Hellbent Hero by Naomi Porter

12

Hero

FIVE HOURS AND thirty-eight minutes had passed since Donut Boy put me in my cell. Thank fuck it wasn’t isolation. Ryder returned an hour and a half ago. Like clockwork, he was doing his nightly exercise routine. The kid was dedicated; I’d give him that.

On my bunk with my hands fisted at my sides, I stared at the ceiling. Tension as thick as molasse worked its way through my body, turning my limbs into stone. I swore time had stalled as my heart jackhammered in my chest. Our unit was silent as the grave. If a pin dropped, we’d all hear it. The waiting drove me insane. It wouldn’t surprise me if I stroked out.

Ryder assured me Dutra knew the club’s expectations. Only time would tell if his mom and sister meant enough to him.

Most criminals, outlaws like us, didn’t expect to live past thirty. I sure as hell never did after the years I spent as a drug-dealing gangbanger in Los Angeles, getting shot at more times than I could count. Had a few scars to show for it.

Penniless druggies had tried their hand at stealing from me, desperate for a fix. I was only seventeen, young, dumb, and cocky as fuck, believing I could rule the world. Then one night, a group of strung-outs had jumped me. I’d spent two days in the hospital recovering from their beating. The day I was released, I purchased a small handgun.

When I thought about the shit I’d been into with the LA Rebels, I felt nothing but shame. It didn’t matter that I was an ignorant teenager and a loner. Those motherfuckers used my stupidity to their advantage, like most criminals. They exploited my desire to belong to an organization knowing I’d do anything to please them.

I shook my head, embarrassed at what a weak pussy I’d been. Ashamed of the people I’d hurt. The young teens I’d gotten hooked on meth. The rich I’d stolen from. I tried to reason it in my mind that I was doing that to survive. To contribute to my gang. That the expensive jewelry wouldn’t be missed and could easily be replaced.

I’d lied to myself, so I wouldn’t feel guilty for stealing from the rich to give to… Who? I wasn’t no fucking Robin-in-the-hood helping the poor. The Rebels were loaded. They drove fancy cars, wore Rolex watches, and not one of the higher-ups got their hands dirty.

As more crews rolled into our territory, it pushed us into others. My gang was crumbling. Members were getting picked off. I knew it was only a matter of time before someone bigger cut the head off the snake.

But did I get out? Stop dealing? Repent and turn over a new, law-abiding leaf?

Fuck no, and it cost me big. My wife and child had lost their lives because of the life I chose.

Actions had consequences, some deadly. Rudy Dutra knew one day he’d pay for his wickedness. He knew the price we paid to live on this side of the law. Knew the Reaper would eventually get him.

One way or another, he’d atone for his sins. It was up to him how it went down, if by his own hands in jail or Miguel’s once he was transported back to Cali. Miguel wouldn’t make it painless either, putting a bullet in his head. Nope, they’d torture until the life drained out of him. It was just how the MCs rolled.

Miguel’s club, the Westside Heretics, didn’t conform to anything but their own beliefs. From what I’d heard back when I was a teenager in LA, the Heretics were renowned as sadists. Whether true or not, their name alone struck fear in people. Everything about them was evil and dirty, although you couldn’t tell by Miguel’s polished appearance. The Mexican looked more like a businessman than a biker.

As I found out a long time ago, the payment for a crime was sky-high. Dutra’s situation was no different. I’d lost my wife and son. If given a choice, I would’ve gladly taken their place so they could live. They were innocent, like Dutra’s mom and sister. Damn, I prayed the son of a bitch had an ounce of humanity left inside him and did the right thing.

Thinking about Dutra’s destiny filled me with rage. I sure as fuck would enjoy torturing the rapist before ending his life. Giving him a choice was too kind. After weeks of being hellbent on stripping his entrails out through his ass, letting him take his own life was too fucking humane.

“The night DO just strolled by.” Ryder’s labored breath cut through my thoughts. “Shouldn’t be long now. I mean, you know, if it goes down the way you said.”

I grunted, acknowledging him as a nervous tremor rolled through me. It was approaching midnight. This plan needed to work. I couldn’t let the prick leave here alive. Not after all the pain he had caused so many. Particularly my woman. If I took matters into my own hands, I could spend life in prison. Storm would go nuts over the betrayal. My brothers would hate me for going rogue.

I’d never see Tara again…

My Roja’s doe-eyes flashed in my head. I wanted her so fucking much. Wanted to taste her red lips and touch her soft skin. Every inch of me ached for her.

It had taken every bit of strength I could conjure to not let myself dream of a life with her. To not hope for anything with her.

But I couldn’t deny my feelings.

Couldn’t keep lying to everyone, including myself. Repeating like a goddamn broken record that Tara wasn’t mine. She most undoubtedly was. I’d just been a pussy about it. Guilt-ridden over Monica and my son. Too terrified of claiming another woman… Of destroying her.

The second I put my mark on Tara, a target would be on her back. I could lose her like I had Monica from blowback with the club.

What in the hell was I to do?

“Hey… Hey Hero, did you hear me?”

“Hmm?” I shook myself back to the present. I’d zoned out yet again and wasn’t sure for how long.

“Come check it out. Shit’s going down, man,” Ryder whispered, waving me over.

I hopped off my bed and went to the window on our door. We couldn’t see anything down the hall where Rudy’s cell was located.

A tall, lanky DO trotted by. I dialed into the crackling sound of his radio, straining to make out the words.

“Main control, all units, cease all non-emergency radio traffic—”

Jesus, this is it.

Another followed, his radio louder than the last. “We have a medical emergency in Delta twenty. Nine hundred control, please have the cutdown tool ready for the response team.”

Cutdown tool?

Oh, fuck. Dutra did it.

I cut my gaze at Ryder. For a young guy, he didn’t appear all that fazed by the events unfolding. It told me he’d seen or done some shit in his life. Or, like Boxer, he just loved this sort of thing.

We peered out our window like all the other inmates. A nurse ran by, then EMS minutes later. Shit, it suddenly hit home. A man took his life four units down. Even if I’d wanted this—along with several other people, Ava being one of them—the whole scene turned my stomach.

What if Dutra had failed? What if they revived him?

I closed my eyes, gripping the top of my head. Again, the waiting drove me crazy as my mind raced with different scenarios, all ending with me getting life in prison.

The sheriff, and who looked like the coroner, had arrived a while ago. What was taking so long? I was about to turn away from the door to bang my head on a wall when the sound of a squeaking wheel made my eyes flash open.

A rickety stretcher approaching our room whined in my ears. There were only two outcomes. Dutra was either dead or alive.

He needed to be dead.

Fuck, I dug my nails into my scalp. I saw his still form under a white sheet covering his head. The hairs on my arms flared. My heart jackhammered against my ribs. For some reason, seeing it all go down like this affected me more than pulling the trigger of my 9mm to kill the motherfucker.

Insanity.

“It’s done,” I muttered, returning to my bunk. Suddenly I felt exhausted. The letdown from the adrenaline pumping in my veins hit me hard. “Thanks for the help, kid.”

“Anytime, brother.”

I froze, then turned toward Ryder. His eyes were fixed on me. Brother. It fit. So would he in the club. More than ever, I wanted to sponsor him. When the time was right, I’d talk to him about joining the Knight’s Legion MC, where he’d have a real family. Dozens of brothers who’d respect and take a bullet for him.

I issued him a nod before getting comfortable on my bed. I exhaled a long breath to release the stress of the day, then not two seconds later, clarity hit me square in the face. I needed out of this shithole so I could get back to my life.

Enough dwelling on the past. Enough punishing myself and drinking away my pain. Enough mourning.

Ryder needed me to help him get his life straight. I didn’t want to see him flounder as I had before Matt found me lying in the alley behind The Bullet.

It was like the fog lifted. The sun came out shining brighter than ever after weeks, no years, of darkness consuming me.

I needed to make up with my girl. Apologize to her for flipping out and running away.

I was hellbent on fighting through the guilt of letting another woman into my heart. I’d begged Monica for forgiveness at her grave in Cali.

I felt the crushing weight of regret lift off my back.

It was time to put her to rest, let it all go so I could love again.

Storm had been right when he said Monica would want me to move on. She was a kind, loving woman who’d want me to be happy and live life to the fullest.

All this time, I’d been free to love Tara, but I’d held back.

Not anymore.

I’d try my damnedest to be everything she needed and give her all that she ever dreamed of.

Roja was mine.

I just hoped she wanted me too.