Chapter Thirteen
(Chloe)
Lies. A decade of fucking lies! Lies told by a damn criminal.
My mother’s warnings were right. All MC guys are stupid criminals who couldn’t be trusted. Ever. For all I knew, Jax had a closet full of dark secrets.
To top it all off, when Jax finally admitted the truth he rushed it out of the apartment a few minutes later. Grabbing his jacket and keys, he left me alone; acting like the same coward he was the night my father died—the night he caused my father to die. If he were trying to convince me that his character had miraculously changed, this was one hell of a way to go about it.
I watched in anger and disgust from his bedroom window as his bike rolled out of the parking lot of the apartment building and he disappeared down the highway. I felt as though the incident with my father meant nothing to him. As though I meant nothing to him. Showing total disregard for my feelings he had left me puzzled, confused…and fuming mad.
Four hours later, and Jax still wasn’t home. By that time, my anger somewhat subsided, and I began to wonder whether he was coming home at all tonight. I’d made myself some dinner and scooped a plate out for Jax – which was now cold. His deception had hurt me a lot, but I was starting to worry about being left alone in this place.
I anxiously checked my watch. It was midnight. I looked out of the bedroom window for any sign of his motorcycle. Nothing. I had a clear view of the parking lot from the bedroom window; the streetlights along the main road threw light in its direction.
Over the next half hour, I kept watch for Jax from the window; it was hardly as though I had anything better to do. The parking lot was deadly still. The roads were quiet. Suddenly, in the distance, I saw a flash of white light moving closer. A motorcycle—Jax was home. There was no denying that I felt relieved to see that he’d come back.
I watched as he got off his bike. It struck me as odd that he took off his jacket and rested it on his seat – leaving it there – rather than bringing it inside with him. Jax never went anywhere without his club jacket. He pulled something out of a small duffel strapped to his Harley and carried it toward the entrance.
I heard his feet step into the hall and the door close behind him.
I wanted to take it slow with him and talk this out. So…I decided to just act normal. “Made some lasagne while you were out. Come and get your plate. Want a beer?” I called from the kitchen.
“Always,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse.
I leaned down to the fridge and opened the door, searching for the plate of food. As I pulled out a beer and Jax’s dinner, one heavy hand landed on my shoulder startling me.
“Hey, beautiful,” he said.
If Jax thought he could sweet talk his way out of this one he had another thing coming. “Jax, don’t spook me like that.” I looked up in surprise.
A stranger holding a black duffel bag met my eyes.
The man was tall, with broad shoulders. His eyes were a shade of brown so dark they looked almost as black as his pupils. He was dark-haired with a huge build. His arms heavily scarred with lots of tattoos. One tattoo that ran all the way down his left arm read, FEAR NOTHING & NO ONE. He wore dark blue jeans and a grey work shirt unbuttoned at the neck so low that you could see his tattoo of an ornate cross on his chest and neck.
Fuck! The beer bottle and plate of food tumbled from my hand, hitting the floor with a smash of glass, cheap porcelain, and tomato sauce splattered everywhere.
His hand gripped tighter on my shoulder. I pulled away from him, screaming frantically, “GET OUT! GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”
The man lunged at me and grabbed my wrist, pulling me into to him. In seconds, he had me from behind – both my arms pinned down, crossed over my chest – he held me against his chest with the strength of one arm. I couldn’t move from his grasp.
With his free hand, he must have pulled out a gun that was hidden beneath his clothes because a second later, I felt the barrel of it on my temple.
“Not. A. Fuckin Sound,” he whispered, threateningly, into my ear.
Swallowing hard, I nodded my head, while the rest of my body was stiff—frozen in terror.
“Now….you are going to going to come with me, Chloe.”
Holy shit. How the fuck did this man know my name?
I nodded again; my body shaking.
He let go and took a step back, still facing me, his gun pointed directly at my head with both hands. “Open the bag,” he ordered, giving a nod toward the black duffel bag just in front of me.
I bent down to the bag, put my hand on the zip, and looked up at his eyes in terror.
“I told you. Open the bag, Chloe.” He growled. His voice had a chilling quality that daunted me.
Taking a breath, I unzipped the bag. Inside, the object was dark…. and leathery. Surprised and a little confused I started to pull it out of the bag.
“You might want to put that on. It’s cold out this time of night.”
I lifted the scrunched up item out of the bag. It was a leather jacket.
“Don’t fucking waste my time!” he warned. “Put it on.”
I pulled the jacket open. On the back, there was white lettering that read: BLACK DEVILS MC above the clubs logo. I froze in stunned shock.
“That’s right. We’ve got your boy.” He sneered.
“Jax?” I asked, although I hardly needed to wait for an answer.
The man nodded with a wicked grin.
“But how? Wait. You’re saying you’ve taken him or you’ve…? I couldn’t even say the word to finish my question.
“Put it on, Chloe. It’s going to be the closest you ever get Jaxson Coltrane again,” the stranger spoke with a quasi-sympathy.
As I put the put the jacket on, I knew I had undoubtedly been told the truth. It looked like, felt like, and smelled like Jax’s jacket. I stood up and faced him, pursing my lips and trying to appear un-fazed and unafraid.
“We’ve got Jax,” he repeated. “And if you don’t want to see him face down in the dirt, you’ll come with me.” He reached for my arm, still pointing his gun right at me.
I didn’t trust the stranger to keep his word about not harming Jax if I went with him. But I knew that if this man, or whoever his gang was, were prepared to kill Jaxson Coltrane – near president of the Black Devils MC – then he would have no problem killing me. At that point, my sole focus was staying alive.
Without hesitation, I started to walk with him toward the door. He walked beside me to my left. To my right, was the kitchen counter. On top of the counter, one pace ahead of me was my phone. As I passed, I slid my phone from the kitchen counter into my right hand and pushed it up the sleeve of the jacket I was wearing with my middle finger.
By the door, I bent down to put on my shoes on. Glancing up, I noticed him checking himself over in the hallway mirror, distracting himself and loosening his grip. On impulse, I seized the opportunity to make a call for help. I forced the stranger away, and sprinted to the bathroom.
“What the fuck? Get back here woman!” he yelled at me.
I made it to the bathroom just in time and scrambled to lock the door from the inside as my hands shook in fear.
I typed the words, BLOODS TAKEN into my phone, as the man was smashing his body into the weak looking door. I knew he was from the Bloods MC, Fear Nothing and No One was one of the logos I’d grown up with when my dad was still alive. I never thought I’d ever see it again, and now I wish that was still true. I selected Jax and my mother as recipients and clicked send, then sat on the toilet seat – my head in my hands – trying to contain my panic. I held my hands over my ears in some sort of denial to drown out the sound of the bashing at the door mixed with my panicked breathing.
My phone buzzed and ‘UNABLE TO SEND MESSAGE’ flashed onto the screen.
NO! I thought, not now, not when I needed someone to hear me the most.
I didn’t get time to see who the message did or did not send to before…
BOOM.
One shot from the other side of the door.
I heard the lock on the bathroom shatter and parts and pieces of the door handle dropped to the floor. The man’s gun had fired at the lock, and I heard his laughter through the closed door.
Suddenly, he kicked the door and it burst open. When he stepped inside, he threw several punches at my shoulders and chest.
I shielded my face with my hands and shut my eyes.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
The last punch hit my cheek. I screamed and burst into floods of tears.
“You bitch!” he bellowed.
When he caught sight of my phone on my lap, he snatched it and threw it against the ceramic wall tiles of the bathroom, smashing it up completely. He lifted his hand and struck me one final time across my left cheek with the back of his hand, catching the corner of my left eye with his ring. “You say one more word and you’re dead. You hear me?”
I nodded quickly.
He dragged me by my hair out of the apartment, down the stairs and outside to his black Harley chopper. I watched as he cranked the engine and the headlights fired up to reveal stickers on the side of his Harley. One read: BLOOD AND BONES MC. The other read: BLOOD’S FAMILY: NO FEAR, NO MERCY! That’s when I could read the back of his jacket. It was the emblem of the Blood and Bones MC. I couldn’t quite read the street name he went by but the emblem was etched into my brain and all I could feel was mindless fear.
I swung my leg over bike behind him, and barely had enough time to grab hold of his waist before we rode away and whipped around the corner then picked up speed on the main road.
A half hour later, we passed a sun beaten wooden road sign – illuminated by the nightlife - that read: WELCOME TO TIJUANA. BIENVENIDO A TIJUANA. The moment we entered the town we were bombarded by mariachi music blasting from the clubs. The streets were lined with a wild assortment of shops, strip clubs, bars, and restaurants.
We weaved through a series of tight backstreets and finally came out onto a desolate road. The man rode along the unlit path in the darkness for at least ten minutes before we finally arrived at what appeared to be a remote cabin. The place was surrounded by tall steel gates topped with barbed wire that sealed the place off to outsiders. Two Dobermans barked furiously and chased after us as we drove past the gates to reach the entrance, growling and nipping at my legs.
When we stopped, I noticed the parking lot was empty.
“Retreat,” the man shouted at the dogs before they could get too close with their sharp teeth and bad attitude, then they whimpered as they ran off.
We dismounted and walked toward the property that had a distinctively a prison-like feel. The windows were tinted and barred.
By the entrance, the man flipped a switch, turning on the porch light above us. I glanced over at the dusty parking area outside—only to wish that I hadn’t. The light reflected off the shiny brass of spent bullet casings that peppered the entire lot.
The main door to the place was thick and heavy with a large steel latch. He unlocked the door, pushed it open, and pointed with his gun for me to step inside.
I complied. The room looked vast, dark and empty.
The unknown man switched on a small light by the door; just enough to make out the main features of the room. It was an MC clubhouse. It could only be the home base for the Blood and Bones MC. Home base for drug trafficking, violence, and murder. I had sworn on my father’s grave that I would never come to this place after he died.
Mahogany leather Chesterfield armchairs were all around; some labeled: PRESIDENT, VICE PRESIDENT, and TREASURER. One wall was filled with pictures of older men who I imagine had founded the club or had passed on.
Against the far wall, there was a fully stocked bar. To the left of it, there were wooden steps that led upstairs. There was a plaque of the club’s slogan on the far wall above the bar with the clubs slogan again: BLOOD’S FAMILY: NO FEAR, NO MERCY!
The man shoved me toward the stairwell, and I climbed each step of the unlit staircase with the menacing barrel of his gun pressed into my back. At the top step, I looked left and right to see a narrow hallway that led to other rooms to my right and a single door to my left. He shoved me towards the door on my left and came up the final steps behind me.
Turning the doorknob to the unlocked door, he gave me a cold and expressionless look before throwing me into the room.
I stumbled to my knees in the middle of the carpet.
“Welcome to your new home,” he said as he chuckled cruely. The man then stepped back just outside of the doorway with a smile of triumphant satisfaction.
Shock crossed my face in a moment of profound realization. I would be trapped here. Permanently.
Leaning one free hand casually on the doorframe, he stopped and stared at me long enough to pop an unlit cigarette into his mouth, pulled out a lighter and struck it with his index finger. The flame cast light on his face which had been obscured by the darkness in the building.
I looked up into his eyes with genuine terror as the flame flickered across his face.
“Don’t worry. I’m not out to hurt you. It’s Jax that’s on a suicide mission,” he said with an unnerving smirk. The man grabbed the door handle and swung the door closed.
“NO. NO. NO!” I screamed at him as he shut me into a prison of darkness.
I heard the key turn in the lock and then two steel blots further securing the door top and bottom. I wasn’t going anywhere.
Getting to my feet in the pitch-black, I searched along the wall beside the door with both hands until I found the light-switch. I flicked the switch and glanced around the bleak and revolting room. The walls were bare and windowless. To my left, I saw a bed with grubby-looking rumpled, tousled sheets. To my alarm, in front of the foot of the bed was a stripper’s pole from floor to ceiling and a full-length mirror on the wall behind it. To my right was a small kitchen with stacks of unwashed dishes and several smashed mugs and plates. The pale blue carpet was matted and stained. There was no mistaking this for anything other than what it was; this was where the bikers kept their groupies and the club whores.
I was stricken with a fear that coursed through my veins and welled in my eyes. Fear for myself. And fear for Jax—if he hadn’t already been killed.
Suddenly, the building rumbled with the crash of the outside door slamming shut for the night. The man who’d taken me was gone, and I was alone in the Blood and Bones fortress. My solitary rapid breathing the only sound in the building.
Shaken up, I sat down on the edge of the bed and caught my reflection in the mirror opposite. The left side of my face was covered with blood, and my left eye was swollen. My body trembled at the sight of my battered face and the thought of what was to come.