Saved (Lucifer's Legion Motorcycle Club #4) (3 page)

I’m on my bike. A long stretch of road ahead of me. The sky is on fire, and the world around the road is destroyed, decayed. I feel shitty and nervous, so I gun the motor and it revs into life – but the bike doesn’t move. I kick the stand, check the brakes, but the wheels ain’t turning. I panic, then feel a hand on my arm. I turn and see Lilith. I feel another hand on my other arm and spin around to the other side. Amber. I feel more hands on me, grabbin’ at my cut, my legs, my face. I catch glimpses of some of them. Bitches that I trained before, goin’ back fuckin’ years. Faces I thought I’d forgotten – some of them gotta be dead and buried by now. The hands pull me off the bike, and I try to fight back but the bitches hold me so fuckin’ tight. They drag me backwards, and I know the place I’m goin’ ain’t good…

The ring of my cellphone wakes me up. I’m fuckin’ sweatin’. I sit up on the side of the bed, tryin’ to cool off a little, then check the phone.

Butch.

I toss the phone back on the dresser, and try to rub some of the grogginess out of my eyes. I feel like shit. The light from the window feels like a fuckin’ knife scrapin’ at my corneas.

I look back towards the bed, to Angel. Her eyes are half-open, must have woken her too. She looks a hell of a lot better. The swelling’s gone down a little. She can open her eyes all the way now. The busted lip is comin’ down too.

I get the coffee goin’ in the kitchenette, and light up a cigarette. Angel’s naked under the covers, and I watch her pick up the ragged shorts and dirty t-shirt the Cartel brought her in.

“You need clothes. Can’t be walkin’ around like that. You think you can fix your face up a little if I get make-up?”

She looks at me with a bit of warmth, the same eager-to-please eyes that she had last time. On the bed. On my face…

“Yeah.”

I pour some coffee and hand it to her. She takes the cup and nearly spills it. Her hands are shakin’ like she’s freezin’. The bitch is still wired, still comin’ down, still desperate for some kind of fix. She swallows the coffee down hot, probably burnin’ her tongue for the caffeine fix.

“You ok?”

“I’m just…”

I wait but she can’t find the words.

“Ok, let’s get going.”

Butch calls again while I’m in the car, and I set my phone to silent. The last thing I want to be doin’ is ridin’ Butch’s car around in broad daylight. Anyone could see me and get word to him. The fucker’s probably got the whole club and everyone he knows out lookin’ for me. It’s not just Angel who’s dangerous now, knowin’ what she does about the club, about the Cartel, it’s me. I’ve spent more time away from the club over the past week than I have with them, and they probably ain’t missin’ me much.

I think about ditchin’ the car, hotwirin’ another, but I ain’t got the time. I think about my Harley, sittin’ out there in front of Butch’s house - if they ain’t moved it by now - and the crazy idea to go back and get it flashes into my mind, then disappears when I realize it’s a surefire way to get my ass shot.

There’s a drive-thru a little way up the road, and I run the car through, picking up a little food that Angel tears apart and gets into without any orders this time. She’s still shakin’, scratchin’ at her arms like she’s got bugs all over her. I park the car at a strip mall with a thrift shop and get out. Angel’s a little more together now – at least she can walk without bein’ held up – but she’s still a long way from the athletic girl we picked up off the street weeks ago.

“Go get what you need,” I say, when we enter the thrift store. Angel looks at me a moment, like she’s not sure I really mean that she can go off on her own. “I ain’t scared you’re gonna run. You ain’t that dumb.”

I grab myself a few white shirts, and a pair of sunglasses. I’ll probably be needin’ to keep a low profile. When Angel’s done she meets me at the counter. I pay quick, realizin’ that I’m nearly out of cash, and we make for the car.

Back at the house Angel gets dressed while I roll up a joint. After a while she walks out of the bathroom wearing tight black leggings, some knock-off sneakers, and a tank top. Her hair is tied back, and the bruises and cuts that dotted her face seem gone.

She looks fuckin’ amazing.

In those tight leggings, without the marks all over her legs to distract, I can see the curve of her thighs, the roundness of her ass, the shape of her body. And with her hair pulled up, the swellings goin’ down, and the dirty purple bruises invisible, her face matches her name. I want her. Flames rise up inside of me, and I feel ready for a fight, or a fuck. I pull my eyes away.

“What’s wrong?” she says.

I look back at her. Everythin’ about her drives me wild, and calms me at the same time somehow. I wanna fuck this bitch til there’s nothing left of her, and at the same time I wanna make her mine, make her stick around for me, forever. Just lookin’ at her makes my body ache. We’d have beautiful fuckin’ kids.

I start laughin’ as soon as the thought enters my mind. Fuck. I’m cracking. I’m really fucking losin’ it. Got to get a goddamned grip of myself. I ball my fist up and smash it into the wall. Angel doesn’t make a sound. Just stands there like it’s a regular fuckin’ thing. Seconds pass before I realize I’m here. Now. In this room with Angel starin’ at me. I breathe deeply, the pain in my knuckles bringin’ me back to reality.

“Nothin’s wrong. I just need some air.”

Angel makes for the door.

“Let’s go out back,” I say. “In the yard. Where nobody can see us. We can smoke this joint there.”

We sit down at a picnic table in the yard. It’s pretty quiet. A couple of big trees block the view from the road, and in the other direction you can see all the way to the mountains on the horizon. For the first time in a while, I feel like I don’t need to watch my back.

I light up the joint and hand it to Angel, who drags deeply, still jittery for somethin’ to put in her fragile body.

We sit there a while, passin’ the joint between us. Angel looks out into the distance, and so do I – when I’m not lookin’ at her.

“Ain’t you curious about what I’m gonna do?” I say.

Angel lets go of the smoke in her lungs then fixes a pair of dead eyes on me. “I don’t care.”

She gives me the almost-finished joint and goes back to starin’ at the horizon. As I finish it and start rollin’ another she giggles, a little like she did before, but bitter this time.

“It’s funny,” she says, “I actually feel safe with you now. Like, I don’t feel so frightened. Even though you’re the one who brought me into all of this. You’re the one who changed my whole life. Who introduced me to hell. It’s like my life before all this didn’t happen. Like I don’t remember it. Like I remember, but the way you remember something you saw on TV, or dreamed about – not real.”

She looks at me, and I try to pull my eyes away but I can’t.

“All I know now is just different levels of pain. Of being used. And compared to everything else, you’re…not the worst.”

I snort, but what she says reminds me of how soft I was with her. How much I was thinkin’ with my balls rather than my head.

“What happened when you went over to the Cartel?”

Angel winces when I say it, like mention of the name brings back memories that sting her inside a little.

“I don’t remember much. I barely had time to sleep, let alone think and take it all in. First I was in a truck for days. Me and about four other girls. Every time they made a stop, one of the drivers would get in back and… Second day in, one of the girls tried to run, so they shot her. After that we stayed pretty quiet. A couple of the girls weren’t trained. The drivers weren’t happy with them – they were already beaten pretty bad by the time we all arrived, but only on the back, so that the clients couldn’t see.”

She’s talkin’ in a voice calmer than I ever heard her use before. Casually takin’ drags from the joint like she’s tellin’ me a story about goin’ to the store for milk. The bitch isn’t even angry.

“They took us out to this villa. Somewhere in the mountains of South America. There were quite a few people there. Drug dealers, I guess. Weapons too.  A lot of them had guns. There were some Americans there too, Africans, Arabs, all kinds of people. As soon as we got there Carlos – the guy in charge of the girls – got us to get dressed and start ‘entertaining’. From then it was constant. It made the truck ride over seem like a holiday.”

“You had to fuck someone?”

“Everyone. The girls had to look good and be available anytime someone was around. By the pool, in the house, wherever. They’d just grab us and take us, right in front of everyone.”

“Doesn’t sound too different to how we treated you here.”

Angel’s expression doesn’t change.

“It was nothing like this. There were so many people passing through that there was always someone who wanted me. Day and night. I was popular.”

She says the words without a trace of pride, or even shame. Just a matter of fact, and I know too damn well that it’s the truth.

“Every fantasy, every sick perversion, we had to do it all. All day long. Sometimes it was a little easier. One time I just had to lie on a table, so that a group of men could eat sushi off me, their tongues and hands all over me, another time I pole danced for them. Mostly we’d have to fuck though. Often, when they were tired of fucking us, they’d just make the girls screw each other, so they could watch. And we had to look like we enjoyed it, or we’d get beaten. It was an endless cycle of sex and beatings. If we didn’t look good, we’d get beaten. If we didn’t satisfy someone, we’d get beaten. If we disappeared too long, in the bathroom, or to sleep, we’d get beaten.

“Carlos knew what he was doing. He kept us full of drugs. Amphetamines, coke, anything to keep us going, keep us on our feet. And if he needed us docile, downers, heroin. Often the clients did drugs too, and made us do it with them. Carlos would manipulate us psychologically, made it important to get on his good side. He had the girls competing against each other. Competing led to fighting. They all hated me, because I was the one most of the guys wanted. One time I woke up just before they were going to cut off my hair. Another time I spilled a drink on a client, and Carlos just let the girls go wild on me. I blacked out for a whole day. That was just before I got here. I guess it’s why I’m back.”

Waves of hot, jealous rage flow through my body when I think about another man doin’ that to Angel. To
my
bitch. Then I realize what a dumb fuckin’ thought that is and the rage is replaced by a dirty, rotten feelin’, like a cancer inside my chest.

It’s the first time a sold bitch has ever come back to haunt me. The first time I ever heard the other side. It’s what I expected, but comin’ from the lips of Angel…

Except this ain’t Angel. Not anymore. I can hear somethin’ missin’ in her voice, like she’s on autopilot. Her eyes don’t sparkle anymore, they stare. She lost somethin’ in South America. This isn’t even a trained bitch, this is a bitch who’s gone all the way through hell, and what’s come out the other side is there in front of me. A broken down shell. No emotion left. Not even enough hope to be afraid. Just a pair of dead eyes, and a crushed soul.

And it’s all my fault.

“Sometimes,” she says softly, lookin’ at the mountains, “I’d imagine it wasn’t me hurting. That it wasn’t me getting beaten. That I was somewhere far away. And this was just some other girl. Some imaginary girl, who was dealing with all this. A girl much tougher than me.”

She downs the last drops of her beer and gets up.

“You want another?”

“Sure,” I say.

Angel gets up and goes back inside, leavin’ me out here alone.

I look down at my hands. I’m breakin’ up. I don’t know how much longer I can keep on goin’. Havin’ Angel around is crackin’ me. I can’t stand it. I want her so bad I’d kill, but the idea of settlin’, of lettin’ myself do it, lettin’ myself fall in…

The sound of a gunshot slams into my ears. I turn around.

It came from inside.

Where Angel is.

I run inside, slam open the door, and freeze.

It’s Randy.

He swings his revolver around to point at me. I look down, Angel’s on the floor. My heart goes to my throat. I move towards her.

“Stay the fuck where you are, Luc. I don’t need much of a reason to put a bullet in your brain.”

I freeze, and turn my attention to him. He grins like he’s gettin’ his cock sucked.

“Well, well, well,” he says, “look who’s playin’ happy couple. I always knew you were a fuckin’ pussy, Luc.”

“She better be alive.”

Randy raises his eyebrows like he’s a fuckin’ showman. The cocksucker’s been waitin’ for this moment, and he’s gonna bleed it for all it’s worth.

“Oh she’s alive, Mr. Trainer. I’m gonna have a little fun with her before I dispose of the bitch. Unfortunately you’re not gonna be around to see how a
real
man fucks a bitch.”

“Go to hell.”

“I’m goin’, Luc. So are you. Just a matter of when.” Randy pulls the hammer back on the gun and takes a step towards me. He lets his grin drop into an expression of confusion. “I just don’t get it, Luc. You gave up everything. The club. Your brothers. Your work. For a couple of used-up bitches I snagged off the street?”

He looks me right in the eye. He’s ready to pull the trigger. I’m as good as dead. But he wants to know.

“You wanna know the truth, Randy?”

“Yeah.”

Barely a heartbeat passes before Angel brings the beer bottle crashin’ across Randy’s skull. I duck as the gun goes off, sendin’ pieces of the ceilin’ flying. Randy goes down in a shower of beer and broken glass, hitting his head against the wall – out cold before he’s even hit the floor. Angel raises the cut beer bottle above her head, ready to stab, her cold, focused eyes intent on one thing. I quickly grab her arm.

“No. That’s a line you ain’t crossed yet.”

I think I can see somethin’ behind her eyes, some far-off signal that the girl inside her is still alive, still might come back, then it’s gone. She grabs the spare clothes she bought and the rest of the beers, while I grab the revolver from Randy’s hands, and search his pockets for his keys and cash.

“We’ve got to get the fuck out of here.”

I drive like hell, just glad to have gotten away with Angel in one piece. I push the car as much as it’ll go, watchin’ for other bikers on my tail, not knowin’ where the hell I’m headed. My head feelin’ like it’s gonna fuckin’ explode any minute.

Angel’s story has me shaken to the fuckin’ core. I wish I could fight my way out of it. I know how to fight. With my fists, with my balls, with my wits, but now the fight’s inside me, and I don’t know how to win.

I take us off the freeway and down to a motel by some woods. It’s gettin’ dark, but it’s still hard to make out the busted lights of the motel. I know the kind of place. The kind where hookers take their johns. Where you could blackmail half a dozen assholes cheatin’ on their wives in a single night. Where criminals make their dirty deals, and then lay low when they go wrong. Perfect. I’m getting’ into a real bad habit of hidin’ out with bitches who drive me crazy.

I park behind another car, so nobody Butch knows can see it from the road or entrance. Angel knows the drill by now. She keeps out of sight as we pay the scumbag of an owner and enter our tiny room. Stained curtains and cigarette burns in the bed sheets non-optional.

Angel sits on the bed, waitin’ for me to say or do somethin’. I look at her until I can’t bear it any longer. Just bein’ near her is tearin’ me apart. This bitch is the most beautiful thing I ever came across, that I ever held in my hands, and I fucked her over. I broke her into pieces.

Taker of lives.

“I’m gonna get some sleep,” Angel says, and undresses in front of me. Her voice is still hollow, still cold. It was Butch who only gave me a week. The club who made me hand her over. It was the Cartel who ground her spirit into the dust. But it was me who let it all happen. Who was too fuckin’ stupid to see everythin’ for what it was. Too fuckin’ proud to recognize somethin’ until I’d beaten it down and handed it over.

Trainer of slaves.

She gets under the covers. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve done too fuckin’ much to go back. I have nothin’ to prove to a goddamned soul. It’s too late for any kind of fuckin’ revenge. I don’t want a fuckin’ redemption, and it ain’t comin’ anyway. I am nothin’ but bruised fists, a puffed-up chest, and a soul that’s goin’ on a direct fuckin’ route to hell.

Lucifer.

“I’m goin’ out a little while. I’ll leave the gun here and lock the door. Just in case.”

Angel nods slightly, and I leave.