by Zahra Girard
Think, Crash. Think.
Then it hits me. For all the time Switchblade has probably spent in this bar, he still doesn’t know it as well as I do. For hours upon hours, I worked side by side with Violet, and came to learn every nook and cranny in this place.
There’s a back entrance. Through the kitchen.
I creep around to the backside of the tavern and slip in through the back door. From a hiding spot in the kitchen, I can hear him gloating over her.
“Maybe I can’t touch your cunt friend. Maybe it would be too fucking obvious even for that fucking moron, Dread, to ignore. But, since I can’t get close to that bitch Kendra and her fucking cunt daughter, Josie, I can still make them suffer. Through you.”
“Why the fuck are you doing this?” Violet says, begging. Her voice is so weak, so pained, just thinking about the agony that Switchblade has put her through makes my blood boil.
“Because you deserve it. You had to put your fucking nose where it didn’t belong. You and that fucking out-of-town piece of shit. If you’d just been a good little cunt and kept to yourself, none of this shit would’ve happened. Think about that while I’m cutting you up. Think about that when I set your whole fucking bar on fire. Maybe it’ll bring you some comfort as I turn everything you care about to ash, you stupid cunt-faced bitch.”
I creep froward, gun raised, inch by inch, until I’m at the door leading from the kitchen room to the main bar area. Once I touch this door, I will have to move fast; I’ll have a second at most to get a shot off before Switchblade can react.
Gun in one hand, with my other on the door, I take a deep breath. My heart is racing in my chest, and I fight to get my emotions under control.
One shot. Make it count.
Then Violet screams. A blood-curdling, heart-wrenching scream. And, beneath it all, I hear Switchblade’s laugh.
And I fucking lose it.
“Don’t you fucking touch her,” I scream as I throw open the door and fire.
The split-second of surprised silence as Switchblade whirls to face me is cut short by the popping crack of my pistol. The shot catches him, he spins, thrown by the force of the bullet, and he hits the ground at Violet’s feet.
I don’t stop. I charge forward, not content to trust that single shot, and burning with the desire to wrest the last bit of life from him with my hands around his throat.
I get to him just as he gets to his knees. Lashing out with my foot, I catch him square in the face, sending him sprawling on to his back. Blood gushes from his shoulder where I shot him, and he hits the ground, hard, his limbs jerking for a momentary flash of unconsciousness, until I leap on him and throttle him.
Blow after blow I rain down on his face, turning it into a mishmash of scarlet blood and the jarring white of exposed bone. I raise my fist high, ready to land the blow that will end this son of a bitch’s life for good.
“Crash, watch out,” Violet screams.
But it’s too late.
Steel slices into my side, biting deep, sending hot, sticky blood flowing from me thick and fast, running in streams down my side.
“I’m going to gut you while she watches,” Switchblade growls through his torn lips.
Then, with a grunt, he pushes me off him, knife still stuck in my gut.
Smiling, blood dripping from his busted face, he pulls a lighter out from his pocket and kicks over the can of gas.
“Or maybe I’ll just leave you both here to fucking roast. Sure would raise a lot fewer questions that way; the biker who came back to finish off the bitch who chased him away. And it sure would be fun to see you two motherfuckers burn alive,” he turns and kneels down in front of Violet, who is struggling against her ropes. “What do you think about that, cunt? You want to fry with your fucking boytoy over there?”
Sick laughter fills the air as he holds the lighter in front of Violet’s face, the flames just an inch or two away from setting her on fire. His laughter gets under my skin, into my blood, filling me with rage. I forget about the pain flooding me and wrap my hands around the handle of the knife buried in me, pulling it free, clenching my teeth to keep from gasping in pain.
Then I stand. And lunge.
The knife hits him in the back of the neck, scraping along the back of his spine and severing his carotid artery from behind. Blood sprays from him, a fountainous shower of crimson.
And the lighter, still burning, drops from his fingertips. The gentle flame kisses the gasoline, and in seconds, the floor is an inferno.
I rip the knife out of Switchblade’s throat and cut Violet free.
“Jesus, Crash, oh my god, you are bleeding,” she says. “Here, let me help you. Just hold on.”
She stands, legs wobbly but eyes full of determination, and I lean on her for support as we race to the door. I stumble, twice, but each time she tightens her grip on me and pulls me forward, relentless.
Outside, I collapse.
And the last thing I see before the lights go out is her worried face leaning over me and her mouth forming the words “I love you.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Violet
“Don’t die on me. Please don’t die on me.” My words drift into the urgent night as I heft him into the front seat of my car, heaving with every bit of might in my adrenaline-flooded muscles. I’m not strong, but the fear pumping through my veins gives me enough power to lift him inside my truck and slam the door.
“Don’t die. Please, Crash, don’t die. I love you. I love you. Please stay with me.”
I start my truck, slam the gas down, and speed toward the nearest hospital.
In my rearview mirror, I see the flickering glow of fire as flames consume what used to be my bar.
And I hardly spare it a second thought. All I care about is the man beside me, who put his mission for the club and his own life on the line just to save me.
I knew he cared.
And I know I do, too. Beyond any doubt, I want him, and I want to be a part of his life.
“I love you, Crash. So don’t you fucking die, you hear me? We have so many days to spend together. So much to see, so much to do. Josie wants you to teach her to ride a motorbike. Did you know that? She and I were talking earlier. I let her watch Mad Max, and one guy was riding a motorcycle and she just went on and on about how she wants to be like you and Snake when she grows up. You need to be around for that. You need to stay alive so you can teach her, because I don’t think I’ll be able to convince Kendra to let Snake teach her how to ride. He’s too crazy. So you’re her only shot. Please, don’t die,” I ramble the entire drive, spilling every thought about him, us, our future, while I take every turn and intersection on the way to the hospital at breakneck speed.
The hospital lights grow in the distance, and I come to a screaming stop on the curb in front of the ER. I throw the truck in park and kick the door open, running, screaming for help, straight into the ER, and I grab the first doctor I see and drag him out to my truck.
In our wake come a pair of a doctor and a nurse wheeling a gurney.
And all I can do is say, over and over, how Crash can’t die.
Even as they load him onto the gurney, I run along beside them.
“You can’t die. We have too much to do and, don’t forget, you’ve got all that business to take care of that you’re always blathering on about. You can’t forget about that, Crash. There’s too many people that need you.”
Deeper in the ER, a nurse puts her arm around my shoulders and brings me to a stop.
“You need to wait outside. They will take care of him, but you need to stay out of their way. Can you do that for me?”
I nod. Let her guide me to the waiting area. Where I sit, rocking back and forth in my seat with frantic energy.
This can’t be how it ends. He can’t come all the way back, show me how much he cares, and then die before we enjoy even one moment reunited.
Another nurse approaches. She’s got kind eyes, which is about all I can see of
her face, since she’s wearing a surgical mask.
“Hey, do you have anyone we can call?”
I stop. Think. I could call Kendra, I know she’d come here in a heartbeat, but the last thing I want to do is drag her down here after everything she’s been through.
“No, I don’t,” I reply.
Instead, I opt for sending Kendra a text letting her know that I’m OK. That she shouldn’t worry about me and that I’ll be in touch with her soon. I hope she takes it to heart and enjoys the time with her daughter.
“OK, but I don’t think you should be alone. My shift is over in ten minutes. Would you mind if I sat with you? We don’t have to talk or anything, if you don’t want to. I’ll just be here. My name’s Alice.”
“Thank you, Alice,” I say.
True to her word, ten tense minutes later, Alice returns and she takes the seat next to me. She lets out a relieved sigh as she takes a seat and, looking over at her, I see how tired she is. She must’ve been on her feet for hours.
She smiles at me.
I smile back. Then return to looking at the commotion of the ER, hoping for some sign about how Crash is doing.
Alice doesn’t speak. And I’m glad about that. With how I am, I’m not sure I’d be capable of carrying on anything resembling a conversation without falling into a million pieces.
More time goes by. Patients come and go, doctors converse with nurses who converse with orderlies, and the entire time I feel so alone except for the kind woman at my side.
What is happening with him? Is he alive? Dead? Is he going to make it? What happens if he does die? How do I get in contact with his family? His friends?
So many dire questions race through my mind and I rock harder in my chair, envisioning the worst. So much of my world has fallen apart in just a couple days, I don’t know if I can take losing anyone more.
A hand touches my shoulder.
I look over. It’s Alice. She’s smiling.
“Hey,” is all she says. Nothing more. Just a simple touch and a reminder of her presence.
I am not alone.
I put my hand over hers.
“Hey,” I answer.
For another couple minutes, I sit and watch and feel my anxious heart calm. Then I look back to Alice, who is still watching me with so much care and concern.
“Is he going to be OK?”
“I don’t know,” she says and, just when my heart falls, she continues, “But I can go check on him for you.”
I hug her, then.
“Would you, please?”
“Wait here. I’ll be gone just a few minutes.”
Those few minutes take an eternity. An eternity that passes with my fearful heart in my throat.
Alice returns with a cup of coffee, which she hands to me before she sits down.
“He’s in surgery,” she says.
“And?” I’ve never put so much force and frustration into a single word in my life.
“They give him good odds. I brought you that coffee cause it will be awhile and you look tired as all hell. That’s from the nurse’s break room, and us nurses who work night and swing shift make it strong so we can stay on our feet. It’ll keep you going until they finish.”
“Thank you, Alice.”
“Happy to help,” she says.
We don’t talk any more. Not for the whole four hours that I sit in the waiting room, looking up at every single nurse or doctor who walks within my sight radius. When the doctor finally emerges from in back and gestures for me to come to him, I leap out of my seat.
His face is unreadable, but his eyes look anything but sad. They’re kind, tired, but there’s a satisfaction deep in there that gives me a rising hope with every step I take.
“Is he?” I say.
“He came out of surgery about fifteen minutes ago. We have him under observation, now, but he should make a full recovery. He’s lucky. The knife missed his vital organs.”
I hug the doctor. He hardly reacts — he’s probably has this happen tons of times before.
“Thank you,” I say. “Can I see him?”
“You can,” then he waves to Alice, who waves back and leaves. “Follow me, please.”
He takes me to the room, where I pull up a seat next to Crash. He’s still unconscious, hooked up to IV drips and machines that beep every so often. He’s pale, looks exhausted, and his normally handsome features — while still handsome — look so worn and drawn.
“Try to let him rest. He will pull through, but he went through a lot and it will take a while before he’s recovered.”
“I will, doctor,” I say.
He takes a moment to check over Crash before leaving, but I hardly pay attention to him. My focus is on the man who returned to save me — my man. I can’t count the hours that tick by in his company, the time spent flipping through magazines stolen from the waiting room; the time spent just looking at him, hoping for him to open his eyes of his own accord so I can hear his voice and see that warm smile he keeps hidden so well beneath his icy shell.
I love this man.
When the sun finally rises, and light fills the room, I get my wish. He opens his eyes. Smiles at me, in a way that chases away my exhaustion and sets my heart on fire.
“Hey, slugger.”
I put my hand over his. I’m so careful I don’t even squeeze him, I’m so worried I’ll do something wrong and end up hurting him.
“Hey, Crash.”
He looks himself over, taking in the bandages wrapped around his torso, the IV drip, the monitoring machines hooked up to his fingertips and arms. Shaking his head, he smiles ruefully. “I’m in a fucking state, aren’t I?”
“The doctor says you’ll pull through. The knife missed your organs, so you were lucky.”
“I guess this is what love gets me, huh?” He says, winking.
“It gets you me,” I say, and I squeeze his hand. To hell with worrying about hurting him. “If you still want me, after all the stuff I said to you.”
“Then I’d say it’s worth it,” he says. He squeezes me back. “I’d have to be a fucking fool to turn you down. Though I sure did fucking act like it for a while.”
Not wanting him to blame himself, I give his hand another squeeze, and then I put my hand under his chin and kiss him. “We both did. We were both crazy. And, if it’s worth anything, I’m sorry about how I acted. It’s hard to love someone whose life is so different from your own. And it’s even harder to make that jump when you know the pain that can come when you give your heart to someone else. But you make me feel so good that I don’t even have the words for it, Crash. And I’d do anything, fight through anything, to keep that feeling.”
He kisses me back. Long, slow, and just enough to make my toes curl and my knees weak. “You’ve got that right,” he whispers. For a moment, he looks at me, his blue eyes bright as the sun. “So, what happens now?”
That’s a question I’ve been mulling over for all the sleepless hours I’ve spent at his bedside. One that I’ve bent every part of my heart and my brain that wasn’t worrying about Crash to solving. What do I do now? What do we do now?
“When I moved to Carbon Ridge, it was to chase a dream and my freedom. That’s what it was all about. Being free to go after what’s important to me. I love what I built here, but it was never just about a bar. It’s about being free to go after what’s important. And I think what’s important to me has changed,” I say and then, with a laugh, I add, “Not to mention, the bar’s gone. Poor Bowen Dale. I imagine he will not be too happy to find out what happened.”
“That old man can go fuck himself, I’m sure the loss doesn’t mean shit to him, he’s got enough money,” Crash laughs. Then, he looks at me and his smile grows and mine grows along with it. “So, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m saying my best friend and I are out of a job and, after everything that’s happened, I’m sure we’ll both be looking for a change of scenery. How are the schools in Lone M
esa? Because Kendra will definitely need to know that before she’ll even think about moving.”
“I’m a proud graduate of the Lone Mesa school system and I’d say I turned out pretty good. I mean, look at me now,” Crash says. Gesturing to his bandages and IV drip.
“So, are you trying to convince me not to move to Lone Mesa? Because that’s what it sounds like you’re doing.”
He shakes his head, laughing again. Even with him hurt, it feels so good to be sitting at his bedside, able to think about the future instead of worrying about surviving through the next moment; I’ve gone from worrying about life and death, to feeling empowered and positive about my future.
“No, no,” he says. “Look, some guys in the club, like Mack and Stone, they’ve got kids. Stone put his daughter Adella through Lone Mesa’s school system, and Mack will do the same, once Matty grows up. And neither of them are the type to compromise when it comes to giving their families the best they can get. I’d say if the schools there are good enough for an MC’s enforcer and its president, both of whom are serious as hell about being good dads, they’ll be just fine for Josie.”
I kiss him. Even talking about the incidentals involved in building a future together, like making sure the schools are good enough for my best friend’s daughter, excites me. And, after everything I’ve been through, this kind of positivity is overwhelming.
“There’s just one other question I have for you, Crash. Is there room in your life in Lone Mesa for an unemployed bartender, her unemployed waitress best friend, and her friend’s crazy daughter?”
Crash thinks for a moment, but even before he opens his mouth I can see the answer in his eyes and it takes all of my willpower not to hop out of my seat and squeeze him so tight his stitches would break. “I’ve got all the room in the world for my old lady and her family.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Crash
“That’s the last of it,” Kendra says as she and Josie heft a small box labeled ‘Shoes’ into the back of the cargo truck. “Violet, I’m amazed that, after four years living here, you don’t have more stuff.”