Chapter Six

 

Mercy

 

As soon as I step out of the shower, I hear the faint sound of my phone ringing from my purse that’s still in the living room.

And I know it has to be either Sasha or my mother. My mother will worry if she calls and I don’t answer, so I wring out as much water as I can from my long hair and wrap my towel around me to go answer.

Droplets of water leak down onto my purse as I dig around for my phone and finally find it.

“Hi, Mom,” I answer after seeing her name on the screen. Then, I take a seat right there on the floor instead of sitting on my new microfiber sofa and getting it wet, just a few feet away from where I did the nasty with a man I just met.

“What were you doing? You sound out of breath,” my mother says in a rush.

“I just got out of the shower.”

“Why were you showering in the middle of the afternoon?” she asks.

Jeez, my mother is like a crazy, mad dog detective on one of those crime shows.

“It’s a hot, muggy day and I wanted to cool off,” I explain, leaving off the part about how my body was dripping sweat and other bodily fluids, not entirely my own, from the dirty floor sex. I would even question whether or not the unbelievably good fucking actually happened to me if not for the soreness between my legs from being impaled on the biggest dick I’ve ever seen. That’s all the proof I need that I really had a one-night stand.

I wait for the guilt and self-loathing to surface after doing something so crazy and out of character, but as of right now they’re still absent. Guess the endorphins haven’t worn off yet. Any time now I’ll be regretting my decision and wishing I could go back in time and stick the dime in my purse rather than in Abe’s pocket like he was a giant, walking, talking orgasm vending machine. Did he enjoy himself? I mean, I know he came inside of me, but that doesn’t mean it was necessarily good sex, right? It could’ve just been boring sex for him.

“Do you have a fever?” my mother asks. “Is that why you’re hot?”

“No, Mom,” I reply with a roll of my eyes. “I’m perfectly heathy.”

“Are you getting plenty of sleep? You need to be well rested to get rid of the bags under your eyes before the photo shoot.”

“I’m sleeping at least eight hours a night,” I assure her. “And I don’t have bags under my eyes.”

“Are you sure? I want you to put your best foot forward with the bachelors,” my mother says. “You’re running out of time. If you don’t get married before you’re thirty, then you may as well forget having kids. And you want kids, don’t you?”

“I have plenty of time,” I disagree as I stretch out on my back on the floor. “Who says women have to marry before thirty to have kids?”

“That’s just how it works.”

“Uh-huh,” I say to humor her.

“Now, the first men you need to get rid of on the show are the most handsome ones,” she tells me. “If a man is too handsome, he’ll cheat on you, just like your father did to me. So pick someone who isn’t classically handsome but not awful to look at.”

“So you’re saying that all handsome men are cheaters?” I challenge.

“Yes!” she exclaims. “They won’t ever stop looking for someone better. And when they find it, they’ll leave you alone to raise their kids while they start a new family.”

My poor mother. When I was six, my father moved out of the house. He divorced her, remarried, and forgot that the two of us ever existed. According to my mother’s gossiping friends down in Florida where my father lives, I have a half-brother and half-sister out in the world that I’ve never met. It’s a tough pill to swallow thinking that he didn’t give a shit about me but loves his other children enough to stick around. But I can’t imagine how hard it’s been on my mother losing the man she loved to another woman after they had started a family together. It was brutal finding out Blake wanted someone else, and we had only been dating a few weeks. How hard must it be to devote your life and love to a man and have him trample all over it like it’s nothing but dog shit on his shoes?

“Are you listening to me, Mercy? Don’t pick the handsome men. Keep the ugly ones around and see if any of them attend church regularly. If not, then you should finally go out with Joseph. He never misses a single Wednesday bible study or Sunday school.”

“I don’t think there are many single men out in the world who attend church other than Joseph,” I point out, cringing at the reminder of the dumpy, excessively sweaty man my mom always makes me talk to before we can leave the parking lot on Sundays. Not that I’m very spiritual myself. The only reason I go to church is because my mother guilt trips me into it. When we were traveling, she dragged me to some type of service every single, bright and early, Sunday morning. Then, she would spend the rest of the day complaining about how wrong they did everything that wasn’t exactly like her small, strict, uber-conservative Baptist church that she was raised in.

“Well, more single men should come to church! That’s what’s wrong with the world. People don’t talk to Jesus anymore. They sin too much and don’t never even bother to ask forgiveness!”

The reminder of how I sinned this afternoon causes a blush to creep up my neck and cheeks. My mother thinks I’m a virgin, which is insane. Even if she thought I hadn’t had premarital sex before the show, she should’ve figured it out by now. If she found out that I had slept with a man I just met, a tatted biker at that, she’d probably be on my doorstep with the preacher, ready to exorcise the demons he left in my body.

“You’re staying on the path of the righteous, aren’t you, Mercy?” my Mom asks, which is, of course, when that guilt and self-loathing tries to rear its ugly head.

“Yes, mother,” I reply so that she won’t worry about me burning in hell when I die.

“You’re such a good girl,” she says. “And some men still prefer good girls over those loose ones.”

“I bet you’re right,” I tell her as I close my eyes and grit my teeth to get through the rest of this phone call. “I need to go dry my hair before I get pneumonia,” I say to get her off the phone.

“You should. And take your temperature afterward to make sure you’re not running a fever,” she tells me.

“I will. Love you, Mom,” I say.

“Love you too, Mercy. I better see you at early service tomorrow! Don’t make your poor mother sit in the pew all pitiful and alone, Mercy Grace Daniels!” she replies before I end the call.

Sasha has never understood why I tolerate my mother’s craziness, but she wouldn’t understand since both of her parents are still happily married. After my father left us, I’m all that my mom has left other than her handful of elderly church friends who haven’t kicked the bucket yet. So, I put up with her judgment, ancient advice, and sermons to make her happy and think that I’m following all of her old school wisdom.

And yeah, it’s exhausting to pretend like I’m a good girl.

 

…

 

Abe

 

My head was all over the place after I left Mercy’s house, still thinking about the mistake I made by not using a condom, while having a hard time regretting it. Sure, it felt fucking amazing to be inside of the first pussy ever without a barrier, but the consequences aren’t worth a few minutes of ecstasy.

So then why is it every time that I run through the memories, I wouldn’t do a damn thing differently except beg to stay for a few minutes longer.

When it starts to get dark, I leave the same pier as the restaurant where the mob of people with cameras were after Mercy and head back to the clubhouse. Tonight, the Kings are gonna bang some heads together at the Aces' bar, so I need to get over the shit that happened this afternoon and get ready.

That’s the only reason why I turn down Cynthia’s offer to come downstairs with me. Right?

Or maybe it’s because I still taste and smell Mercy’s mango scent on me and don’t want anyone fucking that up just yet.

“You’re here early,” Chase says when he walks into the chapel and sees me already sitting in my chair.

“Ready to get this done,” I tell him as he takes his seat next to me and leaves the chair at the head of the table empty for Torin.

“How did things go with Mercy?” he asks, holding out his palm for my cell phone to put in the bucket that always stays outside the room during our meetings.

“Fine,” I mutter as I pull the device from my pocket and hand it to him.

“Fine?” Chase repeats. “That’s it. Just fine? You were pussy-whipped before you found out her name,” he adds with a chuckle.

“No, I wasn’t,” I declare.

“I thought you were gonna drag her out of the restaurant by her hair,” Chase jokes. “And I think that’s what Sasha was betting on when she asked us to show up.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“My old lady was obviously pimping you out,” he replies with a smirk. “So, did you show her best friend a good time or not?”

“Yeah, we had a good time,” I agree.

“No shit?” Chase mutters. “Sasha said you would, but no offense, I didn’t think you had a chance with Mercy.”

“I didn’t either,” I agree. Then, surprising even myself, I tell him, “I want more.”

“Hell, we’re men. We always want more,” he replies.

“No, I mean, I want to see her again,” I explain.

“You sure about that?” Chase asks. “Sasha says the girl has a ton of baggage. Why don’t you just forget her and find Cynthia when we get back tonight? Less complicated.”

“Right,” I agree, even though I don’t want Cynthia or anyone else. I just want to go back to Mercy’s house and crawl into bed with her tonight. Nah, that’s too pathetic. Maybe I could buy her some flowers or some other shit and go by tomorrow. I mean, not to be a pussy or whatever, but should I keep an eye on her in case she was wrong about the shot thing and I knocked her up? If so, I want to be the first to know that shit. They make those Plan B pills for fuck-ups like mine. If I got her one of those, would she take it just to be absolutely sure?

One by one, our brothers start wandering in, dropping off their phones and taking their seats at the table. I wasn’t sure who all would be involved in our assault tonight, but it looks like everyone is here…except for Dalton.

Could he be our rat? Doubtful since he’s been around the MC almost as long as Chase has. His father was a founding member of the Savage Kings and Dalton now handles our dirty money, funneling it through the legit businesses to cover our asses. It wouldn’t make sense for him to fuck us over.

The door opens and in walks the blond bastard. “Fuck. Sorry I’m late,” Dalton says, sounding out of breath. “Cynthia was insistent, and you know how good her mouth is,” he adds with a grin in my direction before he shoots his phone into the bucket like it’s a basketball.

And yeah, I do know, but I’m not the least bit jealous that, when I turned the redhead down, she approached Dalton, the biggest manwhore of us all. We share her, like most of the other girls upstairs. Then, I try to think about how I would feel if one of the guys touched Mercy, and I can feel the vein in my head throbbing in rage at just the idea.

Even more surprising than Dalton coming is late is when the door opens again and Torin comes in. While he hasn’t shaved his thick, dirty-blond beard, he at least looks cleaner, missing the sand that was covering nearly every inch of him earlier.

“Glad you made it,” Chase says before everyone else welcomes him back. It’s been weeks since he’s even stepped foot in the building.

“Let’s do this,” he says before he takes a seat on the floor with his back against the wall and knees raised, refusing to sit in his chair at the head of the table.

Chase looks slightly disappointed but shakes it off when he places the phone bucket outside the door and shuts it. Torin’s the only member Chase doesn’t ask to pony up his phone since it’s not like he’s the rat, and I’m guessing he doesn’t want to rock the boat by asking for it.

Addressing the rest of the table, Chase says, “Sorry to call everyone in so late, but we need a full table tonight. You all know that Hector Cruz and his crew skipped town after…what happened.” Chase pauses, glancing over at Torin to make sure he’s holding it together. When Torin gives a slight nod, Chase continues. “Reece has been doing everything he can to try to track him down.”

Reece leans forward and raps his knuckles on the table; then waits for Chase to acknowledge him. “These Cartel guys are spooks,” Reece says. “When they draw too much attention to themselves, they fade away; then pop up with a new identity in another part of the country. I’m using every trick I know to get a hit on Hector or one of his associates, but it’s a slow process. I talked to Chase about it, and we thought that this situation might call for a more direct approach.”

“We know that these Cartel cunts approached the Ace of Spades MC,” Chase continues. “They were using them as distributors in our town. Abe and I put a stop to that shit. But with the recent events, I think it would be a good idea to revisit their clubhouse and express how unhappy we are with their choice of business partners.”

“We’re going to burn that fucking place to the ground,” Torin declares.

Every one of my brothers slap the table in agreement and roar in approval before Chase raises a hand for silence. “We’re gonna burn that fucking place to the ground,” he agrees. “But first we’re gonna ask some questions. Here’s how this is gonna go down, and even more reason why we have to do it tonight. Reece has been keeping an eye on the Aces and has found out that they still have a functioning meth lab in a trailer they’ve been moving around. That trailer is parked at their bar right now.”

“Meth labs blow up all the time,” Sax laughs, before a glare from Chase shuts him up.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point,” Chase sighs. “Now, we also know that four of their members rode south earlier today. Reece pinged them at a gas station in Florida this evening, so they’re not coming home tonight. Finally, we got a call from Jade just giving us a heads-up that the local police are setting up a big ass check-point on both ends of the strand late tonight, looking for drunks. They will be at least fifteen minutes away when any calls come in about the hell we’re going to raise out at the Aces' bar. Here’s what I need from each one of you.”

As Chase lays out the plan for our raid tonight, I’m finally able to push Mercy to the back of my mind. I know she’ll come storming back as soon as I have some quiet time, but right now I’ve got work for my fists and brains, not my cock and heart.

Once all of my brothers have confirmed they know their roles, Chase points to the wall clock.

“It’s almost midnight now,” he tells us. “Grab what you will need, get a drink, and be ready to ride at one. I want to be at their bar right after closing.” Casting one more worried glance at Torin, Chase picks up the gavel and slams it down.

Most of my brothers jump to their feet in excitement, then pause to watch as Torin storms out of the chapel. As the rest of us begin to file out, I hear Chase tell War, the sergeant-at-arms, “Stay by him, man. Don’t let him get himself killed tonight or do anything else stupid.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing for years,” War grumbles good-naturedly. “I’ll stay close to Torin, just like we planned. You keep Abe with you, and everything will work out fine. This is going to be good for us, brother. I’m proud of you.”

I see Chase slap War on the back before I start down the hall towards my room. Chase detailed my part in tonight’s activities for everyone else to hear, but he never had to explain it to me. I stand by him, wherever we go, just the way it’s always been since I was a prospect and he was my sponsor.

Out in the hallway, Gabriel stops me with a raised hand, bringing me up short. Things are always awkward with my little brother, and my head’s not in a good place for a heart-to-heart with him right now. “What’s up?” I ask him.

“Did you tell Chase to leave me at the clubhouse with Fast Eddie and Reece? Come on, man, you don’t have to pull this big brother shit on me with the MC. You guys can use me out there tonight.” Gabe says, low enough so that everyone in the hall doesn’t overhear.

“You know I don’t tell Chase how to do a goddamned thing,” I reply shortly. I almost add that, if he had asked, I would have told him to keep my little brother out of harm’s way. But for once, I manage to grit my teeth before my first thought falls out of my mouth. “Think about our last run,” I add, to console him. “We left Reece here with just the prospects, and the place got torn up. If Chase wants you here, it’s because he trusts you to hold down the fort.”

Gabe nods, thankfully accepting the reasoning. “Yeah, when you put it that way, it makes more sense.” Raising his hand for a fist bump, I hit his knuckles and we share a grin. “You know I’ve been meaning to talk to you…” he starts to add, before I cut him off.

“Later, wild man. I’ve got to get ready.”

“All right, Abe, I hear you,” Gabe says with a sigh, before turning to head upstairs.

Once I’m back in my room, I start digging my gear out of my closet. I debate taking a few minutes to go to one of the clubs’ computers and run a quick search on Mercy, maybe find out more about her or just see some pictures, but I quickly dismiss that notion. Chase didn’t give any of us our phones back after the meeting. Most of the brothers don’t know, but he’s still worried about a rat among us. If anyone is seen making a call, or anyone besides Reece is on a computer, it will draw attention. I don’t need these guys riding my ass about my ravishing redhead while we’ve got work to do.

I take off my cut and hang it up for tonight, replacing it with an unadorned leather riding vest. It looks plain, but it’s anything but ordinary. All of my brothers have one just like it, lined with Kevlar and reinforced polymer plates. I rack the pump on my shotgun, fill the tube with shells, and then place half a dozen more in the loops on the carrying strap before throwing it over my shoulder. After I check my pistol and slide two more clips into the holster on my hip, I’m ready to ride.

When I stomp up the stairs to the bar, I can see immediately that Torin or Chase already cleared everyone out. The only people here are my brothers, with the two prospects behind the bar serving the drinks. I lean on the bar beside Chase and motion for Holden to pour me a tall one.

“You been keeping an eye on everyone?” I lean over and say quietly to Chase.

“You’re the only one that’s been out of my line-of-sight since we were in the chapel,” Chase assures me. “Don’t give me that ugly look,” he laughs, patting me on the back when I scowl at him.

“It’s the only look I’ve got,” I growl, before taking a long pull on the frosted mug Holden slides over to me.

“I wasn’t hinting that I think you’re…you know, the rat,” Chase whispers. “I’ve never had any doubts about you, brother. Not once.”

“Same,” I reply, clinking my glass against the bottle he’s holding. Nodding over to where Torin is sitting at the other end of the bar, I tell Chase, “Glad to see he’s switched to soda tonight.”

“That ain’t soda,” Chase grumbles as Torin crumples up a red Solo cup and tosses it towards the trash can. “He’s drinking that damned Evan Williams that makes him get even more ornery than usual. He dropped a bottle earlier, so I told him he had to use sippy cups and ride in the van with the prospects.”

I snort my beer when Chase tells me that, which sets him off cackling as I splutter and laugh. Torin’s head snaps over, and he glares at us as he stomps around the bar. “You two jokers having fun tonight?” Torin demands. “The show’s over, and I’m ready to get to the afterparty.” Slapping each of our chests, he gives a satisfied grunt. “I checked the rest of them. Everybody’s got their plates on. Let’s go, Kings!” he roars as we all jump up and file out to our bikes.

Chase pulls his bike across the parking lot to make sure he’s in the front of our convoy with the van bringing up the rear. Sticking to the back roads, we barely see any other vehicles on our ride over to the Aces' clubhouse. Torin has the prospect flash the van’s lights to pull us all over when we’re about a mile away and calls Reece. After he makes sure that any surveillance equipment is shut down, he gets us back on the road.

The Ace of Spades' clubhouse is a traditional pool hall, with a gravel parking lot. It’s just after two a.m. when our crew roars onto the property, our bikes slinging rocks at the few vehicles still parked out front. Torin’s been inside before, just like Chase and I have, so he has the prospect drive the van around to the back of the building. We’ve planned to have him lead War, Sax, and Dalton in that way.

I’m off my bike with my shotgun in my hands before the dust we kicked up has even started to settle. I run ahead of Chase, Cooper, and Miles, shoving one of the double glass doors open with my shoulder. Letting out an ear-splitting roar, I swing my shotgun around the corner of the small foyer leading into the main room, unloading a blast into the lines of bottles behind the bar. Glass explodes and rains down around a huge, bald guy that I recognize as the bartender who was here the last time Chase and I visited. He’s got a pistol in his hand; and as he hops backwards, he fires a shot at me before he slips and falls on his ass.

I can’t laugh at him, because the slug this bullseye motherfucker fired hits me square in the chest, blasting the wind from my lungs and staggering me backwards. Miles races past me, the AK-47 in his hands blinding me as it spits fire and brass across the room. I can see Torin and War at the back of the room, ushering club sluts out the back door as Chase helps me back to my feet.

“Abe, goddammit, how bad is it?” Chase yells at me, jerking on my damned beard to get me to look at him.

“Don’t ever do that again,” I wheeze as I lean on him for a moment. “The beard is sacred, man. Let’s handle our business. I’m fine, bro. It didn’t go through,” I confirm, slapping my right side with a wince.

“Stay down, motherfucker!” Miles shouts as Chase leaves me to collect myself. I can see now that Miles has three dudes down on their knees, while War drags the bartender by the scruff of his cut around to join them.

Letting him go, War looks directly at me as the bartender gets to his knees. “All right, Abe?” War grunts.

“Yeah, Abe, how’s that feel, you bleeding pussy?” the bartender snorts. “You think you’re some kind of fucking hero, storming in here like Clint Eastwood or something?”

“I ain’t no hero,” I tell him, racking another round into my shotgun. “But I am a man that will take a bullet for what he loves. Can you say the same?” I ask him, levelling the barrel at his face.

“I can’t believe I missed your fat fucking head…” the bartender snarls. Before he can say anything else, War’s lips twist in a furious scowl, and he raises the .45 he’s got gripped in one massive fist up high, before bringing it crashing down right on top of the big guy's bald head. His scalp explodes, and he collapses faster than if War had actually shot him.

With the girls gone and the exits covered, Torin stomps over to the other bikers sprawled out on the floor. Looking them over, he spits on the hardwood floor before dragging two of them to their feet by fistfuls of their hair.

“Fucking prospects,” he hisses, looking at their cuts. “How old are you little shits?” Torin asks.

One of them is cross-eyed drunk, and just stares in awe at Torin towering over him, knowing that he is looking at the reaper made flesh. The other one seems to have his wits about him, and stammers, “Eighteen…sir, we’re both eighteen! Please, we didn’t….we don’t…”

“Shut the fuck up!” Torin barks, slapping the kid across the face. “I’ll give you three seconds to take off that cut and get the hell out of town. This charter of the Ace of Spades MC is getting decommissioned, you understand?”

“Yes, sir!” the scrawny little punk stammers, shedding his cut like it just caught fire. He rips the one off his friend too, throwing them both at the man still lying on the floor. “This ain’t what you promised, Johnny,” he whines, before he and his buddy start easing towards the back door.

“Take that pile of shit with you!” Torin yells, pointing at the bartender bleeding on the floor. The two former prospects both grab an ankle and, under War’s watchful gaze and gun, begin dragging him out the back door.

While Torin was taking out the trash, Chase directed Sax and Dalton to pull the Ace of Spades' club president, Johnny Martin, to his feet. They each had one of his arms, but to Johnny’s credit, he was standing tall with his head held high. “You still alive, Chase Fury?” he laughed. “Figured Hector Cruz would have done you in by now.”

Before Chase can respond, Torin steps in front of him. Johnny pales when he stares into Torin’s bloodshot eyes. “Hector fucking Cruz gunned down my wife, murdered my son, and you’re going to stand there and laugh?” Torin screams into his face.

“I didn’t have shit to do with that, Torin. You know we don’t go after families…” Johnny starts.

“You had everything to do with it!” Torin screams, almost incomprehensible in his rage. “You made the deal that brought them here. You got in bed with the fucking Cartel, and MY FAMILY DIED!” Torin roars the last few words, and then grabs Johnny by his ponytail and slams his fist into his face repeatedly, punctuating his outrage.

“Now tell me,” Torin gasps. “Where the fuck is Hector hiding? So help me Christ, if you say ‘I don’t know,’ I’ll make you eat your own cock.”

Johnny sags down between Sax and Dalton, apparently defeated. Off balance, Sax staggers a bit, and Johnny flashes a grin as he rips his arm away from Sax and shoves him backwards, where he falls over a chair. Dalton tries to grab his other arm, but Johnny snatches the knife from Dalton’s belt sheath, lashing out at Torin with it.

Torin quickly grabs for his own knife, but it’s War who is the fastest. One of his huge arms shoves Torin back as Johnny lunges, plunging the knife into War’s forearm. War jerks his arm away as Torin catches his balance then charges forward, slamming his knife into Johnny’s guts.

“I…don’t…know…” Johnny gasps, still grinning, at Torin.

With another scream, Torin rips the knife upward, staring wild-eyed into Johnny Martin’s face as the blade finds his heart. Johnny collapses at his feet, as the rest of us stare in shock.

Sax staggers to his feet, looking at Torin and War in horror. “I’m sorry, man, he was heavier than he looked, and…”

“Shut up,” War snaps, gingerly pulling Dalton’s long knife out of his forearm. The blade went all the way through the wide, meaty area, and he draws it out clean with a scowl. Going around the bar, he finds a towel; and Dalton helps him tie it around the cut. “It’s fine,” War huffs at Dalton. “Eddie can stitch it up. Clean your knife and let’s finish this.”

Torin is still standing there, staring down at Johnny’s body. Chase looks like he’s about to put an arm around him, but instead waves to Sax. “You and Cooper take Torin outside and keep watch. Everyone else grab the cash or any souvenirs you might want while Abe and I get this place cooking. Miles, get to the trailer out back and get it rigged.”

I’m already on my way to the kitchen behind the bar. Reece had checked the club’s utilities, and we know they’ve got a natural gas stove. I’ve got my wind back now. And with my adrenaline up, pulling the oven away from the wall barely takes any effort. “I see the gas line,” I call to Chase, who is in the main room spraying around bottles of liquor that I didn’t destroy with my shotgun. “I’m poking a hole in it now. Tell Miles he can light up whatever he brought.”

I run back into the main room to find that Miles is already back from lighting up the trailer out back. He has kicked Johnny’s body over, and has jabbed a bunch of sparklers into the former Ace of Spades president’s cut. With a huge, childlike grin, Miles lights them up, and we all rush outside to our bikes while Johnny begins to pop and spark cheerily.

Torin is just standing there stone-faced next to the van as we all mount up. “Get in the fucking van!” Chase roars at his brother. “If you stay here until it blows, it will come back on the MC. The cops will be here soon!”

With a startled jerk, Torin snaps back, giving Chase a nod before he finally jumps into the passenger seat. We all peel out of the lot as the first sparks of the fire that Miles set in the Aces' meth lab trailer flicker over the roof from behind the bar. We’re less than a mile away when the foggy gloom of the late coastal night erupts in a plume of light behind us. All of us pull to the side of the road to watch the fireball erupt into the sky.

Dalton is the first to break the silence, as his howls of laughter suddenly trigger the joy that had been building inside all of us. We got out of there in one piece, and we put the final nail in the coffin of those fucking pricks who had tried to spread their filth in our town. The fire will destroy Johnny’s body and any traces we may have left behind, but those who need to know will get the message. The Savage Kings are fucking true one-percenters, born in blood and fire.

We make it back to the clubhouse by three-thirty in the morning, all of us trudging in wearily to see Turtle, Fast Eddie and Gabe still hanging out at the bar. Eddie jumps up when he sees the blood dripping down War’s arm, mumbling, “I’ll get my kit,” as he limps off to the storage closet.

“Get your asses behind the bar and take some orders,” Chase barks to the prospects, as we all collapse into chairs around the bar. Holden and Maddox scuttle, passing out bottles and glasses.

I see Cynthia and another girl, whose name I can’t remember, come out of the kitchen when they hear all the commotion a few minutes later. I stop at a table and take a moment to peel off my vest and t-shirt. When Cynthia sees the fist-sized bruise still spreading across my chest, she rushes over to me.

“Damn, Abe, what happened to you tonight?” she whispers, taking a seat at the table with me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask her since Chase had cleared everyone out before we left.

“You know I can’t stay away,” she replies. “Now why the hell does your chest look like it’s about to split open?”

I roll my vest over on the table, showing her the bullet embedded into the mesh. “Got shot,” I say simply as her mouth falls open. “War got it a lot worse, though,” I add, hoping to get her to go away. “Maybe you ought to go see if he…needs anything.”

“Yeah, Abe, okay,” Cynthia agrees, giving me a sad, little smile. For some reason, that look makes me feel like a fucking swine, and I gently take her hand before she can walk away.

“Hey, wait a second…” I pause, trying to get a grip on what the hell I’m feeling. It suddenly hits me, harder than that damned bullet from earlier. That look on her face, that feeling of rejection when you’re putting yourself out there…that’s how I felt when Mercy asked me to leave earlier. It was actually physically painful, almost nauseating, and I just did it to this poor girl.

“I’ve taken a lot of shit for granted,” I begin, as her forehead wrinkles in confusion. “What I mean is, I’ve taken you for granted. I’ve always thought that you ladies were just here for a good time, you know, free drinks and easy rides. We used you, and you used us, you understand?” I ask her, as I struggle to express this new, foreign idea.

Cynthia sits down at the table with me again, nodding in understanding. “Abe, we know the score. We love you guys, your lifestyle, everything about the club. But you know, when two people get physical, the way we do, sometimes…”

“Yeah,” I agree, “Sometimes it’s not just fucking. If your partner is special, feelings get involved.”

“They do,” Cynthia nods, before staring at me with her heart in her eyes. “You’re special to me, Abe.”

“That’s why I wanted to apologize,” I say firmly as I lean across the table to her, getting close to make sure there are no more misunderstandings between us. “You and me, we were always just sex. You’re amazing, but that’s all this ever was. I just realized tonight that maybe, for you, it was more, and I wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I’m not gonna put you in that situation anymore, string you along or anything like that. I only recently realized how shitty it feels, and I’m not going to be the cause of that for anyone else.”

Cynthia gives me another small smile, before standing up from the table. “Thanks, Abe, for being honest. I’ll be around, you know, if you change your mind about things. And listen, try not to spend so much time in your own head, honey. Don’t let that little bullet that hit you get you all twisted up,” she tells me, flipping her long, red hair back over her shoulder, before she struts off back behind the bar.

I don’t bother telling her that it wasn’t the bullet that got in my head or under my skin. It was a few hours with the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and God help me, I need more Mercy.

The rest of my brothers are gathered around the bar where Fast Eddie has opened up an old, beat-up tackle box revealing an ambulance load of medical supplies. He’s already popped on some latex gloves; and while War is taking pulls from a bottle of scotch, he’s sticking needles into the big man’s arm and getting the sutures ready. After watching for a few minutes, Torin, Chase, and my little brother Gabe break away and all head towards the table where I’m sitting.

“You need anything, Abe?” Chase asks me as Torin and Gabe take seats with me.

“Nah, man, pull up a chair and let’s rest a bit. Been a hell of a day,” I reply.

Torin nods to me as Chase pulls another chair over. “I wish I had more men like you in my unit back in Iraq, man. It takes a big, steel pair to be the first man into a hole like that, and you were great.”

I just snort, then point at the big-ass bruise that still seems to be spreading on my chest. “I wasn’t great.”

“Yeah, you were,” Torin tells me, reaching over to grab my shoulder. “You went in firing, and sent those fucking bastards diving all over the bar. Ain’t your fault that boy was a good shot. When you lit up the bar, you knocked his ass down and let us get in. You didn’t hesitate, and you helped me…well, you know. Tonight, you helped me start handling my fucking business. You’ve been a good friend to my brother, to my family. I just want you to know even with everything going on, I appreciate you.” Sighing, he looks over and says, “I better go make sure Eddie isn’t fucking up War too bad. Get some rest.”

Torin gets up and heads back towards the bar. Chase gets up too. “That’s why he’s a better leader than me, I swear,” Chase mumbles, making me crack a grin. “I’m gonna go keep an eye on him 'til he gets settled in for the night, make sure he doesn’t get a wild hair up his ass and take off after what he did to Johnny. You take care of yourself. I love you, man. You’re as true a brother to me as Torin.”

“Bro, save that mushy shit for Sasha,” I grumble as Chase gives me a back slapping hug. I push him off of me, and he staggers back laughing before moving to follow Torin.

Gabriel is still sitting at the table, fingering my vest and staring at me. “You almost got yourself killed tonight,” he begins, before I raise a hand to silence him.

“Stow that shit, Gabe. You and me, we don’t have to bullshit each other. Torin and Chase can give me all their kind words, but you know me, really know me. I fucked up tonight, the same as I always do. They don’t see it that way, but…”

“Goddammit, Abe. Nobody sees it that way, except you!” Gabe says in exasperation, interrupting my moping. “I’ve been trying to pin you down and talk to you about it forever, but you’re more hardheaded than old man Turtle! In your head, you’ve always been a fuck-up, but no one else sees you that way!”

“What the hell is wrong with everyone tonight?” I growl back at him. “Christ, Torin is acting like I’m some sort of hero for going in first. I had to go in first. I’m a fucking felon who has spent his entire life letting people down. There’s nothing heroic about being a piece of shit and knowing that other people’s lives are worth more than yours.”

“Abe, if I hear you say that shit ever again, I’m going to…” Gabe begins as he stands up.

“You’ll fucking what, you scrawny little son-of-a-bitch?” I roar, standing up to tower over my brother as everyone in the room turns to look at us. As if it wasn’t obvious, the two of us had very different fathers. Mine was apparently enormous while his was light and lean.

“I’ll wait until you’ve forgotten about this conversation. And then, when you come to me for your next tattoo, I’ll draw the hairiest, most detailed cock and balls the world has ever seen on you,” Gabe threatens, whispering so that only I can hear him.

We both burst out laughing before collapsing back into our chairs. “I know you would, too, you dirty bastard,” I wheeze as I grab my beer. “You did it to me once before on my hand with a sharpie when we were kids, remember?”

“Seriously, though, Abe,” Gabe leans over the table and begins a moment later. “You’re not the fuck-up you think you are. You’ve never let me down, even…"

“Even when my dumbass got arrested and shipped off to juvie, leaving you alone to deal with our momma and whatever crackhead she was banging before you found her foaming out the mouth, OD'ing? I know what they did to you, Gabe. I know what you had to go through. I wasn’t there for you.”

“That’s not fucking on you, Abe. I never blamed you. Jesus, you got arrested that first time for shoplifting food for us. Food, man! You think I don’t remember that it was you bringing home boxes of macaroni and cheese and packs of hot dogs most nights for us? You called that shit ghetto alfredo, remember? Momma would be gone for days on benders, and the only reason I survived in that trailer was because of the risks you took. You think I don’t know who brought the presents from Santa? Shit, you remember Momma would try to steal the art supplies you had gotten for me and go pawn them.”

I chuckle softly, remembering those holidays where I had gone out breaking into cars and stealing packages from doorsteps, trying to pawn enough shit to get Gabe the stuff he needed for his drawings. My face hardens, though, knowing all too well how it turned out for him. “Yeah, Gabe, I tried. I tried and I failed. I got locked up and left you alone. What you had to endure…”

“It. Was. Not. Your. Fault.” Gabe emphasizes each word with a poke to the bruise on my chest.

I stand up, waving him off as I wince at the pain. “You’ve said that a thousand times, but the words don’t make it true. I hear them, and I appreciate them. I had something happen to me today, before all this,” I tell him, waving at the vest and bullet on the table. “Something big, I think. I met someone, and I don’t know how it’s going to turn out, but…she makes me feel…better. Not about being me, but makes me feel like I could be…”

“You met a girl who makes you want to be a better man?” Gabe says.

“Yeah! You nailed it. That’s what I’ve been trying to find the words to say. I have to see her again. I’m gonna go get cleaned up and get some sleep. Thanks, little man,” I tell Gabe, leaning down to squeeze him in a one-armed hug.

“Let me know if I can help, bro,” Gabe calls to me as I head downstairs. “And don’t do anything too crazy! I don’t think you’re a fuck-up, but you are…let’s call it impulsive?”

I bark out a laugh as I punch in the code and slam the door leading down to basement, blocking out the sounds from the bar. Despite being shot tonight, I feel good. Damned good actually, and hopeful that maybe, just maybe, I might finally be riding a clear, easy road.