DESPERADO | Serpents of Western Rock Book #1

F I F T E E N: Gunfire

Ｖｉｐｅｒ:

   One, two, three, four, five, six, I thought to myself repeatedly. I was losing it. When I woke up this morning, Josie was already at work. And to be real for a minute, it's been hard to fucking breathe since she's been gone. Her company almost made me forget about the potency running through my veins. The way she looked at me, the way she peacefully slept when in my arms, the way she kissed me back. I was beginning to adjust to feeling okay and even thought that this evil lingering inside of me, was wilting. But I was wrong. And when she left, the evil came, bringing its friends Guilt and Sorrow.
So I distracted myself with blasting the Allman Brothers and Jimi Hendrix. I smoked the rest of my weed, finished a pack of cigarettes, had two cups of coffee. I did everything to block out the sounds of my gun firing, to diminish the images of the men I've killed—now the list was adding up. And as soon as I left my place, I've been falling into this hole since.
   It wasn't just any hole. It was dark and cold, like you think holes would be. But this one didn't have a bottom to it. It was endless. It wasn't how closed in you felt that made it hard to breathe, it was how much room there was, without seeing or feeling a damn thing that made you freak out.
  And god damn, was I freaking out.
Falling, spiraling, sinking. It was cold and it was perilous. I felt lightheaded every time this was happening. My right hand remained clenched as if my gun or knife were still in its grasp. Images of red, flashing of bullets through the air, and that god damn stabbing at his throat to rip his head off.
Fuck. It was disgusting. Suddenly my arm began to ache because of the process. But it started to feel like I was still doing it...beheading him. The sound, the blood, the image, it was all so petrifying. I did that. I fucking did that. I couldn't unsee it. I was a monster. I was Death.
   *BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP*
   "Fuck!" I whipped my bike too sharply and slid off onto the farm field to my right. A pick up truck now racing off into the distance angrily. And I sat there for a moment, under my bike. I was slowly slipping back into oblivion when my phone started to ring. I felt the burn on my leg suddenly, after smelling the sizzling of my pants and skin from the exhaust pipe. How did I not even feel that shit?
   I threw my bike off of my body immediately and tore my phone out of my pocket, climbing to my feet and shaking my leg off. "What?" I hissed, my voice sounding heavily irritated.
   "Where are you, Viper?" Dal was upset, clearly, but also worried. "We've been calling you!" Did he think I would really forget what today was? I just didn't want to fucking talk to anyone.
   I took a deep breath and replied dryly, "Sorry. Almost there."
   "Good, get your ass here. We've set up the crates and hid our bikes in the side barn beside the warehouse. This is your fucking show, brother. Their Prez and his guys will be here any second."
   I hung up and lifted my bike, not bothering to check it for it's obvious damage from the sliding against the pavement. I attempted to shake off every mental image that entered my brain since yesterday morning. That little Romanian girl, shoving barbies in her dads face. His wife laughing with a plate of breakfast, kissing her husband on the cheek. A happy and warm family, bonding without a worry in the world. And then darkness clouds their home, lingering around them, and rips a father and husband out of their life. That darkness was obscure and murky, just like that hole. Full of nothing but malevolence and pure poison. Venom. From a fucking snake. And that darkness, was me.
   Before I knew it, I was pulling up to the creaky old warehouse off of Dakota Road. I barely remembered how I got here. I parked by the front door, standing lonesome by my bike, knowing my men were in the barn standing beside the building. I tucked my cut into the side saddlebag on my bike, adjusting my now road-dirty white T-shirt.
   Adrenalin kicked me out of my own head when a roar of bikes headed my way. Just in time. They blew sand and dirt into the air as they revved their engines obnoxiously. They got closer and peeled into the dirt lot I was waiting so patiently in. Three bikes. Three men. Versus me.
   "I'm beginning to think the Serpents are dying out," called a chubby tall man, heavily tanned with tattoos running across his shiny scalp. He got off his bike, followed by two men. Their cuts were worn and cheap, resembling their faces. Those pieces of shit. "You all can join up with us," the shiny scalp guy continued to say as he walked toward me. "But you might have to be our bitches for a while."
   I rolled my eyes. "Let's get this over with." I wasn't in any mood to chit chat.
   "We got an eager beaver, boys." His eyes squinted at his men, all laughing like the fucking three stooges. "I'm Choker," he greeted as he then motioned to the guys on either side of him. "And this is Tiny and Rooster."
   I gave an amused chuckle at their try-hard excuse for biker nicknames. Were they serious?
   "Not gonna give us a name?"
   I cocked my head at them. "I may be a fucking rat, but I'm not stupid. Let's get this shit done before my guys begin to figure something's up."
   Choker nodded once and padded his boys to follow him as I led the way. I kept my hands in my pockets and eyes observant. My gun burned into the lower part of my beg, begging for me to use it. I don't know why, I didn't come here to kill anyone. But pulling that trigger was all I could think about. My heart was practically begging to explode with the sound of the bullet flying out of the barrel.
I threw the heavy metal door open, letting it slam back carelessly at Joker, Tiny Tim, and Male Chicken.
   "This guys not very polite, boss," one of them mumbled, the other one following with a laugh. I wanted to sew their mouths shut, those stooges.
   I shook my head, a genuine smirk climbing cheek to cheek, attempting not to be bothered. I walked up to one of the wooden crates and dug my fingers into the edge of the top, lifting it off without struggle.
   "Mmmm," mumbled their President curiously, walking around the crate and peering in. "I thought you were selling us guns."
   What was he talking about? I gave him a questioning expression before actually looking into the carrier.
   Fuck. Large brick sized packages, holding a block of shiny white powder clumped together.
   This didn't make sense. We threw empty crates together and filled this specific one with our own guns. Guns that were no longer there, and replaced with white. No, this didn't make sense. We don't sell cocaine.
   Wait...we don't sell cocaine.
This was a set up. And not ours, like we had planned. They turned this around on us. This was their set up. How could we be so fucking stupid?
*Cocking of a gun*
   I looked up to Choker smiling, danger playing in his stare. He poked his pistol in my direction. And around him and his two men, stood their entire crew. Fifteen. Fifteen or so men. Versus me.
   What not a better time to fall into that deep dark hole that's been swallowing me lately. And screw falling, I'm gonna willingly dive into it head first. I felt my eyes falling icy.

   I went to retrieve my gun from under my belt when Chocker made a hissing sound. "Don't even think about it, boy," he warned tightly.
   Blackness started to circle my sight. My veins began pumping twice as hard and my heart was leaping for joy. I grinned crookedly, causing his expression to fall. "Why not?" I pressed, feeling the tingle in my finger tips to hold onto anything that caused blood. "You came here to kill me anyway, didn't you?"
   "You act like you're ready to die."
   "For my club, yes. Unlike you fucking dirty thugs."
   Choker laughed, but I wasn't scared. In fact, I fed off of it. I felt like I was invincible, my stomach was twirling with pending excitement.
"You think we don't know loyalty and you do?"
   I raised my eyebrows. My fingertips were become more numb by the second, stretching out stressfully for my gun that wasn't in its grip.
   "Your entire club is weak as fuck, boy," he continued maliciously. "Your men are crawling to us for extra cash and some thrill."
   They don't know what thrill really feels like. Death knows.
   "And now your guys are hiding next door hoping you'll find out who's selling cocaine and who else has turned on you fucking nitwits."
"Who's the fucking rat, you bastard?" I demanded.
No reply.
"Tell me!" I roared, fists clenched and nostrils flaring.
"Use your eyes, kid," he finally said, almost whispering. "You wanna play peaceful little motorcycle club so bad you are all so naive to the obvious. But, shit, I can't complain. Your clubs disloyalties have only benefited me. You Serpents," he starting practically singing, "Are basically my bitches."
  This time I grabbed my gun so quickly that they didn't have time to react before I shot at Tiny's toes. I began smIling when he peeled over and yelled out in agony.
And that's when my head turned my vision on me, and everything was a blur. I just heard gun shots firing on a continuous loop. And it's as if I fell asleep to that beautiful sound of gunfire as a warm feeling spread over my stomach.