Page 6 of Savior
“I can’t go yet. I need to shut this shit down.” At least to the best of my ability. I know I can’t save the fucking world. However, I can do my part to make the world a slightly better place. Even if it’s only temporary. I think wiping a few of these sex trafficking pedo scum-fucks off the face of the earth, constitutes just that. Though I know, someone else will just rise up to fill the void left in their wake. They always do… The world is full of monsters… But I’ll take some of them out, while I’m still breathing.
“What if you don’t come back?” she sounds worried.
“I’ll come back.”
“But, what if…” she presses, her eyes looking a bit more fearful.
Grabbing the cut off the floor, I reach into the pocket, pulling out the wad of cash I took off the dead bodies before kicking them into their shallow graves. I place the six hundred and seventy-six bucks on the night table beside her. “Then take this cash, and head East with it. Go to the Saviors MC. Tell Viking, that an extremely handsome biker told you that Gunther Westergard would keep you safe… And that some fuck in Gila Bend, has my Serene.”
“Serene?” she turns her face from the money, back to me.
“My motorcycle.” My true beloved. My only serenity in this life.
“Oh...” She says, then suddenly looks contemplative. “What was the second thing you said I could do for you?”
“You can tell me your name.”
She flinches. “I don’t want to…” She nearly whispers. “But only because I never want to hear it again.” I can see the tears welling up in her eyes, seeming to darken the lovely emerald green of her irises.
I slowly nod in understanding. “You’re free, doll. You tell me what you want to be called from now on.” I’m sure she was stripped of any and all forms of whatever legal ID she had, the day she was trafficked, if she ever even had any at all. But we have people that can help her with that. Agencies we work with that can help her establish a new identity.
“Can I think about it?” she asks. “Can you just keep calling me doll, for now? I like it… it’s sweet when you say it.” That ghost of a smile plays at her mouth again.
Sweet, she says, and I suppress a chuckle. Would she think me sweet, had she seen me hack a guy’s jaw damn near off his face with his own crowbar? A crowbar meant for my skull. Would she think me sweet, knowing the brutalities I unleashed upon her tormentors? That I have zero remorse about it?
“Sure, doll.” I smile back at her. “Whatever you want.”
The cut I’m wearing once again, zipped up over my Kevlar vest, says I’m an Enforcer with the Devils’ Scorpions MC out of Gila Bend Arizona, named Sharky. Stupid fucking name. But it’s my passport through the front door of the bar, unmolested.
I left Serene parked down the block, within sprinting distance. The sloppy, lazy prospects manned out front of the establishment Asmo runs young women out of, didn’t even ask me to remove my dome or the bandana covering the lower portion of my face below my riding goggles. They simply took one look at the cut and let me by. Though I notice one of the two lifting his cellphone to his ear, probably on the line with Asmo, announcing Sharky’s expected arrival.
My suspicion is confirmed when I hear a man, I assume is Asmo, shout out loud, “Sharky! Where the fuck have you been?” as I enter.
The dingy bar is empty, what’s left of his crew, is probably in the back with him, wherever he’s at. Sharky was similar to my height and build, which is why I jacked his cut over the others. I figured the optical illusion might buy me a few needed seconds when things pop off.
Like they’re about to, right now, as the sound of a few pairs of stomping biker boots make their way in my direction from the corridor in the back of the bar.
I grab a chair off a table and sit down in it, pulling my gun from my waist band and hunching over the back of the chair, as if in intense pain, giving them a clear view of the Devils’ Scorpions MC rocker on my back. Removing the silencer from my pocket, I twist it onto the barrel of my gun and rack the slide...
“Shit Sharky, you shot or something?” one of them asks as they approach me.
I let out a fake groan, twisting around quickly with the gun and blasting two holes in the guy’s chest. The airy burst of pew-pew from the silencer isn’t loud enough to alert the prospects outside, a few yards beyond the locked front door.
“No. But you are.” I smile as he crumbles to the floor.
The other two are stunned long enough for me to shoot the guy on Asmo’s left, in the throat, before Asmo makes an attempt to reach for his own gun.
“I’ve already got you locked between the eyes.” I warn him, halting his attempt. His man is on the floor, bleeding out rapidly, gurgling on his own blood at his feet. I stand, keeping the gun on Asmo. It’s only a few more moments before his man departs this wretched world. “Let’s take a peek downstairs, shall we?”
“The keys to the door are in my desk in the back.” He says.
“We don’t need keys.” I approach him, placing the end of the silencer against his skull as I reach into his cut and grab his gun. I tuck that into my belt. We glare at each other, eye to eye, as I pat him down and remove another small handgun from him. I tuck that one in my pocket.
“Now move.” I step aside to let him walk ahead of me towards the door that will lead into the cellar. When we arrive at the door, I plug a round into the padlock and make him remove it. “Open. Go down.”
He does as he’s told, reaching up to tug the cobwebbed chain on the single exposed lightbulb above the cement staircase. We make our way into the fucking dungeon where he keeps the girls.
“Which cell was hers?”
