The Skulls, 15
Copyright © 2017
Steven took a sip of his whiskey, allowing the music drifting from the jukebox in the corner to slowly calm and relax him. He was waiting for a special someone to enter the shitty-looking bar. This was the next man on his kill list. The precious list he’d gotten from Lola. She wasn’t even part of The Skulls MC, but was in fact part of their closest allies, Chaos Bleeds. He’d needed the information fast and Whizz wouldn’t give it to him, so he’d had to make sure he went to someone who would keep his secret.
Lola understood what he was doing, so she’d given him the list with the promise that she wouldn’t say anything to Whizz, even though they were close friends.
Tapping his fingers on the counter, Steven thought about Sally, and the beautiful woman she had turned into. Like always, those thoughts changed, and he remembered the broken, scared girl that he had seen Whizz and Lacey bring home. She had been adopted as a teenager, and she’d had so much pain in her eyes it had threatened to break him apart simply looking at her, but look at her he did.
Over the last couple of years, he’d done nothing but watch as she flourished under The Skulls’ care. Lacey and Whizz became more than two people who’d taken her in out of compassion. They became her parents, and Sally had found a family. He’d seen that.
Then he’d seen the strength inside her when she’d lost her left leg from the knee down from being shot. She was one of the strongest women he’d ever known, and being part of The Skulls, he knew a lot of the old ladies. Angel was another strong one.
Sally, though, she was different. She belonged to him.
Whizz had warned him away from her, and told him that he wanted a better life for Sally. What Whizz didn’t know was that Steven wasn’t going to let Sally go. He’d had to watch her leave for college with that fucker, Drew, some injured star who was going to have a career on the pitch, who no longer had that chance.
Whatever. Sally was his, would always be his, and that’s because unlike every other man, he loved her deep inside.
“I don’t recognize your face here,” the bartender said.
“I’m not a regular, but you can do me a favor. Does this man frequent this place?” Steven asked, holding up a picture of a man that was on his list.
“Yeah, his name’s Dawg. Why?”
Steven pulled out an envelope filled with cash. “Because me and Dawg are going to have a little party, and you’re not going to call the cops. Get rid of your customers and I’ll double that money for you. You won’t even miss the clients.”
The bartender licked his lips, but didn’t ask any questions. Within twenty minutes they were gone, and the only person in the bar with him was the bartender.
“Can I ask that you try and contain the damage?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll clean up all my mess.” He finished off the shot and nodded for a refill.
Time passed, and Steven didn’t mind. He had the patience of a saint. Finally, the popular Dawg decided to enter.
Steven didn’t turn toward him.
“Wow, Ben, this place is fucking dead tonight,” Dawg said.
Steven kept on eye on the bartender to see if he gave anything away.
“Slow night, Dawg. Usual?”
“I don’t recognize you here.” Dawg gave Steven a shove.
“I’m new.” He stared at the man, wondering how often the fucker had hurt Sally. He was one of the last men who’d had her before Whizz and Lacey had. She had told him once that she wasn’t a virgin, wasn’t pure or innocent. That had been taken from her. He was going to make sure those fuckers didn’t breathe another day.
“Well, you’ve come to a shitty place. But then again, everything about life is shitty. Clearly you’re in the wrong place.”
“Actually, I’m in the right place.” Steven finished off his whiskey and turned to the guy who had hurt Sally. He knew without a doubt that he had hurt her as there had also been a hospital admittance. This bastard had beaten Sally, and then accused her of stealing and other shit. Tilting his head to the side, Steven said, “I wonder if you even remember her.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Steven slammed down a picture of Sally. He watched the man as he picked it up, going a little pale as he recognized her. “Has the whore began spewing her lies to the first dick that will have her? Always spreading her legs for any—”
Steven wanted it to be longer, to feel more justice at what he’d done. Hearing the vile, disgusting words coming from the prick’s mouth, he had enough. Grabbing the blade out of his pocket, he embedded it into the man’s throat, slamming the head down on the counter.
“That ‘whore’ is my woman, and I know the truth, you disgusting fucker. Make your peace with the devil, because you’re rotting in hell.” He twisted the knife, relishing the gurgle and the blood that was being spilled.
Only when the man stopped jerking and was still did Steven pulling his blade out. Lifting the dead body over his shoulder, he carried it out, dumping it in the back of his truck. When he entered the bar again, he had the cleaning products at the ready, and while humming, cleaned away his mess.
The bartender’s mouth was wide open. Slapping down another envelope, Steven winked, and made his way toward the door.
“Do you need to use my bar again?” the man asked.
Steven looked back at him.
“You got any beefs you need to deal with, come back here any time. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Steven hummed as he left the bar, and climbed into the truck. Before he headed back to Fort Wills he needed to bury the body, and then it was on to the next man on his list.
He pulled it out of the inside pocket of his jacket, and smiled, crossing off Dawg’s name. It was certainly an interesting way to spend his evenings.
Burying the body was easy to do, and so was cleaning his truck. There was no way he’d have his woman sitting in a truck covered with the blood of the scum that hurt her. With each person he killed, Steven felt a sense of peace wash over him. Most of the men were old and alone. A couple of the women were spiteful, but that was fine. He didn’t have any problem killing mean women.
After several hours, he finally arrived back at the clubhouse. Killer was outside, having a rare smoke.
“You’re out late. Decided to be a rebel?” Steven asked.
“Nah, I thought I’d see what had you going all hours of the day and night.” Killer threw his cigarette to the ground and stubbed it out. “I know what you’re doing.”
Steven stared at him and waited. He wasn’t about to speak up. “Oh, yeah, and what exactly am I doing?”
“You’re doing what I’d do. Sally’s past is out there, and you’re intent on hunting them down, killing each and every one.” Killer moved toward him. The guy was huge, like a fucking bear, and even though he’d settled down and now had a couple of kids, that hadn’t taken anything away from him. He was still a threat, still a killer inside. “It’s not smart.”
“Don’t tell me what to do.”
He went to go past, but Killer grabbed his arm. Steven had witnessed Killer throwing men around as if they weighed nothing.
“You better get your fucking hand off me,” Steven said.
“It’s not going to change anything what you’re doing,” Killer said. “This is going to throw a whole lot of dark shit on the club if you’re not careful.”
“No one is going to know shit.”
“No? All it will take is a dumb fucking detective to see the one connection between all of them. Sally. They’ll come here, and then what’re you going to do?”
“No one’s going to report them missing.” Steven shook off his arm. “Because no one even cares that they are.”
He left Killer glaring at him, but he didn’t care. This was what he had to do. Killer didn’t understand that.
Entering the clubhouse, he went straight toward his room, closing and locking the door. He closed his eyes, counted to ten and then twenty. He kept on counting until the rage finally began to dissipate.
This was what he had to do, and no one was going to stop him. Every single brother who was with an old lady would do exactly the same. They’d fight for their woman, and that was what he was doing, fighting.