Red (Black #2) (3 page)

We live upstairs. Only her and me, as well as one other, live at the clubhouse. The Pres, I spot him as soon as I enter. He’s over in the corner. The other brothers surround him holding drinks in their hands talking and perving on the naked women. Women surround the men, like vultures. Some are even on the bar, completely naked, shaking their ass to the music that’s so loud I want to turn it down for some quiet.

Kane walks up to me with a bottle of water in hand, knowing full well I don’t like to drink. I’ve tried it a few times after the memory loss and didn’t like it. I didn’t like the idea of my control being taken away at my own hands. I nod to him and he stands next to me with a beer smiling, watching everyone, much like I am. I spot Savannah talking to the Pres. She smiles brightly and leans over and kisses his cheek then she turns, feeling eyes on her and winks at me.

“You’re one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?” Kane taps me on the back, watching Savannah. I nod my head, observing how the boys watch her. She may not be fully clothed though she’s dressed in more than the other women here.

“Two days till we leave,” Kane says. I nod my head thinking about it. I don’t know the target of the next hit, I just know it’s what I have to do.

When I woke up, I found out I was a member of a motorcycle club. They welcomed me into their homes, looked after me when no other would. Apart from Savannah, who happened to be the Pres’s daughter.

I questioned it for ages.
Why would I be a part of something like this?
Then they placed a gun in my hand and I knew they were right. The gun was mine, it was the only thing that felt comfortable. The only thing I knew with certainty that was entirely mine. I knew exactly how to use it—I wasn’t only good with it, I was the best with it.

I make decisions with the club, yes. I’m also the person who destroys people—I am death. Some even call me that, other clubs call me that. So my skills with a gun came in handy, and I now do work for the club to help bring in more money than they could ever imagine. Taking on clients so big that the paychecks match them.

Kane chats in my ear, he doesn’t think I see or even notice the looks he gives Savannah. I can see it clear as day when he watches her, that he wants her and he wants her bad. Though he won’t do anything about it, knowing that she’s mine.

I sometimes want to tell him he can have her, but then I don’t want to share her. She makes me feel good, even if it’s only for a few minutes, sometimes mere seconds. It’s there, and the only other thing I’ve found that can do that for me is my gun.

“You taking her with you?” Kane asks, nodding his head to Savannah. I watch her, she’s beautiful, there’s no point denying that at all. Her back is to us, her tattoos which weave up her back are on full display.

“She wants to go,” I tell him, she always does. She intends to come with me on my jobs. At first, I didn’t want her to, but the high is there afterward and she spreads her legs willingly and excitedly for me to get that high. She craves it as much as I do. I always tell her no, but she usually bribes her way in.

“She always wants to go.” Kane chuckles, knowing full well how we are. Sometimes I think it’s just a front and that it’s all for display.

“You must be getting tired of the same pussy, though, man.” He doesn’t shut up, he’s always fucking talking. I don’t like to converse. I shake my head and turn back to the bar.

I have to make an appearance, it’s part of the brotherhood. I just don’t like to participate in all things and often wonder if I’ve always felt this, felt this way. No one tells me much, just what they think I need to know. Not what I should know.

I manage to go back to my room without anyone stopping or following me. I throw all my clothes off and lay on the bed, hoping sleep will consume me. And hoping the dreams show me a face, instead of words and touches.

“Have you ever wanted something so bad?” a voice as sweet as velvet whispers to me. That voice, it fills me.

“Yes,” I reply, trying to step closer, to see this person, to try and put a face to that voice. She sighs, and it’s not your average sigh, it’s deep. I can feel it, the meaning of that sigh.

“I need you. I need you to wake. I need you to find me.”

I go to speak, to assure her that I will, but it all goes black.

The dreams always came with the same voice, but never a face. I wake as soon as the dreams disappear. Sometimes they’re so vivid I can feel her skin, her hair, but never her face. I would give anything to see that face. I want to know why it haunts me, why she’s so stuck there. I haven’t told anyone.

Savannah woke me one night, I was rigid, tight, and drenched in sweat. She wanted to know what I was dreaming about. I couldn’t tell her, it didn’t feel right to share something like that with her.

“What’s wrong, baby?”

She crawls onto my lap, straddling me. I pick her up and slide her back so she’s sitting on the bed. She looks confused.

“I need you to be honest with me,” I say. Her head drops to the side as she assesses me. “Who was I with before you?”

Her eyes go wide in shock. She goes to speak then shuts her mouth straight away. “You fucked some junkie if I remember correctly.” She looks me in the eye, I can tell what she says is the truth.
How much is the actual truth, though?

“Just fucked?”

“Fucked if I know. Maybe more than once…” she pins me with her eyes, “Why Trace? Why do you need to know this?”

“I need to know it all.”

“It doesn’t change anything, you are where you’re meant to be. When you accept that and accept me, it’ll get easier. Fuck! It's been five years, Trace, how can you not?”

I choose not to answer her. Instead, I stand and get dressed. It’s time to start packing, to go and do my job.

I’ve been in the car for five hours—five hours is how long it’s taken to get to this shit little city. Savannah seems nervous, constantly looking around and fidgeting with her hands. She bribed her way into coming with me, it didn’t surprise me. She always seems to, no matter what, she always goes where I go.

“Stay here,” I tell her climbing out of the truck. She looks at me and attempts to reach for the door handle. “Savannah, stay in the fucking truck!”

She nods her head and I step over to the coffee house. Turning back to see her watching me, she smiles but it’s weak, her eyes go from me then she starts looking around once again.

The smell hits me first, the strong smell of coffee beans. I look around, out of habit, assessing everything before I stand in line. Just as I’m about to be served, someone’s hand lands on my shoulder. The reaction is instant and I’m reaching for my gun just as fast as that hand removes itself. When I look up a man is standing there, a very tall man with a bald head. He looks me over, up and down, then does it a second time like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. My hand stays where it is, on my gun.

“Black?” he asks. His brows scrunched in confusion. My look must match his. “It can’t be…” his head starts to shake, “…you were dead,” he says just above a whisper.

“Who?” I ask.
Who is this man he talks of?
Why does that name sound familiar?

“You don’t recognize me?” he asks. A simple head-shake is all I give him before I see Savannah walking toward me. His eyes snap to her direction, he’s good, he notices things.

“Babe, you’re taking forever.” She wraps one arm around my waist and looks up to the man. “Who are you?” She’s rude when she wants to be. The guy’s nose crinkles, he turns his shoulder to her, clearly disgusted. I notice it and so does she, and she doesn’t like it one bit.

“The name’s Sax,” he says offering me his hand. I look at it unsure. But my hand automatically goes up and when he shakes it I feel him slip something in between—a card. I pocket it as soon as our hands break their strong grip.

“Trace,” I nod, giving him my name. He nods his head like he understands, and maybe he does. He looks one last time at Savannah, who’s wrapped around me like a snake before he walks out.

“What did he say?” Are her first words.

I take a step back, wondering what’s going on? And who is this Black?

“Nothing!” I turn and place our order, she stays where she is, watching me.

“You didn’t know him?” I turn to face her, grabbing our coffees and walking out the door. I go straight to my car, noticing that Sax is at the end of the street watching us. Savannah doesn’t notice, her eyes are glued to me wanting answers.

“Enough.” I see him then, the man we came for. He steps out of an office and he glances down at his watch.

“Trace,” she whines right next to me.

“Last time you’re coming with me. Do you understand?” My face is in her face, she nods her head and pouts her lips. I glance back up and see him climbing into a red sports car.
Fuck this woman.
“Get in the fucking car, or I’m leaving your ass here.” She doesn’t speak when she jumps in, then takes her coffee and sips it quietly next to me as I follow him.

He comes to a stop at a house, so I leave enough distance back so I can watch him. He walks to the door and a lady dressed in lingerie stands there, smiling. She pulls him by the tie inside.

Now… now I wait.

We sit in the car for a good hour. She plays on her phone and doesn’t say a word. I sit and watch the house quietly. She knows I need the quiet, I crave it.

He walks out, minus a tie. His smile is bright on his face, I have my sniper rifle already loaded, already positioned, just as he climbs in.

Everything around me goes black—I don’t see anything else but the target. I hear her breathing next to me and I swear it’s the last time she’ll come along with me. Just as he sits down, I take my shot. His door is shut, he’s buckling up, but his hands drop from his belt, falling down. His head lands on his horn and it blares loudly. We stay where we are, we’re far enough back that no one would’ve seen us. I check my surroundings again, and that’s when I see him. The man from the coffee shop, with a smirk on his face and he’s looking straight at me. He shakes his head and walks away.

Two weeks pass, two weeks the card burns a hole in my pocket. A card that says they hold truths I don’t know about that maybe I don’t want to know about. I remember the look on his face, the happiness he saw for me after taking a life. Maybe I’m better off in this life I have now. Maybe I truly was the devil in another life.

My door swings open, the card now in my hand. As I look up I see Grover standing there watching me, he looks at my hand then back to me. He is a large man—the president of the club—a scary man some say. His long gray hair is tied back and he has a bit of a belly. Laziness. To me, he’s nothing but a man short of a bullet. A bullet I sometimes want to lodge straight between his eyes. His cut is proud on his chest, he always wears it, even in our home. I bet he even he sleeps with it on, something to do with pride.