One Hundred and Thirty-Six Scars(9)

“Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Calm down, not her,” he responded nonchalantly.

I placed the screwdriver down, ripping the hoodie off my head. “Don’t give me this she’s different fucking bullshit.”

“She fucking is Beast. Like I’d get us in the shit. You need to trust me.”

“What’s her name?”

“Abby,” he began, running his palm over his chin. “I knew her from Boston, one of the foster homes I was in. She was a rebel, wanting to get into trouble every single corner we turned. We made a pact that we would always find each other, and then she got taken to a family in Westbeach. I followed her move as much as I could. The night I was Blacklisted, I’d just seen her. She was happy, found a family within an MC club in Westbeach called the Sinful Souls. She was fucking happy. She wanted me to stay, said I could have a home there, but there was no way I could barge in on her life. I was just fucking happy that she was happy, you know?” He ran his hands through his short hair. We all had our hair in a buzz cut. We weren’t allowed to have it any longer. Blacklisted is what it’s called when they take you. Not sure why it was called listed, they chose people by random. The younger, the better and with no family—Hella was perfect and fit the mold.

I continued my job at getting this car started as he carried on, “Anyway, I’m hoping she’s still there.”

“If she’s not, at least we’re out,” I said, turning the screwdriver until the light roar of the engine and the exhaust smoked to life.

Shutting our doors, I pulled it into drive and got the hell out of there.

“To Westbeach?” I asked, glancing at him in the passenger side.

“Yeah. I’ll show you where to go.”

He better, because I haven’t driven anywhere outside of the compound before.





Two days later and one stop at a hotel, we were in Westbeach. Rubbing my eyes with the back of my hands, I shoved a sleeping Hella awake.

He stirred from his seat as the passing streetlights shone through into our car at each passing.

“We here?” he asked, sitting his seat up.

“Yep, where now? It’s three in the morning. We need to check in somewhere.”

“Fuck, I’m certain we’re almost out of cash,” Hella answered, running a hand over his stubble.

“We’ll worry about that later. I have some cash left in the backpack, take it out and count it.”

He leaned over the back, pulling the cash out of the front pocket of the backpack.

“Holy fuck, where the hell did you get this from?” he asked, skimming through the hundred dollar bills with his thumb.

“I’ve been saving since I was little. Every bit of dough I got my hands on, I took.”

Hella smirked. “This will do us a solid, bro. Nice.” He placed the money back into the bag, dropping it onto the floor at his feet. “Hook a left up here,” he pointed. “There’s a motel we can crash at.”





The next morning, we were driving toward the clubhouse still in the stolen car.

“We need to drop this car, and pick up another,” I said, scanning the surrounds for police officers.

“Yeah, we can’t take this back to the Sinful Souls. Can’t imagine them being happy about us arriving in a boosted car. Pull over up here, there’s a park, we can drop it and walk the rest of the way.”

I nodded my head, swerving into the parking lot that was covered under trees. I took out a microfiber cloth that I kept in my bag and began wiping down the areas that we’d touched. We both knew not to touch the surfaces, but shit happens.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked Hella as we were just about to reach the high wire gates. The front gate had a sign of a skull face wearing a cowboy hat and a cigar hanging out of its mouth, with the lettering ‘Sinful Souls MC’ reading in an arc rounding the top of the image and the wording ‘California’ in an arc under the image. I looked to Hella with a single shake of my head. “You better be fucking right about this.”

Not two minutes later, a young fella with spiky blond hair walked toward the gate, eying both Hella and I up and down. “Can I help you?”

He wore a patch that read ‘Prospect.’ I almost laughed. This boy was the bum boy of their operation.

Hella answered, “Yeah, looking for Abby?”

“And you are?” the spiky pretty boy looking kid answered. His demeanor irked the shit out of me.

“Her fucking past. You gonna get her or what?” I growled from where I was standing. Pretty boy’s eyes drifted to mine before he slanted them. I laughed again. “What? That supposed to be intimidating?” I asked, attempting to chain my thoughts of wrapping this little fucker in saran wrap and ripping each of his eyelids out.