by Snow, Nicole
“Lizzie!” Cupped my hands over my mouth and belted my lungs out.
I studied the trails closer, hoping I'd see her footprints, but the bikes had obliterated everything. Fucking shit.
I walked on, deeper among the higher rocks, big boulders rolled together around the hills, forming miniature canyons that would make a perfect fucking hiding place.
Or else a perfect grave. Shit, I couldn't think like that.
Didn't know why the fuck she wasn't answering. Had to keep going, face the vicious music, knowing they could've done anything to my girl in her stupid, brave move to get the bastards away from the young ones.
If it wasn't for the high afternoon sun hitting the perfect angle, I'd have never seen her shoe. It stuck out a small crop of boulders, and I knew she'd climbed in to hide, if she hadn't been dumped in there like fucking garbage.
“Fuck,” I growled, swallowing the lump in my throat, trying to keep my own crazed heartbeat from knocking me out.
I ran. I found her. I fucking screamed.
The pretty white t-shirt she'd left wearing this morning was stained crimson red. I jerked her into my arms, and we both toppled over, just enough for me to see the jacket she'd tied around her bleeding shoulder.
PROPERTY OF BLACKJACK, the brand she'd had sewn on the back, stuck out in dirty red. Those letters used to be lily white with the way she'd taken care of it. Now, the stitches were dirty with her blood.
I sat her down next to me and embraced her one more time, shaking from the hellstorm building in my lungs, nasty as vinegar.
I fucking screamed so loud the devil himself must've heard my grief. My fists hit the dirty desert rocks 'til my fists were scratched, bloody, raw.
“Babe, babe, babe, I'm so fucking sorry. Fuck. Fuuuck!” Hot tears stung my cheeks, and still I kept a few in. They had the energy I'd need to avenge her, to kill the motherfucker who'd done this.
Boots crunched gravel behind me. I should've at least put my hand on my gun, in case it was a Scorp instead of Wheeler, but I couldn't do shit.
Sirens starting blasting in the background, howling to high hell. I heard Wheeler curse before his brotherly hand slapped my shoulder, then moved on bone, trying to shake away my stupor.
“Brother, we've got to go. Let me help you move her.”
“Fuck you!” I spat, jealously protecting her fragile body like my own son, the one who'd grow up completely fucked because I hadn't been there to save her.
Wheeler nodded and stepped back, muttering something about having an ambulance on the way. There'd be badges for sure once the paramedics saw the mess of dead Scorps and wreckage on the highway several miles back.
Fuck if I cared. Fuck if I'd ever give a shit about anything ever again.
I pulled her into my arms and pressed my nose into her hair, trying to burn her scent into my brain. I was still trying when the skinny chucklefuck tapped me on the shoulder, yelling some incoherent shit in my ear.
Never thought I'd want to bust a medic's jaw, but I absolutely did just then. Lucky the kid was quicker with words than my fists. He finally got a few through to me before I could swing.
“Sir, you have to let me get in there! She's barely breathing.”
IV: Hello, Purgatory (Blackjack)
I sat next to Wheeler at the hospital, Finn on my lap. My son dozed like a champ, blissfully ignorant about the goddamned abomination that had just happened around him.
“We have to go once we get the call,” I whispered, careful not to wake the kid.
Wheeler looked at me like I'd flipped my shit for good. “What? You're not even sticking around for the girls?”
“Jules is fine. So are the kids. My old lady's being patched up and it's gonna take her a few days to recover.” I held Finn a little tighter and leaned over to my brother, my low growl becoming thunder. “Every fucking second he's still breathing, she isn't safe. Neither is my son.”
“Frig? Jesus, Blackjack, you can't just think you're gonna waltz in and off the Prez's asshole brother. You'll get us killed and everybody sharing our family name, even if you pull it off, once the rest of the club finds out...”
“Bullshit. You're acting like I'm not already sitting on a plan that'll rip his fucking guts out with nobody being any wiser.”
“Shit. I'll listen because it's you, brother, but I'm fucking warning you.” Wheeler sat up tall, reached over Finn's head, and jabbed his finger into my chest. “I'm out the second it looks like you're about to swing in front of the club. You saw how easy the motherfucker used our girls as bait, let the fucking Scorps come after our kids. Call me a coward, I don't give a damn, I'm not putting my family on the line a second time.”
He closed his eyes, trying to stop himself from going off in the quiet waiting room like a grenade. Who could fucking blame him?
I was asking for the impossible when we were both damned lucky we hadn't lost anybody in that crunched up car. Still, my brother didn't fucking get it.
Our wives, our kids, everything we'd ever care about was still at risk as long as reckless, selfish fuckstains like Frig were wasting air above ground.
I stared through the glass window leading to the ER, where Lizzie laid, a crew of nurses, doctors, and machines nursing her back to life.
I couldn't let her go through this shit again. Couldn't let it touch my son, and no promises I'd made about keeping him away from the club held any water as long as this club was infested with vermin I didn't control.
Every part of me wanted to be the good husband, to sit pretty here for several days, holding her hand 'til she finally came out of her coma and stared at me with those sweet green eyes.
Things were never that easy in this life. As long as we had a maniac running the show in Nevada, and another one back in Sacramento, there'd never be peace.
They had to fucking die so I'd never have to see her or little Finn torn and bleeding again.
* * * *
We rolled up in front of a beat up motel in Vegas. A couple prospects led us into the dingy courtroom out back. Frig had the whole place reserved as our temporary HQ, while the guys got ready to finish the run up to Elko.
The Enforcer spun around and exploded when he saw Wheeler and me. “Fucking shit-for-brains morons! Assholes!”
For a wiry little shit, his bony hands clutched my cut hard, tried to lift me off my feet. Good thing I weighed too much for his skinny ass.
A mess of obscenities blasted in my face. Took everything I had not to crash my skull on his so fucking hard I knocked him out. Bastard had the balls to act like I'd been the one who'd almost toasted his family, and that turned my blood to lightning.
“Where were you? Both you assholes? We're a whole fucking day behind schedule, all because you made us wait!”
“Our girls almost got killed,” Wheeler said, straining to hold the savagery in his voice.
“The girls, the girls! You know what, fuck your old ladies, and your kids, assholes. Saving their sorry whore asses doesn't do shit for making this club money. You're putting your personal shit above the club. That's against the rules. Mark my words, I will tell Fang about it, and we'll all have a nice family meeting once we get home.”
Frig smiled like he was chewing on broken glass. Right then, I wanted to shove a whole pile down his rotten throat 'til it worked its way out of his degenerate skin.
“You shitheads brought 'em to a public hospital, didn't you? Better hope nobody's too fucked in the head and starts talking to the Feds. They're gonna be up our asses after finding all the dead Scorps on the highway.”
“Didn't have a choice,” I said. “My girl, Lizzie, she needed serious treatment. The kids, too.”
Why the fuck am I trying to reason with this braindead prick? He reminded me about a second later.
“Whatever, Blacky. You can clean up your private horseshit when you're done shoveling it for the club. 'Til then, your ass is mine, and yours too, Wheeler. Saddle up. We've got a long road to Elko to finish our run.”
/> Keep on talking, asswipe. I stomped off with Wheeler behind me, preventing either of us from knocking his fucking teeth out in front of too many boys who'd squawk to Fang.
My brother gave me the look. Let's fucking do this.
Wheeler had finally gotten the message. Frig had to die to save our families, and we'd make it happen.
* * * *
We rode out just before dawn.
The journey was long and hot. I rode just a couple bikes behind the big truck, now splashed with some shoddy patch to cover up the bullet holes.
It took about seven hours to get into the county, and then another half hour to get out into the boonies, where the Utah buyers waited for their pickup.
A couple dozen of us stood underneath the evening sun. We all sweated bullets watching the prospects load our haul into the dealer's trucks, placing them into compartments along the side covered in sheet metal for secrecy.
When they finished, a couple grungy looking guys in leather jackets shoved several duffel bags toward the Prez, and then headed back to their rusted pickups parked next to several sleek black sedans. Whatever mob we were doing business with, I didn't fucking care, because I had more important shit on my mind.
Frig whistled. Wheeler and I stepped up and got on our knees, unzipping the bags. Tightly bundled cash popped out flush in our hands. We sifted through it, taking a quick estimate. There had to be about a million and a half stuffed in here. The other four bags I checked were identical.
Holy shit.
“We're set,” I told Frig, disguising the hatred in my voice.
He went off like a fucking idiot. Pulled his nine out and aimed it at the sky, shooting it like the drunken cowboy he'd become.
“I'm rich, rich, crazy fucking rich! Jesus, I wish those motherfuckers in cell block G could see me now! Can't wait 'til Fang hears all about this. Fucking shit, this club's never gonna need an honest day of work again.”
The younger guys behind us laughed. Guilt shot through my chest like a heavy stone as I stared at the money. Before we'd taken this trip, I was ready to risk anything for cash, whatever it took to give my family a more comfortable life.
This dirty fucking money had almost gotten them killed instead.
No, correction, the asshole shouting his lungs out and taking withering glances from the mobsters still climbing into their cars had almost put our women and kids in the ground.
I smiled so big I had to make sure I wasn't about to bite my fucking tongue off. Frig jumped when my hand slapped his shoulder. Squeezed 'til I felt bone – it didn't take much.
“You're a happy man today. What do you say we get ourselves a drink and bury the hatchet? We'll need brothers on good terms to guard all this loot.”
“Ha, yeah, if you're talking about my money, Blacky.” Frig shot me the evil eye, but he didn't turn away. “Aw, fuck, why not. I'll round up all the brothers and find us a bar.”
“No!” Wheeler stepped up, his big tattooed arms folded across his chest. “This oughta be between full patch brothers who need to smooth shit over. Right now, that's you, me, and Blackjack. We've got booze we picked up in Vegas. The desert's a much cooler place to crash than some dirty bar where the Scorps could sneak up and kick us in the balls. No damned good for a celebration.”
“When the fuck did you grow a brain?” Frig turned to me and winked. “You could learn a thing or two from Wheeler. Think he's gonna make a fine treasurer someday when we get our asses home.”
The only boy here who's about to do any learning is you.
I just smiled and nodded, watching as Frig stepped up in front of the crew, cupping his hands over his mouth. “You heard the man, boys, so listen up! I want all that shit locked up and going home to Vegas. We'll do a layover for one night, and only one night. That's all I can spare when we're hauling these many stacks. Fang's gonna want this shit in California pronto.”
The small gaggle of prospects and brothers nodded. Frig thumped his chest, letting his power go to his fucked up skull.
“You boys ride on ahead. We'll catch up to you in a couple hours. If the Scorps show up for a rematch, hit me on the radio. Doubt they'll have the balls with these fucking Feds combing around, trying to track 'em down after finding their guys smeared all over the goddamned pavement.”
My hand grazed the switchblade near my belt. Perfect, just fucking perfect.
Wheeler and I shared a look. If we pulled this off, we'd definitely have holy heaven on our side.
And I'd do whatever it took to make sure my woman didn't have to wear angel wings.
I'd sinned enough, and I was bound to the club. Lizzie wasn't suffering a single fucking second after today for my mistakes.
* * * *
“What's the fucking hold up?” I saw Frig coming over the horizon, stubbing out the smoke he'd just had, shooting the shit with Wheeler.
I'd gotten the hell away from his bike just in time. One second after I'd modified the brakes.
“Nothing at all, brother,” I said with a smile. “Just thinking about the perfect spot for boozing. There's some great fucking views off in those hills, just a short ride through the rocks.”
Frig took a long look at the jagged path where I was pointing. He snorted, then shook his head.
“You trying to kill me? How the fuck you think we're gonna handle that shit if we're riding back before we're sober?”
“Aw, shit, you're right.” My voice kept an eerie calm, even though every muscle in my body turned to lead. “Let's find something else. Wouldn't want you taking a spill and fucking anything up.”
His smartass stare turned into a death glare. “Wait a fucking minute, Blackjackass, are you saying I don't know how to ride?”
“You're fucking crazy, brother. That's not what I'm saying at all.”
No, you really are a psycho, asshole, I thought, throwing my hands in front of my chest.
“Nah, asshole, I think it is. You're saying I can't ride and hold my fuckin' booze.”
“Brothers, come the fuck on.” Wheeler stepped between us, a big grin on his face. “If we're gonna hash some shit out with fists, why do it sober? I've got three solid bottles of Jack in my saddlebag, and those hills are calling for Grizzlies blood.”
Frig stopped, and I kept one eye glued to his fist, ready to finish him here if it came to it.
He broke down in a wild laughing fit a second later. “You're both fucking numbnuts. Come on.”
Wheeler looked at me and shrugged. We all got on our bikes, started them, and waited 'til Frig take the lead.
His ride wouldn't last long enough to waste another sip of good whiskey.
The terrain got fucking crazy, even by my standards. I struggled to keep my bike from sputtering as it sank into the sand, tore through thick gravel, following the faintest outline of what used to be a road.
We were descending a slope, and just about to take an even higher hill, when Frig's shit gave out.
He must've been doing forty or more down the hill. He couldn't do a damned thing to stop his bike from picking up more speed when his brakes fucked up, and we watched the asshole soar halfway up the next hill, before sliding backward, screaming his sick head off.
His bike went off the road and slammed into a patch of boulders, just on the edge of a ditch. We waited 'til we heard him screaming to ride up and follow him, taking the path a lot more carefully.
“Pinned down. Just like a fucking rat,” I growled to Wheeler, pointing at the hot mess in front of us.
Frig's leg was caught between the rocks and the smashed remains of his bike. Had to be broken, smashed to bits after the blow he'd taken.
He'd probably fucked up his spine too, judging by how he squirmed. I smiled. It was just enough to make his pain a special kind of hell, rather than numbing his agony.
That smile got wider as I stepped up. Fucker was still conscious enough to see us, and the light blub switched on in his head about a second later.
“Fuck! You motherfucking, cock sucki
ng, two-timing pieces of shit!” Asshole reached for his gun, but a bullet flew through his hand before he got it.
Wheeler had some awesome aim. Almost better than mine, sometimes, though I'd never tell him to his face.
The jackass lifted his shot up hand and sucked blood from it, still screaming out his pain and rage. Then we caught up to him, and the real party started.
Wheeler got him in a choke hold while I opened my knife. There was no need for fancy explanations or even taunting.
I carved him up. Had to concentrate to make shit look right, especially when I ripped open his shirt.
Whoever had given him his Grizzlies MC tattoo had done a shitty job. Wasn't easy following the edges as I flayed him to bits, but I managed.
Frig only started screaming when Wheeler took the whiskey we'd brought, poured us a couple shots, and dumped the rest all over his fresh cuts. The asshole must've went blind from the pain, and we both knocked back a nip before we got back to work.
The sun was setting by the time he finally bled out. Thought he'd died right there, all slashed to pieces, but his head snapped up when he heard our boots crackling through the sand.
“Ass...holes...you fucking leaving me here? Your own goddamned brother...dying with the birds...fuck. Fang's gonna rip your throats out a thousand times worse, stuff your balls down the gash. You...your bitches...both your fucking kids. They're dead. I'll see every brat your balls ever make in fucking hell, assholes. I'll –“
I spun around, pulled my nine, and shot him right through the throat. Something about that shot didn't do him in instantly, or maybe the asshole was a little stronger than we thought.
We heard him choking halfway to our bikes, where we polished off the rest of the whiskey.
I reached into my saddlebag and pulled out the bloody Scorps cut I'd taken off a prospect's bike last night in Vegas.
“Think it'll work just to cover him?” Wheeler asked.
“Yeah. It'll take weeks to send a crew out here to find him. By then, Fang'll be too pissed to think sideways. He'll take it for what it's worth and rain down hell on the Scorps.”