Head injuries were tricky. Had Christi merely knocked her out? Or fractured her skull?
I didn’t know, and didn’t care much to find out.
I slid my hands under Bertha’s armpits, and dragged her behind the nearby outbuilding, out of sight of the Broke Spoke.
Sure, she wouldn’t stay hidden for long back there – but long enough to let us get out of there.
I rolled the big blonde onto her side, into the recovery position, so at least she wouldn’t choke on her own tongue. Then, straightening up, I wheeled around to Christi and told her: “You’re coming with me.”
She looked up at me, looking so vulnerable and frightened in the dim light. I felt this powerful urge to protect her, even though I knew to do so was madness.
“Coyle sent me down south,” I told her, glancing nervously across towards the bar. I prayed to God that none of my biker brothers would drunkenly come stumbling out and discover us. “You need to come with me.”
Christi’s eyes widened when she heard my suggestion.
“Y-you mean it?”
I nodded.
“It’s probably not smart,” I admitted, as I stepped up and wrapped my fingers around Christi’s slender arm, “but God knows what’s going to happen when they find her.”
I nodded towards Bertha, lying in the shadows.
“But by the time they do,” I continued, “we’ll be a hundred miles from here – and hopefully nobody will have any idea you’re riding with me.”
I could see Christi’s shoulders slump with relief as she heard this.
“C’mon,” I tugged her towards the bar, where my Twin Cam was still lined up outside. “Grab your shit and let’s leave.”
“My shit?” A look of panic crossed Christi’s face. “You mean my bag?” She gulped dryly. “I-I left it on the table in the bar.”
“I know you did,” I nodded. “Now get back in there and get it – I can’t go with you, or somebody might see you leave with me.”
“B-but…” Her eyes grew wide.
“It’s okay,” I bundled Christi into my arms and squeezed her. Looking down, I brushed a waft of blonde hair from her eyes, and reassured me: “Nobody saw this happen. Nobody’s going to take a second glance at you.” She shivered in my arms. “Be brave – just walk in there, grab your bag, and skin out.” Staring into her eyes, I murmured: “Be brave, okay?”
Christi looked up at me with her warm, hazel eyes, and I felt her slender fingers squeeze my arm.
“O-okay,” she nodded. “Just… Just don’t leave without me.”
I laughed.
“Not a chance. Now go.”
With a nod, Christi turned – and I watched the slender blonde run across the parking lot towards the swinging doors of that seedy, roadside bar.
As I watched her go, I crossed the parking lot myself, and gave my bike a once-over. I had half a tank of gas, and my saddlebags were still packed from this morning. I was ready to leave in a heartbeat – just the way I liked it.
The only thing I was waiting for was her.
Swinging one thigh over the saddle of my bike, I slipped the key into the ignition – but held off firing the big engine up.
I knew as soon as I did, some nosy bastard in that bar would peer through the window and see who was arriving – or leaving. If they saw me skin out with Christi on the back of my Harley, word would get back to Coyle pretty damn fast.
So, instead, I knocked the bike into neutral, and slowly started walking her back, listening to the big tires crunch on the gravel as I used my feet to roll her towards the highway.
Damn, where was Christi?
I glanced up towards the bar again.
Sending her back in alone had been necessary – but it had also been a test. I needed to know now if Christi was the kind of girl who could focus on the task at hand, and get shit done, or if she’d panic, and need somebody to hold her hand.
But I didn’t doubt her. She’d survived months riding with the Knuckleheads with nobody else to look out for her – and she’d done unthinkable things to survive.
So, I knew she wouldn’t let me down.
And she didn’t. Even as I pondered how well I could rely on her, the doors of the old roadhouse came swinging open, and that beautiful blond came running down the steps with the grace of a gazelle.
I smiled when I saw her. I couldn’t help it.
Ever since I’d seen Christi, I’d been captivated by her – that beautiful face, her slender body. The look of sadness and vulnerability in those big, hazel eyes of hers…
But now I saw that she was more. She was tough. She was brave.
She was the kind of girl who could look after herself – which is why I wanted to reassure her that she didn’t have to.
Christi was clutching her tiny backpack. She clambered onto the back of my bike, and I felt her wrap her arms around my waist.
“Anybody notice you?” I asked, as I used my feet to roll the bike silently towards the highway.
“Bowser asked me for a blowjob in the bathroom,” Christi replied, resting her head on my broad back. “I wonder how long he’ll be standing in there, waiting for me?”
I snorted, a smile stretching across my face.
“I don’t know,” I replied, finally gunning the powerful engine of my bike. “But I hope we’re twenty goddamn miles away by the time he does.”
Chapter Nineteen
Christi
It was three in the morning, and we were screaming down the Yosemite Freeway at an easy 90mph.
With my little tank top on, I should have been freezing – but Mason’s broad back was wonderfully warm to snuggle up to, and as I pressed my face between his shoulder blades, I couldn’t think of anywhere else I’d have rather been.
We were screaming away from Coyle, and Bertha, and those dangerous, perverted bastards I’d given my soul and body to for so many months.
It was over…
But even as I breathed a sigh of relief at that thought, I realized it wasn’t. This was very far from over.
I wasn’t an idiot. I knew we were on the highway headed south. Six hours on this broad, flat stretch of asphalt would take me right back to Escondido – the place I’d been trying to escape all this time.
But it didn’t have to.
Lifting my head from Mason’s back, I patted his arm lightly.
At first he ignored it, staring resolutely ahead as he powered the big bike through the night. But then I kept patting his arm, and eventually Mason turned to look over his shoulder, and he saw the look in my eyes.
The engine slowed, as Mason pulled the big bike to a halt on the hard shoulder of the highway.
With the twin cylinders still grumbling, Mason demanded:
“What is it? You okay?”
I nodded, but then shouted over the noise of the engine: “Why are we headed south?”
Mason blinked.
Turning his whole body, he faced me and barked: “What do you mean? We’re headed to San Diego.”
“But why?” I replied. “We don’t have to.” I shook my head, a slip of blonde hair escaping the edge of the helmet I was wearing. “We could go anywhere, Mason. We could be halfway to San Francisco, or Phoenix, by the time they realize I’m missing.”
Mason narrowed his steely blue eyes.
“But we need to go to San Diego. Your father’s farm…”
“Screw my father’s farm,” I snapped, squeezing his arm through his leather jacket. “Mason, I’ve spent the last few months trying to stay away from Escondido. Why are you taking me back?”
Suddenly, the noise of the engine stopped.
I realized Mason had cut the motor.
“Coyle sent me down to reconnoiter your dad’s farm,” he told me, in the near-deafening silence, “and if I don’t report back by morning, he’ll start wondering where the fuck I am.”
“So?” I demanded. “We could be anywhere by then. Just you and me.” I squeezed his arm. “He’d never find us.”
Mason sighed, and for a moment he couldn’t look me in the eye. That’s when I realized there was more to this than I’d originally thought.
“What’s going on?” I demanded. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Christi,” he glanced in my direction, almost like he was dreading telling me the truth. “I’m riding with the Knuckleheads for a reason, just like you.”
“Yeah,” I growled back, “but I was riding in the opposite direction.”
“Christi, I have a job to do,” Mason reached up, and pressed his warm palm against my cheek. “And that job takes me back to San Diego. Back to your dad’s farm.”
He took a deep breath.
“And I know you just want to run – to get as far away from all this as you possibly can. But I can’t just up and leave. If we go on the run together, we’ll both be running for the rest of our lives.”
I squeezed his arm again.
“So?” I demanded. “Mason, I’ve been running for months now. I’ve been running for so long, I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like not to.”
I stared into his steely eyes.
“Maybe we’d be running… But we’d be running together.”
And I knew how absurd that sounded.
Until yesterday, I’d never even spoken to Mason before. Since then, we’d done nothing more than hold hands, and share one brief, chaste kiss…
…and now I was asking him to run away with me.
But if Mason was upset by the suggestion, he didn’t show it. His warm palm just remained on my cheek, and the icy chill in his blue eyes thawed enough for me to see the warmth in there.
“I’m a Ranger, Christi,” he told me. “Three tours in Iraq. And if I learned one thing out there, it’s that when you start running, you never stop.”
He slid his hand from my cheek, around to the back of my neck – fingers entwining with my hair.
“I’m not going to run, Christi. And neither are you.” He pulled me forward, and suddenly I felt the warmth of his lips on mine.
I closed my eyes, and surrendered to his kiss.
For just a moment, our lips pressed together. Then he released my head, and as I opened my eyes, I saw him smiling at me reassuringly.
“I’m going to look after you, Christi,” he promised, once again pressing his palm against my cheek. “But you’re done running.”
And then he turned away, and reached for the ignition.
A moment before he gunned the engine back into life, Mason promised me:
“There’s no way out of hell, Christi. No way out, except to keep on going.”
And then the big engine roared to life, and I clung to the handsome biker for dear life, as his Harley lurched off towards the road once again.
We were going, alright. Going right back into the lion’s den.
But despite the fear gnawing at my gut, I felt deep in my heart that maybe Mason was right.
Maybe it was time to stop running.
Maybe there was no way out of hell – except to keep on going. And that’s what we’d do… Together.
Chapter Twenty
Mason
We reached the outskirts of Escondido just as the California sun started peeking above the horizon.
It had been a long, hard haul from Fresno – more than three hundred miles along desert highways and long stretches of endless asphalt.
But we’d finally made it.
I pulled the big bike to a halt by the roadside, and kicked out the stand. As the engine died, I leaned the Harley into the kickstand, and let my shoulders slump.
Against my back, arms still wrapped around my waist, I felt Christi squirm. She’d been half asleep for the last hour, and I knew she was as exhausted as I was.
But we still had work to do.
As Christi’s weight rested against my back, I reached for the scrap of paper Coyle had given me hours earlier, and checked the address.
Bandy Canyon was on the other side of the city – and if I was smart, we’d keep to the winding back roads to get there.
With a heavy sigh, I gunned the engine again, and pushed the bike back upright.
A moment later, we were rolling off down the highway – right back to where Christi had fled from, so many months before.
***
Nestled in the brown, scrubby hills of southern California was the turn-off to an old dirty road, with a sign at the corner which read “Bandy Canyon Cannabis.”
We were here.
I pulled the Harley to a halt across the road, but left the engine running. I didn’t want to be too obvious – but I needed to take a moment to get my bearings.
From behind me, I felt Christi shift – and the weight of her head lifted from my back.
Even over the sound of the engine, I could hear her murmur: “I’m home.”
Not that there was anything homely about the place.
Months ago, I’m sure the big, wooden sign to Bandy Canyon Cannabis had been welcoming. It was an ornate wooden sign, with an air of hipster style to it.
But now the old sign had police tape draped across it, and a big, yellow poster plastered to the front that read:
NO ENTRY! Police investigation ongoing. Trespassers will be prosecuted.
More police tape was draped across the entrance to the old dirt road, and a little further down a gate had been pulled shut and padlocked to prevent cars heading down it.
That told me everything I needed to know.
I gunned the throttle, and my bike lurched off down the old road.
I’d be back – but next time, it wouldn’t be so obvious.
***
A few miles further south was Highland Valley Road – a stretch of winding desert highway replete with half a dozen wineries and vineyards.
It was a ritzy place – where upscale couples from San Diego would come out at the weekend to sip oak-aged Syrah or Zinfandel. But as I powered my Twin-Cam through the winding roads, something so civilized was the furthest thing from my mind.
We had to motor almost all the way back to the Interstate before I found what I’d been looking for – a quiet-looking roadside motel called La Mediterranean, with faded stucco buildings and a green-looking pool out front.
I pulled the bike into the asphalt lot and finally cut the engine, once again deafened by the silence that followed.
As I kicked out the stand and leant the heavy bike into it, Christi stirred behind me, croaking quietly: “Where are we?”
I swung my leg over the saddle, and helped Christi slip off the back of the bike.
“This is where we’re going to hold up,” I told her, and the beautiful blond surveyed the clean, but run-down motel. “Rest for a couple of hours. Check out the locale.” I took a deep breath. “Report back to Coyle.”
I could see Christi stiffen when she heard that name.
“Don’t worry,” I reassured her, reaching over to place a heavy palm on her slender shoulder. “He has no idea you’re with me.” When her hazel eyes looked upwards, still full of doubt, I reassured her: “It’s better this way. As long as I keep doing what he expects me to do, he’ll have no idea you’re with me.”
I sounded so convincing as I told her that, I almost believed it myself.
I’m not sure if Christi was convinced, but she nodded, and set her jaw resolutely. The expression on her face reminded me that this slender, tattooed beauty was anything but a damsel in distress. Over the course of the last few months, she’d quietly endured a litany of indignities…
She could easily deal with this.
Nevertheless, I reached down and offered her my hand – and Christi wrapped her fingers around mine wordlessly. Hand-in-hand, we crossed the lot to the reception booth, and quietly checked in.
***
The old Spanish guy at the reception desk had raised an eyebrow when I’d requested a room out back – but a twenty-dollar bill and an earnest “gracias” convinced him to humor my request.
A few minutes later, m
y old Harley was resting outside a ground-floor room overlooking Interstate 15, and Christi and I were letting ourselves into a clean, if-faded suite with a hot tub, mini-fridge and two large, king-sized beds.
It wasn’t much – but it might as well have been the Ritz Carlton to me. I don’t think I’d slept on anything except my bedroll for weeks now.
Christi seemed less impressed – but nevertheless she crossed happily across the room and flopped face-first into the nearest bed with a grateful sigh.
I couldn’t blame her. We’d been riding all night through, and that was right off the back of a previous day’s long-haul.
I clicked shut the door behind me, and dumped my saddlebags on the couch.
“Home, sweet home.”
On the bed, Christi rolled over.
Three hundred miles of highway had somehow only enhanced her beauty. As she lay on that bed, her long, lithe legs stretching out over the edge of the bed, and her pert breasts stretching the material of her tank-top, I literally felt the breath catch in my lungs.
“So, what now?” She demanded, oblivious to my reaction.
I checked the time on my Seiko.
“I’m going to give Coyle a call,” I told her, seeing her wince when I mentioned his name. “Then maybe we’ll rest up for a couple of hours.”
I slumped into a hard wooden chair, and started pulling off my cowboy boots.
“After that, I’d better ride back out to your dad’s farm. Reconnoiter it, like Coyle asked me to.”
Christi raised herself up onto her elbows.
“What are you ‘reconnoitering’ for?” she demanded.
“A trap,” I replied. “Those two cops who killed your father aren’t exactly trustworthy.”
It gave me no pleasure to see the reaction on Christi’s face when I said that, but she responded with the steely determination I’d come to expect from her.
“I want to kill them,” she said, matter-of-factly.
I blinked. I hadn’t expected that.
“I’m serious,” Christi said, struggling to sit up. She stared across the room at me. “What else am I supposed to do? They killed my father, Mason.”
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