Tank: Apaches MC (2 page)

“Abe and the Aztecs are claiming it’s your job,” comes Don’s response. “Some girl, somebody’s sister or something, was found in an alley outside El Paso U. Real beat up. Last I heard she was in a coma at El Paso General. Thought you mighta told Tango to go down there and…you know…do some dirty work. Either way, she ain’t talking to no one. You wanna send Ranger out there to get some info on what happened?”

I pause as I think it over. Sending a scout down there was just going to make the situation worse than it probably already is. If the Aztecs think that I am stooping so low as to target an insider, let alone someone’s girl, we’re in for an all-out war. This needs something more delicate. I turn my attention back to Don and say, “I’ll do it myself. What’s the girl’s name?”

“Carmen. Carmen Acosta.”

The nurses at El Paso General are assholes. After an hour of searching the hospital for Carmen, peeking my head into every room I pass, I finally find my best friend lying alone in a room with just the sound of beeping to keep her company. She’s alone and afraid, probably doesn’t even know what happened. My mind races as I try to figure out where her brother Anthony and the rest of her family are. I mean, she just got attacked, shouldn’t there be someone here to watch out for her?

I’ve been taking care of Carmen since we were kids. Obviously today wasn’t going to be an exception. I run to her side, placing my backpack on the floor. But before I can even reach out and touch her bruised arm, all black and blue and just barely sticking out from under the blue flannel bedding, Nurse Jackie cuts me off.

“I’m sorry, miss,” she says, as she spins me around forcefully and leads me back outside. “This room is for family only. Are you a sister or something?”

I know that my words will mean nothing to her, that she won’t be able to understand growing up with someone not related to you, but I still answer her honestly. “She’s my roommate and my friend. Her brother Anthony told me that I should come. He would give me permission to be in here.”

The heavyset nurse with the curly black hair fiddles with her stethoscope and looks out over the hallway of rooms before answering me with the most scripted line ever. “Without a family member present,” she says with an air of self-importance, “you’re not allowed in the ICU.” She pushes a bit on my arm and presses further, “You’ll have to wait outside in the waiting room until you are escorted in.”

I look back into the room where I can see Carmen resting. I guess fighting was a better word for what she was doing. When Anthony said she was attacked, I couldn’t imagine the extent of those words. An attack is when the neighborhood dog comes after you for jumping the fence, or when a drunk boyfriend goes after his girlfriend with a closed fist. But Carmen was way, way past that. What had happened to her looked more like attempted murder. No one could be expected to come out of a beating like the one her small, fragile body had taken and live to tell the tale.

Even from my spot in the hallway, I can see the crazy twists and ties of the machines pumping oxygen and medicine inside her body. Her face is almost unrecognizable under the mask. But I can see the black and blue marks of her injuries, too. I shudder as I see her hand, still exposed, just waiting for someone to hold it. All I want to do is throw myself on her and pray that she wakes up and comes back home with me. 

When I don’t budge fast enough for Nurse Jackie, she clicks her fingers together, motioning for a uniformed cop who’s sitting in a chair just outside the room. I had heard of this happening before in the movies: a girl gets beaten to death’s door, and she becomes high-profile stuff. Whatever had happened to her, the police were now on the case. At least I can breathe a sigh of relief over that. 

The man places his hand on the small of my back and leads me silently down the corridor past the nurse’s station. He looks down at me with pity as he walks me back into the waiting room, where the noise of beeps and small sobs is replaced with the hum of the vending machine and a TV blaring some daytime soap opera.

He nods at me before returning to his station outside Carmen’s door. But I can’t just let him go; I needed to know. I asked him tiredly, “I’m sorry to bother you, but can you please tell me what happened to her, to Carmen?”

The cop scratches his bald head, looking down at the ground. I can tell immediately that this isn’t exactly in the rulebook. Cops are supposed to keep these situations hush-hush. So I add to my question, “I want to help. I’m her roommate, and I know a lot about her. If I knew more, maybe I could give you guys details.”

His dark eyes bore into mine, trying to read me. This is obviously unusual for him. No one in this ‘hood willingly offers to help a cop out, even when one of our own is injured or killed. Everything is done under the table, behind closed doors, and through neighborhood leadership. Even punishment is better left to the alleys, far away from police stations.

He grabs onto my arm and brings me to the side of the room, out of earshot of the other people waiting around. He whispers low in my ear, “All I know from the detectives is that she was found outside her apartment building early this morning by her neighbor, Mrs. Peach. She was unconscious, but she had her bag with her and all her belongings. No one thinks it was a robbery or they would have taken the cash and phone.”

I find myself gasping. Carmen wasn’t a target—ever. Even with her brother being a prospect for the Aztecs and her dad and mine both being Aztec legends, our being non-club girls means something. We’re what the boys called “affiliates”—we know stuff, but not enough to make us valuable. We have legacy ties, but we’re far from pledging loyalty oaths. And with both of us in college, I think most of the clubs know that we aren’t going to be those old ladies hanging around with their tits out for any boy with a patch.

He takes out a notepad and begins to scribble before he asks his questions, “Do you know who she was with last night? Where she was coming from?”

I pull out my phone and scan my messages from her. I show him the last text I got from her at seven last night:
Hey girl! Heading out to Anthony’s for a bite with Lucinda and the kids.
Probably will chill over there tonight. I don’t know. I’ll give you a ring if I do. Don’t study too hard! Girls bending over books don’t attract the hot guys!

My face blushes as the officer reads. I can tell he’s at the end when a small smirk crosses his face. He hands it back to me as he asks, “Anthony is her brother, correct? And Lucinda is his wife?”

I know I’m breaking every rule giving out this information, but I need the cops to find whoever did that to Carmen. I nod and give his address, adding that the kids are Carmen’s niece and nephew. “She goes over there a lot to help out with the twins. Sometimes she stays the night when Anthony has meetings.”

I instantly regret what I just said. Anthony’s always at meetings as a club member. Every Tuesday and Friday night over at the warehouse, but if the officer isn’t aware that Anthony is an MC member, I just gave him away. I frantically add, “Meetings for work. He’s a contractor. I think he meets with clients on Tuesdays and the weekend. But Lucinda needs the help so Carmen helps out when she can.”

The cop eyes me suspiciously, and I know that I need to end this interview before I say another word that could get him in trouble. I look around the room for something, anything that will get me out of this, but I’m at a loss. There’s no one here I recognize, and everyone is off with a family member or friend crying or speaking low about the person they know in one of the rooms of the ICU.

I spot a man leaning up against the wall. He’s a giant in black, the muscles of his arms bulging out from under the sleeves. His hair is a mess of waves and curls that covers the aviator sunglasses he’s wearing. Though I can’t see them, I know his eyes are staring holes at the back of my head. They have been since I walked back here with the cop. I can only hope that he’s an Aztec sent to look after Carmen—maybe an enforcer by the look of him.

I turn back to the cop who has asked me a question I didn’t exactly hear. I touch his arm lightly as I say in the most upset voice I can muster, “I’m…I’m so sorry, officer. I see my friend, er, Carmen’s friend over there, and I have to go talk to him. Can I get back to you later?”

I don’t give him a chance. I sniffle back my fake tears and walk over to the man with his arms crossed against his chest. I stand next to him for a second before looking at the cop gazing over at me suspiciously. I mutter under my breath to him, “I’m so sorry I’m about to do this. Please don’t hate me.” My arms circle him as I say loudly, “It’s so good to see you here. I know that she would be so happy to know you came!”

I rest my head on his chest almost instinctively. I don’t know if it’s my emotions taking over from seeing Carmen all beat up and tied down like that, or me really wanting to play the part, but I let myself go. I breathe the stranger in. He smells just like fire and earth, and I am amazed at how nicely my body fits against his.

To my surprise, he doesn’t push me away or curse me out. He just lingers there a moment before wrapping his arm around my waist. I feel his large arms search my body and something about it tells me to move. But as the cop drifts back into the other room, his hand finds my ass and cups on tightly. A low, booming voice from deep in his chest shakes me, as he says almost happily, “You can stay here as long as you want, girl. I ain’t complaining about a body like yours up against mine.”

“Ugh!” I push myself away, spinning from his grasp. “I should have known better than to do that. But you’re lucky. My little stunt didn’t bring any attention to you.”

He laughs a bit, leaning in towards me. “Sounds like you were ratting out some guy named Anthony. Bitches I know who are worth a damn don’t go giving out names and addresses like that to piggies.” He turns, dismissing me almost immediately before finding a seat in one of the chocolate brown leather couches.

I can’t believe him. No one calls me a bitch or a rat. I’m far from it. I messed up, sure. But Anthony would understand. I was doing it to help out Carmen. That’s all. I follow the man, taking a seat next to him. “Did you just call me a, uh, b-word?”

“A ‘b-word?’” He scratches his head before taking over his glasses and tucking them into pant pocket. His electric blue eyes dance, as he adds jokingly, “You mean a
bitch
? I certainly called you one. But now that I’m talking to you, I’d say you’re anything but one. You’re a virgin.”

“A virgin?” I laugh, mocking him. Though if I’m honest, it’s probably closer to the truth. The last time I let any guy take me was nearly a year ago. Joey Anderson, a TA from my art history class. It lasted ten minutes; I regretted nine and a half of them. Since that night, I hadn’t wanted anything to do with guys. And with Abe from the Aztecs blowing up my phone, I just ignored any advance I was getting. 

“Yeah, a virgin. You dress like one in that jean thing and that hair isn’t exactly what I’d think a club girl would go around in. If you are a club girl, you certainly ain’t one of mine. I wouldn’t allow that shit to get in the door.” His gaze drifts down to my chest and lingers a long second. I go for my backpack, pulling out the sweater instinctively.

“Listen, buddy. I don’t know who you are, but you certainly don’t know who I am either. And when the club hears about this, you’re going to have hell to pay. You don’t mess with a legacy like mine. I’m protected.” I am flabbergasted, as I stiffly say, “I’m not to be treated like a piece of your meat.”

He looks back towards the door and says very quickly, “A few things, lady. First, if you were my meat, I’d treat you right. You may dress like a nun, but I can tell you got something under there that I would want. And secondly, you’re not part of my club’s legacy.”

The man stands up and walks back towards the wall. I take a few steps towards him, asking him from afar, “Wait a minute! ‘Not part of your legacy?’ I’m a Castillo. My dad’s Alonzo. He helped found your little club.”

He turns his head to the side, as he whispers just out of earshot, his hands darting to his chest, “Like I said, Castillo—not my club.”

My stomach turns in terror as I finally understand what he means. If he’s not an Aztec, he’s not with me or with Carmen. I take a few steps backwards towards the door of the ICU waiting room, my feet stumbling as they go. I land into the hard shoulder of another man, and I let out a small scream.

Two arms turn me around, and I close them tightly, not sure what to expect. A man’s voice shushes me as he says, “Sierra! It’s me! It’s Anthony!” My body relaxes and my eyes pop open in time for him to make the same realization that I just did. The man standing up against the wall waiting for him isn’t a friendly face as I had thought. He’s an Apache.