hand was in mine, it was like every fiber of my being needed to protect her.

  One look at her photo made me never want to give up my search to bring her back to Gunner. I'd been on countless missions. I'd been a POW. I'd killed and been tortured. For some reason, getting her away from the Santos family and back to where she belonged was the most important mission I'd ever been assigned.

  It's not like Gunner said, "You must bring my sister back." No, this was a self-assigned mission. It was as if the universe was drawing me to her. I knew that sounded stupid, but on those nights when I couldn't sleep, or my dreams woke me, I'd see the look in her eyes in that picture, and I'd spend the rest of the night working through my intel. It was never a question of if I would find her. It had always been when I'd find her.

  She sat still on the bed, looking at a spot on the floor. I knew there was nothing for her to see there and that she was lost in my revelations. I knew she needed that moment too, so I said nothing else.

  There was a knock at the door that made her finally lookup.

  "What," I barked.

  "I have food," Pablo spoke to the door.

  "Come in."

  Pablo walked in, carrying empanadas on a tray. The smell of chilies and cumin was strong but alluring. He set them down on the bed and turned to leave.

  "Wait," I called out to stop him in his tracks.

  "You try them first." I couldn't be too careful. I'd worked with Pablo for a long time, but I could never fully trust him. There were only two men that had that kind of loyalty from me, and neither was present. Pablo shook his head and mumbled something about paranoia and then took a bite of the empanada. I was satisfied and dipped my chin, letting him know he could leave. He turned and went as quickly as he came.

  We ate in silence. I imagined the adrenaline from escaping was starting to fade. I glanced at Alejandra a few times, watching the way she ate with care. It was too careful.

  It made me angry. So angry. I wanted to rip the fork from her hand. I felt irrational watching the way she carefully held her fork. I didn't quite understand why. The sight of her precision bothered me. I gripped my fork, took another bite, then pushed my plate away, not waiting to see if my change in attitude affected her. I looked away, and stormed out of the room. I needed to collect my thoughts and figure out why the hell that bothered me so much.

  Pablo sat at the table with his wife. Soft music played in the background as the pair quietly ate.

  "How's it looking?" I asked, referring to the plane.

  "Patience, my friend." Pablo wiped his mouth as he spoke.

  I could be patient, but everything about this place grated on my nerves. I didn't like being closed in, which was precisely how I felt. I began pacing about his small home, glancing out the front window. Everything looked normal. Nothing seemed amiss, but I couldn't help this feeling deep down that we were not just waiting for the plane to be fixed, more like for the other shoe to drop.

  Fuck it.

  I've never ignored my instincts, and I wasn't about to start now. "Alejandra," I called.

  "Si," she answered quickly.

  "I got a bad feeling. We're not waiting around for the plane. Get our stuff." The house wasn't big, so she heard me fine from the other room.

  "It's fine. Don't you worry," Pablo assured me.

  Alejandra walked out with our things in her hands. Her bag was strapped over her shoulders, and my bag was outstretched in her hand for me to grab. "I have everything."

  I grabbed my bag and her hand, and started towards the back entrance where we came in. Suddenly, an explosion tore through the front of Pablo's home. "Run," I ordered, pulling her with me out the door.

  We dashed to where the bike was hidden, and a bullet tore through the air towards us. I instinctively raised the gun in my hand and fired back.

  I pushed Alejandra behind me, and we crouched low. Another bullet zoomed our way, hitting the bike.

  "Fuck," I cursed that was our way out of here.

  "Look," she squeezed my hand and motioned to a door on the next building. I squeezed her hand then aimed again, this time I hit the shooter. It wasn't a kill shot, though.

  It bought us time. I pulled Alejandra to the door. It was locked, so I quickly fired my gun against the lock and watched as it splintered open.

  We ran. Inside, a woman cursed and yelled at us. I moved fast to the far side of her small apartment and opened a window that led to another tiny alleyway.

  "Come on," I ordered, then shot off a round at a man coming around the corner as he was about to fire. We moved through the opened window and down the alley. A glance showed the street filling up with armed men.

  "Up." Again I pulled Alejandra and pushed her up the fire escape. We moved stealthily as a man came after us and started shouting to his men. "Están aquí!" (They're here!)

  Another shot fired off. It came so close to me that I swear my shirt ripped as it flew passed. "Quick," I yelled. A second later, we were on the rooftop running. The buildings were close to each other. Bedsheets and various articles of clothing were drying on clotheslines connecting one building to the next. More shack-like buildings adorned the roofs.

  We quickly hopped from one rooftop to the next. I prayed like hell that Alejandra had what it took to keep up so we could get out of this. A man hollered at us to get down, while he cooked on an open fire grill. A few children on the next rooftop over kicked a soccer ball back and forth. The air was a mix of too many scents in a tight space. There was a subtle hint of sewage that seemed to be a part of every breath.

  We moved on, ignoring the man and the kids, as quickly as we could. Alejandra noticed something that I didn't. She shouted, "Behind you."

  I turned to look just as one of the goons fired off a shot at me. This time it grazed my shoulder, which just pissed me off. I fired two more rounds, the second hitting him between the eyes. He fell to the ground only to be replaced by another man chasing us.

  Alejandra didn't scream as the man was killed. She made no sounds; her acceptance of this highly insane rescue attempt would have given me pause had I had the chance to. Nevertheless, we continued running.

  We came to a rooftop filled with sheets and towels of all different colors hanging everywhere and billowing in the breeze. A door slammed, and the men poured in from a stairwell, appearing to be everywhere. I held Alejandra still as we hid behind the sheets.

  A man passed by us unnoticed. I struck fast, snapping his neck. We moved slowly, one sheet at a time, taking cover behind them. Slowly, I killed men as they unwarily came into our view. We were closer to the edge and behind another sheet when I tried to make a kill, but we weren't as lucky as before. This time they noticed us.

  Two men aimed high powered rifles at us. "Alto!" The man ordered. I knew it meant stop in Spanish, but there was no stopping for us. It was a kill or be killed situation. I shoved Alejandra hard to my left, and she moved at least a good five feet, at the same time I tossed a grenade at the men then threw myself on top of Alejandra.

  Fire and smoke were everywhere. Men screamed.

  I moved off Alejandra and asked, "You okay?" I quickly assessed her, afraid that she was hurt.

  She was breathing hard with exertion, fear laced her voice, "I'm okay."

  I pulled her up, and we began to run again. A man on the ground raised his hand to shoot at us. I made quick work of killing him. We hopped to another building, and I decided we needed to get lower. This rooftop bullshit wasn't working out so well for us.

  We entered a steel door on the roof. Heat from the stairwell blasted us as we made it down a flight of stairs. It was stuffy; a jumble of spices and musk filled the air. We move
d down another flight of stairs. There was a small shirtless boy, who was no more than six, bouncing a red ball against the wall in the hallway.

  Alejandra noticed him and yelled, "Rápidamente entra dentro." (Quick, go inside)

  The boy, whose ribs jutted out slightly, was shocked to see us, and took off into his apartment. We reached the end of the stairwell and moved to a door. I cracked open the door to peer at the street.

  Chaos was rampant outside due to the grenade I’d thrown. Smoke filled the streets, and people ran in different directions. I pulled Alejandra outside and ordered, "Stay close." We ran down alleyways with buildings so close to each other we were forced to move sideways down them. We turned corners, crossed streets, and I never let Alejandra's hand go.

  Finally, we made it to the building I'd been in search of. I moved a bunch of tarps and pieces of large debris. Hidden below everything, was an old bike I'd picked up for cheap in case of an emergency. And this was beyond an emergency. I wasn't naive enough to think that even though we didn't have men on our tail right now, we were scot-free. I climbed on the bike and started it.

  "Get on," I ordered.

  Alejandra didn't waste time. She climbed on behind me. Her fingernails dug into my skin as she clung tightly to me while we zoomed away.

  Remarkably, we managed to get out of the chaotic town and quickly found ourselves speeding through the Colombian countryside. It was beautiful. I wished we could take our time and appreciate our surroundings. The air was cleaner; crisper than in the city. As we rode further and further away from the city, I marveled at how the jungle butted right up to the road.

  The road was, for the most part, empty. In its own way, this worried me more than if there were people everywhere. We would stick out, and people would spot us. It wouldn't take long. I needed to get off the road and head for cover. I turned down a long road with nothing much on either side of us except rolling green hills. We approached a cottage-style home with boarded up windows against its white peeling paint. This might do. I slowed the bike and pulled behind the cottage. An overgrown garden filled the backyard. I stopped the bike and made sure no one was around to see us. This looked as good a place as any for me to figure out our next move.