Edge of Chaos (10 page)

One week later…

Luke, Anton (the
new Sergeant at Arms), Luke’s father, and several other key personnel are
gathered around the old oak desk at the Kings headquarters. The subject of
today’s meeting is revenge for Mack’s death, a close personal friend of Luke’s
father. He and Mack had been jumped in at the same time. Both had risen through
the ranks over the past two decades and while Mack had stopped at his current
position, Gunnar had achieved the title of President a dozen years ago or so.
Now his best friend has been murdered and Gunnar is out for blood.

“I got some Intel
about a delivery being made tonight by two Harbingers. It’ll just be the two of
them in a pickup. They’re making a moderate-sized meth delivery and are
attempting to fly under the radar rather than some large, escorted delivery
like they used to do. Now this comes straight from our snitch; our brother, the
Confidential Informant for Oakland PD. The driver tonight is the police’s
number one suspect for Mack’s murder. They’re waiting to see where he will lead
them to before picking him up. If we don’t act now, he’ll wind up in jail and
we’ll never be able to get at him. I want his head! At approximately 3:45 this
morning, the two Harbingers will be driving a black Ford F150 with the
following plates: 6CBU141. It’s a very straightforward job, Luke.”

Gunnar spreads a
map out on the table and points to an intersection. He makes a red X at the
intersection of Cedar and Vine.

“You’ll wait here,
Luke. All you gotta do is pull in behind them and open fire on the driver. It’s
simple. You should actually take them both out because you’re gonna need to
pull up and snap a quick picture before leaving the scene. Do you still have
your H&K?”

“Of course. It’ll
be perfect for the job. I’ll take Carter with me. He can drive and I’ll shoot,
and I’ll take the photo when it’s done.”

“Take Anton here.
Carter is up north with the Devil Dogs. They’ve been having some serious trouble
with the Harbingers up there and we’re thinking of doing a patch over. Your boy
Carter is going to be seeing if a patch over is a good idea or not.”

“Fine, I’ll take Anton
but I call the shots here,” Luke says.

“Done. Don’t mess
this up, Luke. I want that asshole that killed Mack, you got it?”

“He’s as good as
dead, father,” Luke replies.

3:15 in the
Morning…

Luke and Anton are
sitting in the old Ford F250 the club uses to pick up motorcycle parts for
their cycle repair shop. It has just the right amount of dents, faded and
scratched paint and worn tires so that it doesn’t stick out in anybody’s mind.
It could pass you by a dozen times and you’d never notice it and that makes it
perfect for using it during a hit. The truck has a newly rebuilt engine and
transmission, though and that’s what really matters. If Luke and Anton have to
get away fast, they won’t have to worry about it being unreliable and leaving
them stranded somewhere.

As Anton keeps an
eye out for cops or rival bikers, Luke inspects his gun. Earlier in the evening,
he had field stripped it, oiled it down and put it back together again. Now,
sitting in the truck waiting for their mark to come by, Luke is taking apart
and putting back together again that same Heckler and Koch 9mm handgun. He does
it all with his eyes closed, as usual. Scarcely a sound can be heard in the cab
of the Ford, other than the soft metallic clicks as the slide knocks up against
the lower receiver or the loud snap of the magazine being seated. Then with the
push of a button the magazine drops out into Luke’s lap and he begins all over
again.

At 3:40 am, Anton
brings Luke out of his trance by telling him his mark is five minutes out. As
Luke finishes reassembling his H&K for the last time, Anton starts the
engine. Both men roll their windows down.

At exactly 3:49 am,
they hear the lone rumble of a truck coming their way. Two minutes later, they
get a visual on the vehicle. From a block away, it’s impossible to see who is
driving but that really doesn’t matter. There are no other black trucks
anywhere around. They wait five seconds after the truck has passed before they
make their move. With their lights still off, Anton closes the distance between
the two trucks. Just as they get to the perfect distance for the weapon Luke is
using, Anton hits the lights. At that very instant, Luke begins firing short
controlled bursts. The truck veers off to the right and strikes a telephone
pole. Anton comes up right behind the disabled vehicle as Luke is reloading his
weapon. Luke empties it again into the still forms inside the cab. Then he
drops the smoking weapon on the floor by his feet and retrieves a digital
camera. Anton brings their truck around to the side of their victim’s vehicle
and Luke zeros in with his camera and just starts snapping pictures.

At first, his
brain cannot believe what his eyes are telling him. It just can’t be. He drops
the camera in his lap and looks again.

No fucking way!
a voice screams in his head.
No fucking
way!

“What’s wrong?”
Anton asks.

For an answer,
Luke starts to open the door. He just cannot accept what he is looking at. The
door is locked.

“What are you
doing?” Anton asks.

Luke finally gets
the door unlocked and opens it.

“Wait a second; we
have to get out of—"

Anton puts the
truck in gear. “Luke, get the fuck back in here!”

Luke’s face is
glued to the bloody driver’s side window of the truck’s cab. Slumped against
the door of the Ford truck is his best friend in the world, Carter Jennings.

“Luke!” Anton
calls out to him. “Get back here before the cops come.”

Luke is shivering
in spite of the heat. His heart is pounding. He opens the door and Carter falls
out dead. As if struck by a lightning bolt, Luke feels his knees buckle and stumbles
backwards onto the dusty pavement, where he collapses in grief. He’s vaguely
aware when someone drags him backwards and puts him in the truck. A distant
door closes and an engine roars.

“Where do you want
me to take you, man?”

Luke can’t utter a
word.
Carter is dead…Carter is dead…Carter is dead,
his inner voice shrieks
over and over again.

“Luke man, really
sorry about your friend, but we gotta go somewhere. You wanna go back to the
clubhouse…probably not.”

Anton decides to
turn around and head to his own house. He’ll figure out what to do from there.

“Shit!” Anton
yells. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Luke has his
H&K in his hands and turns the barrel on himself so that it rests against
his temple.

“Don’t!” Anton screams,
as he slams on the breaks. Luke goes flying out of his seat, striking his
forehead against the top of the truck’s windshield. His handgun clatters to the
floor at his feet. Anton scrambles for his seatbelt. Luke scoots back in his
seat searching around for his gun. Anton hits the belt’s release button and
dives across the stick shift as he reaches for the fallen weapon. He grabs it at
the same time Luke does and both men struggle for possession. Finally, Luke
wrests it from Anton’s fingers, sticks the barrel in his mouth and pulls the
trigger!

Anton shuts his
eyes and jerks back away from the other man hoping to avoid the inevitable
spray of hot blood and brains.

Click!

Nothing happens.
Click! Just a hollow metallic sound of the hammer falling. The firing pin
strikes the primer but it fails to ignite. The bullet’s a dud!

The sound of
repeated clicking jars Anton back into action. He slaps the gun away from the
other man’s mouth with his right hand and twists around and punches Luke square
in the nose. Luke’s head rocks back and bounces off the truck’s rear window.
Momentarily stunned, he just sits there as Anton retrieves the H&K. He
shoves it down into his jacket pocket, revs the engine and spins out in the
gravel before his tires find their traction and propel the truck back out into
the roadway. He has to get to his house as fast as he can. He does not want to
be trapped in this truck with a suicidal maniac any longer than he has to be.
After a few minutes, the rush of adrenaline from the nightmarish mess of a
night levels off and he eases up on the accelerator bringing their speed down
to 35 miles an hour. It would not do to get pulled over now with the state Luke
is in. Plus, he’s got a pretty good amount of his victim’s blood on him. Anton
is not a cop killer and he doesn’t want to start now, but if they’re pulled
over, he’ll have no choice in the matter.

During the twenty
minutes it takes to get to his house, his mind replays the night’s events over
and over. Was is just a wild coincident or were they set up? Actually, was Luke
set up? It was his best friend he’d just blown away, not Anton’s friend. Before
he can convince himself it might just be a sad accident, he remembers what
Gunnar had said in the meeting about Carter. Supposedly, he was up north with
the Devil Dogs talking with them about
their
Harbinger problem and a
possible patch over ceremony.

So that was all
a lie
, he guessed.
But
why would Gunnar want Carter dead? Did he betray the club? Was there another
reason he was killed? The Kings do not kill their own unless something really
serious has happened. A member is usually kicked out for life for serious
offences, not gunned down like this.

Luke’s fevered
brain rages. What was Carter doing in that truck when he was supposed to be up
north? There is only one explanation for it. He was meant to kill his best
friend tonight and it worked. There is only one man who could order such a hit
and have people within the club that would help carry out those orders.  His
father set him up and made him kill his best friend. What will he tell Carter’s
mother? The thought of facing that sweet old woman with such tragic news is
almost enough to send Luke back down into the suicidal spiral he’d just come
back from. But first things first. He’ll have to tell Mrs. Jennings what
happened and then he’ll kill the man who really killed Carter; his father.

I will kill
everyone close to him and while he’s stewing in his agony, I’ll slit his throat
and watch him bleed out
,
Luke muses.

Luke is only
vaguely aware of arriving at an unfamiliar house. He barely has the strength to
stand as Anton pulls him out of the truck and helps him up the sidewalk. They go
inside and Luke collapses over a couch. He closes his eyes for a second but has
to open them again. Every time his eyelids come down, he sees Carter’s bloody
face, half his head blown away. He sees the spray of blood, bone and brains
against the truck’s windshield. He sees himself pulling the trigger and
enjoying watching the spray of bullets end another life. But that life was his
best friend, and he has to open his eyes to stop the nightmare from playing
itself out over and over again.

A couple of minutes
later, a cold drink is placed in his hand and he gulps it down without
thinking. He barely tastes the fiery liquid as it goes down. His glass is
refilled and he drains it faster than the first one. By the time he’s downed
his fifth scotch, a thought comes to mind; Kayla. He has to see the doctor. He
racks his brain trying to remember if he knows her address; he draws a blank.
He does have her number, however. He feels around in his pocket for his phone
but it’s not there. Then he remembers the policy; no one takes a phone on a
mission. His is back at the clubhouse.

“Anton,” Luke
calls out. He’s dimly aware he’s slurring his words. “Anton…phone.”

Anton walks over
and presses a phone in his hand. Luke thinks for a minute, then dials Kayla’s
number. He lets it ring until it goes to voicemail before hanging up and trying
again. On the fourth time he’s rewarded by a sleepy female voice.

“Hello?”

“I have to see
you,” he breathes into the phone. “I have to see you now.”

Kayla sits in her
kitchen nursing a coffee and waiting for Luke to arrive.  Something bad must
have happened to him to call her at this time. It suddenly occurs to her that
he sounded hurt.

Could he have
been shot or something?

That thought puts
her into action. She runs to the bathroom and fetches her trauma kit. After
meeting Luke, she decided to put together a kit to keep at home. Over the past
several weeks, she’d secretly taken various medical supplies from the hospital.
Her kit now sports antibiotics, suture kits, sterile instruments, used for digging
bullets out, and plenty of sterile dressings for different kinds of wounds.

She clears off the
dining room table and puts a clean plastic table cloth on it. She will have him
lay there. It’s the best-lit place to work.

After everything
has been set up, she returns to the kitchen to finish her coffee and wait.

He must be
pretty bad,
she muses
.
Hopefully, it’s just another knife wound. I don't relish the idea of having to
dig out a bullet without anesthesia. Even Luke isn’t that tough
.

She’s about to
help herself to a third cup of coffee when someone pounds on her front door.
She runs to open it and nearly collapses in fright when she sees Luke. He is
wrecked! Her heart drops as she helps his friend bring him into the house. He
is covered in blood from the top of his chest to his waist.

“Where’s he hit?”
she asks, as they half-lead, half-drag him into the dining room.

“Him? He’s not
hurt at all,” his friend says.

“You?” she asks.

“Someone else,
actually. It’s a long story that he’ll no doubt tell you.”

She leads them
into her living room where Luke collapses on her couch. She winces, thinking
that she will probably have to buy a new couch. Blood stains are difficult to
remove.

“Can I get you a
drink?” she asks Luke’s friend.

“You can get him
one, but I’ll be taking off now.”

“Oh…okay. Well,
thanks for bringing him.”

“Yup.”

Luke’s friend
shuts the door behind him, leaving them alone. Kayla grabs a glass and a bottle
of Scotch. She pours a drink for him and grabs another glass. She has a feeling
she’s going to need something strong too before the morning is over. She brings
him the glass and he downs it without a word. She studies his face. He’s pale.
His eyes are bloodshot, but haven’t lost their sparkle. Maybe he’s not as
wasted as she first thought.

She sits down
beside him. He reeks. Normally, the smell of blood doesn’t faze her. But
tonight, the combination of blood, sweat, and fear is a noxious potion she does
not want to imbibe. She forces herself to remain where she is seated.

“Do you want to
tell me what happened?” she asks.

Luke just sits
there on Kayla’s couch, staring into his empty glass. He is completely
oblivious to his surroundings. Kayla wonders if he can even hear her. She
scoots a little closer, takes his free hand in hers and asks again.

“Luke, what
happened?  Where did all this blood come from?”

Luke suddenly
stiffens, his eyes focus on her face and she can read the agony there. He’s
holding on to something so awful, so horribly painful he just can’t voice it.

“What can I do to
help you? ” she asks. “Tell me who got hurt, Luke.”

He lowers his
head. “Carter,” he says, his voice cracking in grief.

A terrible thought
crosses her mind.

“Luke,” she
begins. “Did you…did you accidentally hurt him?”

He reacts like
he’s been stung. He jerks, sits up straight and throws the glass in his hand
with all his might against the far wall of the living room. Amazingly, it hits
on the bottom and doesn’t shatter; but Luke does.

He collapses face
forwards on the floor and just lies there unmoving.

Kayla sits there
for a second, unsure of what she should do. She’s not inexperienced when it
comes to telling families bad news and she knows everyone reacts differently,
but Luke is acting really strange. Suddenly, he just curls up into a fetal
position and bursts into tears. Great sobs wrack his body. His fists clench as
he brings his knees even tighter up to his chest. His mouth opens in a silent
scream. It’s like a tortured soul being wrenched from his body. For the first
time this morning Kayla is afraid. She knows that she does not have the skill to
deal with whatever demons Luke has unleashed in her living room and for a
second she actually considers just leaving. She nearly gets up from the couch
and runs for the door. But she can’t leave him. Hell, she wouldn’t leave anyone
in this shape, friend or not.

Just as Kayla is
frozen to her couch in fear, Luke begins to talk. At first, she can’t make out
a single word. They’re spilling out so fast it almost sounds like a completely
different language. Then he slows down and she starts picking out words. Gradually,
she is able to put together what happened; or enough of what happened to
understand how to help him.

She gets down on
the ground with him. She puts her tummy to his back and sort of curls around
him. Kayla puts her mouth to his ear and coos softly to him. It really doesn’t
matter what she says at this point; just that she makes comforting noises. She
has no idea how long they lie spooning like that, but when he finally stirs and
moves to get up, she gets cramps in her legs and it takes a minute for her to
return to the couch to sit with him.

One look at him
tells her the emotional state he is in. He is just a ghost of his former self.
His eyes have lost their ever-present emerald gleam. They look like a pair of burned-out
orbs and he seems as if he has aged twenty years in the space of a few hours. Kayla
can’t begin to imagine what he must be feeling now. She stares at him for a
minute and then it clicks. She knows exactly what to do to make him feel human
again. She gets up and stands in front of Luke, holding out her hands. For a
minute, he just stares at her, but he finally puts his hands in hers. Kayla tugs
at his hands and he rises. Walking backwards, she keeps her eyes riveted on
his, unwilling to break contact for fear of losing him down that dark tunnel of
despair. If that happens again, she is pretty certain she won’t be able to
bring him back this time. She stops when they come to her bed and begins to
undress him. Slowly and tenderly, almost like undressing a child. But by the
time she has his shirt off and reaches for his belt something changes. She can
feel him responding. His eyes finally focus to the moment and she can see his
desire growing as much as hers. Her heart and breathing quicken, and her pupils
dilate. She takes a tentative step towards him. Her lips are just inches from
his. Kayla rests her hand on his belt buckle for a second and then slides it
down to the beginnings of a bulge. She leans in for a kiss and at the same time
strokes him until she can feel his rigid cock. Their mouths open and tongues
entwine in passion. Kayla can feel bursts of warm air on her face from his
nostrils.

Now his hands are
all over her; caressing, squeezing, tearing, pulling, and unbuttoning, until
her clothes fall into a heap about their feet. Kayla drops to her knees
fumbling with the buckle for a second. His pants fall to his knees and she’s
pulling off his skin tight briefs down over his hips. She takes a deep breath
inhaling his musky scent before she leans in and unleashes a level of passion
and raw desire like she has never experienced before. Luke moans and cries out
in unbridled ecstasy as he releases his seed thrusting his hips back and forth.
With renewed energy and passion, Luke lifts Kayla up and literally throws her
to the bed before he pounces like an enraged lion bent upon taking what is his.
Kayla grabs his broad shoulders digging her nails in as she pulls him down to
her. Luke barely notices as she rakes his flesh when he enters her and begins
to hammer her into submission with his engorged member. Their lovemaking
reaches the pinnacle of passion and an unbelievable tenderness, neither of them
has ever experienced before, overwhelms them. They finally collapse in each
other’s arms until sleep finds them both.