Megan - Day 2

A few hours of sleep had been all I could manage through the night stuffed inside the tight smelly space of the broom closet that was going to be my room for the next thirty days.

There was no alarms or wake up calls, just the loud shouts of men and their heavy steps beating against the creaky floor boards. I cleaned and kept my distance from the men by hanging out in the kitchen, but my resolve was being vigorously tested. It was only the second day, and weariness had started to set in, but I was determined not to let it show. It appeared the MC’s mission was to seek me out and see how many times they could push me or call me the N-word before I broke.

Whenever I encountered any of the MC members, they taunted me with demeaning words, shoved me, or demanded I work faster or harder. They enjoyed the fact that they could say the N-word in front of an actual African-American and get away with it without being challenged.

I caught Shark staring at me numerous times, and he made no attempt to hide what I thought was lust gleaming in his eyes. Was it possible to hate someone and be sexually attracted to them at the same time?

I was a curvy five-foot-five, brown-skin woman with lengthy, curly hair. I was not a glamor girl or a magazine beauty, but over the years, I’d paid attention to what men specifically liked about me, and I have not been afraid to use those features to my advantage when necessary.

Although I’d been blessed with full lips and big, brown eyes shaded by thick lashes, I was aware that my ass was known to get me noticed faster than almost any of my other features.

For some reason, men couldn’t keep their eyes off my ass. I didn’t have one of those big insanely large asses, but mine wasn’t small either. It was round and firm enough to pull attention. My chest barely made its way into a C-cup, but my slim waist made my breasts appear larger than they were.

Currently, my ass poked out from me being bent over the sink scrubbing the hell out of a large stainless-steel pot. I hadn’t missed the fact that every time Shark approached me, his eyes damn near bulged from their sockets as they zoomed in on my tits and ass. Never mind the big, baggy T-shirt and sweatpants I had on. He seemed to see right through them.

He’d forbidden his men from touching me, and now I wondered if it was because he wanted to sample me first. It had taken me most of the afternoon to wash the dishes and clean the large stove and refrigerator. Grease and dirt were caked on the stove, and the refrigerator was teeming with mold and food items that had taken on new life forms. Whoever cooked for the club wasn’t the most sanitary person.

Since no one bothered to offer me lunch or any kind of food, I made an executive decision and prepared a meal. I opened a few cans of mixed veggies, made some gravy from scratch, and used the passable beef cubes I’d found in the large freezer to make a beef stew.

Shark didn’t object when he noticed me cooking, and despite how messy and dirty the large refrigerator had been, it had been well stocked.

After dusting off and washing the rice cooker, I steamed some rice to go with the stew. I doubted I’d have any takers, but the food would be there if the group wanted any. If they didn’t, I’d at least have something to eat for the next few days.

When Shark walked into the kitchen and found me sitting at the small splintered table in the corner eating a bowl of stew, he didn’t hesitate to pick up a plate and dig in. My eyes crinkled at the sight of him eating my food. How did he know that he could trust me not to poison him?

It took Shark a few minutes after he exited the kitchen through the swinging double doors to return for a second helping. The next thing I knew, other members of the MC came into the kitchen in groups of twos and threes, following Shark’s lead.

They stood around the pot like hungry vultures. The members of August Knights Motorcycle Club were a group that wasn’t supposed to trust or like me, but they sure as hell didn’t seem to mind eating my cooking.

I found it strange that there weren’t any women that hung out in this club. Did they come at a certain time? Was this club for men only?

From what I could tell, this group needed to rethink their no-women-allowed policy because they didn’t seem to come across many home cooked meals. It only took a few minutes for them to scrape the pot of stew clean. Maybe cooking could be a way for me to get on their good side—as good a side as they had. I needed to find a way to get through these thirty days by any means necessary.

As I washed the last of the dishes I’d dirtied, I stared absently through the window. The worn, puke-green blinds in the wide kitchen window presented a stripped view of nothing but woods. The sun had started to set, diming the daylight, but it didn’t take the heat with it. The old AC unit sitting below those ugly green blinds may as well have been a fan. All it did was swirl the heat around the kitchen and leave me drenched in sweat. The rusty decorative thermometer tacked to the wall near the window showed an inside temperature of eighty-two degrees.

Although muffled by the closed kitchen doors, the sudden call and shouts jerked me out of my thoughts. It sounded like someone shouted, “Drop the gun, motherfucker!” but I couldn’t be sure.

* * *

I crept towards the swinging double doors that led into the club and listened, placing my ear to the wood. I eased one open very slightly, and my gaze landed on the closed door, located to the right of the double doors. I’d sneaked into the room earlier today and learned that it must have been the MC’s conference room or whatever bikers called their meeting area.

A large hardwood table filled most of the space in the room, which had a biker and motorcycle carved into it in such intricate detail that I’d stood, staring at the table like it was a piece of art in a gallery. Ten heavy black leather rolling chairs surrounded the large table. A wooden gavel that matched the table’s surface sat at the head, likely Shark’s spot.

The walls bore chipped white paint and nails stuck out at various angles—where members hung their vest, I presumed. Sheer and dingy pale blue drapes hung in three large windows that framed the wall that ran the length of the table. No other items or furnishings were in the room.

More shouting called my attention back to the club area. I cracked the double doors open wider, and a violent string of curse words assaulted my ears. Before I could figure out what was going on, all hell broke loose. Instead of running from the drama, I sprung the doors open further and stepped over the threshold for a better look.

If I was going to be stuck with these bikers for thirty days, I figured I may as well get some enjoyment out of it. I stood shocked and amazed at the way they were beating the hell out of each other as bystanders got caught in the crosshairs of swinging fists and tumbling bodies. A few of the guys I recognized from Shark’s group tussled with men that I assumed were from a rival MC, based on their cut.

Bikers were beating the shit out of each other, and I was enjoying the show as my gaze danced over the scene with keen interest. Fists flew, and beer bottles were cracked across necks as non-fighters scrambled for cover.

My head swiveled and pivoted back and forth, left and right, as the clatter of pounding fists, angry shouts, and growling barks exploded throughout the club.

When a gun came skidding in my direction and clinked to a stop at my feet, I stared at the shiny piece of black metal before I reached down and picked it up. It was an FNP45 caliber pistol, which confirmed that someone intended to kill someone. I’d learned about guns from my dearly departed husband who’d died fighting in Iraq three years ago when his unit was ambushed by Iraqi forces.

I identified the gunslinger as the dirty, stringy-haired blond on the receiving end of Shark’s fist. Shark had knocked the gun from the man’s hand after he’d raised it to Shark’s face, intending to kill him.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

I jumped at the sound of each shot fired. The loud series of gun blasts had ceased all activity. Fists froze mid-punch, wide-eyed glares darted from every direction, and bodies remained in place. Pieces of the ceiling tile crumbled to the floor because of the impact of bullets. The same stringy-haired blond who’d lost his first weapon to me had a backup and hadn’t hesitated to open fire inside the club.

“I came here to broker a deal with you, Shark, but now I’m going to blow some fucking brains out and be done with it. You wild animals don’t know nothing but violence.” Although the man talked to Shark, his weapon was trained on another one of Shark’s men.

Thoroughly confused, I watched the scene unfold. If his intent was to kill Shark, why would this man come to Shark’s club with only a few men? Were there others from his crew outside? Had these men come willingly, to go out in a blaze of glory? Was this the biker way?

Shark’s glare was so menacing that it chilled me, and I only saw his profile.

“Did you think you could sneak in here with three men, snuff me out, and not be dealt with? I hope you have backup coming, Scud, because you’re about out of time,” Shark stated before he took a step closer to the man. The man’s gun remained pointed at the head of one of Shark’s men.

“If I had a gun in my hand, you would be dead, and this meaningless conversation wouldn’t be taking place.” Shark continued talking as he crept closer to the gun wielder.

The man known as Scud tightened his grip on his backup weapon and kept the aim steady. “Keep talking, Shark, and I will splatter your brother’s brains all over this dirty-ass floor.”

The man snickered at Shark. He knew that it would hurt Shark more if he killed his brother in front of him. He also had the most power in the room because he was the only one with a gun. The scene had me baffled with my neck on a constant swivel. I was under the impression that bikers of this sort were always packing, but I thought I recalled hearing something about guns not being allowed in the clubhouse.

From what I could gather, the three men with the purple shirts under their vests knew or had found out about the no-gun rule and had made a fool-hearted attempt to sneak into the clubhouse to cut a deal or assassinate Shark. I didn’t know what their true intent was, but it appeared they hadn’t put together a well-thought-out plan.

Scud, the would-be assassin, yelled his request at Shark, “Release my men, Shark, or watch your brother die.”

One of Scud’s men’s face’s kissed broken glass atop the bar as he was being held down by two August Knights. Another of Scud’s men attempted to uselessly squirm his way out of a strong chokehold being applied by an August Knight that appeared to be a descendant of giants.

Shark shook his head, letting Scud know that he had no intention of letting his men go. The next ten seconds happened in a blur. The metallic click of the Scud’s weapon drew every eye in the room in his direction. Shark’s brother simply shut his eyes under the weight of impending death.

There was only one person in the room that wasn’t looking at Scud.

Shark glanced at me instead. His gaze went directly to the gun hanging forgotten in my hand. When Shark’s gaze locked with mine, he inclined his head once. I honestly don’t know how I knew what he wanted, but I did. Shark wanted me to lift that weapon and shoot Scud.

On one hand, I couldn’t kill a man in cold blood, especially since I didn’t know the full story of why or how he and Shark’s crew had gotten to this point. On the other hand, shooting this man could possibly win me some favor with the MC.

Bam!

The oily scent of gun smoke made my nostrils flare just as the man in my sight went flying backward. The height of the bar hid Scud’s fallen body from my view. I’d aimed for his shoulder and prayed I hadn’t hit him in the chest. I didn’t want to kill him, but I didn’t feel bad about shooting him either. I was surrounded by criminals, so it wasn’t like I’d shot an innocent victim.

I know, my damn mind was twisted, a fucked-up freeway of illogical thoughts. But, in my defense, the man had come and threatened to kill Shark who was technically my boss. An August Knight near the fallen Scud held up the second weapon Scud had lost when I’d shot him.

As my conscience sought to make an appearance, Scud’s bloody hand gripped the counter, and he lugged his body up before staggering forward, clutching his shoulder. His loud grunts didn’t garner any sympathy from this crowd.

Shark’s gaze met mine before he raised his splayed fingers. I tossed him the weapon that was still warm from the shot I’d fired. I was in such a state of astonishment that none of my actions seemed to be registering with my brain. It was like I’d put myself on autopilot. Had I really just shot a man for an MC that I’d only worked a day and a half for?

As soon as the weapon I had just tossed hit Shark’s hand, he didn’t hesitate to use it.

Bam! Bam!

Scud went down in a dramatic display of sharp jerks and anguished twitches. Based on the spray of blood from his head and the hole that Shark had put in his chest, I was certain that Scud wasn’t getting back up this time. Shark tossed the weapon to his brother, the one that Scud had held at gunpoint.

“Take them out back,” Shark commanded. The finality and authority in his voice weren’t lost on me.

As I observed, I filled in the blanks. Taking the men in the purple shirts out back must have meant taking them out to execute them. Scud’s men were forced out of the front door by August Knights. Without being told, two of Shark’s men grabbed Scud’s limp arms and feet, dragging his lifeless body, and followed the group to wherever out back led to.

I stood in place, not moving, until I glanced up into Shark’s pleased face. I’d been so busy watching the scene unfold that I hadn’t noticed that Shark had inched his way into my personal space.

“You did good,” he complimented. “Are we going to have a problem with you keeping any of what you just witnessed to yourself?”

His firm stance and set jaw explained what his words couldn’t. Was he asking if I’d rat them out? I’d shot someone at his command, and that wasn’t enough to convince him that I was as crazy as they were?

To keep from becoming the next one sent out back, I swallowed my sudden emergence of annoyance. “I’ve seen much worse growing up. You have nothing to worry about. I didn’t see shit.”

After those words, I turned away from Shark to go back into the kitchen. There was no need for him to tell me what I needed to do. Although I didn’t understand some of their rules, common sense gave me some insight on how this world worked. I filled a bucket with warm bleach water, grabbed the mop, and gathered some old rags.

Without being told to do so, I went back into the club area. The room had thinned considerably. The twenty or so bikers who’d eye-witnessed a murder were outside likely witnessing two additional executions.

The men who remained glared at me as I approached the crime scene with the cleaning supplies. Why in the hell were they staring at me when they were the ones who’d sent a body and two men out back? I was nothing but the cleaning lady.

Shark eyed me as I strolled past them and stopped at the bloodstained floor. It pleased me that I didn’t see any brain matter or chunks of human tissue. Thankfully, there was only blood.

Shark approached. Again, a pleased smile danced across his face. “This isn’t your first rodeo, is it?” he asked.

Was it amazement or pride I’d seen flash across his face and disappear as quickly as it had appeared? Was my behavior intriguing to him?

I shook my head at Shark before I started my task of cleaning up the blood and what I assumed was urine that Scud had released when he was struck with the lethal shots. I could sense Shark standing behind me, staring until one of his men called him away.