Page 13 of Wildcat

“All right, when I saw the picture from Squirt something stood out on Joey. The tattoo on his left forearm, so I researched that design. We’ve seen it on other members of the brotherhood. As I was digging further, started to see photos of men who didn’t match up with the Thunder Cloud Knuckle Brotherhood MO. Turns out they have been reaching out to different minority males who have had rough lives. They convince them that together they can change the world, or some bullshit like that. I’m not a person of color who’s come up in the world being treated worse than dog shit, so I don’t get why a person would, one, trust them, or two, want to join them. Maybe you can get an answer out of Michael. Hang on, Malcolm, I’m getting to that. You must have known how bad his family life was with his parents. Well, guess at one of their lowest moments they offered their young son to the brotherhood to run errands and erase their own debt. And the rest is history. As Michael aged, his involvement with that bunch got deeper. I know he just about lived with you, did you notice anything different about him when you guys were around fifteen or sixteen? He was a suspect in a double murder, where two white women were raped and brutally beaten to death. From what we can gather that was some kind of initiation.”

Malcolm pulls his hand to his lap while shaking his head violently.

“No, that’s not possible. How would we not know any of that? My parents treated him like one of their own. I mean, we were as close as two kids could be. How the fuck didn’t we know? If he was a suspect, why didn’t the police come to our house and ask questions?”

“Because, Malcolm, even though you truly treated him like family, he wasn’t, and had his own fucked-up family. The police questioned his parents, who provided him with an alibi. It wasn’t but a month later that the fire happened. No proof, but from the evidence out there I don’t doubt Michael murdered his parents—maybe with help, maybe not—and started the fire. He’s beyond damaged, not only by his sick-as-fuck parents but also by the many years he’s been a part of the brotherhood. Did you know Michael knows both Gerald and Joey?”

I feel Malcolm jerk back as if someone punched him right in the face. Now I wish Glory wouldn’t have called Shadow to step down from working Michael over. That motherfucker deserves everything she would have done to him and more. I don’t have a good feeling about this at all. When I came to in the hospital, I remember the first time Michael came to my room to “check in” on me. I didn’t understand the smirk on his face, but I was in so much pain and the drugs messed with my head. Since he knew Joey and Gerald, I wonder. Oh God was he a part of our attack? Holy shit did he rape me? And if so, why?

Malcolm jumps to his feet, the chair falling backward. He goes to turn but I grab him, holding on tightly, knowing it’s coming. When the cry comes from his chest, it sounds like an animal in pain. Then comes the shaking fits and finally the sobs. I see everyone get up and leave except Raven. She comes around her desk and hugs me from behind. She gets it because she’s been through something very similar. This is how my parents find us and they don’t say a word, just wrap the three of us in their arms as Malcolm cries from the depths of his broken soul.

FOURTEEN

‘SHADOW’

ZOEY

Not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to calmly sit here with this jackass smirking at me. Something about this piece of shit makes me think I should know him, and in my profession, I always trust my gut. I’m racking my brain to try and fit his face, though I don’t even know what I’m trying to do. When I hear a dark chuckle, I look at his face. This time it’s me smirking. I might not be torturing him but he’s not going anywhere either. He’s on the specialized piece of wood that I had one of the guys from the sanctuary make for me. It’s just wide enough to hold someone’s waist against the width of it, but the arms and legs hang off the sides, which makes it very convenient to hang small weights off the wrists and ankles. My thought behind this type of torture is it’s slow and extremely ball-busting painful. I should know, I designed the wood table pole, and the weights depend on if the person is in good shape or bad. What eventually happens to the asshole on the table is their shoulders can’t handle the weight and they dislocate out of the sockets. This jagbag, Michael, I’ve got to give him some quiet kudos. Since I put the additional weight on a few minutes ago, not at any time since I started adding weights has he shown any sign of pain. I know he’s experiencing it, even though he’s trying to be as stoic as he can manage. Actually, as time goes by, it’s starting to fucking piss me off.

“So guess you don’t recognize me, do you?”

My head snaps back before I can control it. First thing a person must do in this type of situation is control all movement and emotions. Don’t engage because then they have the upper hand. I know this, goddamn it, why did I react? So at this moment I decide if he keeps running his mouth, I’ll use duct tape to keep his pie hole closed. Then my world shifts.

“Do they call you Shadow because of that thing on your face? Or is it because you move like a shadow in the night? Come on, tell me, Shadow, or should I call you by your real name? If I remember correctly, it’s Zoey, right? Zoey De Luca, the daughter of Dario De Luca? He was your father, right? Is any of this coming back to you, bicha? How about that cage remember how he kept you in it and only took you out for you to entertain his new friends?” The deeper rumbling sound of his voice immediately has my guard come up as goose bumps form on both of my arms. The baby hairs on the back of my neck are standing up. A reel of film starts rolling in my mind’s eye and I can’t stop it. Holy mother of God, no, this can’t be happening? Not now. Fuck no. Then he starts to laugh and I lose it. My eyes skim the area until I find what I want. Moving like my name, I grab a six-inch Gordon Bowie knife in one hand and brass knuckles in the other. Michael is grinning like a lunatic as I approach him. His next words literally eradicate my soul.

“Do what you have to, Zoey, but you will never erase me from your thoughts or more importantly your nightmares. You and me are connected in so many ways, bicha slut. The way you obeyed me every single time I visited Dario, if not you paid because there are always consequences with your actions. Remember how I pounded that into your head literally. I’m sure you remember what bicha in Puerto Rican means right? Well, it appears at this present time our roles are reversed. Or are they? Let’s see if you can give as good as I gave you back then.”

I raise the hand with my Bowie and swing down across his chest. I’m not going super deep, just enough to make it burn. This is not going to be a one and done, it needs to last. I’ve done this enough my entire life in the Devil’s Handmaidens so that I could do this all day and still he wouldn’t die. Back and forth I find my rhythm and just keep at it. Blood is covering my front and Michael isn’t laughing anymore, which is a good thing. So caught up in my never-ending nightmare, thanks to my dad, I never hear the door behind me open or my name being yelled out. One minute I’m swinging and the next I’m up against the wall. Fuck, wrong thing to do as I push off while swinging my body to the left then right to break away. I know deep down this person has no intention of hurting me. What they don’t realize is my mind—no, my entire being—is back there in my past, not here in the present. I turn my body and swing my hand with the brass knuckles into their side. A solid kidney punch and whoever it is goes down with a hard thump. Fuck, when I see the red hair I know instantly it’s Heartbreaker. Goddamn it, I think as I fling the knuckles off my hand and drop the knife.

Poor Heartbreaker is in agony. I can tell by the sounds coming out of her. It was a direct hit to her kidneys. Fuck, I need help immediately or my sister could die. I walk to the table and dial Goldilocks.

“Kind of busy, Zoey.”

“Got a situation, one of our sisters is hurt. Need someone down here now. Michael is in some trouble also. I totally fucked up. I’ll explain when you get down here.”

I disconnect before she can ask her million and one questions, as usual. Yeah, I fucked up and not only that, I hurt a fellow sister. That’s my main thought as I kneel next to Heartbreaker. When I glance up at Michael, he’s still grinning as blood drips from every cut puddling on the cement floor below him. I don’t give a damn about him. My concern is for my sister. The door to my wet room flies open with Raven, Rebel first, then Tink and Glory. Wildcat is behind them with Malcolm close by. When he sees his friend cut and bleeding, I watch him approach him, not thinking at all. Jumping up, I get between them, hands on Malcolm who tries to shrug me off.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Shadow? My God, he needs to get to a hospital. Help me get him down.”

“Not gonna happen and he’s far from dying. Believe me, Malcolm, if I wanted him dead, he’d be fucking dead. Malcolm, you don’t know who this monster is so you need to relax and let me explain a few things to you about your friend, Michael.”

Raven is on one side of Malcolm while Rebel is on the other, making sure the situation doesn’t go south, I get that, though this time I made it go that way. Glancing around, I see Goldilocks/Tink watching me. I give her a head nod to the door and she understands. Just as I’m about to walk out, Michael starts screaming.

“Zoey, don’t go. Come on, we were just getting started. I’m sure you’ve had years to think about me in your nightmares. Come on, slut, if this is the best torture you got then you didn’t learn a thing from me years ago. Don’t quit on me now, you filthy biker bicha.”

The room goes deadly quiet until Wildcat grabs a towel out of a cabinet and walks over to Michael, who has gone instantly quiet when she approaches. She stuffs the towel in his mouth, turns to Malcolm, and mouths, “I’m so sorry, Malty.” His head drops as we walk out the door.

“Zoey, you know him? How? What’s wrong? Come on, talk to me. I’m here. Please, you’re scaring me. TALK TO ME, ZOEY, GODDAMN IT.”

I look down and into her stunning green eyes filled with worry. It doesn’t matter anymore; everyone knows what happened to me.

“Michael is the worst kind of sadist. I belonged to him for almost a year before Dario demanded I be returned back to him. I thought he was either dead or found a hole to hide in. Goldilocks, I’m sorry. You said not to touch him, but when he started poking at me, I just totally lost it. Had to poke him back and make it hurt. He’s not going to die but he’s gonna be in some severe pain. And shit, Heartbreaker, is she okay?”

“Hey, don’t worry, we got this. Now take a few breaths, then we’re going back in there and you’re going to tell us exactly what, when, and how you know Michael. ’Kay?”

I nod as I lean against the hallway wall. My head is pounding and my insides are flipping all over. Dario and his demented ways and the choices he made for me will never go away. I’ll never be free. No matter how hard I work at being a better human being. No, not better, just a human being.

One minute I’m covered in blood, looking at the faces of my club sisters, the next I’m wrapped up in arms around my waist. Wildcat is holding on tightly.

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