I stay at the clubhouse for a week, biding my time. Thinking of how I’ll get them back. How I will make them pay. I don’t rush into things. Instead, I manipulate them. I’m not a hot head, I have a deadly mind. They have no idea what they just brought upon themselves.
Savannah has tried multiple times to sneak into my bed at night, and sometimes I almost allowed it… almost gave in. She caught me off guard, in a dream, with a raging hard on. Though when I heard her say, ‘Baby,’ I threw her across the room. She hasn’t tried it again after that night.
The club is having issues, issues I’ve put there. To make them believe they can’t trust anyone but me. Six days ago, I set Boozer the Vice President up with a hooker, but he didn’t know it was me. The hooker wasn’t so much of a hooker, though, she was an old lady from one of the rival clubs who happened to like me. Photos were taken and were sent to the Pres, Grover. Shit hit the fan.
It was a good day.
The next day, I paid four kids one hundred dollars each if they stole Brak’s chopper, and replaced it with a motorized push bike. A note was left on the bike.
Next will be your life, replaced with a doll if you don’t supply me the right amount.
The note could have meant anything, it was stupid but did its job. He lost the trust of the club, members believing he’s selling the club’s drugs and making a profit of his own. To which he doesn’t have access.
The following, was, well, too fucking easy. I didn’t even need to plan much. Stark has a weakness for a younger woman, early twenties, dressing up as a school girl.
Grover has a younger daughter, younger than Savannah, a mere nineteen years old. No one is to go near her, and no one is talking to her. She hates her father, and is fucking Stark behind his back, to pay him back for favoring Savannah—the golden child.
I stepped out one night, went for a walk. Stark had Grover’s bike, I recognized it and thought it was Grover as no one is meant to touch his bike. It’s his baby. Except the cries of pleasure I heard were not Grover, but Stark, a loyal member for ten years. Dirty old fucking bastard. I took photos, printed them, and sent them to Grover.
Today I walk into the shed and all three of his top members—the ones who have been with him the longest—are standing against the wall. Grover called me in. My face doesn’t change as I see the men, no surprise needed. I’ve put cracks so large in their house, all the loyalty and trust is gone from his top men.
“Pres,” I say.
He looks to me, anger written on his face.
The funny thing is, I planned to do more… so much more. The rest was easy. Except they made an impact and the results of which were exactly what I wanted—a broken club.
“Loyalty, I live by it. My men are to be loyal… if they’re not, then the choice is punishment, blood, death. Which is it?”
The three men look at me, knowing why I’m here, then back to Grover. They all speak at the same time. “Punishment,” they say in union. Grover nods to me and picks Stark to go first, the other two men turn away, not being allowed to see.
The room is set up, everything I need is in here. It’s where I come to relax, to shoot, and occasionally torture their captives. The screams this room carries, they’re relaxing. It sounds weird, I know, but think about it. A person feels, that person is alive, undoubtedly, they scream from the pain, they bleed from the torture, they cry for relief. Those people feel, might not be the right type of feel, but it’s feeling, and it tells them they’re alive.
I was tortured, a mere four months after I lost my memory. Now I’m thinking Grover had something to do with it. The pain from that night was horrific. I didn’t scream once, didn’t shed a tear once or utter a single word. Even when they sliced my incision open with a knife, the one from the gunshot wound, the wound that ultimately gave me no memory. I remember the sound, the sound of flesh being torn, the burning sensation of the wound being ripped open like it was yesterday.
Eventually, they gave up when I’d lost too much blood and passed out. I woke in the same bed with Savannah next to me, holding my hand. She told me how the club rescued me, and that I owed them my life, yet again.
I look to the iron, the iron in the fire. Grover steps out and closes the door behind hm. They never want to stay when I’m in here. I asked why once, and they said my eyes go blank, that I drift off, and am lethal when I’m in the zone.
They’re scared of me, they should be.
Stark is now on his hands and knees, no clothes on his body. The other two men are the same—naked—except their eyes face the wall, not toward me.
“Hurry up, Trace!” he screams. I take my time, dipping in two irons, instead of one.
I lean down, and whisper close to his ear, “Grover had a request…” His body tightens, he sucks in a breath and holds it. Grover didn’t have a request, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Whatever you do, don’t move,” I warn. They always move, it’s instinct.
I pull the first iron from the fire—the red end shines bright—and I place it on his ass. He screams while trying to move away. I keep him there with a hand on his shoulder pulling him back into the iron. The smell of the burnt skin wafts up to my nose. Then once it’s done, I remove it, and before he can move himself the other iron lands on his other ass cheek branding that one as well. He screams like a girl, but he cries like a woman. Then for added pleasure, with gloved hands, I push salt into his wounds. He runs then, not caring what the outcome will be. He isn’t tied down, so I don’t stop him.
I do the exact same thing. Whisper the exact same thing to Boozer. He’s the same, ends up running at the end.
Brak’s is the youngest, about the same age as me. He takes it all, doesn’t even scream when the first iron hits him. The second, however, forces him to scream out in agony. Then just before the salt, he talks and I stop.
“They use you.” His voice is tired, he’s had enough.
“I know.” He shakes his head, still in the same position, on all fours.
“You don’t, you’re not even a member. You’re his toy, and he takes great pride in it. Before you… we didn’t have what we have now… respect. People weren’t afraid of us. They are, however, afraid of you and what you’re capable of.”
“What am I capable of?”
“You really don’t know?” He collapses onto the floor, I drop the salt from my hand. This was what I wanted, I wanted them to break their loyalty, to break it to me. He removes his head from being face down on the cement and turns so he’s lying on his cheek and looks up at me.
“Everything, Black.”