Axl (Sons of Chaos MC #1) (20 page)

Axl stood over them, next to Vargas. Even from a distance, I could see the shock and horror on his face as he saw us approaching.

As soon as the bike stopped, my kidnapper yanked me off the bike. He wrapped an arm around my neck from behind, and with the other hand, held a gun to my temple.

Inside, I felt surprisingly calm. This wasn’t the first time I’d been stolen from my bed.
Stay cool,
I told myself,
it’s your best chance to survive.

“Lynch,” my captor bellowed, “She’s here!” He rammed the steel barrel of his revolver into my temple, and I instinctively rolled my neck to the side to stop the pain. But he just pushed harder. “Let him up,” he shouted, “Let Lynch up!”

We stood only about ten yards away from Axl, and I could see his face clearly. He gritted his teeth before speaking. “Let ‘im up,” he growled.

The men holding Lynch down released their grips. Lynch, his face red and raw and his jeans now tattered, stood up. The pained look on his face told me that he’d been injured.

He staggered toward us, his right leg limping as he tried to keep his knee straight. “Give me the girl,” he said. His voice was thick with hatred and madness.

Lynch grabbed me out of the man’s hands, and put me in a headlock between his elbow and ribs. I stumbled over his feet as he squeezed my neck tight. He bent down, producing a knife from a sheath in his boot. He held it against the side of my neck, and my skin prickled at the touch of cold steel. I fought to keep my balance, to not fall over. I had to keep the baby safe at all costs.

“Archer,” Lynch snarled, “Stubborn son of a bitch, ain’t you? You shoulda died when you had the chance. Now it’s your old lady’s turn.”

I screamed under the gag, wrenching my body sideways, channeling all my strength as I tried to force myself out of Lynch’s grip. But it was no use. I couldn’t get the leverage I needed to break free.

“Lynch,” said Axl, stepping forward, “This ain’t about her. Never was. This is between you and me.”

“Don’t worry, VP, I’ll put flowers on her grave,” said Lynch nastily. I couldn’t see his face, but I swear his tone of voice betrayed a smile on his face.

“I’m outta the club,” said Axl. “You’re VP now. Just let her go.”

Dash was still lying on the ground, struggling against the men who pinned him down. Lynch had been loyal to him only as long as he’d been useful. Now, Dash lay on the asphalt, useless and forgotten.

“You
are
outta the club,” said Lynch, scraping the edge of his knife against my cheek. “But it ain’t good enough. I wanna see you bleed.”

“Make me bleed then. Leave the woman out of it, you fucking coward.”

Lynch snarled with animal rage, releasing me and pushing me down to the ground in one motion. I twisted my body as I fell, cushioning the impact with my side. My only thought was to protect the baby growing inside my belly.

I watched the scene unfold from the ground. Lynch charged at Axl, holding the knife out at him in a reverse grip. No one in the Reaper crew moved to intervene. It was a matter of street honor, I knew. A beef between two men. They were prepared to let it play out how it may. Frankly, the Reapers would’ve been happy to let the two men tear each other to shreds.

But it didn’t play out that way. Lynch never had a chance. As he flew toward Axl, raising the knife for one, final, fatal stroke, Axl swung out of the way. He kicked out with a heavy boot, clipping Lynch right on his injured knee. The knife flew out of his hands as he crashed to the asphalt on his back, clattering away harmlessly.

Axl crashed down on top of Lynch, sitting on his stomach and pressing a forearm down into his neck.

Lynch made agonized, gasping noises as he struggled to breathe. With his other hand, Axl reached out and snagged the handle of Lynch’s knife, pulling it within reach. He wrapped his fist around the handle and brought it to Lynch’s throat.

“This is for betraying me,” said Axl. He plunged the knife into Lynch’s throat, and Lynch’s gasping instantly turned to a gurgle.

“And this,” said Axl, his face deadly, “is for Holly.” His elbow jerked as he twisted the knife in Lynch’s throat.

A fountain of blood sprayed out of Lynch’s throat, coloring the asphalt dark red. Two or three seconds later, he lay completely silent and motionless, blood flowing out of his neck like a river.

Axl stood up, wiping his forehead off with the arm of his jacket. He left the knife jutting out of Lynch’s throat.

I rolled onto my back and managed to sit up. Vargas walked toward Axl.

“Damn,” he said. “The deal was for Lynch alive, motherfucker.”

Axl eyed Vargas warily. “He left me no choice.”

Vargas looked hard at Axl, and then smiled his creepy smile. “Just shittin’ you. We good, Archer.” He laughed and clapped Axl on the shoulder. “Hell of a show.” He turned to a couple of his guys behind him. “Clean that shit up.”

Axl hurried over to me and pulled the gag out of my mouth before pulling me off the ground. He pulled out his own knife and cut the ties around my hands.

“Axl,” I said in relief, “It’s finally over.” I didn’t have a doubt left in the world that this man would do anything it took—absolutely anything—to protect me and the baby.

“Almost,” he said, pulling away from my embrace. “There’s one more thing.”

He looked down at Dash.

“Axl, man, what are you doing?” Dash whined. He struggled, his hands cuffed behind him around a thick metal pipe. The metal-on-metal clanging echoed through the abandoned warehouse. The only other sounds were our breathing and the faint whistle of wind moving through cracked windows and walls. The heat inside the warehouse was sweltering, the air static and unmoving.

“Shut up,” I said, staring into his eyes. “You sound fucking pathetic.”

On my orders, the Reapers had loaded Dash into their chase van and brought us back down the road to the warehouse. There was no sign of the other Sons or the Russians. They’d probably seen Lynch and Dash fall into the Reaper trap and split. That was cool with me. I didn’t want to fucking go up against any more Sons. I wished no ill toward Ryker and the rest of them.

It was just me and Dash in here. Lynch was fucking history. And now it was time to finish the job. Time to administer payback for the near-lethal beating and betrayal I’d gotten.

It was time for justice.

“Come on, man,” said Dash, his voice sounding increasingly urgent and pathetic. “It was just business, man. You know what happens to guys who betray the club.”

I snarled out loud and spit in his face. “The only one of us who betrayed this club is you,” I said. “You wanna get a man out? Fucking Mayhem vote. Then finish ‘em off honorably. Don’t fucking bash ‘em on the head and leave ‘em to die. Goddamn fool.”

“Ryker never woulda gone for a Mayhem vote on you. You’ve always been his favorite. We were just protecting the club, man.”

“Then the Sons have lost their way,” I said. “I saw that the instant Ryker was willing to sacrifice Holly for convenience. Fuck the charter, right? Forget “No innocents die,” right?”

“It’s complicated—“ began Dash, but I cut him off.

“It’s the simplest fucking thing in the world,” I said. “It’s only complicated for weasel fuckers like you who try to rationalize everything.”

“What’re you gonna do?” asked Dash. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead. There were white streaks where past droplets had dried, leaving behind only salt.

That’s what I wanted to happen to Dash. For him to disappear, leaving nothing more than a trail of white powder.

I sighed, stepping backwards from him. I pulled my Glock out of its holster, hitting the mag release with my thumb. The empty magazine slid out of the gun and fell to the concrete floor with a thud. I reached around and pulled a fresh mag from my belt, loading the gun and racking the slide back. Dash’s eyes followed the gun, in fear and desperation.

“Sean,” I said, using Dash’s real name, “You remember when I first joined the Sons?”

He gulped and nodded.

“Remember how you always had my back? How you showed me the ropes?”

He nodded again.

“And how when I patched in, we cut our palms and mixed our blood that day? We were supposed to become blood brothers.”

He started to speak, but I silenced him with a wave of the gun. “Don’t fucking tell me this is just business,” I said. “All my life, I bounced from place to place. Never fit in anywhere, ‘til it came to this club. And this’s how it ends. Attempted murder by my own brother.”

Dash just looked down at his feet. He seemed to sag down, his legs giving up. “Make it quick,” he said.

I raised my Glock in the air, and lined up the sights with his forehead. I put my finger on the trigger and began to squeeze, feeling the trigger spring reaching the point of no return.

In my mind, I saw Holly’s face. She was waiting for me outside the warehouse. One jerk of my finger and this would all be over with, and we’d leave this shit life for something better.

I imagined what she’d think if she were on the other side of the wall, in here with me.

I thought about what she’d said about the cycle of violence in the club. How one violent act inevitably lead to another… and another… and another.

I thought of all the faces of the men I’d killed. 12 in total. I never forgot a single one of their faces.

And I thought about the baby growing inside Holly. A new life, a new hope for something better than the past. How I wanted a different life for that baby than what I’d had myself.

I felt the trigger begin to break under my finger… and then I stopped. I relaxed my finger and brought the gun down to my side.

Dash looked at me. “The fuck you waiting’ for? Do it already!”

I looked and him and shook my head with contempt. But mixed with that contempt, there was forgiveness, something that I hadn’t felt for a long time.

I jammed the Glock into my belt and walked up to him. I pulled the key to his handcuffs out of my pocket and freed him from the pipe.

He rubbed his wrists and eyed me suspiciously. “The fuck are you doing?”

I motioned with my head toward a pile of wooden crates in the corner of the warehouse. “Get the fuck over there,” I said, “and don’t come out until we’re all far away from here.”

“Why are you doing this?” asked Dash.

“Because,” I said, “You ain’t worth the fuckin’ bullet it’d take to kill you. I don’t ever want to hear from you again. Never come anywhere near me or my family. Don’t even fuckin’ think about me. I ever see your ugly face again, you die.”

I waited for Dash to slink off into the corner of the warehouse. He sat behind a wooden crate, looking at the wall. He didn’t turn around.

Satisfied that he wouldn’t ambush me again, I walked out of the warehouse, and into the sunlight.

When Axl emerged from the warehouse, the Reapers honored their truce with Axl. “Archer,” said Vargas, “You fucking burn that tape into ashes, understand me?” Axl nodded. “Done.”

We went our separate ways, the Reapers most likely heading to plot their next move against the Sons in their turf war, now that the Sons had lost their main general. The Sons had a chink in their armor now, and the Reapers would drill into it ruthlessly like they always did, trying to get to the soft meat underneath. As I knew now, any weakness was a sign to attack.

In this lifestyle, the shit never ended. But I knew now how strong its pull was. How this life sucked you in like quicksand, every path seeming to lead back to violence. Once you got sucked in, everything changed. Your choices were no longer your own; they were dictated by your enemies. You had to respond with strength, with resolve… with violence. If you didn’t, you were dead.

I used to wonder why people couldn’t work out their differences peacefully. My time in the club lifestyle taught me why—because violence only causes more violence. And I used to think that Axl was the one who truly had freedom out here on his bike. But the truth was, he didn’t really have any freedom at all. Not until he walked away from the club.

As we rode away from the warehouse, I asked Axl, “What did you do to Dash?”

He just replied, “We won’t be hearing from him again.” I didn’t press him further.

That day, we said goodbye to Arizona forever. Axl never got his old bike back from the Sons, so the first thing we did when we left the NOMAD compound was hit a bike dealership.

We stood looking at the rows of cruisers and hogs, and I saw the excitement in Axl’s eyes as he contemplated a new bike. One of my hands held his, and the other I held against my belly as we walked through the rows of bikes. The sun was beginning to go down, the sweltering heat giving way to a cool breeze.

Axl surprised me at the bike dealership. I thought for sure he would call the salesman over and say, “that one,” pointing to one of the many Harleys, and we’d be on our way. But instead, after admiring them, he took me to the touring bikes.

“What do you think of this one?” he said, pointing to a big Honda touring bike. It was big, lumbering, and most of all, not dangerous looking at all. It had huge, wide seats, and big fairings to keep the wind off and make even the longest rides comfortable.