SALEM

It’s been three days since we’ve been practicing at the warehouse. It’s been a viable substitute for the studio, we’ve actually enjoyed the change in setting. The acoustics echo, booming around us as we rehearse, making it fun instead of monotonous and bland.

Each of the girls are good, attentive students who are eager to learn and perfect their craft. They’ve already memorized their routines and know them by heart. Now, we’re spending our hours fine-tuning them, so they’ll have them down pat when they go before the panel of judges.

Beckett and Bull have been our protection detail. They’ve been good about remaining incognito so that the girls concentrate on their practicing instead of becoming distracted and trying to impress two of their pseudo uncles.

A gunshot resounds outside, its piercing sound overshadows the thunderous music blaring out from the boombox’s speakers. Oakley’s eyes broaden and fear radiates in her orbs. “Grandma’s being bad again,” she whimpers. “We have to hide.”

The thought that one of my protectors is injured or even worse, dead, has me temporarily stalling until I come to my senses and react.

Taking Oakley at her word, I begin scanning the area, looking for someplace adequate where we can all safely hide until our bike-riding knights come and rescue us. An exposed air duct catches my eye, it’ll be easy for the girls to crawl into. They’ll fit, but I won’t; however, their safety tops mine. Grabbing each of their hands, I drag them to the opening and start shoving them inside.

“What about you, Miss Salem?” Juniper asks, determination not to leave me behind blaring in her voice.

“I’ll be right behind you,” I lie to the duet. Gathering my resolve and squaring my shoulders, I come up with a game plan to instruct them on. “Once you get inside the tunnel, stay together, and don’t stop moving until you can’t see light anymore.”

“But you're coming, right?” Oakley probes, worry plaguing her.

The sounds of someone entering the warehouse becomes more prominent. “I’m gonna be fine. Go.” The girls, hearing the urgency in my voice, scramble to do as I directed.

Juniper goes in first then scoots on her butt so that her sister can get inside the tube behind her. Once they’re both inside, I shove a table that was folded up on the wall next to the hatch and scoot it in front, hiding the slot from those not aware it’s there.

“Stay together, and keep moving,” I whisper-shout the directive.

I hear a collective, “Yes, ma’am,” before they become silent. The only sounds I pick up now is that from the person who’s invaded our safe space and is doing nothing to keep themselves disguised from being discovered.

Needing to make it appear to whomever it is as if I were here alone, I start dancing to the beat ringing around me. I close my eyes and lose myself to the music. My hips sway as my feet move from muscle memory. I lose myself to what I love doing most, almost forgetting that there’s danger looming in the background as I shake and whirl to the thumping beat.

A bullet whizzes by me and hits my boombox, the sound of it splintering as the music stops has me freezing in place. Opening my eyes, I see an elderly woman standing there, her legs splayed to the sides to stabilize her stance, a gun held steadily in each hand, and both barrels aimed at me.

“C-can I. Can I hel-help you?” I stammer, swallowing down the lump of terror lodged in my throat, hindering my speech.

“You can,” she says with a southern drawl. “You can give me my granddaughter.”

“Who um. Who’s your granddaughter?” I dumbfoundedly ask, even though I know exactly who this is and who it is she wants.

“Are you dense, dear? You know who I want. I know she’s here so tell me, bitch, where is she hiding?”

“What makes you think anyone is here with me or that I’m hiding somebody, ma’am?”

“You think I’m stupid, girl? I’ve had eyes on the club and followed you, that imbecile outside, and the girls here, to this exact spot.”

She only referred to one man accompanying us today, not two. That gives me some ray of hope, so I continue to stall for time. “I don’t know you so I can’t say that you’re stupid. And I don’t know who you followed, but there’s nobody here with me. I was borrowing this space and was escorted here while our studio is being cleaned up after it was shot up.”

Sicily cackles like a deranged madman before admitting, “That was my handiwork. But I didn’t aim to kill, I just wanted to cause some havoc and have everyone looking over their shoulders.”

“Well. I’m glad you had some fun with your destruction, but you’re financially liable for a lot of money to fix the damage you caused to Aspen’s place of business,” I say, narrowing my eyes into thin slits as I shoot imaginary daggers at her.

“Bitch, I ain’t paying a dime to that cunt. She stole my granddaughter. Oakley’s the last thread I have to my baby and I’m taking her with me. Now, if you want to leave this place intact and alive, I suggest you hand her over to me.”

Yeah, that’s not happening.

“I don’t know what you’re expecting from me, lady. I can’t give you something I don’t have,” I steadfastly state.

If I have to sacrifice myself in order to keep Oakley from coming to any harm, so be it. She’s innocent in this whole ordeal and deserves the chance to experience a peaceful childhood outside of the clutches of this cocksucker. I briefly mourn the fact I may not see Cole again, or experience living our lives together, but there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that this old, wrinkly biddy is getting her hands on Master and Aspen’s little girl. No fucking way.

Her bellowed outcry echoes around the warehouse. “Enough with playing games! I want my granddaughter and I want her now!” The last word is practically growled out as spittle flies from her lips. Her eyes are shifting to and fro and I realize she’s gone around the bend into true madness, which makes her even more dangerous.

Out of my peripheral vision, I see Beckett creeping his way behind Sicily. He’s moving as stealthy as a ninja and as quietly as a mouse as he pulls two mini sword-like knives from beneath his cut. The U shape that juts out from the hilt of the daggers hypnotizes me, but I quickly avert my eyes from him and back to her in order to not draw any inauspicious attention to the fact that he’s sneaking up behind her.

Her next words have me stunned to silence. “If you survive, tell Gunner that the Crumley brothers are coming for his club. He needs to sleep with one eye open at all times.”

As I zone in on Sicily’s finger and watch in slow motion while she presses down on the trigger that’ll spark the fire needed to send a bullet zooming at me, I whisper my sorrow and confess my feelings, “I’m sorry, Cole. I love you.” Closing my eyes, expecting this to be the end of my life, instead, I hear a gurgle and snap my eyelids back open. One dagger is embedded through Sicily’s neck while the other is buried to the handle in her side, nestled right beneath her rib cage.

As Sicily’s eyes roll to the back of her head, my stomach lurches from seeing all of the blood pooling from her, and the contents of my last meal expels from my mouth, spewing everywhere. Bent over at the waist, I heave until there’s nothing but bile left inside my belly, which now aches from spasming.

“Where are the girls, Salem?” Beckett asks.

“Behind that folding table,” I say, pointing to the object while swiping at the tears on my face. “There’s an air duct that I made them get into and told them to keep going until they couldn’t see anymore.”

“Shield yourself behind it and talk to them. Stay there and keep them from crawling out until I come get you. I need to check on Bull and call for backup.”

“Is she dead, Beckett?” My voice is high-pitched and thin sounding, but the sound is all I can force through my raw throat.

“Yeah, Salem. She’s dead.”

“Good.” Beckett helps me stand back up then guides me over to the folding table. He sits me behind it and props it on me. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can. I didn’t see anyone with her, but I don’t want to take any chances.”

“Don’t worry about me, Beckett, I’m not leaving this spot until I’m physically pried away.” Physically, I’m not sure it would be possible since my body’s been overtaken by bone-jarring tremors as the adrenaline dump courses through me. My focus now, however, is to keep the girls calm while also ensuring they stay put.

POWERHOUSE

Sweat drips from my temples as I saw a piece of plyboard. We’ve been at this since eight this morning and my body is feeling the effects of putting in a full day's worth of work in four hours.

Tires squealing into the parking lot has us all drawing our weapons and hauling ass for the door. “It’s Beckett!” Texas thunders as he sprints toward the door and yanks it open. He barely has it ajar before our prospect comes flying through the door, revving his engine.

“Warehouse!” Beckett yells before hitting the throttle, his tires squealing as he circles his bike around us and shoots back out the door.

“Round 'em up, boys!” Gunner shouts as he breaks out into a run and mounts his bike.

We leave everything as is, not stopping long enough to lock up behind us and jump on our bikes and speed toward the warehouse, breaking every traffic law.

When we arrive, Bull’s wedged up against the inside of the doorframe, blood steadily gushing from a bullet lesion in his shoulder, but he’s breathing and alert, which eases the fear that was weighing on my chest.

“Girls are safe,” Bull wheezes, flinching from scooting to the side so he can direct this to me and Master. The pain he’s feeling is evidenced by the wrinkles around his eyes and forehead, not to mention he’s pale as a fucking ghost.

“You okay, brother?” Gunner asks him as he kneels next to him to assess his wound.

“It’s just a flesh wound, brother. Nothing a little tender loving care and super glue won’t fix,” Bull responds.

“I doubt Doc Shell would agree,” I huff.

“Calling her now to have her meet us at the club,” Malice offers, stepping away and heading back to his bike so he can get to a payphone. Mobile phones are a new thing, and I’m seriously considering spending the exuberant amount of money they’re asking for one. We each need to have the device in case of shit like this popping up.

“I’m gonna go check on Salem,” I announce. “Where is she?”

“She’s perched behind the card table. The girls are in the air duct behind her,” Beckett answers.

“Good job, prospect,” I state, clapping him on his shoulder as I pass by.

“What he said,” Master says, mirroring my action.

Master and I pick up the pace and jog to where Beckett indicated our girls are stationed. “Salem,” I call out her name. When her head pops around the tip of the table, my heart speeds up. “Baby, you, okay?”

“Physically, I’m fine. Mentally and emotionally, I reserve the right to have a breakdown without any judgment at a later date and time,” she mewls.

Master tells her what he’s doing as he does it so that he doesn’t catch her unaware and spook her. Her eyes are wide and alert, her body is strung tight like a rattlesnake ready to strike. She nods her head every time he says something but otherwise, she doesn’t react, and her vision stays stuck to me.

“Sicily’s over there.” She indicates by jabbing her finger to the left. “We can’t let the girls see her, it’ll scar them for life.”

“We’ve got this, baby.” I call out for Texas to come over and help with the girls. Their eyes need to be covered so they don’t see the cunt’s lifeless body spread out on the floor or the pool of blood puddled beneath.

“Let’s get you moved, Salem, so I can check on my little ladies,” Master utters respectfully, in a serene, calm tone.

With some maneuvering, we’re able to extract the girls and Salem without any fanfare. The girls bury their heads in Master’s and Texas’ shoulders as they’re carried hastily out of the warehouse. Salem is shaky, her feet seem glued to the floor, and I end up lifting her up and carrying her out in my arms.

“I’ve never hated anyone in my life, Cole, but I really fucking hate that bitch. And this may be cold and heartless, but I’m glad she’s dead.”

“I think that’s the consensus of us all, darlin’.”

* * *

Once we breached the clubhouse, the women flocked to us, mothering the girls and Salem as they checked them for injuries. Finding none, we all sighed a breath of relief. Hot chocolate made the rounds through the kids as Salem was given a special coffee blend, one that contained some moonshine to help ease her fractured and frayed nerves.

The kids were ushered out of the room, and Salem is retelling the story of Sicily’s attack and how it played out.

“Beckett came out of the woodwork like an avenging angel. You should have seen him wielding those daggers like they were a part of him. It was a sight to see, Cole.”

We all shift our shocked gaze to him; his eyes however are downcast. “Beckett, didn’t know you carried blades, man,” Gunner says.

“There was this guy from Japan who lived down the street from me while I was growing up. He took a special interest in a few of us and educated us how to use and conceal them. We were taught to respect them and consider them an extension of ourselves. I’m more accurate with them than I am with a pistol,” Beckett informs us.

“Are they legal?” I ask. I’ve never been one to carry a blade, but now I’m interested in buying myself one.

“Mine are legit. I had them custom made by a guy I know that’s a swordsmith. Mine are to exact legal specifications so I can never be arrested or ticketed for carrying them,” Beckett goes on to explain.

“Could you teach us if we wanted to learn how to use one?” Kruger questions. “It sounds badass.”

“I could, but Master Haruki would be a better option,” Beckett proposes. “We’re still in touch and he’s still teaching the neighborhood kids the art. He’s been after me to let him come for a visit, but I don’t have a place for him to stay since I stay here at the club.”

“Invite him here. If the guys wanna learn, I’ll provide his housing,” Gunner comments.

“I’ll call him tonight and extend the invitation,” Beckett coolly states, but you can tell he’s excited and anxious to get on the horn with his old teacher.

Once she’s done with her retelling, I scoop her up into the safety of my arms and head down the corridor to our room. “Cole, I can walk,” she protests.

“Need to have you here in my arms, babe,” I reply, caressing her forehead with a tender brush of my lips.

She nestles her head into the crook of my neck, her breathing is even, but every now and then, a choppy hitch overtakes her guarded resolve.

She puts on a sound, heartfelt front for me.

However, I’m aware of how hard this ordeal has been on her, and how important it is to her to keep up this strong façade.

I don’t call her out on it, I know she needs this masked disguise in order to stop herself from breaking down into a sobbing mess.

That doesn’t mean that I’m not gonna push her later. She needs to let it out. It’s not healthy to hold it in without releasing the pent-up emotions. Eventually, that tornado’s gonna have her in its sights, it’ll hit her with an influxed range of mixed feelings. Her walls are gonna give away, crumble, and I’m gonna be there to help her put those fractured pieces back together.