BULLET: Lords of Carnage MC Read online

  Ten minutes later, I’m back in Six’s bedroom, a plate in one hand and a mug in the other. “Hey, Mystery Girl,” I call out softly. “Breakfast.”

  Six stirs in the bed, then hurriedly props herself upright on one elbow. Her other hand goes self-consciously to the covers as she pulls them up over her breasts. “Wh… um… morning…” she murmurs, peering at me through the curtain of her hair. Her face registers confusion, a little shock, and more than a hint of shyness.

  “Your kitchen is a fuckin’ embarrassment,” I say good-naturedly. “I figured you’d want coffee, since it’s one of the few things you have on hand.”

  I hand the mug to her, which she takes, and set the plate on the bed. Six immediately draws the cup to her nose, breathing in the aroma, then looks down at the plate and does a double-take. “What the hell?” She gives me an odd look. “What is that?”

  “Half of a strawberry Pop-Tart and some kippers on Saltine crackers,” I tell her. “Hey, don’t blame me. It’s from your cupboard. You better hope the zombie apocalypse doesn’t come anytime soon. You don’t have enough food in this place to last you a day.”

  I go back out to the kitchen and get my own mug of coffee and my plate of disgusting breakfast. I come back to Six and sit down on the bed next to her, noticing she’s taken a nibble of the Pop-Tart. “Who does your grocery shopping for you, anyway? I haven’t seen kippers since my granddad was alive.”

  She takes a sip of the coffee, grimacing a little. “Damn, that’s hot. My dad used to like them.” She shrugs. “I guess I must have gotten a craving for them at some point and bought a couple tins. I didn’t even realize I had them.”

  “You mean these have been in there for so long you’ve forgotten them?” I ask, raising one of the crackers up to look at it. “Am I gonna get food poisoning from this shit?”

  She snorts. “Are you kidding? I think kippers are indestructible. That is quality zombie apocalypse food right there. Preppers probably stock these in their bomb shelters.”

  “So, your dad likes these things, huh?” I put one of the crackers in my mouth and chew. It’s not that bad, if you like fish. “He live around here?”

  “He doesn’t live around anywhere,” she replies flatly. “He’s been dead since I was fourteen. Drove his car off the highway into a ditch when he was drunk out of his mind. No seatbelt.”

  “Oh, fuck.” I chew some more and swallow. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me, too. But, not much I can do about it, right?”

  It’s clear from Six’s sour expression that she doesn’t really want to talk about this, but I decide to push a little more. “What about your mom?”

  She rolls her eyes and takes a bite of Pop-Tart. “Who knows? She’s a drunk. Rarely has a stable address.” For a second, Six is silent, and then laughs wryly. “I guess maybe I’m more like her than I thought, in that way. At any rate, I don’t know where she is. She surfaces every once in a while and calls me. Half the time she’s calling to tell me she misses me and wants to see me, but it hardly ever actually happens. Last time I talked to her was about ten months ago.”

  “Shit, Six. That’s fucked up.”

  “Well,” she retorts, a new bite in her voice. “That’s my life. Such as it is.” Her whole face grows dark as I can see her almost physically drawing into herself.

  Shit.

  I decide to give her a little of my story, hoping to make amends.

  “I didn’t have a dad at all, growing up,” I tell her. “He’s out there somewhere, I guess, but I never knew him.” I eat another kipper. “You know, these aren’t half bad. My mom was a drinker, too, at first. And eventually, a junkie and a thief for her lowlife boyfriend.”

  Six turns to look at me, her eyes wide and interested. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been in the MC lifestyle since I was about sixteen or seventeen. Gave me someplace to be that wasn’t home, since Mom and Ellis didn’t want me there anyway. Christ knows I didn’t wanna be there either.”

  “Can I ask how you got that bullet in you?” Six murmurs quietly, her eyes cutting to my torso. She’s forgotten my questions about her family by now, and I think that’s fine. Her guard is sliding back down, which is what I want.

  “Officially?” I smirk. “Involuntary manslaughter.”

  I expect her to freak out, even move away from me. Instead, she swallows, her face paling a shade. “You mean, you’ve been in prison?”

  “Two years in county.” I nod toward my torso, and the tattoo that she marked into my skin. “I’m not eager to go back. But I don’t regret what I did. The man I killed deserved it, and more.”

  Six is silent, contemplating my words. “How do you decide when someone deserves to die?”

  “In this case?” I hear my voice turning hard. “When you walk in on him taking his pleasure with an underage girl who was drugged outta her mind.”

  “Jesus,” she breathes. “Did you know her?”

  “No.” The girl’s face is etched into my memory, though. Especially her eyes. They were so fucking blue. A little like Six’s, actually. Huge in her face. And so scared —terrified, actually — but so, so fucking far away. Like the drugs had locked her away, a prisoner in her own body. She was helpless to fight against them, and against the man using her for his own sick pleasures. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, I thought at the time, and I was right. It turned out she was barely fourteen. Not even a sophomore in high school yet.

  She barely even reacted when the gun went off. Her half-vacant eyes just stared at me, as she slid her body away on the stained sheets, toward the wall. It was like she was a tortured animal, trapped in a cage.

  I had come to the trap house to find Ellis. I had tracked his ass there on a tip I bribed out of a guy Ellis knew — a piece of filth just like him. I broke into the place, my Glock 27 raised and at the ready. But he wasn’t there. The asshole raping that little girl was, though.

  I shot the motherfucker through the back of the skull. Then I called Tank and told him to bring a cage to the address so I could get the girl out of there and transport her to the nearest hospital. I picked her up off the bed but she started to fight me, weakly, not registering I wasn’t there to hurt her. While I was struggling with her, carrying her down the hall, a sudden commotion from the back of the house told me we weren’t alone. I ran outside, kicking out the screen door as I went, and had just cleared the porch when a gunshot rang out and clipped me in the side. I stumbled and fell, the girl still in my arms just as three sets of red and blue rollers came screaming around the corner.

  The cops hauled me in, of course. At first, they thought I was one of the guys involved with kidnapping the girl. Thank fuck when she sobered up, she remembered enough of what happened to tell them I had been the one to save her. The bullet in my side, plus the bullet in the rapist’s head that matched my Glock, convinced them it was the truth.

  I suspect I got charged with manslaughter instead of homicide because the parents of the girl turned out to be prominent citizens in the community. They were more than thrilled to have their little girl back — damaged, but still physically whole. I spent two years in prison. Two years waiting for another chance to find and kill my former stepfather. In the meantime, Ellis must have heard what happened, figured I was coming for him, and bugged out.

  I don’t tell Six any of this. It ain’t the time or the place.

  “Can I ask you another question?” Six murmurs, breaking into my thoughts.

  “You can ask,” I reply, tensing.

  “What’s it like being in the Lords of Carnage?”

  I relax a bit, relieved. “It’s a brotherhood,” I say simply. “My brothers have my back, and I have theirs. We look out for each other.” I pause. “The Lords are family. More of a family than I ever had growing up.

  Six is silent for a moment, considering.

  “It’s dangerous, isn’t it? Being in an MC.”

  I nod. “Life is dangerous, though. Question is, when you’re putting your life on the line, whether the danger is worth it.”

  I hear her blow out a soft breath. “Good point.”

  Six asks me some more questions about MC life and the Lords of Carnage. I answer what I can, and tell her when I can’t. I realize she’s starting to warm up to me again, since she doesn’t have to talk about herself.

  What are you hiding, Mystery Girl?

  When I’ve finished my food, I stand up from the bed and nod toward Six’s mug. “You want a warmup on that?” I ask.

  “I’m good, thanks.” She hands me her empty plate and watches me in silence as I go back out to the kitchen. A few seconds later, I come back with a fresh cup for myself. “You know,” she smiles shyly as I sit down on the bed again, “no one’s ever made me breakfast in bed before.”

  “I’m not sure you can call what we’re eating ‘breakfast,’” I chuckle.

  She laughs. “Well, anyway. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. So,” I smirk. “You gonna tell me anything more about you?”

  She smirks back. “Nope.”

  “Well, then, I guess we’re gonna have to think about some other way to spend the morning.” I let my eyes slip down over her body. The blanket has fallen down to her waist, revealing her full, luscious tits. “Something that doesn’t involve talking. You got any ideas?”

  Six purses her lips. “I have kipper breath.”

  I take her mug and set both of them on her nightstand, then stand and undo the button and fly on my jeans. “That makes two of us,” I say with a grin as I slide across the bed to her. “It’s like it was meant to be.”

  9

  Six

  Bullet leaves my place after telling me he still owes me one more orgasm. I laugh but don’t answer him, because my
mind is a freaking mess after last night and this morning.

  I know it was dumb of me to agree to go out with Bullet in the first place. And I sure as hell never should have taken him home with me. I should have known my loneliness plus my dangerous attraction to him were a terrible combination. I never should have put myself in a position of having to try to resist him.

  Because resisting Bullet is something I am apparently not very well-equipped to do.

  The one thing I can be thankful for is that he doesn’t take my number, or try to make plans with me as he leaves my apartment. After he closes the door behind him, I exhale, feeling empty but relieved. It’s as clean a break as I could have hoped for. Except for his orgasm IOU, which I tell myself is probably just a joke.

  One and done. A hot-as-hell experience. The best sex of my life. But that’s it. And it’s much better this way.

  I turn and take a long look around my living room. Just like I’ve done so many times before — in other apartments, in other towns — I reflexively start a weird game I play with myself. I calculate how long it would take me to pack things up if I had to leave at a moment’s notice. What I would take with me, and what I would leave behind.

  Padding back into the bedroom, I grab our empty coffee mugs from my nightstand, then head into the kitchen. The coffee maker is still on, so I pour myself another half-cup and go sit down on the couch. I take a sip and grimace. It’s been sitting on the burner too long by now, and tastes bitter and a little burnt. I set the cup down in disgust and scan the room again, my mind going into automatic list mode.

  The couch and chair, I’d leave. Most of the furniture, in fact, since I got most of it at thrift stores or freebies people left in front of their houses. I’d hate to leave that rug, though. I love that thing. I can probably tie it to the top of my car if I have to.

  Shaking my head, I heave a deep, frustrated sigh. Am I truly thinking about leaving? I know I’ve been in Tanner Springs too long. I can’t risk getting comfortable. But the truth is, I really kind of like it here. Plus, I’m still in training to be a tattoo artist at Rebel Ink. It would be stupid to leave before that’s over. I’d feel bad for Chance, who I’m sure expects me to stay on once I’m ready to do ink without supervision. And I want to. I do. I like working for Chance a lot. He’s tough but cool, and he tells it like it is. I always know where I stand with him.

  And the other people at the shop are great, too. Hannah counts as one of the closest friends I’ve ever had. She’s the only person in Tanner Springs who knows my real story. One of the only people anywhere, actually. She’s kept the secret that I blurted out to her one drunken night, and I’ve never worried she’d blab it to anyone as long as I didn’t want her to. I know that if I left, Hannah would explain it all to Chance. She’d understand why I took off, without me even having to explain it to her. She’d make Chance understand, too. And hopefully in the end, he wouldn’t be too mad at me for it all.

  But God, I’m getting so tired of running. So tired of never putting down any roots. So sick to death of knowing that every time I set foot in a new place, it’s only a matter of time before I’ll be off again to somewhere else, having to start all over again.

  Suck it up, Stacia. You don’t have a choice. You fucked up last night with Bullet. And now you’re gonna have to deal with the consequences.

  A wave of sadness washes over me. Wearily, I lean back against the couch cushions, drawing up my knees and folding my arms protectively around them.

  I can’t help but picture Bullet’s face. His dark eyes, the sexy smirk emerging through his short-cropped beard. That beard, which was softly scratching my thighs last night as he teased and tormented me to orgasm…

  Shivering, I pull my knees closer. Would it be so bad if I just stayed a few more weeks? Maybe just until Chance thinks I’m finished with my apprenticeship? And while I’m here, would it be a crime if I see Bullet a few more times before I move on?

  You know better, Stace. Don’t go getting soft, just because of a guy. That’s the kind of thinking that will get you hurt, or worse.

  I know it’s true. It’s been a long time since I’ve allowed emotions to have any part in the decisions I make.

  I decide to play it by ear, and stay just a little longer. Just to see what happens. I tell myself I’ll be watchful, and take off at the first sign of trouble. I can do that. I’m sure of it.

  I don’t see or hear from Bullet that day, or the next, or the next. By the fourth day, the soreness between my legs is gone, and the memory of his touch against my skin is starting to fade. It’s almost like I dreamed our encounter. I try to feel relieved that he seems to have forgotten about me. But the truth is, I’m a little sad, too.

  One early afternoon, I’m sitting around binge re-watching Black Mirror and waiting for it to be time for me to go in for my shift at Rebel Ink. I woke up in a terrible mood, and I’m pissed at myself that I didn’t go for a run or something this morning to get myself out of the house and get my mind off things. Just as I’m trying to decide whether to watch one more episode or go take a shower, my cell phone rings. I leap up from the couch and run to grab it from the kitchen table, hoping in spite of myself that it’s Bullet calling me.

  But it’s not him.

  It’s a number I haven’t plugged into my contacts, on purpose. But I still recognize it.

  My muscles tensing, I press the button to accept the call.

  “Mom,” I say, my voice dull and expressionless.

  There’s a sort of muffled scraping sound, like the phone’s being dragged across a carpet. I call her name through the phone again, louder this time. More muffled noise, then the murmur of voices far off, but I can’t tell what they’re saying. Goddamnit!

  “Mom!” I yell as loud as I can, a sudden wave of rage flooding my veins. Furious, I’m about to hang up, when a breathless, barely-conscious voice replies on the other end.

  “Stacia?” she slurs.

  “Mom, what is it?” I bark impatiently. She’s drunk. Of course she is. So drunk I’m surprised she could even figure out how to call me. There’s nothing good that can come out of this conversation, I know from bitter experience. But now that I was dumb enough to answer, I just have to get through it and get it over with.

  “Hi, honey,” she mumbles, her voice morphing into a fake sing-song. “I haven’t talked to you in so long!”

  “Mom, what do you want?” I repeat, pushing down my disgust.

  “Honey, I need a li’l help.” Oh, God. Of course you do. And I know exactly what kind. “I need some money, honey. I gotta pay rent… Landlord’s gonna kick me out if I can’t pay ‘im…”

  “Mom, where are you?” I demand.

  “You don’t gotta come here, honey,” she wheedles. “I just need you to send me some money, okay?”

  “I’m not going to send you money, Mom.” I brace for what I know is coming next.

  “Please, honey! You have to help me! How are you not gonna help your own mother?” she cries out, her voice moving from coaxing to shrill.

  “I’ll help you, Mom.” I suck in a deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut. “But I’m not sending you cash. If you can give me your landlord’s phone number, I’ll call him and figure out how to pay your rent for this month to him directly.”

  “You don’t hafta do that! Just pay me!” she insists.

  “No.” My tone is clipped, final. I already know how she’ll use any money I give her, no matter what she tells me. She’ll sleep on the street before she goes without booze. “I will not. Give. You. Money. Period.”

  “Ahhh!” she half-shouts in anger. “Fuck this! You…” she starts to yell, words tumbling from her mouth incoherently. A second later, the phone goes dead.

  Staring at the blank screen, I wonder for the thousandth time how I ended up with a mother who only cares about me as someone to tap for booze money.