Swing (Tidals & Anchors MC Book 1) (3 page)

BOOK: Swing (Tidals & Anchors MC Book 1)

Pardon and Dallas exchanged a glance and I sighed. I hated when they did that. It was almost as annoying as Dallas trying to break me with a stare.

“Anyway, you wanted to talk to me?” I asked, leaning back against the counter and supporting myself with my hands.

“Yeah. Give us a minute,” he said turning to his son, who obliged and left the pawnshop.

Pardon sat down in his chair again and I looked at him. The serious look on his face told me that this wasn’t going to be a good chat, but we were going to have it nonetheless.

“Remember that girl that came crashing in here a few weeks ago?” he asked. I nodded. “Well she’s causing some trouble for us so we took a vote. It was unanimous and we want you to handle it.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said in disbelief. “No way in hell am I doing a chick.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Fuck,” I said, pushing myself angrily away from the counter. I know I’ve said it a thousand times, but I really did like what I do, I just didn’t want to ever have to do it to a woman or child.

“Where am I going?” I asked, giving him an angry stare.

“Don’t you even want to know what the problem is?” Pardon asked with a chuckle.

“No. Fuck all that. I don’t even want to
this, let alone know what the problem is. So just tell me where I’m going so I can get this shit over with.”

Pardon laughed and reached over to the register. He ripped off a long piece of tape and wrote down a name, an address, and a physical description.

“I want double for this,” I said, snatching the paper from his hand.

“You’ll get it. Just be careful, brother. Don’t trust anyone.”

I stalked out of the pawnshop and went straight to my bike. I could hear Dallas calling my name, but I was so pissed at what I was just tasked to do, that I ignored him. Roaring the engine to life, I secured my helmet onto my head, before I headed out of the lot back toward home.


sat on it for about a month. Every time Pardon called to see if I had “taken care of the problem”, I would tell him I was still doing some research. In a way, it was the truth. I tailed her for a little while, checked out her routine, made notes of changes on what days. She seemed unassuming for the most part. Nothing out of the ordinary. I noticed she would be on her cell phone a lot, but other than that, she would spend most of her time alone. It made me wonder if she was in hiding. The daily routine was almost
perfect the more I thought about it. 

After I all of that was said and done each day, I would go home and break something.

I figured the day I would be able to walk in and
break anything in frustration of this bullshit task that was set in front of me, then I’d be ready to take out the mark.

Alaska. Her name is Alaska.

I rolled my eyes at my conscious correction of myself and pulled out all of the information  had gathered on her. I was sitting on my couch in the living room, where I did my best thinking, and turned the small box over.

The first thing I did was fish out the piece of receipt paper that Pardon had given me with her basics.

Alaska Winslow.

Short, thin.

Long black hair; blue eyes.

Her address.

Unanimous Havoc vote.

I had found out her work address, her schedule, her social media page, which was something I had only done once before with a mark. It was to see if there would be any family or friends that would miss them and she seemed like a bit of a loner.

That should make it easy. Hell, this should’ve been the easiest hit I had to do, but I was just so angry about it being a female, that I kept sitting on it.

Today was the first day though that I had come home and not broken anything. I reached the goal I had set for myself so I knew it was go time.

I put the receipt paper to the left and sifted through the pictures I had taken of her. I never did this much fucking research before in my life, but I also didn’t want to make this painful. Not for a woman, anyway. I wanted to get in and get out, clean and easy.

Reaching for my small flip notepad, I glanced at the time and found the page I needed. Today was Wednesday, 3:02 pm. She would be walking home in less than fifteen minutes from her usual visit to a local cemetery in town. I never went in when she was there so I didn’t know or care who she was visiting. I assumed it had to be some sort of family member, because according to her social media page, she didn’t seem to have any living relatives. None that she advertised anyway.

I put everything back in the box and took it to the closet. I popped it up onto the top shelf, before I went into my bedroom to change my clothes.

I picked out my usual outfit for this kind of thing. A white, long sleeved shirt, fitted dark blue jeans, and my heavy boots. It was almost the same thing I wore to the clubhouse on the day of the vote, but I hadn’t worn anything remotely close to this on my last hit, so I wanted to be comfortable. After I pulled my shirt over my head, I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. I wasn’t going to wear a cap for this; I never did. Instead, I was going to apply a small dab of pomade wax and slick my hair back; it always made me look more presentable when I worked.

Once I was done and satisfied with how I looked, I went back into the bedroom and pulled open my nightstand. Inside was my 9mm Beretta. I grabbed it and secured it in the waistband of my jeans, before I went into the living room to grab my car keys off of the table.

I went out into my driveway and climbed into my brand new black Shelby Mustang GT500, and reached into the glove compartment. After fishing around for a few moments, I found the silencer that went to my gun and set it on the passenger seat. It would serve to remind me not to leave it behind if I could see it.

With a deep breath, I turned the car on and backed out of my driveway. I was telling myself every reason in the world not to do this, and for a single, precious moment, I had almost talked myself out of it until I remembered that this was a vote. It was what I did and would have to do, regardless of the mark.

Never again. I’m not doing another woman after this,
I thought as I turned the car left and headed out onto the main road. Oddly enough, Alaska didn’t live far from me. Maybe a fifteen minute drive at the most, so I was hoping she’d take her time today and be al little late.

When I finally pulled onto her street, I decided to park a few houses down. I didn’t want her to see me and get spooked. So, I leaned my seat back a little bit and crossed my hands behind my head, waiting for Alaska to come walking down the street.

Twenty minutes later, I saw her unmistakable small frame appear. I sat up and peered over the steering wheel to make sure she was alone. In a way she was; I noticed that she was holding a phone to her ear and she was laughing.

I pulled my gun free from my waistband and grabbed the silencer, screwing it on securely.
This is going to be so bad. I can feel it.

I sat in my car and watched her. I wondered what inside of me would let me do this to someone like her, but I knew it had to be done. Once she started up the walkway to her home, I hopped out of my mustang and started toward her, gun gripped tightly at my side. It would be quick and painless I hoped. Then I could go back and tell Pardon that his miserable command had been taken care of.

I stopped a few houses down and went to the side of the brick home. I could still see her from where I was but she wouldn’t be able to see me. Nor would the homeowners know I was here, because it seemed like the driveway I jogged up was empty.

Alaska finished her phone call while sitting on the small stoop that led to her front door. She put the phone down next to her and pulled her long hair back into a ponytail, before getting to her feet and pulling her keys out of her shorts pocket.

Taking a deep breath, I moved away from my spot and started to walk toward her. By the time I reached her, she was just closing the door. Thinking fast, I called out her name.

“Hey, Alaska!” I said in the friendliest voice I could muster.

She stopped short and looked out curiously. I walked up the walkway and a look of recognition dawned on her face, the closer I got to her front door.

“Hey,” she replied curiously.

I approached her door and shoved it open, knocking her off of her feet in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, as I raised the gun, took aim, and fired.


waited another day or so before I told Pardon that it was done. The look of fear and confusion in her eyes when I raised my gun had been plaguing me and I was angry.

Angry that I had done it. Angry that I hadn’t been man enough to stick to my fucking guns and not break my only rule.

I rubbed my hands over my face irritably before I reached for my phone. I was lying on my couch watching television and decided it was now or never.

I brought the screen to life and scrolled through the contacts until I got to his name and hit dial. With a heavy sigh, I put the phone to my ear and waited for him to pick up.

“Yeah?” he barked into the phone.

“It’s done, old man,” I replied.

“Where the hell you been?” he asked, angrily.

“Killing little girls because Pardon said so,” I shot back.

Pardon didn’t respond. Not right away and I could tell that my little outburst had pissed him off.

Good. Now you know how I’ve been feeling.

I expected chastising words to follow; something that would’ve put me back in my “place” when he spoke, but instead I heard the click of the line as he disconnected the call.

I reached down with the phone and let it drop on the living room carpet. Whatever. If he was pissed, he was pissed, and nothing I did or said was going to change that. I was honestly to a point with Pardon where I wanted to have the havoc vote again. I’d make damn sure it was unanimous and show him what rage really looked like.

And this all was because he made me break my rule.

It would take a long time for the fury inside of me to die down and I had to be sure to control it until it was time. Pardon’s time. Then I would swoop in like the Devil himself and give him a fucking amazing death.

Then maybe I
take the chair. I’d fucking run Tidals & Anchors the way my grandfather wanted. It wouldn’t be the shit show that Leon had turned it into. I closed my eyes and thought about all the things the club could be if I took the chair. We’d get out of the shady business of drug running that Leon had put us into. The money was good; the prisons were a great place to sell to and the income was way better than any nine to five job. The protection runs were my thing though; I didn’t want anything to do with the drugs, so if a certain politician or person of importance needed some shit to get in or out of Bend, I was the one that would always lead it.

I woke up with a start at the banging on my door. I hadn’t even realized I had fallen asleep until I opened and closed my mouth a few times, and felt the familiar dryness of slumber. I groaned and turned on my side, blinking rapidly a few times to get rid of the haze of sleep, before I pushed myself to my feet and went to the door.

Just as I put my hand on the doorknob, the incessant pounding started again.

“Alright already!” I yelled as I pulled the door open. It was Dallas and he looked worse for wear. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Pardon is
What the fuck did you say to him?” he asked, walking past me into the living room.

I rolled my eyes. For a motorcycle club full of
it was starting to feel like a gossipy group of high school girls.

“Dallas, if you’re here to ask me about what your old man and I talked about, it’s simple. I told him the job he needed done was taken care of. Now, if that answered all your questions, could you go? I kinda wanna go back to sleep,” I said eyeing my couch.

“Can’t. Protection run came up for tonight,” he said, dropping down onto the love seat.

I crossed my arms over my chest. It would be nice to have some more money, but if this was Pardon’s deal, I didn’t want any part of it.

“What’s the job?” I asked him.

“To get you the fuck out of Bend, ASAP.”

I raised an eyebrow at him, “What?”

“I told you; Pardon is pissed. He said he’s sick and tired of you running your mouth at him over the job you did. He wants you gone, Nero. Permanently. I talked to some of the guys I knew I could trust and we’ll get you safely out of here, brother,” he said, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his knees.

I stared at Dallas and felt the corners of my lips twitching.
Pardon wants me dead?
Then it happened; I threw my head back and I laughed until tears streamed out of my eyes. That was the funniest fucking thing I had ever heard in my life. For the club president to put a hit on someone who
be president, because he didn’t like the way he had been spoken to.

“It’s not funny!” Dallas snapped. “Today was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Since Pardon took the chair, the two of you have been disagreeing on almost everything.” Dallas took a deep breath and ran his hands back through his hair. “Look, I get it. This isn’t what Harold wanted, but it’s what Leon turned it into and almost everything is done by vote. If you don’t agree with the shit that happened, that was when you should’ve spoken up. The bickering between the two of you is starting to wear on the club.”

“Wanna know what Pardon asked me that night that we were taking a vote on the chair?” I asked, thoughtfully. I was done with the secrets. Done with playing games, and done with playing the part of the servant to Pardon’s whims.

Dallas looked up at me curiously and nodded.

“Alright,” I said, walking over to the couch and sitting down. “He said that
he was voted out, that you weren’t ready for the chair. He wanted me to have it and if the vote was to toss him, then he wanted a havoc vote and he wanted me to take care of it.”

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