“He took what was rightfully mine. Your mother. You were always his, never mine. Your mother thought she could just walk away.” I listened to the man I had always thought was my father, the man who I had always feared I would become rant about how he was justified in killing her. He had turned out to be exactly the monster I had always known him to be.
I had been fearful of this moment, of the confrontation with him. I had been afraid to hear the truth-that my father didn’t love me and that he was willing to shatter my world for millions of dollars for which he had no need. I meant that little to him. I’d expected that hearing the words come out of his mouth would destroy me.
I didn’t expect this, an eerie sense of calm that descended over me like a veil. Guillermo stood there, raving mad, his face reddening and sweat beading on his brow as he ranted. But for me, time slowed down, and I could feel the blood in my ears, my heart pumping. I saw his lips move, but heard nothing. Everything was suddenly still and peaceful, the way it was when Blaze and I were on the shore by the lake. I knew what I had to do.
I watched as Guillermo turned toward Benicio. Then I heard his voice, almost like I was watching a scene on television, the volume turned down low.
“You,” Guillermo said. “You were always in my shadow. You always followed me, leeching off me like a parasite.” He reached for his gun and pulled it, pointing it at Benicio.
“You were willing to trade me for, what, money?” I asked. My voice faltered for a moment as I pulled my weapon. Then I was resolved. I pointed it at my father.
I heard Blaze scream my name, telling me to get back. But as soon as he opened his mouth, I knew what would happen. I understood my father. We were cut from the same cloth, Guillermo and I. Benicio might be my biological father, but I was Guillermo’s daughter. In that instant, Guillermo would know Blaze loved me. And he would kill him. He would take everything from me.
“You killed her. You killed my mother,” I said, accusing him.
I pronounced his sentence.
I would be his executioner.
I heard the sharp crack of gunfire, and then I shot, watching Guillermo drop to the ground. He fell in slow motion, silent, like it was all happening in a movie and everything had been muted.
I felt nothing but satisfaction.
Mad Dog yelled, “Blaze!” and passed me, knocking my shoulder. I shook my head, blinking. Blaze. Guillermo had shot Blaze. I ran, the gun still in my hands. Blaze was passed out on the ground, blood everywhere. I dropped to my knees, touching him. There was blood on my hands. Blaze’s blood.
“Blaze!” I screamed. “Wake up!”
Blaze blinked, his eyes fluttering open. “Fuck. My head. Christ, did I just get shot?”
Mad Dog was there, bent over him, hands pulling his cut away from him. “It’s just his shoulder.” He looked down at Blaze. “You fucking passed out from getting shot in the shoulder?”
“Don’t be such a fucking *, man.” Axe said, shaking his head.
“I didn’t fucking pass out,” Blaze said. “ I hit my head when I went down or something.” He grinned at me.
“Asshole.” I said. “I thought you were dead.”
Axe bent over Blaze, doing something with a torn tee-shirt, applying pressure or something. “I used to be a Marine,” he explained as he worked.
“Get him in the car, back to my house. I’ll have my doctor meet us there,” Benicio said.
Picasso, the club’s resident tattoo artist, dabbed at my shoulder. He sat beside me, focused, as he gave me my first tattoo. Picasso was a massive guy with a long beard that reached to his chest, both arms covered in tattoos that went all the way to his neck so that barely any skin was visible underneath. He was exactly what you would expect from a tattoo artist at a motorcycle club.
“What?” he asked, peering closely at my shoulder. He had caught me staring at him.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was just looking at your piercings.” His eyebrow, nose, and lip were pierced, and I wondered what else might be pierced.
Blaze walked through the doorway. “He’s got a pierced cock, you know.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Really?”
“He says it drives the ladies wild.”
“Drove your mother wild, didn’t it?” Picasso asked, never looking up from his work.
Blaze laughed. It was a sound I knew I’d never get tired of hearing.
“So, how does it look?” I asked Picasso. I was dying to look at the tattoo, but I couldn’t see over my shoulder.
“It’s about done, I think,” He squinted closer and Blaze walked around behind me.
Blaze nodded. “It looks good. Do you want to see it?”
“It’s my first tattoo. Of course I do.”
Picasso held up the mirror, and I saw the reflection, the letters reversed.
Property of Blaze
Inferno MC
“Holy shit,” I said. “I was worried it would look like a prison tattoo or something. No offense.”
Picasso laughed. “None taken. I told you I’d do it nice for you.”