Born to It Page 2

  “I’m not gonna be a distraction,” Dia says jutting out a hip and resting her hand on it.

  “It’s not about you, Princess.” Our father tells her with a firm stare. “Today, it’s about your brother. The man he has grown into. The dues he has paid. The cut he has earned. This ride is his to take and his to take alone.”

  “Ol’ ladies ride,” Dia again challenges to which our mother glares.

  Our mother being the head of the women in the club mimics my sister’s stance as she explains. “Ol’ ladies earn their place too. It ain’t about being born to this club, Dia. You gotta understand that.”

  She throws her hands up in frustration. “It’s all about BW. I get it. His day, his ride, his cut. All because he was born with a damn Y chromosome and a dick.” Dia rushes off as our father glares and his nostrils flare with anger.

  “Check your attitude, Dia,” he shouts out after her. “I won’t be disrespected because you wanna throw some damn temper-tantrum.”

  Our mom pats our dad’s chest. “Easy, Talon. It’s hard to be raised to be a strong, independent woman, only to then get told you gotta stay in your lane. She’s young. At fifteen, I begged my dad to take me on The Tail. Every year he gave me the same speech and it wasn’t until I took the ride with you that very first time twenty-three years ago that I truly understood what he had told me for my entire life.”

  I look out at the road ahead. I know all about the ride. I’ve studied the map and readied my mind.

  Year after year, people ignore the warnings. The asphalt here is unforgiving and is happy to swallow man and machine whole. I may have adrenaline in my veins, but I still have my brain. I’m not about to fuck up because my mind didn’t understand the ride ahead of me.

  The curves of The Tail are like the curves of a woman. And Heaven knows, I love my women to be full of curves. Deep ones, short ones, sharp ones, and wide ones, I want to touch them all. Today, like a woman I’ll grab the pavement and hug that shit tight, hold it close, and caress it gently, but always with a firm hand. This ride defines me from a boy into a man.

  For the club, the ride is to solidify your trust in your new brother. We ride two by two, only feet separate our handlebars as we glide through each mile of mountain black-top. It’s a ride where the ol’ ladies hold on tight, giving their complete trust to her man. We ride all together as one.

  As we line up, Red, my best-friend and I take our place in the back like we have more than a thousand rides before. Except as we settle into our places, two-by-two, the brother’s all move creating a parting of the sea of bikes from the club. Every charter we have from the Carolina’s is in attendance today. Slowly, we ride our way up the rows. When we reach Rex, my father’s cousin, right-hand man, and Catawba Charter President, I get a chin lift as he too moves from behind my father.

  When the club rides together, my father always leads with Tank, Red’s dad at his right side. Everyone falls in line with officers first and fading back to patched members, and prospects hold up the rear. When all the charters are together, my dad leads with Tank at his right, and Rex is always directly behind him with Shooter, his VP to his right. Never has there been a separation farther than that between the cousins and patched brothers.

  Red and I roll to a stop behind my dad and his. Talon “Tripp” Crews has been the president to the Haywood’s Hellions MC and overseer to the entire club with Frank “Tank” Oleander as his VP since Roundman passed the gavel to him. Kenneth “Red” Oleander and I have been inseparable since birth and today is no different. He’s at my side as we both get our cuts.

  My dad climbs off his ride as does my mother. Tank and Sass, Red’s mom, climb off as well. Reaching into their saddlebags, a feeling of pride overcomes me as I see my father lift my cut.

  “Typically this waits at the end of the ride, but you boys have busted ass and taken your shit. I’m honored to have you take this ride as my son and my brother. The vote was unanimous. You’ve done your time, paid your dues. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve grown into. Blaine Ward Crews, today you ride with this cut. You’re not just my son, BW, you’re now my equal. My brother, it’s time we take your ride.”

  He tosses me the leather and I put it on feeling at home and at peace.

  I was born to wear this cut.

  I was born to take this ride.

  I was born to be none other than a brother in the Hellions MC.

  Five Years Later

  Chapter One

  Karsci

  I’ve lived a thousand lives and died two thousand deaths, but the lioness inside of me will never cower or break.

  If this is the night I shall perish, let it be over. If this is the night it should all end, let it be painful. The space around me is void. It matches the woman left inside me.

  Empty.

  I’m only here when I’m not on an assignment. Typically, I’m gone more than I’m home. If someone had to label this place I suppose that’s the correct verbiage — “home”, even though it’s far from it. Personally, I think the place is garbage like my fucking entire existence.

  Alas, my handler requires my presence here between assignments and I have no where else to go so this is home.

  At least until it isn’t.

  One day, I’ll be free. I don’t know when that time will come, but I have to believe it will. Otherwise … well otherwise my mind will go to the dark places, and every time I let myself go there it’s harder and harder for me to dig myself out of the blackness. One day it will all be over … one way or another.

  If it should be at the end of my life then in death, I will find my freedom. At least, I hope.

  The space was once a grocery store. Now, the outer walls built from stacked cement blocks make the back two corners of my room. The interior walls were added in with sheetrock that goes high up to the ceiling where a bay block light hangs by chains with the four tube bulbs illuminating the space. I have no pictures, no personal effects, and not even a dresser to store my clothes. Everything I have is in duffle bags stashed and ready to go at any given moment. They go with me on every assignment. Should I not return, there would be no trace left here that I ever existed in the first place. It’s the way my handlers like it.

  I find it’s the way I like it too.

  “Fox,” he bellows my name and I lift up from my cot. Yes, cot because a bed was a luxury and this life didn’t give me any of those.

  Bernie’s tone is sharp, to the point like always. It’s who he is.

  Sharp.

  Like a knife.

  I don’t hesitate. Time is everything and every second counts.

  Making my way from my cell, I head down the hall to the meeting room. Just before I reach the glass front of the building is a room built into the open space that was once probably where the registers were to the store is the room we all dread coming to. Other than the bathroom and my cell, this is the only other room in this place I go in. What else may lie inside these walls and whomever else may reside here is not my concern. Entering, I take in the large conference table where I’m sure someone built the table thinking discussions would be had here, but they never do.

  A discussion means one person speaks, is heard, to which another person replies, is heard, and any other individuals who wish to pipe in do so. That’s not what occurs in this room or at this table.

  This place is for a tyrant. This space is where assignments are given and never turned away. This room is where people are forced into submission.

  All around a conference table. How unexpected, but how real it is for me.

  Bernie plops down in the chair third down from the head of the table on the right. Bernie is an old man with white hair. His frame isn’t small but he isn’t obese or overly large either. Bernie is just Bernie. An old man with trimmed hair and a handlebar beard. A man who will not hesitate to kill you with his bare hands. A man who has years of many martial arts training behind him and a skillset unmatched
by anyone who has come up in the ranks after him. A man who should be feared. I step in and go to the seat at the left of Titus. Titus the tyrant, the Devil in the flesh, and my owner. This place is one I have been to a thousand times before.

  “Fox,” Titus greets to which I nod rather than speak. I know better than to reply unless it is to give a yes or no answer.

  Let me clarify, I won’t reply unless I am saying yes because a man like Titus Blackwell never gets told no. More so, he’ll never be told no by me. I did it once and I’ll never do it again.

  “My cock is hard,” Titus says reaching out and grabbing my hand before I can register what he said.

  Pulling me hard, he puts my palm over his crotch forcing me to lean over the table. My tits press hard into the wood. Titus’s gaze shoots straight to the edge of my V-neck shirt where my cleavage is on display. I’ll be sure to burn this shirt later. He licks his lips. On his exhale, I smell the bourbon on his breath.

  Bile threatens to spew from my mouth as my stomach churns wanting to vomit from repulsion.

  “You ready to get frisky, Fox?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat and close my eyes tightly. I won’t answer.

  “You ready to take this large, thick cock in those plump red lips of yours, Fox? I want to feel the back of your throat. I want to watch your eyes water as you struggle to take me, all of me. Then just before I shoot my load all over your face, I’ll shove my cock so far in your tight ass you scream because the pain is so intense as you feel all of me.” He laughs at his own taunting.

  I turn my head avoiding his gaze.

  “Ah, not today then. I see. One day, you’ll give in.”

  He moves my hand up and down his length. He’s massive and there is no doubt in my mind he would do exactly what he said and rip my ass in two just because the fucker can.

  “I look forward to the day, Fox.” He makes a popping sound as he smacks his lips together. “Sammi was sweet, but you got that fire, that sass, I bet that pussy is tangy.”

  I fight back the emotions. Far too many times I have let him see his wins, to know his true power over me. No more. He broke Sammi, he won’t break me.

  I have the heart of a lion, the skills of a fox, and the determination of a sinner damned to Hell trying to find an escape.

  Releasing me, I drop into the chair and lift my head slowly. Meeting his gaze, I keep my face frozen. Not a single emotion will he find. Not a single way in because my soul may be tarnished and covered in blood but it’s still fucking mine.

  The file folder with an envelope slides across the table to me from Jackal, my personal handler for job assignments, is stoic as he does his job. Every man in this room has the authority to issue an assignment to me, but it’s on Jackal to make all of the arrangements for my alias, my lodging, and my backstory. Bernie, he’s responsible for my actions in house. It is his job to keep me in line when I’m in Titus’ compound.

  Each of them can punish me should I break a rule or do anything they determine to be cross to anyone in Titus’ organization. Jackal, though, he’s my current report person and contact when outside of the building. It’s a streamlined process to prevent anything being tied back to Titus.

  “Inside you’ll find a debit card for your new account,” Jackal explains what I already know. “There are keys to the house listed in the paperwork. You have two targets. The first has a time limit. Execution must be completed in seventy-two hours. Your cover job has been set up and your first shift is tonight. After that you’ll go to your new home. In seven days you start your second assignment. You’ll report to your new job and follow all instructions outlined in the file. The two bags at the door contain your makeup, wigs, contacts, and prosthetic pieces to mask your identity. You have six months to complete the assignment or it’s considered a failure. There can be no mistakes and absolutely no blow back on the second assignment so use all of the time we’ve allotted. Do you have any questions?”

  I don’t open the envelope. I don’t open the folder. I don’t need to.

  I shake my head because I don’t have any questions.

  “Dismissed,” Titus orders.

  I nod my head.

  It doesn’t matter if the target is the President himself, if I am ordered to a job and to make a hit, I do so. I won’t fail because I can’t fail.

  Without a word from me, I rise and leave the room. Moving to my cell of a room, I gather my duffle from under the bed and check my weapons. From there, I grab the other bag with my clothes. Taking a glance at the folder I memorize target one’s information. I take in the address to my new home and my first job.

  Slinging the bags over my shoulders, I walk out. At my car, I inhale the fresh Virginia air before I climb in my 1984 Ford Mustang, Fox Body of course. When I get paid from a cover job, I am allowed to keep the money. Not every task assigned to me allows me to have a real job and make a real paycheck so saving up for the car took a while. The money in her engine, well that took longer. The times it’s been painted, put back together, re-etched on the identification numbers, the countless false registrations as I move from city to city on assignments —Putting the key in, I relish the power as the engine comes to life.

  Contained fury lies inside this machine of metal just like me.

  A five hour drive down the coast lands me in the Crystal Coast of North Carolina. I stop at the last rest area before heading into the city. With precision I apply the stage additions to my face and blend everything professionally. With contacts in place and my wig secure, I now match the identity I’ll be assuming on this job.

  After finishing up, I climb back in my car and ascend into the military supported town and find the business I’ve been assigned to. Snatches, is the strip club I’ve been set up to work at and find my mark.

  The building looks well-maintained from the outside with a gray stucco exterior and black tinted windows only teasing people that they could see inside. The reflection alone let me know they weren’t real.

  Parking my car, I grab the small sling back bag and tuck the essentials for the night inside it. Getting out, I make my way to the door where a large bald man stands. He opens the black-tinted glass door for me inviting me inside.

  “Dressin’ room is down the right wall all the way to the back. Celeste is waiting to show you the ropes and get your song line up.”

  I hesitate. “How do you know I’m here to work?”

  He lifts his phone taps a few buttons and pulls up a picture of me, well the me I’ve dolled myself up to look like, with a resume for Sammi Westgate. “Tony gave me the info to let you pass in.”

  I nod and step into the role. Sammi, always a reminder of Sammi.

  One day I’m going to kill Titus Blackwell and carve Sammi’s name on his chest before I do it.

  Upon further inspection as I enter the place, there are indeed no windows along the walls which made my earlier assumption in the parking lot about them accurate. On a sigh, I press on and make my way to the back where a woman with long black hair streaked in teal and purple sits applying blue lipstick to her overly injected lips.

  “Hello,” I greet.

  She turns to me and smiles big. “You must be Sammi!”

  Her enthusiasm makes me anxious. I’m not here to make friends. Unshaken by my stoic stance and nonverbal reply, she continues on standing to hug me.

  I don’t hug her back.

  “I’m Celeste,” she explains as I watch in wonder as her tits remain in place as the rest of her body moves. Definitely, a bought set and her plastic surgery wasn’t of the elite kind to give her a natural moving rack.

  “When do I go on?” I cut to the chase. While stripping isn’t high on my list of jobs to do in life, it’s better than some jobs I could be forced to do. Like every other task, I will turn my mind off and become the robot Titus expects me to be.

  “Tonight, you’re on main stage so you get one hour to ready. Once you have your set list turn it in to O
tis. He’ll get it to our guest DJ.”

  “Guest DJ?” I question not liking any changes to the lineup in my dossier on the place and people. Everything has to be in order for the protection of me and Titus’ organization. Guest DJ’s are a risk. Not everyone can be bought and buying silence is crucial.

  That’s Jackal’s job on the back side. One day it’s going to bite me in the ass. One day, I’m going to go down for every crime I’ve committed. A life sentence of a different kind. I already serve one to Titus.

  “DJ Drunken Monkey, Reese Graves, from Texas. He’s famous for spinning and stunt riding. The manager thought it would step up the place to have a club DJ come in for a night. Tomorrow he goes on to some other city. He does a three month tour each year,” she sighs dreamily. “I just love his energy. Night after night, the only thing that can get a girl through is the music. I get lost in the rhythm and let the beat set my pace. A good DJ is a must for me. Reese is the best. When he came to Emerald Isle to work at the E Club, I took off just to go dance the night away. He knows how to move from fast to slow and back to fast to keep the energy right. As a stripper, energy is everything to get through the long hours of the night. This ain’t your first club, so you know what I mean.”

  Ever the professional, Celeste chats on and on about the energy of the music, the crowd, and how it’s easy to get lost with the men who come in. I don’t give a fuck. The DJ is here for one night. Tomorrow night, I’ll be VIP and the normal routine will be in place here. Perfect set up for the perfect storm.

  The only thing left to do is get through tonight and make sure my target comes as usual tomorrow. He’ll get the best lap dance of his life, that I’ll make sure of.

  ***

  My first night as “Sammi the Stripper” was uneventful. My mark didn’t show up, which I didn’t expect him to. It wasn’t his typical behavior.

  I got through the evening with no hiccups and four-hundred dollars in tips. Not bad for an unknown in a small town. That is a positive for my stash. Maybe one day I’ll have enough I can pay Titus off and save myself from one more kill.