Havok: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance (24 page)

M
y heart pounded
as I sat on the edge of my bed with my hands tied and my mouth gagged. I'd fought them as hard as I could. I'd gotten out from under the tall one's grip, and bitten his hand until I felt the tendons crunch between my teeth. I'd turned my head afterward, preparing for a retaliatory blow to my head, but it hadn't come.

The reply, which came through gritted teeth, was worse: "Fucking try that again, and we go find everyone else in this house."

I was scared to death, but no matter what happened to me, I wasn't going to let my parents get involved in this. No matter how angry they made me sometimes, they didn't deserve this. So I shut my mouth and let them tie me up.

After I was bound, the one whose hand I bit pulled out his phone, his palm wrapped in a white t-shirt from my dresser. He tapped on it for a few seconds and then waited. Neither man spoke until the phone buzzed in reply a minute later. He read the message on the phone and then said, "Anyone else awake in this house?"

I shook my head no.

"I hope for their sake you're tellin' the truth. We're going downstairs. Walk."

I had no choice but to lead the men through my house, past my parents' closed bedroom door, and down the stairs. As we walked, I held my breath, tiptoeing as gently as possible.

The tall one with the bitten hand led the way, while the shorter, fatter one followed behind me, his hand on the rope lashed around my wrists. When we got to the front door, the tall one opened it, and led me out of my house into the cold, dark night.

I was terrified of what might happen to me, but at the same time I was beyond relieved that we'd gotten out of the house without my parents waking up. I couldn't bear to think what could've happened if they'd woken up.

The men rushed me across the street toward a black van with painted-over windows, which was parallel parked on the side of the street opposite my house. They led me around to the rear of the van, and the tall one opened the door.

That's when Axl flew around the side of the van. His body sprung into action like an angry animal, a murderous expression on his face. In his hand I saw the streetlight reflecting off a shining blade. The tall one never saw it coming when Axl raised his arm above his head and brought the blade plunging down into the side of the man's neck.

I screamed under my gag, struggling to pull away from the short man behind me. I twisted my body, wrenching my bound hands out of his grip. As I did so, I met Axl's eyes as he yanked the knife out of the tall man's neck. Blood spurted out like a fountain, splashing over Axl's chest and face.

As my hands came free from the man's grip, I threw my body toward the ditch on the side of the road. As a young girl, I used to sit in the ditch and have picnics with my grandma. But this time I crashed headfirst into a huge block of metal as I fell, disorienting me. I realized it was a motorcycle as I lay dazed, coughing. I could see Axl holding the knife and the short man fumbling in his jacket for his gun.

The man never had a chance—Axl was too fast. His arm flew backwards like a piston, and then drilled forward, the knife plunging through the short man's jacket and straight into his chest. He let out an agonizing scream that melted into a bloody gurgle as the knife carved up his lungs inside his chest. Still laying on my back in the ditch, I looked on, horrified. The short man collapsed to the ground as his gurgling scream died out and his life left his body.

Axl left his knife in the man's chest as he raced over to where I lay in the ditch.

"Holly!" he said, his voice dark and husky in the night. "You hurt?"

I shook my head no. Axl reached down and pulled the gag out of my mouth.

"Axl, what the fuck," I said. I was now officially beyond freaked-the-fuck out. This was way more than I bargained for.

"Holly," he said, turning me on my side to untie the rope around my hands, "I'm fuckin' sorry. Those Reapers—they're filthy fucking animals."

As I lay in the ditch, everything felt so intense, so visceral. I was wide awake, and all my senses were working in overdrive. Finally Axl succeeded in freeing my hands. I reached up and he grabbed my hands with his, pulling me to my feet. He rubbed the skin of my wrists, which were raw and red.

"Holly," he said, looking into my eyes, "We've gotta get the hell out of here." He wrapped his hands around me, pulling me closer. I shivered, not realizing how cold I'd been. His embrace made me feel completely safe and protected, just like back in the pickup truck. It was magic—I didn't think anything could comfort me right now, but he did.

I nodded, blinking hard, trying to think straight. "I can go to my friend Brooke's house," I said.

"No. Fuck that," said Axl. "You're comin' with me until this blows over."

Oh my god
, I thought. Not again. I felt my dream of competing at the indie film festivals slipping away from me. And graduation—I couldn't afford to miss any more classes. But what fucking choice did I have?

"What about my parents?"

Axl's forehead wrinkled, his eyes squeezed closed in thought.

"You gotta tell 'em to get outta here. They can go to the cops if they need to."

A lump formed in my throat.

"Fuck," I whispered. I looked at the two men lying on the ground next to their van. "What happens when the cops find them?"

"That ain't happening. Somebody's gonna come clean this shit up stat," Axl said, grimacing. "I'm gonna stash these guys in the back of their van for now."

"What about the blood?"

He grimaced again. "It'll be gone before dawn. Right now you gotta get your stuff and leave a note for your parents. Tell 'em to bounce."

I swallowed hard. "Okay."

I hurried back toward my house. As I started across the street, out of the corner of my eye I saw Axl dragging the men's bodies into the back of their van.

W
hile Holly grabbed her stuff
, I crammed the two dirty Reaper carcasses into the back of the van. I thanked fuck that this had gone down in boring-ass Coppertail; not a soul drove past while I loaded up the van. And no one noticed that when I backed it up ten feet, it was to cover the massive pool of blood on the asphalt.

I put the van in park, pulled out my cell phone, and sent a text to the contact in my book named "Mr. Clean." The Sons contracted him to take care of fucked-up situations like this. I grimaced at the thought of the drain this'd be on my bank account—this was a personal call, not a club call, and a nighttime rush job at that. Mr. Clean didn't work cheap.

I exited the van and slammed the door, locking the keys inside as Holly came out of her house. As long as he got here before the Reapers did, we'd have a head start. Mr. Clean would be doing a good deed, I thought wryly. By getting the carcasses outta here, he'd be saving the neighborhood from a god-forsaken smell when the sun came up in the morning.

"I'm ready," said Holly, apprehensively. She had a small red backpack slung around her shoulder.

I stepped off the road into the ditch, hauling my bike upright. It was too dark to see the damage, but I had no doubt it'd need some fuckin' bodywork after that. Pissed me off, but I'd done what I had to.

I pulled off my cut and surveyed it. It was splattered in Reaper blood. Now there was a badge of pride if I'd ever seen one. I grinned at my jacket, and if it'd had a mouth, it would've grinned right back. But I couldn't wear this thing right now. It'd just be another target on our backs—literally.

I stuffed the cut into a saddlebag, but not before using the clean side to wipe the fuckin' blood off my face. "Let's go," I said.

We mounted the bike, and we rode the hell away from that bloodbath.

I took us to an old hideout of mine. An old, decrepit motel in the desert near the California border where no one ever fucked with you. It was full of people who couldn't afford to fuck with you. Everyone there was running from someone.

The guy at the check-in desk was an old, stodgy-looking dude with thick-rimmed metal glasses. The lobby was small and hot despite the cool night, and it reminded me more of a gas station than a hotel lobby. The clerk sat behind thick, bulletproof glass.

"Yeah," he grunted.

"Room for two," I said. "No check-out date."

The man casually thumbed through a ledger book in front of him, a look of disinterest on his face. Then he looked up, and his gaze switched from me, to Holly, and back.

"You ain't just want an hour?" he said. "Discount rate."

"Hey," said Holly, "What the hell does that mean?"

I shook my head in disgust. This asshole was a real creepy old fucker. "She ain't a whore," I said, leaning forward and looking down my nose at the man, "She's my woman."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Holly shift uncomfortably, but she said nothing. The man looked at her again, shrugged, then pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and booked us a room.

We exited the lobby and began walking back toward the bike. The sun was starting to come up, and the distant sound of desert birds echoed across the dawn. Holly remained silent until we'd grabbed our stuff from the bike. We were walking across the motel's parking lot to our room when she spoke.

"You think I'm your 'woman?'" she said. "I barely know you and all you've done is fuck up my life. I wish I'd never gone to that junkyard."

I halted my walk, stopping short in the middle of the parking lot. Goddammit. I was sticking my neck out for this chick 'cause I thought maybe I felt something for her. And I thought she did too. Had I been thinking with my cock this whole time just like Dash said?

"I saved your ass back there," I said, angrily. "I'm your bodyguard right now. So yeah, that makes you my woman."

"Umm, I'm pretty sure it doesn't work like that," said Holly.

"So you don't
wanna
be my woman?" I asked hotly. It just came out, and I was shocked I'd said it. I wasn't the kind of guy to say stupid shit around women.

"You've gotta be kidding me," she said, shaking her head.

"Whatever," I replied. I turned and started back toward the motel room. Her words stayed in the back of my mind, pissing me off.

When we got inside, the interior of our motel room was dark and dingy. The decor looked like it hadn't been updated since the 70s. And to be honest… there was something about it that I really enjoyed.

Just my style.

"Hmm," I muttered under my breath. "Only one bed."

Holly frowned. "Maybe you should go back out there and ask for a roll-away."

"Maybe you should go ask," I shot back at her, annoyed. "I'm sure ol' dirty bastard back there would love to help."

"Whatever," said Holly crossly. She hung her backpack on the back of a chair and sat down on the edge of the bed, holding her head in her hands.

I went into the bathroom. It was a fuckin' pigsty, just like every other time I'd been by this joint. I turned the sink on hot enough to burn, and scrubbed my hands and face 'til they were nearly raw. Had to get all that fuckin' Reaper juice off me.

"God," Holly said as I walked out of the bathroom, rubbing my face with a towel, "I'm so fucking tired. I was gonna get my first night's sleep all week, and then everything went to hell."

"I ain't exactly been sleeping tight either, darlin'," I said. "Club wars tend to do that to me."

She ignored me and kept rubbing her temples. Then she said, "I'm gonna take a shower."

She grabbed her backpack again and disappeared into the bathroom. "This place is filthy," she said, coming back out of the bathroom.

I shrugged. "The Four Seasons was all outta rooms in the middle of fucking nowhere."

Holly shut the door hard. Jesus Christ. She was a real piece of work.

I walked to the window next to the front door and bent my knees to peek outside, holding the blinds open with my thumb and forefinger. My bike sat outside, undisturbed. I heard music coming from a room across the way—at this fucking hour, Christ—but there was no sign of trouble.

Sighing, I opened the door, stepped outside, and took in the calmness of the dawn. It was a stark contrast from the chaos that'd gone down just a couple hours ago. I really could've used a smoke, even though I'd quit years ago.

When I finally went back into the room, Holly was lying on one edge of the bed, wrapped in a crappy, threadbare towel from the motel. Her arms were crossed over her chest, hugging her breasts tight against her body.

God, under any other circumstances I would've been lusting over that tight young body. But right now I was just cashed the fuck out.

I crashed down on the opposite edge of the bed I stared at the ceiling for a while, processing what had just happened, not speaking. She didn't speak either.

When I finally looked over at her, a tear was running down her cheek.

I reached my hand out across the bed and nudged her arm. "Hey," I said, "Everything's gonna be cool."

"It's not," she said with a sniffle. "Graduation was only a few weeks out. Now we're in the middle of this shit. I don't know if I'll ever get to go home again."

"Darlin'," I said, covering her hand with mine, "This shit'll blow over. It always does. They'll forget all about you when the next big thing comes up. Until then, I'll protect you."

"Why?" she asked. "Doesn't your club need you right now?"

I sighed. "I disobeyed orders when I came for you."

She turned her head to look at me, her eyes watery and wide. "Why would you do that?"

I struggled for words. I wasn't used to this emotional bullshit.

"You... made me feel..." I stopped. What a fuckin' pussy I was being. "I just didn't wanna see you get fucked up," I finished.

Sometimes I fuckin' amazed myself with my own eloquence.

There was a pause, and then I felt her moving her hand in mine. She linked her fingers with my fingers and squeezed my hand. Suddenly, I couldn't resist her anymore. I turned on my side, leaned toward her, and placed my lips on hers.

She kissed me back.