Erin

 

It’s been at least twelve hours since my call with Slash. I know that because they’ve fed me twice so far – both times, fried chicken, which may not be the healthiest of meals, but at least it’s something. My mom has got to be worried sick about me by now. Luckily, I’m pretty sure Nancy is coming over tonight, so she’ll have somebody to watch her and be with her.

 

My God, what have I gotten myself into? I should have never listened to Marcelo, that lying, conniving sack of shit. I should have listened to my gut. I should have listened to my heart.

 

I should have listened to Slash.

 

It turns out that, through all of this, Slash has been the one who was right all along. He told me not to trust Marcelo. He told me not to get involved with the Tattooed Angels. He warned me, and I didn’t listen. Now, I’m in this horrifying situation, and I don’t know how to get out of it.

 

While I’m in this cold, dark basement, I’ve had a lot of time to think – at least, when the Angels haven’t been questioning me incessantly. And they do tend to question me incessantly. I haven’t seen Marcelo since I was led down that ghastly staircase into this dungeon of a room, but several other guys have been downstairs since, asking me what I know about Slash and the Savage Hearts.

 

I keep telling them the truth – that I don’t know a damn thing, that I barely know Slash, that I didn’t even know Slash was in the Savage Hearts until his mother mentioned something about them – but they don’t seem to believe me. In fact, they keep asking the same questions.

 

“When did you start working for the Savage Hearts?”

 

“How long have you and Slash been an item?”

 

“Where is the Hearts’ storehouse?”

 

“How much do you know about their leadership?”

 

It’s almost too much to bear. I don’t know how I’m supposed to answer all these questions, especially ones I don’t know the answers to. But it seems like every hour, there’s somebody new who is taking an interest in me and whatever story they think I have. I don’t know if this is a tactic engineered by Marcelo or if they’re just not good at sharing information with each other, but I’m pretty sure my answers don’t change – how could they, given that they’re the truth?

 

But hour after hour, more guys come down and ask me these inane questions, to the point that I’m ready to scream.

 

Finally, a little while after I finish eating dinner, Marcelo comes down into the basement, holding a pill bottle in his hand.

 

“How are you doing, Miss McManus?” he asks, almost acting sweet, which nauseates me even more than the morning sickness that’s starting up again.

 

“Well, I’m being held in a cold, damp cellar, Marcelo.” I sneer at him. “So I’d say I’m doing pretty shitty, thanks for asking.”

 

“Ooh, there’s a mouth on her!” he exclaims, seeming to take a perverse delight in my sarcasm. “I like it, little girl. But don’t worry – it’s not going to get you in trouble. I don’t need your respect. I just need you to sit here while we wait for your boy Slash to get his ass here. In the meantime, I brought you something.”

 

He tosses me the pill bottle, which doesn’t have the typical prescription label on it. Instead, I see for the first time that there are little gummies inside.

 

“Vitamins?” I ask, uncertain.

 

Marcelo nods. “I told you, we’re not animals. We’re civilized here in the Tattooed Angels. And I promised you I’d get you some prenatal vitamins. It’s the least I could do.”

 

“The least you could do is let me go,” I say, opening up the bottle and taking two of the vitamins out. I pop them in my mouth and chew them up,

 

“No,” Marcelo says, shaking his head sadly, “the least I could do is to do nothing at all, just leave you down here to rot while we kill your boyfriend. But I’m a fair man, if I do say so myself, and besides, I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

 

“A reputation?” I ask, puzzled. His reputation is that he’s a dirtbag biker who kidnaps women as a retaliatory strike in some stupid-ass war he’s trying to cook up. What the hell kind of reputation does he think he has?

 

“That I’m a fair man,” he replies to me, answering my thought. “If there’s one thing people know about me, it’s that.”

 

“Like how you were fair to the Savage Hearts by ditching them?” I immediately realize my mistake – I shouldn’t have brought up the Hearts, or really anything to do with MCs.

 

“Now… how would you know about that? Tell me, Erin, what did Slash tell you about our two MCs?”

 

“Nothing, not really… He just said that you left, and it pissed a bunch of people off. That’s all he really said, I swear.”

 

“And he never said why I left, did he?” He walks across the tiny room, pacing with obvious irritation. “No,” he continues thoughtfully, answering his own question, “no, I suppose he wouldn’t know. He didn’t come into the Hearts until after I left. Well, did Jerome ever tell you why?”

 

“Marcelo, I don’t even know Jerome,” I insist. “I had never even heard of him until your goons started breathing down my neck about him. Slash kept me away from all that. I swear to God.”

 

“Well that’s fine and well,” Marcelo says. He stops, spits on the ground, and then continues, “Honest to God, woman, do you really think I just up and left one day? You really think that’s how motorcycle clubs work?”

 

“Honestly, I… I really don’t know how they work,” I say, beginning to tremble as Marcelo becomes more visibly irritated.

 

“Of course you don’t.” He strokes his chin and almost laughs to himself. “Well, allow me to explain it to you, young lady. I was one of the top guys in command in the Savage Hearts, did you know that?”

 

“N-no.”

 

“It’s true. Jerome Tillman’s right-hand man, I was. Had the respect of the whole crew, too. And I threw it away, right? That’s what I did. Ah, but you see, Miss McManus, there’s always more to the story than that. You see, I wasn’t the only Cruz in the crew. My brother, Raffi, was a member of the Savage Hearts, too. And he was a fuck-up, I’m not going to lie. I knew it, Jerome knew it, everybody knew it. But he was my brother, and I loved him. And that son of a bitch, Jerome Tillman, put two bullets in his brain.”

 

“I – I didn’t know that,” I say, still trembling.

 

“Not to say Raffi didn’t deserve something to happen to him,” Marcelo says as if I had said nothing. “By all accounts, Raffi was stealing money from Jerome and from the club. I don’t know how it works where you come from, but around here, that’s a big no-no.”

 

“It’s ‘a big no-no’ everywhere, Marcelo.”

 

“Well, of course it is, but especially in the MC world, you just don’t steal. Not ever. So, I get why Jerome was pissed off, and I get why Raffi had to pay the price. But with his life? No. That was unnecessary. So yeah, I waited until the time was right, and then, I left. And that could’ve been the end of the story. But Jerome’s been after me for years. He figures I was disloyal for leaving, and I’m sure he thinks I probably knew what was going on with Raffi.”

 

“Did you?” I ask before I can stop myself; I’m genuinely curious.

 

“No!” he practically screams. Then, changing his tone to the more ponderous one he’s been using since he got downstairs, he tries again. “No, I didn’t know, Erin. Of course I didn’t know. If I had known, I would have kicked Raffi’s ass myself. Because like I say, you just don’t steal from your MC. Or anyone else’s. So, you see, that’s why I have to put your boy Slash down. He stole from me. That’s fucking big with me. You don’t fucking steal from me. And Slash is going to pay the price. That’s just how it goes.”

 

He pauses, his expression hinting that he’s fighting off anger.

 

“So, I’m going to ask you again, Erin, what do you know about Slash? How much can you tell me about Jerome? Where are their storehouses?”

 

I roll my eyes. At this point, I’m more irritated than afraid. Marcelo has made it clear that he’s not going to physically threaten me at any point, and I’m not in any imminent danger. So instead, I just say, “Goddammit, Marcelo, I’ve already told you everything I know. I’ve told each one of your little fucking goons who’s come down here the same thing. I don’t know Jerome. I barely know Slash. And I don’t even know what the hell a storehouse is, let alone where one might be. I’m not in the know here. I’m not a spy. I’m just a person who got caught up in all this—”

 

“By her own choosing!” he roars out at me. “Erin, come on now. You came to me because your mom was sick and you needed some money. You had to—” Suddenly, he cuts himself off, as if an idea has just occurred to him. “Come to think of it, how did you get yourself into this mess? If it wasn’t Slash, and it sure as hell wasn’t one of my guys, who let you know about the v-card auction?”

 

I swallow hard. I’ve been trying my best to keep Monica out of this, but it seems I no longer can.

 

“Do you remember your ex?” I ask cautiously.

 

“My ex? I’ve got plenty of those.” He laughs. “Which one?”

 

“Monica,” I say, my voice pregnant with feeling, thinking that he’ll know exactly who I’m talking about.

 

He doesn’t.

 

“Who are you talking about?” he demands. “I don’t remember dating a Monica.”

 

“Maybe dating is too strong a word.” I smirk unintentionally, thinking that perhaps Monica had overstated how well they actually knew each other. But she must have known him pretty well to know about the v-card auction!

 

“Oh,” he adds, seeming to think really hard about it. “Oh. Oh! I remember the bitch you’re talking about. Talks too much. Big tits. Works as a bartender at this piece of shit place I went into a couple of times. Gives fantastic head. Yeah, Monica. Goddamn, I haven’t thought of her in a long time. How’s she doing? Still working at that joint… the… uh…”

 

“Dark Moon?” I offer. “Yeah, she’s still there. And she’s great, thanks for asking. But yeah, she’s the one who told me about the v-card auction. She got me on the list.”

 

“Now how in the fuck did she do that, I wonder?” he asks. “Oh wait – I think I did hear from her, come to think of it. No shit. That was you she wanted to get on the list?”

 

“That was me.”

 

“I’ll be goddamned. That’s… that’s pretty incredible. So she’s to blame for all of this.”

 

“She’s not to blame,” I snap. “If anybody’s to blame, I am, for trusting you.”

 

“I never said you could trust me, Erin,” he says, smiling, but this time, the smile is dripping with sarcasm. “All I ever said was that I could help you. And trust me, by putting Slash down, I am helping you. Now, not that I’m not enjoying our little chat, but I need to get upstairs. You need anything?”

 

“Not from you, I don’t.”

 

“Well then, Miss Feisty, I’ll be back later. Holler if you need anything, all right?”

 

“Like I said,” I say, gritting my teeth together angrily, “I don’t need anything from you.”

 

“Suit yourself,” he says as he walks back up the stairs and out of sight.

 

Just like that, I’m alone again with my thoughts. I don’t really know what to think anymore. Marcelo is clearly a maniac, prone to outbursts and just general shittiness. I should have known better than to trust someone like him. Once again, my thoughts turn to how I should have listened to Slash.

 

But that’s the key, isn’t it? After all, I was so worried about Slash being a criminal, and yet, I ended up living the same kind of criminal lifestyle he did, didn’t I? I might not be a killer – maybe neither is Slash, even though his boss clearly is, according to what Marcelo had told me. But either way, I sold my body. I sold pills. I am technically both a prostitute and a drug dealer.

 

And even if it was only once – and even if it was for the best of reasons – I had done things that couldn’t be undone. Now, I have to deal with the consequences.

 

I am a criminal.

 

Sitting here in this dank, seeping stone basement, all I can think about is Slash. I miss feeling his arms around me – even though it had only been that one time. I miss the way he smiles for me, the way he acts like a goofy, giddy little schoolboy around me. I miss so much about him, and even though I barely know him, I should have known better than to not trust him. My gut had said to trust him all along; I hadn’t listened, and I’d ended up in this mess.

 

I lay down on the small bed and begin to cry. I know now just how badly I’ve messed up. And now, because of me, Slash’s life is in jeopardy. Tears stream down my cheeks as I think of him in a showdown with Marcelo and his men. I can’t imagine what’s going to happen next.