Savage: Iron Dragons MC (46 page)

As the men wrap his limp and broken arms around the thick metal pole in the safeway house’s basement, he screams, “Just kill me! I dare you! You’ll see what Abe has in plan for you assholes! Just you wait!”

I stride over to him, my gun in his hand, and whip him with the metal handle so hard he goes blank. The second time today I’ve got this guy down.

“What are we going to do with him, boss?” Rafael asks, as Guzman’s men circle our prisoner like vultures. “I mean, we’re gonna kill him. Right?”

My mind flashes to Sierra and her smile, the light that surrounds her when we make love. For the first time in my years as Apache leader, I’m paralyzed. The tattoo on my arm was supposed to designate me a leader, a man who sticks to his words and never gives an idle threat. But I know that the man tied up is also correct. Killing him will only start this war in earnest. And duking it out with the Aztecs means losing her in the process.

“Come on man, just shoot him. Let’s get this over with so we can go back to the house.” Rafael is at my shoulder, egging me on. But I need to hear her voice. I need to explain to her what’s going on and why I have to do this.

I call her number for the third time since I’ve talked to her. Her cheery voice pops up immediately. Voice mail. I speak this time, praying she’ll listen in the short time I have. “Sierra, please. Call me back. I just…I just need to talk to you.”

I press the end button and return to my post. My head counts to thirty, thirty long and agonizing seconds before I give up. She’s not going to call. “Rafael,” I command. “Shoot him in the head.”

Chapter 22: Against All Orders

“How are you feeling? Are you tired? Do you need another pillow? I can get you another pillow. Or I can page a nurse and they can bring you one of those memory foam pillows I saw that other patient with the other day. I don’t think we’re supposed to leave this room… not that you can leave…”

“--Sierra.”

“Is it cold in here to you? It’s freezing in here to me. I should have packed another sweater. Then again, how was I supposed to know that some crazed lunatic was going to come and shoot up your room and force us into being locked up in here?”

“--Sierra!”

I spin around to see Carmen giving me that look—the look that tells me she’s had enough.

She props herself up on the bed slowly, careful to not let the bandages slip. Even after her miraculous recovery, I still have to remind myself of how much pain she is in and how much she has suffered. Out of breath, she yells at me, “Sierra, I love you. I really do. You being here is making this horrible situation so much better. But if you don’t shut up and sit down, I’m going to press this red button, call in a nurse, and have them strap you to the bed next door that they use for the crazy people!”

I can’t argue with that. Ever since we moved to the new hospital, St. Mary’s of El Paso, I have been nothing but a complete basket case. But can you really blame me? Just hours ago, someone shot at us. They shot at us!

And my boyfriend—that is, I
think
he’s my boyfriend—ran away from the law. And I helped him. I’m an accomplice to this crazy life he leads. In doing so, I’m sacrificing absolutely everything in my future—the career, the kids, the white picket fence as far away from El Paso Motorcycle Club life as possible. Everything.

When we arrived at St. Mary’s, the police officers and nursing team checked Carmen into their ICU, leaving me alone in the waiting room. On the television was a live news broadcast direct from a news chopper. I could clearly make out the parking lot of El Paso, where we just came from. It was empty, save for a few cop cars keeping anyone from going in and out. Detectives were kneeling down, studying tire tracks.

The reporter on the screen yelled over the sound of the chopper, as he frantically explained how a shooter managed to escape from the back of a police car with the help of two men on motorcycles. Another man of interest, possibly one of the men in the getaway motorcycles, was wanted for questioning. He, too, had managed to escape by assaulting an officer. 

I could have believed that. I could have just let my imagination go wild and let myself believe that the shooter was the Aztec acting alone, that he had just somehow miraculously managed to get out with the help of some of his buddies. But I knew better. After weeks of being in on this whole club world with Tank, I knew that shooter was on a suicide mission, a one-man operation with no hope of return. His family would be compensated, and he would be rewarded handsomely while he sat in jail for a trial that probably would end in a soft plea bargain. That’s how it was supposed to go.

But Tank was the factor that Abe and the Aztecs probably weren’t bargaining for. Tank wouldn’t let his woman and her friend be shot at in a hospital room without some kind of repercussions. Besides, he could use this as the excuse he and the others had been waiting for to go after the Aztecs once and for all.

In my head, I could imagine him grabbing the man still in cuffs from the back of that car and placing him on his back. He’s probably long dead and buried now. There’s nothing those police officers or the helicopter news reporters could do for him now.

I let myself slump into the one of the large leather rocking chairs next to Carmen’s bed, as she turns up the volume on the television. We both fall into an uncomfortable, uneasy silence. It’s as if both of us can’t bear to say what is on our mind. It’s too terrifying to say the truth out loud—the truth that here, in St. Mary’s, without Tank’s protection, we’re just sitting ducks.

My throat goes dry, as I look around the room for any excuse to get out. After a few long minutes, I quietly turn to her and say, “Hey Car, I’m going to go fill up the jug with some water from the dispenser. You want me to see if they can get you anything while I’m up? No pressure…” I want to sound casual, relaxed, but my voice is shaking more than the hands I’ve placed behind my back.

Still, whatever worries are on my mind, they don’t even register with Carmen. She’s off in her own world, staring out the open window towards the yellow, green, and red city lights that have started to twinkle in the evening’s darkness. “Nah, I’m okay,” she says absentmindedly. “But we should probably shut these shades…just in case.”

She’s right, of course. I run over to the windows and close the heavy pink and blue drapes as quickly as I can. She turns back towards the television and sighs deeply. I take this as my cue to slowly exit, closing the door carefully behind me as if the sound of the lock would set everything off again.

The harsh light of the hospital wing glares in my eyes as I try to adjust. In front of me are two black-uniformed cops, each with large guns in their pockets and loud intercoms strapped to their bulletproof vests. As I take a step out into the hallway, they stand and place hands up. “Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to go back inside. Our orders are to make sure you and your friend do not leave this wing of the hospital.”

“Oh, I’m not going outside. I’m just grabbing some water. It’s really dry in there. Do you guys know where the dispenser is?” I hold up the pink plastic pitcher for proof, as I smile brightly…too brightly. The men look at each other, neither knowing what to do. Their orders were to not let me outside, but I just wanted to go a few feet down the hallway. They play a game of chicken before the larger man shrugs and points towards an open room about three doors down.

“Thanks, guys,” I say politely. I turn back to them as I head into the room with the noisy vending machines and the whizzing fluorescent lights. “We really appreciate everything your team is doing.” They smile at me and turn back to their chairs. I sneak around the corner, using the reflection on the coffee machine to see them both returning to their phones. Their fingers click away at the keys, as I reach over and press the button for the ice. The dispenser roars horribly, but from what I can tell, neither of the men take their eyes off of their screens.

I place the pitcher full of ice down, as I realize that I have one chance at this. I’m going to have to be quick if I’m going to get this right. I take the rubber band from around my wrist and pull my hair up into a severely tight bun at the top of my head. The black sweater that I had tied around my waist goes back on my shoulders as I button it up to my neck. Using the water from the machine, I scrub down my face, washing away the black mascara and pink blush. I need to look as far from me as possible.

When I’m done, I take a long pause to shake out my arms and legs, and in one long stride, I stick myself out of the vending machine room into the hallway, walking straight towards the exit stairs just another two doors down. My heart races as I listen, but no one calls my name. No one gets up from his or her chair. The door is mine to be opened.

As I hit the stairs, I run as fast as my feet can take me. I thank God that I wore ballet slippers and not a ridiculous pair of heels as I practically jump from stair to stair. When I’m finally outside, I pass a small group of doctors, nurses, and orderlies smoking away out on a terrace. They spot me, but their only reaction is to put out their cigarettes or to turn away from my view. At least I won’t be getting caught by them.

To my left is the cabstand I was hoping to find. A few yellow cars and their drivers sit quietly running before the first one catches me running at him with my arms waving. I don’t wait for him to get out and get the door for me. I’m already there in the backseat panting and heaving.

“You all right, Miss?” The man asks in a thick accent from underneath an unruly mustache. “Are you sure you should be leaving the hospital like this?”

I catch a glimpse at myself in his rearview mirror. My bun is a disaster; I’ve got flyaways going every which damn way. The makeup I had attempted to wash off my face is practically running down my cheeks, giving me the look of a disheveled prostitute who has just been punched in the face. My blue dress is covered in stains and sweat from the day, and at the neckline, you can see my collarbones pulling up and down as I attempt to catch my breath. “No, no.” I try to reassure him. “I’m okay. Just a little shaken up.”

He eyes me suspiciously before asking, “Where can I take you?”

My mind goes completely blank. I honestly haven’t thought this all the way through. I just wanted to get out of the hospital and my headspace. Now that I had the freedom, I wasn’t sure if I should run back inside to Carmen’s room or race off someplace far away from here. I try to push aside Tank’s voice in my head as he yells at me to get back into that damned hospital and stay put, but I’m too stubborn for that. Plus, I’m done listening to him. He broke up with me and left me wondering about his plans for revenge.

“Twelve forty Opal Street, please,” I say quietly, noticing that the man is staring at me as if I’ve been off my meds for too long. I honestly can’t blame him; I’m not your usual passenger.

As the car zooms off towards the highway, back to El Paso’s downtown, I slowly drift into the leather seats and close my eyes. A hand drifts to my mouth as I place my fingertips to my lips. They still burn with Tank’s last kiss. I can feel his hands gently push me out into the hallway with the sound of the supply closet door shutting tightly behind him.

How can that all have happened just hours ago? It feels like centuries. Our entire relationship has aged me to the point that I don’t remember the Sierra I was before this. I don’t know that girl with the backpack full of books, or the one who would stand up in class and argue with the professor. I don’t even know the one who hung out with Aztecs and pretended to be above it all. That girl had vanished when Tank came into my life. Now that he was gone, who was I to become now?

“This is it, isn’t it?” The driver’s voice interrupted my dreams as my eyes popped open. It was darker in this part of town. The streetlights had barely been turned on, and my apartment complex loomed in shadows.

“Yes, thank you,” I said, handing him a wad of money from my change purse in my dress pockets. “Keep the change.”

I walk slowly up the cement path, past the deck and alcove, and up to my apartment. Everything is as I had left it. Nothing changed. Nothing unusual. It’s as if it has been completely isolated from the rest of my life. I can even hear the sound of Mrs. Moreno yelling at her husband to pick up his socks as I pass her door on the other side of the building.

The apartment itself is dark, dingy almost. I can still smell my breakfast of pancakes and eggs, as it lingers from the garbage can. I was in such a rush to get to Carmen that my stomach ached when I attempted to eat a bite of it. My stomach turns as I try to think of the last time I actually did eat.

I head to the kitchen and pull down a large silver pot from the rack. While the water boils, I go through the cabinets looking for that box of pasta I knew Carmen had bought months ago for “lazy meals.” She was always trying to eat less carbs, but she knew pasta was the easiest fix for busy school days. “It’s comforting!” She would say as I gave her a knowing, judging look. “Let me eat it in peace!”

I smile, as I pour the yellow noodles into the pot. They clunk up against the side, and the water sizzles in reaction. I wait mindlessly by the stove, my mind drifting everywhere but here until I feel the tears sputter from my eyes. Even thinking of nothing is breaking me in pieces.

“No! No! No! Sierra! No!” I practically yell at myself like a crazy, deranged woman. “You are better than this. Go get yourself cleaned up and then decide what the hell you’re going to do with your life now.” Old Sierra, the brave and bold Sierra was taking charge.

I march down the empty hallway past Carmen’s sealed shut room to mine. My bed is still a mess from last night’s romp. The dresser where Tank and I made love practically looks as if it’s going to fall over on itself if anyone touches it, and the bed’s sheets are in a tangled, rolled up mess on the floor next to the pillows he had thrown off before sneaking out of bed.

I try to ignore all the signs that Tank’s been here and head straight to the closet. I yank down the first dress I find—a black, sleeveless dress with a black tie. It’s impractical, way too tight to be a getaway dress, but I just wanted to wear something that wasn’t covered in tears, sweat, and hospital smell. I slip off the pair of panties as well and opt for a sexier, red thong. If I was going with a theme, I was going to go all the way.