Page 30 of Dragon Strife
I take a look around the room, taking it all in, and again, another shot of nostalgia hits me in the gut. It’s similar to the Dragons' compound with the bar to the right and a pool table to the left. The floor holds much to be desired with its multitude of stains, some looking suspiciously like dried blood. When I was ushered out of the compound by Diego, he took me through the exit on the other side of the building, avoiding this area, so this is all new to me. It’s not as well-kept as the Dragons’ compound, but it’s not completely rundown either. Though the place could use a deep clean.
“Charles!” the bartender calls out as he wipes down the bar. “They’re waiting for you in Hell.” Not him either.
“Thanks, Rockz!” Malik replies and places a hand on my lower back. “Let’s go, Slayer.”
I’m led down a corridor toward a set of double doors, their size large and intimidating. There’s a golden plaque attached to the wood slab and the closer we get, the clearer the etching on its surface becomes. It’s a ram’s skull, the detail so intricate that the sight gives me goose bumps. The large horns curl around the skull and the sharpened tips point to the words carved below.
Welcome to Hell.
They refer to their meetings as Hell, interesting.
About a foot from the door sits a prospect, his hands steepled as he watches us. “You know the rules,” he says with a smirk, his hungry eyes roving over me. He’s too young and the pitch is too high. “Drop your pieces in the basket.”
There’s a small table to the prospect’s right, a wicker basket sitting on top and filled with about six or seven guns. The thought of walking into a room with a group of men doesn’t bother me, it’s the fact that one of them may be the man responsible for the echoing ache still resonating inside my soul. It’s a wound I can’t patch or will ever heal from.
“Ready?” Diego murmurs as Malik growls at the prospect before dropping his gun in the basket.
“Yes.” I lift my chin, letting the courage I’ve mustered on my way over here shine through. Malik is once again at my back, giving me reassurance as Diego hauls on the large handle and then pushes open the door.
Eight men turn to look at us as we step into the room. A large, oak table takes up most of the space, as do the larger-than-life men sitting around it. I scan each of them as I step aside, keeping my back to the wall as Malik closes the door. The older man at the head of the table is Barrett I would assume, his shit-eating grin and greasy gray hair giving me the fucking creeps. Seated to his left is another large man, his hair is black and coarse, sprinkled with gray, and his face is covered in a thick, salt-and-pepper beard, giving him the look of a bear. Aptly named. Across from him, the seat is empty and my eyes skip to Malik, the Vice. That would be his seat to the right of the President. The rest are burly-looking men of different ages but have all the same hardened features.
A chair kicks out at the opposite end of the long table, the man to the right of it giving me a soft smile. “You can sit here,” he suggests, his voice a smooth tenor with no rasp.
“It’s okay, we stay standing,” Diego interjects as he looks to the front of the table. “We’re here.”
The one named Bear opens his mouth to say something, but Malik cuts in, “How about we cut to the fucking chase?”
Bear shuts his mouth as his eyes land on me, the muddy color emanating a clear disdain. I wish I could see his boots because just with his vibe alone, I fear he’s the one who was in the basement with me. Barrett inclines his head, his eyes flicking between Malik and me, the look close to that of boredom. I know he wants me here for his purposes only and anything else we talk about will be a moot point, but I have to try.
“We’re here—” Malik begins.
“Can I?” I cut him off gently. This is my plan and I need to be the one to execute it, to be strong enough to propose it. A low whistle comes from the man who initially kicked out the chair, his grin a mocking one aimed for Malik. I know the places women have in these clubs, and what I did technically was disrespectful, but I need to show I can be more than walking tits and vagina. My eyes slip to his name badge and then I look Davis in the eye, hoping to make him feel uncomfortable as I ask, “Is it alright if I speak?”
He sits up straighter and looks around the table, finding everyone watching him. “Uh… yeah.”
“Great.” I nod and step toward the large oak, running my fingers along the surface. “Thank you for agreeing to Diego and Malik training me, it has been a hard few months, but I’m better because of it.” I direct my comment to the President who has a ghost of a smile on his face, but he inclines his head once more, his seemingly easy nature making me a bit wary. I was expecting pushback. “As you know, my brother, Jaeger, struck a deal for you to take me from my own home and bring me here to your compound.” I clear my throat, fighting hard not to add,you also wanted me to die in that basement. “He has since taken over the Steel Dragons as their President, a position that was rightfully mine.”
A few snickers sound around the table and I can’t blame them. A female motorcycle club president is unheard of. I begin to walk around the right side of the table, comforted by the fact that most aren’t armed and the one that may be is needing me alive. I walk slowly, ensuring to watch for any sudden movements and keeping my back to the wall.
“I would like to propose a new deal with you, if you would hear me out.” My eye is on Barrett as his mouth curves more, giving me a quick nod. Another deep chuckle sounds and my eyes lift to Bear’s as my hair stands on end. Is that the voice? “I need help to dethrone my backstabbing brother, and in exchange, I will be more than happy to join forces with Hell’s March and face the cartel.”
I stop behind Malik’s empty seat, facing Barrett but Bear is still in my periphery, his smarmy grin lining his mouth. My fingers wrap around the wooden chairback as I continue to watch Barrett, his face a mask of contemplation. My heart beats up into my throat as the silence stretches, making me fear all of this was a waste of time.
The legs of the chair scrape along the floor as I step around it, bringing myself closer to Barrett as he suddenly rises from his chair. He looks at Malik and Diego as they take a few steps toward me, making me stupidly turn my head from Barrett and onto them. I know my mistake a little too late as the barrel of a gun is quickly pressed to my temple.
“Hey!” Malik bellows at the same time Diego says, “Prez, what are you doing?”
“You trained her, right? Let’s see how good she is.”
It’s him.
The gun is cocked and I stare into Malik’s eyes as he frantically tries to get to me but two brothers stand to hold him back as Diego creeps forward.
“Not another step, Montez,” Barrett says as he presses the barrel in closer. That deep, raspy voice, sounding like he smokes at least a pack a day. I would know it anywhere, and instead of being scared of death, a sudden calm comes over me.
The death calm.
He raped me repeatedly, used my body until I was nothing more than skin and bones, then discarded me into death’s hands. It’s the least I can do by repaying the favor. It’s not the training given to me by Malik and Diego that comes in those quick seconds. I’m suddenly twisting quickly to jab my fist into Barrett’s wrist, making him fold the gun inward and away from my head. I have that split-second threshold to grab the handle with my right hand as my left slams into his cheek, catching him by surprise. I send a silent thank you to Laith and the first lesson he taught me.
