Ryders were busy watching over families, other friends, and the rest were guarding the compound. Even though there were three bikes on Boxer Boy’s ass, we had no idea where the other bikes were. It was safe to say Diesel had made the right choice to not chance the bluff.
On the road, the rain wasn’t helping, but I quickly realized I had been spotted when two bikes carried on, following Maverick, while one decelerated considerably.
Without slowing down myself, I said, “You seein’ this?”
She put her phone away and fisted guns. “Yep. Sorry, Diesel. I must disobey your orders. It’s time to party.”
“Alright, beautiful, he’s all yours.”
As soon as the biker came to a stop and twisted his upper body to face us, his arm followed suit with a gun. Giving my bike some nectar, we surged forward in a rush. I flicked on my light, initially stunning and then blinding the man for just long enough. One of Justice’s arms held my ribs as she lifted, aimed, and pulled the trigger.
The man was already falling back, his bike with him before we even passed him.
Justice held on to me while yelling over my engine, “You know how to count, baby?”
I smirked, “Hell yeah. Two-ta-go.”
Giver and Justice—twisted fucks—just like Bonnie and Clyde.
As I raced around a curve to catch up to Maverick and his uninvited road companions, Justice texted brothers that one bike was down, and we would need cages for recovery. “Holy shit!” screamed my wife. “I think a bullet just grazed my helmet!”
“Fuck! We must have ridden right past one!”
I picked up speed, but within seconds heard, “Yep! He’s coming up behind us! Giver, he’s shooting!”
“Shit!” I took a hard right, fighting the momentum of my bike, but as soon as I could, raced down another dirt road. “There’s a barn down here!”
“You sure? He’s coming!”
“Oh yeah. Art and I played ‘nice’ there once!”
There are monumental moments in your life when things click into place—start making sense. As I raced down another haunted road, knowing I was revisiting the past, I realized these ghosts were actually saviors of a sort. Had Art not strung me up that godawful night, I would have never tried to escape and create a certain hole that would now save our lives.
Sure enough, just like the night I woke hanging in the doorway, the moon was shining down on the wooden sliding doors. Just like they were that night I thought my life was ending, those doors were wide open, inviting me in.
With such divine intervention, I didn’t fear the mud on the field that I had to ride a motorcycle through. I had a mystical force on my side.
I was confident the biker behind me didn’t feel the same. Therefore, I had a hunch he wouldn’t follow me into the barn.
To my partner in crime, I yelled, “As soon I stop inside, get off and run to the right. Down low on the wall is a hole. Point that weapon, baby, and shoot this fucker as he drives by!”
“I’m ready!”
Mud sprayed as I raced across the field, just like Diesel had when he charged toward me the night he saved my life. “If you miss, get him after he turns around. If you don’t miss, I’m going to lick your pussy until you pass out!”
“Goddamnit! Did I not already tell you not to get me wet before a fight?!”
On a wing—and a prayer that I sensed would be answered—we slid into that dark barn and came to a perfect stop. Justice was off the bike and running like her ass was on fire. Then she dove toward the hole, gun already aimed.
I chuckled when seeing the bike still coming down the road. “A bit dramatic, babe?”
“Fuck off. After that promise you just made, I ain’t missin’ for nothin’.”
That’s my girl. As I watched the bike drive from my sight and to the side of the barn, I smirked, “Bye-bye, motherfucker—”
Boom!
His wheels spun out on the gravel, and then there was the sound of metal screeching and heavy weight dropping to the ground.
Justice got up from the ground and wiped off her jeans, which was pointless as the material was drenched in rainwater. “What’s the count now, James?”
I watched her walk to me, muddy and gorgeous. “Jesus, you’re a hot ass bitch.”
“I know,” she smirked as she got up behind me, “but what’s the count?”
Her arms wrapped around me before I turned the bike around. “One-ta-go, babe.”
Approaching a four-way stop—one I had no intention of stopping for—I didn’t see taillights through the pelting rain, either down the long road ahead or to the right. Haunted roads…
Ah, shit. There was only one direction that had significant meaning to me.
Cutting the corner to my left, my stomach knotted up. “Babe, tell Stallions we’re headed to Highway ninety-four.”
She grabbed her phone and was already tapping on it. “Where?”
Fuck. “Where I died.”
Her body went rigid. “Oh, God.”
“Yeah, better call him, too.”
It was beyond eerie to speed toward a place most everyone from that town believed I had killed myself. It felt like ghosts were rushing to the same spot where such a pivotal moment had taken place, and would once again. As soon as I whipped around the corner, there was the tree. And it was again stealing a life.
Maverick Hutton’s old green Ford was imbedded, the hood crushed… and on fire.
Delilah…
If Boxer Boy loved her even close to how much I did at one point in my life, I was positive she had been his very last thought.
“Oh no,” uttered Justice behind me as we slowed down.
“Think he’s alive?”
“No, but we have to check.”
“Diesel gonna kill me?”
“If we let that kid die, maybe so.”
“Where the fuck is the last biker?”
Justice’s head swiveled, trying to locate our enemy. “Giver, I don’t know, and my stomach is in knots. But if that were you in that truck, I would pray someone would try.”
Exhaling because I was terrified that I was leading my girl into a trap, I rode toward the truck. “I love you, Justice Dalton.” There were no cars on this isolated road. It had always been as such. Trees and woods were all around us. That biker could be anywhere.
Her voice trembled with fear, but in true Justice style, she teased, “Stop the melodramatics and let’s save the motherfucking day, once again.”
Rushing to a stop, I kicked down the jiffy stand and got off the bike in a hurry. Justice, guns drawn, had my back. As I ran to the truck, I could see Maverick slumped against the driver’s door, his hair full of blood. Reaching for the handle, I swore I saw his chest rise. That’s why, even though the vehicle was in danger of exploding and the cab was filling with smoke, I ripped open the door. “I think he’s alive—Oh, fuck!” As his unconscious form fell toward me, I caught him. “Jesus, he’s heavy.” Trying to readjust to grab under his arms had me maneuvering to see inside the truck better. “Justice! He’s on fire!” With all I had, I pulled that big bastard out of the truck.
Justice wasn’t coming to help. Instead, she stared behind the tree the truck was now a part of. “Giver, I see movement.”
Dragging Maverick, to take cover behind the truck, I yelled, “Follow me!” As soon as I was back there, I dropped Boxer boy to the ground and rushed to his legs, using my bare hands to put out the fire singeing his pants.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Justice’s gun fired as bullets sailed past her. She was walking backward, very focused, pacing toward the rear of the truck. Boom! Boom! Boom!
Still at Maverick’s legs, I reached out to yank her to me, like I had been doing all day, but her body flew backward before I could reach her.
My vocal cords and heart burned far hotter than my hands as I shouted, “No!”
A bullet had landed directly in her chest.
Her beautiful body slammed to the ground. Justice didn’t move.<
br />
I fucking snapped!
I don’t remember grabbing my guns or standing, but the next thing I knew, I was roaring and charging the man who had just shot my wife. It wasn’t Dick. It was only James Gunn Dalton firing two guns, at the same time, into the chest, stomach, and head of the man who dared fuck with my woman. Still on his feet, his body jerked and flailed with each landing of my silver revenge slugs. Even after he fell, I filled that motherfucker with lead.
I never saw the headlights of the Stallion bikes. I never saw any brothers. I only felt one throw his arms around me and my arms, doing the best he could to stop my rage. “Son, stop. She’s alive. She’s alive…”
I stilled. What?
“Her vest. She’s alive.” Dagger’s arms loosened. “I’m letting go.”
I nodded.
Then shot the fucker on the ground one more time.
In the Emergency Room hospital bed, I struggled to stay composed because Justice was in pain, too. She had been knocked unconscious but came back gasping, grabbing at the spot she had been hit. Lynx said she would have a hell of a bruise but not to worry. That was impossible for me when it came to that woman. “You should be the one in this bed.”
She whispered, “That would mean cops. No way.”
Lucky for her, the pain my hands were enduring was excruciating and distracting. Grimacing and trying to breathe, I begged, “Justice, Dagger, get me out of here. I can’t be here. Please.”
On one side of my bed, Dagger held my leg. On the other side was Justice, wiping rainwater and sweat from my forehead, terror and worry on her face. “Shh…” She kissed me several times as if trying to heal me while waiting for help. Due to the rain and car accidents, and the pro boxer who had been brought in before me, there was a shortage of doctors.
Justice was shaking, her hands holding my face. “This is the only hospital around, and your hands are a mess. Can’t take a chance of not having you seen right away.”
Finally, a couple of nurses rushed in, having Justice stand aside to inspect me. I gave her a look of warning, “Babe,” as she reached for her gun. “Knock it off.” My wife was tired and gettin’ ornery.
She snarled but backed away. Dagger found it amusing, biting down laughter.
As scissors cut my black hoodie and T-shirt, I begged, “Not my vest. Please, not my vest.”
Dagger reached around a nurse, laying his hand on my shoulder. “You’re not wearing it, son. We got ya.”
I didn’t even remember them taking it off me. I sighed and sat back against the erect bed, closing my eyes to handle the pain, but could still hear all my brothers arriving. Leather vests creaked, low voices rumbled, and biker boots squeaked and bumped along the floor.
A female introduced herself as my doctor, then mentioned things to the nurses about degrees of burns, medicines, IV, flushing out wounds…
I was alarmed as Doc said, “Is this a gunshot wound?” but then she grumbled something about killing Diesel when all the Stallions adamantly denied I had been shot. Her tone was demanding a clear answer from me. “Mr. Dalton, have. You. Been. Shot?”
Through all the pain, I forced my eyes to open to see an attractive woman in a white coat. “No, ma’am. I fell.”
“Is that so?” She thumbed behind her to Meatball. “He claims his bike tire flung a rock at you while you rode a bike behind him.”
I looked to Meatball, who was calm as usual, shrugging nonchalantly.
Internally, I smiled at the big lug, then told the doc, “Yeah, that’s why I fell.”
She licked her teeth. “I see. So, no police officers are required at this time? To take a report?”
Agony can make one crabby. “Not unless they specialize in pebble crimes.”
My brothers started laughing.
Extremely annoyed, the doctor said, “I have other patients to see. These nurses will tend to your wounds—” She turned to see some blood on the ground. Apparently, Stallions were still bleeding from the earlier gunfight at the compound. “More pebbles?” she sneered.
Men nodded and shifted on their feet, stepping in the red smears, suddenly finding their manners by replying, “Yes, ma’am.”
Doc pushed past them. I believe she mumbled, “Diesel and his rugrats are all assholes.”
When my boys tightened around me, I knew what was coming. The bull Doc just referred to. Backed by some Ryders, Diesel was livid, yelling about how I shouldn’t have been there.
I guess Lynx was done with all opinions because he charged forward and got in Diesel’s face. “He saved the boxer!”
More yelling took place in the small curtained-off room. Bikers were all trying to break apart the argument. To my strained eyes, it looked like a moving wall of leather. But, above it all, I heard a voice. One I hadn’t heard in years.
“Is it that bad? Oh, God. Let me see him.”
The leather wall stilled then tightened.
I looked for my Justice.
I found her behind a nurse, patting her chest, then wincing from where she was shot. What a mess we were. I wanted to pat mine in return, but nurses were wrapping my hands. Justice nodded, understanding my want.
What we had tried to avoid was now happening. There was no changing my fate.
I mouthed to my wife. “I’m so sorry.”
Her eyes filled with tears. She knew the police would be here soon. Then she mouthed, “You can do this.”
Art’s voice appeared behind the wall. “What the fuck happened?”
I exhaled, gathering the balls to face a world without my kids and wife.
Delilah’s scared voice hit me deep in my gut. “Who are you keeping from me?”
I am James Gunn Dalton. “Let her see me.”
The wall opened…
I hadn’t seen her timeless face since her first year of college, and her eyes had been closed that night. Her golden whiskey eyes open? Memories floated through my soul. “Hey, darlin’.”
Beard, longer hair… None of it was enough for her not to recognize me.
Viola, when she stepped around a Stallion, recognized me, too.
Whether it was from V’s look of disdain, the pain in my hands, or Delilah swaying dizzily on her feet, my stomach soured. Full of regret for all the past pain I had caused her, and present pain I was inflicting, I quietly asked, “Someone please catch her?”
I understood it was Art. It helped knowing he was there to catch her.
I whispered to her, “I’m sorry. For everything.”
The nurses looked at each other, then walked away, claiming they would be right back.
Delilah, safe in Art’s embrace, peered up to him. “W-What is happening?”
I had never seen such depth nor understanding in one of Art’s expressions. Not like that. In those few seconds, I understood just how he got his road name. His blue eyes flashed with wisdom and bravery as he quietly spoke to her. “Your guardians guarded, Delilah. We did our very best to protect your heart and soul. You may hate us, and rightfully so, but I swear, we listened to your every word. You asked for him to be free. Your guilt, as misled as it is, was also something we tried to honor. This—letting him live and giving him a place to heal from his past—was how we fulfilled your wish.” Tears fell from Art’s eyes as he choked out another whisper, “You saved him, Delilah.”
Slower than humans are possibly meant to move, Delilah pulled from his embrace. “At college,” she pointed to him, “you were there, too,” her eyes glazing over as shock set in, “protecting me… from him.”
Staring at me, as if not sure I was truly lying in a hospital bed, Viola went to her best friend. Blindly, she reached and took Delilah in her arms. “Your ashes… down a river.” She looked at Art. “You were there.”
The way Delilah clung to V, even with her large belly between them, caused me to hear the blood pumping in my ears. I could hear everything. I think I was epically aware of all the havoc my life had caused to so many.
“Viola?” asked a numb Delilah.
“Don’t let me go, Pretty D. I have no idea what is happening, but you have a baby to breathe for and a husband to fight for right now. And my husband is almost here with Bailey.”
“V,” called out her brother. “Can I come with you?”
The President of a deadly MC asking permission for anything was a rarity.
A woman appearing more threatening than him, even more so.
Viola looked at Diesel with fire in her blue eyes that matched his. “Yes, brother. Why don’t I keep you by my side, so no more knives can be stabbed in my back?”
As she started leading Delilah away, from the corner of my room, the voice of my soul cried out, “Viola.”
Viola hesitantly turned to face my wife. With her hand over her mouth, V whispered, “No. Not you, too.”
Justice, tears dripping from her face, clutched my wet vest to her chest. “He is my husband and the father of my two children. I would never ask a woman to hold a secret that could affect her sanity. I know all too well what that does to you. But, if there is any way to find forgiveness—”
The way Viola’s face paled told me she understood my wife knew everything.
“—enough to let him walk away, he will never return. I give you my word. You know that means everything to me.”
Angrily, Viola gestured to me as if Justice’s word no longer mattered.
Justice shook her head. “I never lied about him. You simply didn’t know, and I told you no different.” Viola’s lip curled in disgust, but Justice held up her hand. “Please, if my word is not enough, then know this… He is the one who pulled the boxer from the fire.”
Delilah gasped and finally dared to look at me—at my hands.
“My husband knew there would be grave repercussions for not following a direct order from a President,” her voice cracked, “but refused to let Maverick die. For Delilah.”
Bleed Me (Haunted Roads Book 3) Page 29