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Mario was a complication in my life that I rarely had enough energy to process how to handle. Nikki loved to point out that I refused to acknowledge Mario’s obsession with me, and the longer I put off cutting him off, the more trouble I would be in. But how do you cut off the person who acted as your security blanket?
It was a twisted relationship between Mario and me. At seventeen, I’d been on my own for so long that I latched on to the first sense of security and affection given. But Mario’s affection came with strings. Strings I didn’t know how, or if, I wanted to cut at the time. And then, when I started becoming close with Sergio, the thought of losing another father figure terrified me, and Mario held the threat over my head. I tried to put distance between us, hoping his obsession would wane. But despite all his girlfriends and fuck buddies, I stayed the object of his attention.
Pulled back to my phone, I typed out a response. A coppery tang filled my mouth, where I broke the skin, gnawing on my lip and waiting for a response.
Me: Sorry. I was in the shower.
Me: And Sergio just told me tonight that I’m going to be running the arms deal with the new MC. Didn’t know anything about it until a few hours ago.
Me: Your father employs me. You know I have to do as he says.
I hoped the last text would get me off the hook from any backlash, needing Mario to realize I hadn’t planned this. I’d worked toward this goal the last few years, but he didn’t need to know that. I may be a killer and have a whole slew of moral and psychological issues, but Mario…Mario was a completely different monster.
The three dots indicating typing appeared on the screen but then disappeared, sending nervous energy coursing through my body.
Mario: Yes. For now, you do.
A chill ran down my spine at those words. What the fuck did that mean, and why did it feel like a very thinly veiled threat?
Mario: Sleep well, my Muñeca.
Gunner
Hammering down on the throttle, I pushed my bike faster and faster. I needed this—needed the release. These were the only moments I got to escape from my cage and experience freedom. A few seconds of joy before being locked away again in my current reality—the current state of my affairs.
Speeding along the highway, I welcomed the wind hitting my face and the watering of my eyes.
The clearing of my mind.
My job required me to stay focused and alert. See the signs of change in Tucson’s underbelly and know what went on and who the top players were. Metal fencing popped up to my right, the walls of my cage coming into view. I pulled into the compound and parked in my usual spot next to Dex’s ride. It seemed I arrived last at tonight’s church. Throwing my leg over my bike, I made my way into the clubhouse.
From the outside, there wasn’t much to see. It looked more like a warehouse than a place a bunch of bikers would live in, but that was by design. Skeletons of Society wasn’t exactly a boy scout troop, so lots of effort went into shielding the club from wandering eyes—both from the law and from other “upstanding citizen groups” like ourselves.
A prospect whose name I hadn’t bothered to remember ran up, pulling the door open for me. I nodded my head in thanks, showing him a bit of kindness. Something prospects weren’t used to around here.
They were here to prove their loyalty to the Skeletons of Society in hopes of getting patched in. The initiation process was ruthless as fuck. And since every member went through it, complaining fell on deaf ears. In fact, if you said shit about getting hazed, you would never get back on club property again. Until prospects had been around for longer than a few months, I didn’t bother getting to know their names.
The inside of the club looked nothing like the outside. There were two levels. The top housed all the patched brothers’ rooms for anyone who wanted or needed one. Members with old ladies usually lived somewhere off compound, but for the rest of us, we stayed in rooms here.
The main level looked like a bachelor’s MTV Cribs fantasy. The smell of sex and weed permeated the space. Big-screen TVs lined the walls, while a bar with every beer imaginable on tap took up the whole right side of the clubhouse. And, of course, stripper poles for all the club bunnies and hang-arounds to perform on were spread throughout the space. Not to mention the dozens of seating areas strategically placed to accommodate extracurricular activities that didn’t make it to a member’s bed. Or for members like me, who didn’t want a girl to get any ideas that she’d be getting anything other than a fuck and maybe a high-five after.
“Gunner, get your fucking pretty-boy ass in here,” Pres yelled, his head hanging out the door where we met for church. The irritation in his tone brought a cocky grin to my face.
Yup, definitely the last one to church.
My smirk only grew when I walked in and saw that Dex had saved my usual seat for me.
“What? Were you fuckers waiting for me?” I called out, getting me a middle finger from Pres and a snicker from Dex.
The enforcer was a giant of a man; it was why he’d gotten the job. That and his ability to get anyone to speak when needed. I’d never met anyone as proficient at breaking men. Then again, he didn’t have anyone restricting which tactics he could use to do the job. Easier to get someone to talk when you could cut off appendages and there was no one above you to reprimand you. Pres gave Dex full rein as long as his methods worked. We were both a bit deranged at this point.
Seeing as much shit as we had over the years kept our moral compasses from working quite the same way as others still out in society. Sometimes I wondered if I should fall farther down the proverbial rabbit hole.
The boom of Pres’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Assholes. It’s time to get to business now that his royal highness has arrived,” he called out.
Pres started calling me that when I first arrived. Said it was because I came with a lot of extra work.
He wasn’t wrong.
