Red (Black #2) (7 page)

I stay at the clubhouse for a week, biding my time. Thinking of how I’ll get them back. How I
will
make them pay. I don’t rush into things. Instead, I manipulate them. I’m not a hot head, I have a deadly mind. They have no idea what they just brought upon themselves.

Savannah has tried multiple times to sneak into my bed at night, and sometimes I almost allowed it… almost gave in. She caught me off guard, in a dream, with a raging hard on. Though when I heard her say,
‘Baby,’
I threw her across the room. She hasn’t tried it again after that night.

The club is having issues, issues I’ve put there. To make them believe they can’t trust anyone but me. Six days ago, I set Boozer the Vice President up with a hooker, but he didn’t know it was me. The hooker wasn’t so much of a hooker, though, she was an old lady from one of the rival clubs who happened to like me. Photos were taken and were sent to the Pres, Grover. Shit hit the fan.

It was a good day.

The next day, I paid four kids one hundred dollars each if they stole Brak’s chopper, and replaced it with a motorized push bike. A note was left on the bike.

Next will be your life, replaced with a doll if you don’t supply me the right amount.

The note could have meant anything, it was stupid but did its job. He lost the trust of the club, members believing he’s selling the club’s drugs and making a profit of his own. To which he doesn’t have access.

The following, was, well, too fucking easy. I didn’t even need to plan much. Stark has a weakness for a younger woman, early twenties, dressing up as a school girl.

Grover has a younger daughter, younger than Savannah, a mere nineteen years old. No one is to go near her, and no one is talking to her. She hates her father, and is fucking Stark behind his back, to pay him back for favoring Savannah—the golden child.

I stepped out one night, went for a walk. Stark had Grover’s bike, I recognized it and thought it was Grover as no one is meant to touch his bike. It’s his baby. Except the cries of pleasure I heard were not Grover, but Stark, a loyal member for ten years. Dirty old fucking bastard. I took photos, printed them, and sent them to Grover.

Today I walk into the shed and all three of his top members—the ones who have been with him the longest—are standing against the wall. Grover called me in. My face doesn’t change as I see the men, no surprise needed. I’ve put cracks so large in their house, all the loyalty and trust is gone from his top men.

“Pres,” I say.

He looks to me, anger written on his face.

The funny thing is, I planned to do more… so much more. The rest was easy. Except they made an impact and the results of which were exactly what I wanted—a broken club.

“Loyalty, I live by it. My men are to be loyal… if they’re not, then the choice is punishment, blood, death. Which is it?”

The three men look at me, knowing why I’m here, then back to Grover. They all speak at the same time. “Punishment,” they say in union. Grover nods to me and picks Stark to go first, the other two men turn away, not being allowed to see.

The room is set up, everything I need is in here. It’s where I come to relax, to shoot, and occasionally torture their captives. The screams this room carries, they’re relaxing. It sounds weird, I know, but think about it. A person feels, that person is alive, undoubtedly, they scream from the pain, they bleed from the torture, they cry for relief. Those people feel, might not be the right type of feel, but it’s feeling, and it tells them they’re alive.

I was tortured, a mere four months after I lost my memory. Now I’m thinking Grover had something to do with it. The pain from that night was horrific. I didn’t scream once, didn’t shed a tear once or utter a single word. Even when they sliced my incision open with a knife, the one from the gunshot wound, the wound that ultimately gave me no memory. I remember the sound, the sound of flesh being torn, the burning sensation of the wound being ripped open like it was yesterday.

Eventually, they gave up when I’d lost too much blood and passed out. I woke in the same bed with Savannah next to me, holding my hand. She told me how the club rescued me, and that I owed them my life, yet again.

I look to the iron, the iron in the fire. Grover steps out and closes the door behind hm. They never want to stay when I’m in here. I asked why once, and they said my eyes go blank, that I drift off, and am lethal when I’m in the zone.

They’re scared of me, they should be.

Stark is now on his hands and knees, no clothes on his body. The other two men are the same—naked—except their eyes face the wall, not toward me.

“Hurry up, Trace!” he screams. I take my time, dipping in two irons, instead of one.

I lean down, and whisper close to his ear, “Grover had a request…” His body tightens, he sucks in a breath and holds it. Grover didn’t have a request, but he doesn’t need to know that. “Whatever you do, don’t move,” I warn. They always move, it’s instinct.

I pull the first iron from the fire—the red end shines bright—and I place it on his ass. He screams while trying to move away. I keep him there with a hand on his shoulder pulling him back into the iron. The smell of the burnt skin wafts up to my nose. Then once it’s done, I remove it, and before he can move himself the other iron lands on his other ass cheek branding that one as well. He screams like a girl, but he cries like a woman. Then for added pleasure, with gloved hands, I push salt into his wounds. He runs then, not caring what the outcome will be. He isn’t tied down, so I don’t stop him.

I do the exact same thing. Whisper the exact same thing to Boozer. He’s the same, ends up running at the end.

Brak’s is the youngest, about the same age as me. He takes it all, doesn’t even scream when the first iron hits him. The second, however, forces him to scream out in agony. Then just before the salt, he talks and I stop.

“They use you.” His voice is tired, he’s had enough.

“I know.” He shakes his head, still in the same position, on all fours.

“You don’t, you’re not even a member. You’re his toy, and he takes great pride in it. Before you… we didn’t have what we have now… respect. People weren’t afraid of us. They are, however, afraid of you and what you’re capable of.”

“What am I capable of?”

“You really don’t know?” He collapses onto the floor, I drop the salt from my hand. This was what I wanted, I wanted them to break their loyalty, to break it to me. He removes his head from being face down on the cement and turns so he’s lying on his cheek and looks up at me.

“Everything, Black.”

I didn’t stay long, I repacked the same bag and drove. I need more answers, answers I’m only getting in pieces from people. No one is speaking to me as they should especially at the clubhouse. If what he says is true, no one there will tell me anything. I’m an asset, not a member.
But why?

I got her address, it wasn’t hard to find when I looked her up. I don’t think as I walk to her door and knock. I wait, and just when I go to knock again the door opens, and a little boy stands there. He looks me up and down and I can immediately tell he has an attitude.

“What ya want?” he asks. He speaks well, he couldn’t be more than four or five. His hair is dark, his eyes green. He looks familiar—is this one of Red’s kids?

I hear her voice, she yells out to the little dude standing in front of me. He rolls his eyes and walks off, leaving the door wide open. I stand there, unsure of what I’m meant to do. Do I walk in? Or wait?

I decide to wait, it doesn’t take her long to come to the door. She looks surprised when she sees me, her hands go to her shirt and she pulls it down, her eyes look around the house then back to me.

“Why are you here?”

I hear someone calling her. “Mommy!” they yell.

She tells him she’ll be there in a minute, then turns back to look at me. “Trace…” She tenses when she says that name knowing full well it’s not mine.

“You can call me Black, Red.”

Her eyes go big, her hands drop from her shirt. “You remember?” She takes a step toward me, I stop her with my words.

“No! I’ve been told that’s my real name, right?” I question it, to see what she says.

She shakes her head. “Yes and no, not to me.”

“Can we talk?” She turns her head back, holds up a finger then disappears. I wait until she comes back. Looking tired, she has on loose pants, a baggy shirt, her long hair is in a bun on top of her head. She isn’t done up, no make-up on her face. She’s just natural. And fuck, she’s the still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Why do I get these feelings from her? I want to know why. What is it that makes her so special and attractive to me, and not like any other woman?

“Can you come back in two hours?” I nod my head and don’t say anything as I walk away. I feel her stare as she watches me, though.

It's only an hour, her text comes through asking me to return. I leave for her house as soon as it comes in. She already has the door open when I enter and she’s now wearing a dress. It’s nothing fancy, just a blue dress that hugs her body, her hair is still in a knot on top of her head.

She holds the door open as I enter, and instantly I smell baking. She’s been cooking. I walk into the living room, it’s a mess. Toys are littered all over the floor, photos clutter the walls. Kids from all ages, even men. In between it all, I see a photo that stands out—it’s me. It’s small, you’d miss it if you weren’t looking hard enough. She’s lying next to me, her hair is fanned out on the floor. Her smile is seductive and beautiful, and I wonder when I can get a smile like that from her. My head lies next to her, except I’m not looking at the camera, my eyes are focused on her. The photo doesn’t seem to be that old, I still look the same. Nothing much has changed, no wonder she was so shocked to see me.

“I snuck that photo. You would never have approved.” Her voice echoes behind me.

“Were you my wife?”

She shakes her head straight away, I have a feeling she wouldn’t lie to me. Usually, I can trust my instincts.

“Why did I look at you like that?”

She looks back to the photo, a soft smile touches her lips, then she looks back to me. “We were two fucked up people that had a beautifully fucked up relationship.”

“Fucked up?” I liked hearing her swear, she doesn’t seem the type to do so.

She stares at the photo as she talks, and doesn’t bother looking at me. “Yes, so fucked up. You were evil. As pure as evil could get. I was a druggie. So you see… two fucked up people.”