Twisted Minds Page 3

  Bikers were beating the shit out of each other, and I was enjoying the show as my gaze danced over the scene with keen interest. Fists flew, and beer bottles were cracked across necks as non-fighters scrambled for cover.

  My head swiveled and pivoted back and forth, left and right, as the clatter of pounding fists, angry shouts, and growling barks exploded throughout the club.

  When a gun came skidding in my direction and clinked to a stop at my feet, I stared at the shiny piece of black metal before I reached down and picked it up. It was an FNP45 caliber pistol, which confirmed that someone intended to kill someone. I’d learned about guns from my dearly departed husband who’d died fighting in Iraq three years ago when his unit was ambushed by Iraqi forces.

  I identified the gunslinger as the dirty, stringy-haired blond on the receiving end of Shark’s fist. Shark had knocked the gun from the man’s hand after he’d raised it to Shark’s face, intending to kill him.

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  I jumped at the sound of each shot fired. The loud series of gun blasts had ceased all activity. Fists froze mid-punch, wide-eyed glares darted from every direction, and bodies remained in place. Pieces of the ceiling tile crumbled to the floor because of the impact of bullets. The same stringy-haired blond who’d lost his first weapon to me had a backup and hadn’t hesitated to open fire inside the club.

  “I came here to broker a deal with you, Shark, but now I’m going to blow some fucking brains out and be done with it. You wild animals don’t know nothing but violence.” Although the man talked to Shark, his weapon was trained on another one of Shark’s men.

  Thoroughly confused, I watched the scene unfold. If his intent was to kill Shark, why would this man come to Shark’s club with only a few men? Were there others from his crew outside? Had these men come willingly, to go out in a blaze of glory? Was this the biker way?

  Shark’s glare was so menacing that it chilled me, and I only saw his profile.

  “Did you think you could sneak in here with three men, snuff me out, and not be dealt with? I hope you have backup coming, Scud, because you’re about out of time,” Shark stated before he took a step closer to the man. The man’s gun remained pointed at the head of one of Shark’s men.

  “If I had a gun in my hand, you would be dead, and this meaningless conversation wouldn’t be taking place.” Shark continued talking as he crept closer to the gun wielder.

  The man known as Scud tightened his grip on his backup weapon and kept the aim steady. “Keep talking, Shark, and I will splatter your brother’s brains all over this dirty-ass floor.”

  The man snickered at Shark. He knew that it would hurt Shark more if he killed his brother in front of him. He also had the most power in the room because he was the only one with a gun. The scene had me baffled with my neck on a constant swivel. I was under the impression that bikers of this sort were always packing, but I thought I recalled hearing something about guns not being allowed in the clubhouse.

  From what I could gather, the three men with the purple shirts under their vests knew or had found out about the no-gun rule and had made a fool-hearted attempt to sneak into the clubhouse to cut a deal or assassinate Shark. I didn’t know what their true intent was, but it appeared they hadn’t put together a well-thought-out plan.

  Scud, the would-be assassin, yelled his request at Shark, “Release my men, Shark, or watch your brother die.”

  One of Scud’s men’s face’s kissed broken glass atop the bar as he was being held down by two August Knights. Another of Scud’s men attempted to uselessly squirm his way out of a strong chokehold being applied by an August Knight that appeared to be a descendant of giants.

  Shark shook his head, letting Scud know that he had no intention of letting his men go. The next ten seconds happened in a blur. The metallic click of the Scud’s weapon drew every eye in the room in his direction. Shark’s brother simply shut his eyes under the weight of impending death.

  There was only one person in the room that wasn’t looking at Scud.

  Shark glanced at me instead. His gaze went directly to the gun hanging forgotten in my hand. When Shark’s gaze locked with mine, he inclined his head once. I honestly don’t know how I knew what he wanted, but I did. Shark wanted me to lift that weapon and shoot Scud.

  On one hand, I couldn’t kill a man in cold blood, especially since I didn’t know the full story of why or how he and Shark’s crew had gotten to this point. On the other hand, shooting this man could possibly win me some favor with the MC.

  Bam!

  The oily scent of gun smoke made my nostrils flare just as the man in my sight went flying backward. The height of the bar hid Scud’s fallen body from my view. I’d aimed for his shoulder and prayed I hadn’t hit him in the chest. I didn’t want to kill him, but I didn’t feel bad about shooting him either. I was surrounded by criminals, so it wasn’t like I’d shot an innocent victim.

  I know, my damn mind was twisted, a fucked-up freeway of illogical thoughts. But, in my defense, the man had come and threatened to kill Shark who was technically my boss. An August Knight near the fallen Scud held up the second weapon Scud had lost when I’d shot him.

  As my conscience sought to make an appearance, Scud’s bloody hand gripped the counter, and he lugged his body up before staggering forward, clutching his shoulder. His loud grunts didn’t garner any sympathy from this crowd.

  Shark’s gaze met mine before he raised his splayed fingers. I tossed him the weapon that was still warm from the shot I’d fired. I was in such a state of astonishment that none of my actions seemed to be registering with my brain. It was like I’d put myself on autopilot. Had I really just shot a man for an MC that I’d only worked a day and a half for?

  As soon as the weapon I had just tossed hit Shark’s hand, he didn’t hesitate to use it.

  Bam! Bam!

  Scud went down in a dramatic display of sharp jerks and anguished twitches. Based on the spray of blood from his head and the hole that Shark had put in his chest, I was certain that Scud wasn’t getting back up this time. Shark tossed the weapon to his brother, the one that Scud had held at gunpoint.

  “Take them out back,” Shark commanded. The finality and authority in his voice weren’t lost on me.

  As I observed, I filled in the blanks. Taking the men in the purple shirts out back must have meant taking them out to execute them. Scud’s men were forced out of the front door by August Knights. Without being told, two of Shark’s men grabbed Scud’s limp arms and feet, dragging his lifeless body, and followed the group to wherever out back led to.

  I stood in place, not moving, until I glanced up into Shark’s pleased face. I’d been so busy watching the scene unfold that I hadn’t noticed that Shark had inched his way into my personal space.

  “You did good,” he complimented. “Are we going to have a problem with you keeping any of what you just witnessed to yourself?”

  His firm stance and set jaw explained what his words couldn’t. Was he asking if I’d rat them out? I’d shot someone at his command, and that wasn’t enough to convince him that I was as crazy as they were?

  To keep from becoming the next one sent out back, I swallowed my sudden emergence of annoyance. “I’ve seen much worse growing up. You have nothing to worry about. I didn’t see shit.”

  After those words, I turned away from Shark to go back into the kitchen. There was no need for him to tell me what I needed to do. Although I didn’t understand some of their rules, common sense gave me some insight on how this world worked. I filled a bucket with warm bleach water, grabbed the mop, and gathered some old rags.

  Without being told to do so, I went back into the club area. The room had thinned considerably. The twenty or so bikers who’d eye-witnessed a murder were outside likely witnessing two additional executions.

  The men who remained glared at me as I approached the crime scene with the cleaning supplies. Why in the hell were they staring at me when they were the ones who’d sent a bod
y and two men out back? I was nothing but the cleaning lady.

  Shark eyed me as I strolled past them and stopped at the bloodstained floor. It pleased me that I didn’t see any brain matter or chunks of human tissue. Thankfully, there was only blood.

  Shark approached. Again, a pleased smile danced across his face. “This isn’t your first rodeo, is it?” he asked.

  Was it amazement or pride I’d seen flash across his face and disappear as quickly as it had appeared? Was my behavior intriguing to him?

  I shook my head at Shark before I started my task of cleaning up the blood and what I assumed was urine that Scud had released when he was struck with the lethal shots. I could sense Shark standing behind me, staring until one of his men called him away.

  Chapter 4

  Megan - Days 3-13

  As I entered the second week in the craziest deal of my life, I noticed that my actions in shooting Scud had earned me only a marginal amount of respect from the MC. I’d earned just enough that the bikers no longer wanted to drop me into the river. And, luckily for me, Shark stood between me and any impending dangers where his MC was concerned.

  Although I’d done a fairly good job of staying out of the Shark’s way, I still faced my fair share of difficulties. I’d had two heated groping sessions where I was cornered and discovered that race had nothing to do with sexual appetite. If it weren’t for Shark’s authority and stringent rules regarding not fucking me, I would have ended up experiencing what it was like to sleep with multiple dirty bikers.

  Thankfully, for me, Shark spent most of his time at the clubhouse where I slept, cleaned, and cooked. I’d also been tasked to clean the MC’s bar, which was about seven miles closer to Copper Springs, the small town right off the main highway.

  The bar was like the clubhouse, except it was bigger and was stocked with a larger amount of alcohol. Also, women were allowed at the bar. The only time I was allowed away from the clubhouse to clean other areas was during none-operating hours.

  I’d learned about some of the MC’s activities. The clubhouse I slept in was mainly a hangout spot exclusively for the MC and the meeting place for the club’s chairman. It had taken me a while to catch on to the fact that Shark wanted me there because it would keep me hidden from the public.

  Most of the men continued to treat me like an outsider, but the longer I stuck around, the more they allowed me to see and hear information about the inner workings and operations of their club.

  I had learned that the MC labeled the women as “old ladies” or “property” and didn’t hesitate to trade women if it was what suited their needs. I noticed that the woman claimed as personal property belonged to one member. Guns and drugs were their main source of income, and the few businesses they owned were meant to clean their illegal money. Only family members were made chairmen, and the MC recruited only Caucasian men.

  Motorcycles, the things I had expected to see most, weren’t as prevalent as I’d thought they would be. Most of the men drove huge pick-up trucks and biked occasionally or socially on planned group drives.

  I’d been getting the inside track on the way a real motorcycle club lived and considered it one of the perks of my new gig since I was an actual writer. After days of enduring their name calling, grabbing, and shoving, the men all but forgot about me until they faced me or needed me to do a chore.

  It was human nature to adjust to certain ways and behaviors, and I’d started to adjust to these people who considered me their enemy.

  It had gotten to the point where I’d started hearing the N-word less. I wasn’t a head doctor, but I’d venture to say that even the racist got tired of being racist after it no longer fascinated them.

  * * *

  By the tail end of the second week, I’d graduated from the N-word pincushion to the dejected bastard child. The MC’s old ladies or property weren’t going to accept me or adjust to me as quickly as the men had. When I was asked to clean the bar, the women taunted me worse than the men ever had.

  When at the clubhouse that had become my temporary home, I cleaned whatever needed it and kept to myself in the broom closet of a room Shark had assigned me. I slept in a twin bed that felt like a lump of moving rocks. Therefore, I was thankful I’d bought a sleeping bag on the one chance I’d had to go to The Mart, their version of Wal-Mart.

  The mattress I slept on stunk like the MC had been stashing dead bodies inside it. I had washed the bedding several times, and it continued to permeate a vile odor of stale dick droppings and ass juice. I slept tucked snug inside my sleeping bag, no matter how hot it became inside the tight room with its tiny window.

  The scent of weed occasionally floated into the small air vent above my bed and thankfully, kept me just high enough to keep the funk from invading my mind. There was no way I was sleeping on the pillow they’d obviously stuffed with dirty drawers. I used my backpack as a pillow.

  Fortunately, I’d brought my laptop and I was grateful that I’d been allowed to keep it. My portable Wi-Fi drive was a blessing. Since writing was my only escape from the situation I’d thrust myself into, I continued to write and market my work.

  My thirty-day stint with the MC had come as a surprise, but I realized something I had neglected to think about beforehand. No one would miss me if I never went back home. The two detective business cards I’d given to Shark were fakes that I’d printed myself. It was a little insurance that had kept the MC from killing me on the spot and dumping my body out back.

  These bikers had no idea that I was a severely damaged woman who only occasionally ventured outside the norm. I’d sat and planned how I was going to approach this MC for months before I decided to act. Shark was right about his initial assessment of me. I was crazy. Possibly insane. My mind was twisted, but I’d learned how to hide it well.

  Chapter 5

  Aaron - Day 14

  Our Motorcycle Club’s dangerous reputation and its history of violent crimes, arrests, and murders had earned us a certain level of respect that was required in our line of business. But, it had also left a spotlight shining on us; not only by the authorities, but it’d also cast rival eyes in our direction. Over the years, my father and I had discussed ideas and implemented plans that were designed to take the spotlight off us.

  Hard work and planning had kept most of our activities hidden. It had taken some time, but my father and the rest of the MC had acknowledged that whispers about our reputation were just as effective as broadcasting it. Although my father had made attempts, I had remained the MC’s go-to guy for finding more conventional ways of doing business without calling too much attention to us.

  After I’d returned from the military over three years ago, my father had allowed me to do most of the planning, although I’d earned money for the MC by running guns.

  I’d just returned from a trip to New York and Mexico, where I’d met with one of the Mexican cartel shot callers who’d been in bed with my MC for over ten years. He was requesting to double the size of his usual weapons shipment. I handled the guns, my cousins handled the drugs, and my uncles handed the strip club, which included managing the women.

  Based on the worn appearances of some of the strippers, we’d be wise to burn the strip club down with the women inside and start over from scratch, but that was not my call.

  It was my suggestion that we implement more business-like practices that would at least make our MC appear legit and offset some of the expensive tastes and habits some of us had adopted. The bar, the car washes, and several coin laundries had been purchased over the years to clean our dirty money. The businesses also provided legitimate jobs to members whose criminal pasts prevented them from finding employment anywhere else.

  I maintained a steady job as head of security for the local town of Copper Springs’ largest security firm, Fox-Butler. As a result, many of the men in the MC worked under me. We posed as full-time or part-time security officers, which served as cover jobs to help offset some of the outlandish lifestyles some of us
were determined to have.

  Sometimes, I wondered what life would be like outside my MC, but this was the life I’d been born into and the only one I knew. Besides, I’d participated in so many illegal and lawless activities that I believed I was too far gone to be anything other than a gunrunner and enforcer for my MC.

  Outside my stint in the military, I’d never sought a way out of this life because I didn’t know any other way. It was an interesting parallel that the life I’d grown up in had prepared me for the military, and in return, the military had armed me with the knowledge and skills that made me a force to be reckoned with when I returned to my world.

  However, just because I had embraced this life, it didn’t mean I liked it all the damn time. I was grumpy more often than cool, went from zero to asshole in a heartbeat, and spoke my mind--good, bad, or ugly. A few of the older MC members said I had a black heart, but my heart wasn’t black. It merely sat farther back in my chest than other peoples’ hearts did as far as I was concerned.

  My father had started me cutting coke by the time I was seven and cooking meth by the time I was ten. My mother, who was thankfully dead, had put her fist in my face every chance she got. I’d witnessed so many murders; many of them at my own hands, that my mind had gone numb to the gruesome nature of it. I’d killed many. Some were in self-defense, some for crimes against my MC, and others to prove myself as Shark’s son.

  The safe inside my secluded house in the woods contained more than two hundred thousand dollars, but the kicker was I didn’t know of shit I’d want to spend that kind of money on. Other than motorcycles and the occasional woman that caught my eyes, there wasn’t much else that piqued my interest.