Purge (Death Crusaders Motorcycle Club) (7 page)

“I’ll take a shower.” I say
to him.

“Fine. I’ll get things
cleaned up here and when you get out we’ll leave.”

Forty-five minutes later I
stagger out of the shower and get dressed. I had planned on taking a ten minute
shower but once I got under the hot water I couldn’t stop scrubbing. I only
stopped because my skin was getting red and raw. I still feel like I have blood
and guts on me but I do feel much better. I’m not sure what Mark was doing
while I was in the shower. Things look pretty much the same.

“Don’t touch anything.” He
instructs me. “I’ve done what I could to get rid of any prints you may have
left behind. I’m also taking the pillow cases and the bed sheets. I don’t want
you leaving any DNA evidence behind. Why don’t you go to the shower and make
sure you didn’t leave any hair in the drain and put the soaps you have used in
this bag.”

He hands me a plastic trash
bag so I go to do as requested.

“Aren’t you going to take a
shower too?” I ask.

“I can do that at home. For
now I’ll just wear my jacket over my vest. No one will notice.”

Next he hands me my purse and
my gun. Closing the door behind us we leave my room. While I head for the
elevator he takes the stairs and that’s that. The nightmare is over, and what a
night it’s been. I glance at my watch. It’s nearly 2:30 in the morning. I’m
tired and hungry. Instead of finding a motel at this time of night I opt for
the first all night restaurant I can find; Denny’s. I collapse into the bench
at a table in the back of the restaurant and look over the menu. I wonder how
much time will pass before someone tries to kill me again?

Chapter Eight

Awakening

“Ma’am?”

My head snaps up and my hands
reach for my purse. Standing in front of me is a way too cheerful waitress for
the time of night it is.

“What?” I ask sharply.

“Would you like anything else
to eat?”

“What?” I look around me at a
string of empty plates and platters. Holy crap, did I eat all that. Wow, I have
really been out of it.

“No… I’m fine thanks.” I
murmur.

“Well here’s your bill. Feel
free to just sit and relax until you’re ready to go.”

“Uh… yeah I’m ready thanks.”

I grab the bill and get to my
feet and a thought hits me. I grab my purse and feel around in it.

“Fuck!”

“Excuse me?” My bright-eyed
waitress asks.

“Sorry… I was just looking
for something.”

“Uh… you have money to pay
for this right?” Asks my waitress, abruptly losing her charm.

“Yes I
have
money!” I
reply, my voice as snide as I can make it.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I didn’t
mean to imply tha-”

“Oh yes you did!” I snap as I
brush past her and head towards the cash register.

I am really pissed now. Mark swiped
my photos while I was taking my mega shower. At last he didn’t see the one
hundred dollar bill that was hidden in the same place. I really need those
pictures though to be really safe. Another thought occurs to me. I should take
them back. That’s what I s
hould
be doing here, planning the snatch and
grab of my photos. I’m pretty sure Mark will keep at least one. He probably had
to give up all his pictures as well as anything that could link him to the club
so I seriously doubt he’ll give up these. I go out to my car and start it up.
The sun is about to make an appearance so I may as well look for a place to
have coffee; real coffee, not that crap at Denny’s. After a few minutes of
driving around I locate a Pete’s coffee but it’s not open yet. I get out and go
up to the door. The sign says it opens at six. That’s a forty minute wait. I
get back into my car to wait and think but I find it impossible to do just
that. I end up getting out of the car and pace about until the door opens. Once
inside I snuggle up to a cup of coffee and call Blade.

“Who is this?” A groggy voice
asks.

“Can I come over?”

“Jen, is that you?” He asks.

“Yes it’s me! There’s been
some trouble. Can I come over?”

“Uh yeah of course. Come on
over. You know how to get here?”

“I’m not too familiar with
Gold Hill. Gimme the address and I’ll GPS my way there.”

He gives me the address and
twenty minutes later I’m parking next to his massive Harley. He opens the door
on the first knock.

“You look terrible, what
happened?” He asks sharply.

“Fuck you very much. I’ve
just been shot at and I shot some dude and got blood and brains in my hair and
puked all over the place. Oh and I was nearly raped but Mark bailed me out and
almost attacked me before two guys busted in shooting at us. I saved his life
by the way.”

“Why’d you do that?” He asks.

“What? Over everything I just
told you and the part you have anything to say something about is to ask why I
bothered to save a human being’s life?”

“Sorry…so are you hurt?” He
asks, properly chastised.

“Yes…I mean no, but it was
awful.”

“I’m so sorry.” He replies,
shutting the front door and taking me into his strong arms.

The second his arms are
surrounding me I start to feel safe. His smell alone takes me back to the best
times with him two years ago and it’s no surprise the spell he has over me. I
have never felt so safe and cared for. Not even my own parents could give me
this kind of peace.

“Come into the kitchen, I put
a pot of coffee on.”

I follow him into the kitchen
where he pours me a steaming cup of black coffee.

“Tell me what happened Jen
and don’t leave out a thing no matter how insignificant it appears to be.”

At first the words come
slowly and haltingly but as I get going they just start spilling, no spewing
out until I’m reduced into an ugly mess of tears. I thought that when I came
back my life would be calm and full of love. Instead it’s been nothing but
violence. One more time I have this strong desire to return to Belize, Blade or
no Blade. I just don’t know how much more of this I can take. Its changed me;
this violence. I’ve become hardened, cold, and almost callous. This is not me,
I complain to Blade.

“No it’s not all of who you
are, but the ability and the desire to protect yourself is no small thing. Many
people are not able to pick up a weapon even if it is to save themselves or
even their family. It’s not a bad thing Jen.”

“To me it is. I’m not a
hardened killer like you. How many people have you killed anyway?”

At first I think he’s not
going to answer, and then he rolls up his sleeve. I’ve seen the tattoo before.
There are several rows of black hearts across his left bicep. It should have
registered before but I was far too naïve to register what this could mean.

“How many?” I ask him.

“Twenty-three.” He replies.
His voice and expression is void of emotion. I would have thought there’d be
pride or sorrow or some kind of feelings behind the tattoos.

“You killed that many
people?” I’m flabbergasted! I would have expected maybe ten at most, but almost
two dozen? You gotta be kidding me.”

“I take no pride in it.” He
replies.

“Small comfort for your
victims.”

“Believe me they weren’t
victims. They deserved what they got with the exception of the man I beat in
that MMA fight. I meant to destroy him not kill him.”

“And the other 22
non-victims? How did they become so deserving of death by your hands?” I ask
him, expecting a long line of bullshit.

“Some were purely
self-defense while others were strategic moves to keep my club at the top of
the food chain.”

“Top of the food chain,
really? You just kill people willy nilly so you can be the alpha male or alpha
motorcycle group? Life is cheap for you Sean Martin.”

“Assassinations are strategic
moves taken to save lives of my brothers down the road. If a club shows
weakness you become a target and if you’re a target everyone moves in on you
and brothers start falling. I don’t take it lightly when I take another man’s
life Jen.”

“Well…I guess that’s a good
thing then, but how come you guys can’t get through life without killing when
everyone else seems to be able to function without carrying out assassinations?

“What?” He asks. “Didn’t I
just explain that? Hell the towns own police force does just about the same
thing. If they don’t remain strong and undivided they’ll get picked off by
gangs. They may not kill as much as a gang does or a MC does, but they do just
about everything else to remain the alpha gang in the city.”

“You have a very twisted take
on life.”

“I’m not going to apologize
for who I am Jen. Most of us are shaped by our past; specifically our
childhood. As much as shrinks love to pin childhood traumas on present day
acts, it really is true I think.”

“I had a pretty messed up…no
fucked up childhood but you don’t see me out there killing people.”

“Maybe not, but maybe it’s
just luck that’s kept you from being in a position where you would take a life.
You certainly adapt readily to firearms. All I had to do was just stick a gun
in your hands and you were blazing away.”

“No shit, Sherlock, I had
too. It was self-defense.”

“I’ve seen a lot of old ladies
or even a few prospects who weren’t able to pull the trigger when the time
came. Either they couldn’t or wouldn’t. You needed no convincing. You even
carry Piper’s gun in your purse. Or did you dump it?”

I grab my purse off the
counter and pull out Piper’s gun. On impulse I draw my hand back to chuck it at
him but change my mind and just slide it across the counter where it crashes
into his coffee cup. Blade gets showered with hot coffee and ceramic shards
from what used to be a nice mug. His eyes flash with anger and his fists
clench. Perhaps that wasn’t the best move on my part. He has changed since I
was here last. He’s grimmer than he used to be. He’s quicker to anger.

“Don’t take my being nice to
you for weakness woman!” His shoot daggers into my chest and I can almost feel
the barbs sink in.

“Sorry about that Blade.
Sometimes when you’re right it just infuriates me.”

“See, you’re no angel
either.”

“I blame that on my
childhood.”

“In your case I actually
think that applies.”

“I certainly have the scars
to prove it.”

“Yes you do and it’s part of
what makes you beautiful.”

“You’re insane if you think
they make me look anything even close to beautiful. They’re ugly, rough, and
lack sensitivity. What about that makes me pretty?”

Instead of answering me he
gets up off his stool and comes to stand in front of me. I inch away from him.
His close proximity is making me nervous.

“Show me.” He says.

“What?”

“I want to see them. I mean
really see them.”

“No freaking way. And
besides, you already have.”

“Well…not really. It’s always
been under dim light and/or during sex. I really haven’t just studied them.”

“And why would you want to?
They don’t need to be looked at or studied under bright lights. I’m not a
little white mouse in some laboratory Blade.”

Instead of answering he
reaches out and takes the bottom of my shirt in his hands and begins to lift.

“What are you doing?” I ask
through clenched teeth.

“I’m getting reacquainted
with you Ms. Clarkson.”

I start to grab my shirt to
keep it down but for some reason I just can’t move. I’m frozen…but not in
terror. I just can’t seem to refuse him. When the hem of my shirt reaches my
bra I find myself raising my arms so he can slide the thin material over my
head and I am struck with a sudden desire to turn off all the lights. It’s too
bright in here for this kind of exposure. My shirt falls to the kitchen floor.
I’m trembling from head to toe and somewhere in the back of my mind I see the
flash of a belt followed by searing pain. Blade reaches out and places his right
arm under my knees while his left circles around behind my back. He lifts me
off that stool with ease and carries me down the hall towards his bedroom. I
burry my face in his long blond hair and fight the tears that are beginning to
seep from the corners of my eyes.

He sets me gently on the edge
of the bed but prevents me from lying on my back to hide my scars. Instead he lays
me on my stomach. I feel exposed. I feel helpless. I feel like that little girl
again waiting for the fall of the whip. I start to roll over. I can’t be seen
like this by anybody; even Blade, but he holds me in place. I have slacks on.
Please don’t remove my slacks I beg him silently. He reaches around and works
the zipper before sliding the thin fabric down over my hips exposing my ass. I
start to turn over but again he prevents it.

“You’re beautiful he breathes
in my ear. Every last crisscrossed line and scar is beautiful.”

I want to scream. I want to
lash out at him and make him pay for what he’s done to me. I hate him for it. I
want to kill the son of a bitch for torturing me. But I can’t. It’s not Blade
that’s done this. He’s here and now and somehow it feels like if I strike out
at him I’ll somehow feel better.

“Stop!” I cry out. “You don’t
need to see more.”

I start to kick but he just
pulls my slacks down around my ankles preventing me from doing anything to stop
him. His hands are crawling all over my body. My scars tingle beneath his
fingers and that’s a surprise to me. I have never had any feeling where that
tough raised tissue is. Slowly my energy drains and with it my constant
struggle against him dies out and I begin to feel something else.