Saved (Lucifer's Legion Motorcycle Club #4) (2 page)

I fire up the bike and get rolling. It ain’t far, but I gotta be fast. Any time soon Randy’s gonna finish jerking off and go for Angel. I weave between cars and jump reds, leavin’ a trail of blaring horns and screaming assholes behind me.

I get to Butch’s house and run straight for the door, bangin’ on it with my fist like I’m the fuckin’ cops. Alice – Butch’s old lady – comes to the door and smiles in that steady, all-knowin’ way she has. Then she says, “Hey, stranger. Where the hell have you been?”

“The deal went to shit.”

“I know. Gunny told me.”

“He here?”

“He left as soon as he dropped the girl off. What are you doing here?”

I try not to break, not to act suspicious, to play it cool. But it comes out like I’m fuckin’ pissed.

“Enough fuckin’ talk. Where’s the girl? Butch told me to pick her up.”

Alice smiles and lights a cigarette. “Oh really?”

Bitch knows something.

“There’s no time for this shit, Alice. I need the girl. Butch’s orders.”

“Funny,” she says, blowin’ smoke in the air, “’cause Butch called a few minutes ago, and said that Randy was comin’ to pick her up. Said you’d be here for the car. And the car’s behind you.”

I’m thinkin’ about an excuse, thinkin’ about turnin’ back, thinkin’ about clockin’ Alice and grabbin’ Angel before I waste any more fuckin’ time. Then she speaks again, soft, low, and serious.

“Look, Luc. I been around. I know bikers – and I know what some women can do to them. I’ve done it myself. You can bullshit me all you want, but I know that girl inside is pulling at some part of you. The part that is buried somewhere under the training, the violence, the business, the bad-ass biker stuff. Just don’t bullshit yourself about it.”

“I ain’t here for a fuckin’ therapy session.”

“No. You’re here for the girl. Randy will be too. Soon.”

We look at each other for a moment. I don’t know what the bitch wants from me. Does she want me to say it? Does she want me to stop?

“I’m not going to hand over Butch’s property, Luc,” she says, and a hundred violent options run through my mind. “But if you were to just barge in here and take her… Well, it’s not like I can stop you, is it?”

She winks, and then the smile grows on her face again.

She steps and aside, and I run in. I check the rooms, even though I know where Butch probably kept her. I get to the basement door, unlatch it, and take the steps. She’s layin’ on the couch, asleep. The TV is on, showing some news reports. Fuck knows what the bitch thought when she saw her face on the missing persons reports. Seeing her again, beat to shit and fuckin’ lucky to be alive, hits me like a gut punch. I’m fuckin’ shakin’ again. Anger and bitterness mixin’ inside of me like the mother of all cocktails.

I shake myself out of it – no fuckin’ time to start thinkin’ – and pick the bitch up in my arms. It’s the second time I’ve done that in the past hour, and it still feels weird not to be fightin’, not to be aggressive, to be fuckin’ gentle.

I get up the steps as fast as possible. Alice is in the kitchen, mixing something to drink. She nods at me as I’m nearly at the door.

“You better take the car,” she says. “Keys are in it.”

Before I turn back towards the door I say, “Thanks.”

She says something as I step outside. It sounds like: “Don’t be afraid of change, Luc.” But I ain’t exactly got the fuckin’ time to sit and let her play shrink with my head, so I get my ass to the car, lay Angel in the back seat, check the street for Randy, and gun the motor off the property. The hell away from this shit.

I’m doin’ somethin’ like a hundred on the freeway when it hits me. What the fuck have I been doing for the past couple of weeks? I’ve turned on my brothers, on the fuckin’ club that saved my life. I’ve thrown away a reputation I built up over years as the best trainer this side of the border, and I’ve fucked up a business deal that could have taken the club into a fuckin’ whole new level of money and power.

And for what? For two fuckin’ bitches. For two fuckin’ animals that aren’t even good enough to be fucked and used by the Cartel.

I think about all the soft shit I’ve been doing. Playin’ fuckin’ happy family with Angel in a motel like a fuckin’ homo. Treatin’ her more like she’s my old lady than a piece of fuckin’ property to be sold. Lettin’ Lilith play me for a fuckin’ fool. Using her ass to control me, instead of the other way round. Talkin’ with her about her feelings like we were having a fuckin’ pajama party.

Just thinkin’ about it makes me fuckin’ disgusted with myself. The fuck was wrong with me?

I coulda trained Angel. Sure I only had a fuckin’ week, but if I had my shit together I could have done it. I was spun out ‘cause of Lilith. It all fuckin’ started with her. Her crazy fuckin’ voodoo shit that she had goin’ over me. I wish I could turn the fuckin’ clock back. Back to the desert, back to where it all began. If I’d have known all the shit that would have followed, I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second, I’d have fuckin’ blasted a bullet straight between her eyes. Even if she put those lips around my cock the way she did. Even if she gave me the best head I’ve had in-

“You… You’re saving me?”

It’s Angel. She’s awake. I can barely hear her voice, but it still sounds like fuckin’ music when she speaks. I look at her in the rear view mirror.

“Shut the fuck up! Just shut that fucking mouth! I don’t wanna hear a goddamn word out of you, bitch!”

I’m shouting, slamming my hands on the wheel as I hammer the words out. I see her hunch up, like I’m about to turn and hit her.

“I ain’t savin’ shit but my own ass! You got that? This is your fuckin’ fault! You think I’m fuckin’ stupid, bitch? Quit the fuckin’ sweet and innocent act! You know exactly what you’re fuckin’ doin’, don’t you bitch?”

She’s too afraid to answer. I don’t even want to look at her, so I just grip the wheel and throw the car forward. Away from everything I thought I knew, and into a whole new world of shit.

I go back to Silver City, to the same inn I took Angel to last time. I figure if the owner hadn’t figured out anything was wrong the first time we were there, we can probably get away with it a second time. I park the car and turn around towards the back seat.

“Same deal as last time. I got the gun, so you don’t run. Got it?”

She nods.

We get out the car, and I grab her by the arm as we walk through the door. I ring the bell at the desk. I can feel the needle marks and cuts on the bitch’s flesh, and I notice that her arm is a hell of a lot thinner too.

It’s the same old guy that was there last time. Still limping down the stairs, still out of breath when he gets to the bottom. He smiles when he recognizes us, and drops it when he sees the state of Angel.

“Oh, is everything alright?”

“She fell off the back of my bike. My fault,” I smile and shrug, like I’m guilty. “Needs somewhere to rest up a little. She liked it here so much, I decided, why not? The prices are very reasonable.”

He leans forward towards Angel, like he’s talkin’ to a fuckin’ kid, and says: “You should really wear a helmet.”

I look at Angel with a hard expression that I hope she understands means she better not fuck this up. She nods, and I say: “She’s still a bit shaken up. A good quiet rest is what she needs right now.”

“Well this is the perfect place for it.”

“Absolutely.”

“Jay and Angel, right?”

I smile, like I’m really fuckin’ happy the old cocksucker remembered. “That’s us.”

“Here you go.” He hands me a room key.

“Thanks.”

The old guy nods, takes my cash, and smiles. I grab a pizza menu from the desk, and we make our way up to the room. I’m still holdin’ her arm, but now it’s because I realize the bitch can’t even walk straight, she’s so fuckin’ weak and lost. She’s really fucked up, and I hope for both of our sakes that the guy wasn’t puttin’ on as much of an act as I was.

We get inside, and I shove the bitch towards the bed, then start pacin’ around. I feel like the walls are closin’ in on me. A couple of weeks ago I had a sweet fuckin’ deal. The cut, the respect, the money. An hour ago, I had a choice between gettin’ Angel back and returning to the club, or goin’ it alone with Lilith. Now I have no fuckin’ brothers, nobody watchin’ my back, and Angel’s about one bad day away from eatin’ it.

I look at her, sittin’ on the side of the bed and fidgetin’, scratchin’ her arms, avoidin’ my gaze. For a moment, the bruises and cuts disappear, and I see how knock-dead fuckin’ beautiful she is. Beautiful enough to make men do stupid things. Beautiful enough to make men sacrifice everything for her. Beautiful enough to get me into this fuckin’ mess. Dangerously beautiful. But she’s all I fuckin’ got right now.

I walk over to her, put my hand under her chin, and lift her face so I can see it. One of her eyes can barely open it’s puffed up so badly. Her lip is busted up too, fixin’ her with a sad, downturned mouth.

“Shit. They really did a fuckin’ number on you.”

And it’s all my fault. I knew it would happen. I may as well have done it myself.

She looks me right in the eye, and then starts to sob. In a few seconds she’s cryin’ with all the strength in her body – what little remains.

It’s a good fuckin’ sign. Bitches that cry still have somethin’ to cry about. They ain’t given up totally. If she’s tearin’ up it means she comin’ out of whatever dark fuckin’ pit in the back of her mind that they pushed her into.

“Get your clothes off.”

She looks at me, her lips parted, and her wet eyes pleading.

“I’m just gonna run you a bath,” I say, then go to the bathroom and turn the water on.

About a minute later, I hear her voice behind me.

“Hey.”

I realize I’ve been starin’ at the water, swirlin’ in the tub, zoned out. I’m tired as hell. I shut off the taps and turn around. She’s naked, standin’ there holdin’ her arms underneath those beautiful fuckin’ tits. They’re not bruised at all – and it doesn’t take a fuckin’ genius to figure out why.

“It’s probably gonna hurt like hell when you get in.”

She walks over to the tub, and puts a hand on my shoulder to steady herself as she lifts one leg inside. The bitch still trusts me. Bitches who go through all the shit she has usually keep their distance, usually start clammin’ up or freakin’ out at the idea of a man touchin’ them, but here she is, layin’ a hand on me like I’m fuckin’ innocent. Like she can trust me.

I can tell she’s in worlds of pain as she eases herself into the bath, cut by stingin’ cut, bruise by painful bruise. But apart from wincin’ a little she hides it well. I guess pain has become second nature to her.

She lets her body sink into the water slowly, closes her eyes, and I see her busted lip move in what’s probably meant to be a smile. She gently splashes water onto her face, and runs her fingers through her wet hair.

I put the seat of the toilet down and sit on it. Then I pull out my cellphone and the pizza menu I got from the office, and order two of the biggest, meatiest pizzas they have. I tell the guy there’s an extra twenty in it if he can find me some beer, and he agrees. I need somethin’ to take the edge off my thoughts. I search my pockets and feel like I just found a lottery ticket when I discover some weed and papers left in my back pocket.

I toss them onto the sink, and look at Angel. She’s soaping herself down, but I can see it hurts her to stretch and bend so much.

“Lemme give you a hand.”

I crouch by the bathtub, grab the soap, and run it along her legs. The bathwater is already dirty, but her skin is cleanin’ up nicely. A lot of the cuts are tiny – lashes from a whip.

“These cuts will go in no time. The bruises too,” I say.

She gives me a look that I don’t understand.

“What?”

She swallows before speaking. “Do you want to get in?”

Maybe it’s ‘cause I can’t read the expression on her messed-up face, or maybe it’s ‘cause my mind is swingin’ between thoughts and emotions like a fuckin’ see-saw, but the question stuns me. Is this bitch for
real?
Is she askin’ me to get in because she wants me to be close? Because she wants
me?
Or is she just askin’ because that’s what she’s been trained to do? Because that’s what’s expected of a sex slave?

“No,” I say, with more conviction than I’m really feelin’. We stare at each other for a full minute, like we’re tryin’ to read each other’s minds. “Turn around. Let me get your back.”

I’m real gentle washin’ her back. It’s criss-crossed with lashes, and I think I can even see the outline of a boot against it. Seeing it almost makes me feel the pain myself.

She turns back around, and I run the sponge along her front, her stomach, her breasts, her neck, her face…

Her eyes close, and I think I can see that smile again. Shit. I’m hard as rock lookin’ at  her like this, touchin’ her like this. All the fuckin’ urges I had the last time we were in the motel flood back into me, my blood pumpin’ so hard that it takes all the fuckin’ willpower I have left not to ravage her right there in the tub.

“Is that weed?” She says, pointing at the packet I threw on the sink.

“Yeah.”

“I wouldn’t mind… I mean, it might make me feel a bit better…“

“Me too. Later. You should eat first.”

She’s probably gettin’ withdrawal symptoms. Probably aching for a dose of the shit they stuffed her with.

The doorbell rings as she’s getting’ out, and I go pick up the pizzas and beer while she throws on a bathrobe and comes into the room. I take a seat at the table, crack open a couple of beers, and gesture her towards the food.

“Should probably get you some new clothes. I put a beer in the refrigerator. Once you’ve eaten you should hold it against that black eye of yours. Might ease it up by tomorrow.”

She sits down, hands in her lap. I’m already on my second slice when I notice she ain’t even started.

“Don’t just fuckin’ look at it. I told you to eat.”

It comes out harder than I expected, like I’m not even in control of my own mouth, but when she starts eating I don’t say anything else. Pretty soon she’s swallowed down half the large pizza and gone through a bottle and a half of beer.

I wipe my mouth and go get the beer bottle from the fridge.

“Here,” I say, handing it to her.

I grab the weed and go over to the bed. It’s not late, but I feel like I ain’t slept in days, and after spendin’ those nights on the dirty, hard floor of the abandoned warehouse the bed feels like fuckin’ heaven. Angel walks over, clutchin’ the beer bottle on her eye like I told her, and lays down slowly beside me.

I roll up and light the joint, fillin’ my lungs, then hand it to Angel.

“Hold it in.”

“I know.”

After a while I grab the remote and turn the TV on. I take care to avoid anything violent, any news stations, and anything depressing. I eventually just leave it on some cartoons. Old ones. The volume’s down, and we just sit there, passin’ the joint between us, starin’ at the shapes and colors.

It ain’t like the last time we smoked weed. Angel doesn’t giggle, doesn’t start talkin’, doesn’t start relaxin’ like she did before. She’s changed. Just as much as I have.