Anarchy Found (SuperAlpha #1)

by J. A. Huss

  “No problem,” I say, tugging on my light jacket and straightening it out. I don’t want strange bikers thinking too hard about me. “I’m soaked though. So can we get that thing loaded and go?”

  “Right,” he says, walking back to the bike. “Just get inside the truck and I’ll load her up.”

  I can’t wait to get in that truck. But the thought of him sitting in there with me makes me nervous. Not because I’m scared. I can take care of myself. But because this is a very hard day for me and I don’t want to share it with anyone. Least of all this douchebag of a stranger.

  I go looking for my gun, find it on the road on the other side of the trailer where he kicked it, and then get in the driver’s side and take my jacket off so the heater can warm me up and dry me off. The clock on the dash says four-thirty, so I only have an hour to get to the bike shop before it closes.

  I look down at my hands as I think of the bikes while the rhythm of the wipers lulls me into myself. Will’s bikes. The only thing I really have left of him aside from the photographs. I’ve put off collecting them from the racetrack, knowing that I would have to make a decision if I ever did come out here to pick them up. Knowing that I could never look at them and not think of the night he died.

  So I’m selling the bikes today. And then I’m never going to think about motorcycles again for the rest of my life.

  The driver’s side door opens and bike boy is there, pushing me on the shoulder. “Scoot over, gun girl. I’m driving.”

  “You’re not driving.” I push back. “Get in the passenger side.”

  He tilts his head down and looks up at me through the drops of rain running down his face. “Look, I live off a very slick dirt road. It’s dangerous and I’m really not in the mood to go crashing over the side because you can’t handle the trailer.”

  “What the—”

  “I’m not saying you’re helpless, OK? I’m just saying it’s tricky and I know the road. You don’t. So arguing with me is just a power play on your part, and if you don’t want to go over the side of a cliff, you’ll let me—”

  “Fine,” I say, pulling my legs up so I can scramble over to the passenger’s seat.

  He throws his wet leather jacket in the back cab and then slides in and adjusts the seat all the way back so his long legs can stretch out. “Jesus, you’re like a little midget.”

  I scowl at him.

  He laughs at me, puts the truck in gear, and we take off down the road.

  I stare out the window and enjoy the mountain scenery as we sit in silence. After ten minutes, I start wondering where the hell we’re going. “How far is it?”

  “Just up the road a mile or so.”

  But the miles come and go and we are still driving. “Come on,” I say, irritated. “Just tell me where the hell your house is so I know how long this is gonna take. I have an appointment and I’ve got to make it there today.”

  “What kind of appointment?” he says as he slows to turn on a dirt road. At least we are getting closer. This must be the dirt road he was talking about.

  “Never mind what kind of appointment. Just hurry up.”

  “So what do you do?” He glances over at me and I’m mesmerized by his amber eyes for a second before I can look away.

  I huff out a long breath and cross my arms.

  “Not chatty, huh?”

  I look out the window.

  “You don’t like me, do you?”

  “You seem like an arrogant prick.”

  “How do you figure?” he asks, turning onto another dirt road.

  “How do I figure?” I laugh. “Well, let’s see, number one, you were riding in the rain like you’re invincible. Number two, you were cocky even after you wrecked that bike. And number three—”

  “Are you listing me?”

  “What?”

  “Listing me.”

  “I don’t… I don’t know what that means.”

  “You’re making a list. You did that earlier too. When you were trying to get me to back off.”

  “I didn’t list you. I’m just the kind of girl who likes to keep things straight.”

  “Ah,” he says, with a wink in my direction. “I get it. OCD and shit. You’re definitely a lister.”

  “I’m not a lister—forget it. Just stop talking and get to your house so I can drop you off and be on my way.”

  He comes to a stop in front of an arched, rusty gate built into the side of the mountain. It’s big enough to pull a tank through, but he puts the truck in park and sighs. “We’re here. Guess you’ll get your wish then, lister.”

  But before I can say anything, he jumps out of the truck and slams the door.

  Just ignore him, Molly. He’s baiting you on purpose. Assholes do things like that. In a few minutes he’s going to be gone and you’ll never see him again.

  Chapter Three - Molly

  I scoot back over to the driver’s seat and place my hands on the steering wheel, gripping it tightly. How did I get myself into this? I listen as he clunks things around in the back of the trailer, and then he backs his bike down the ramp and engages the stand.

  A few more seconds—a loud clank as the ramp is maneuvered back into place—and I’ll be outta here.

  Finally, he closes the doors and bangs on the back three times. He disengages the stand on the bike and wheels it forward. “Good,” I whisper to myself as I look at the clock.

  Another bang makes me jump, so I look over at the window. It’s raining harder than ever now, and he’s dripping. “What?” I say, unwilling to lower the window and let that cold water in.

  He points to the back cab and yells over the pounding rain, “My jacket!”

  “Oh,” I say back, fingering the button to unlock the back. “Sorry,” I mumble, as he opens the door and shrugs his wet jacket on over his t-shirt.

  “No, problem, lister. Thanks for the ride.” He slams the door and begins to push his bike towards the giant gate in the side of the mountain.

  What the hell is going on here?

  “Don’t,” I warn myself. Whatever he’s doing, wherever he’s going, it’s none of my business.

  But then he brings out his phone and tabs a few things to make the gate in the mountain begin to lift up. There’s nothing beyond but a very dark tunnel.

  Yeah, he’s a creeper. Probably a criminal. Most likely a deviant, and a freak, and that just goes perfectly with the fact that he’s an asshole.

  I put the truck in reverse just as he disappears inside. I back up, forgetting that I have a fucking trailer hitched, and immediately make a mistake.

  My foot slams down on the brake and I put the truck back in park. Just calm down, Molly. You know how to pull a trailer. You could do this blindfolded.

  I check both mirrors, memorize the road behind me, and close my eyes.

  The whole world floats away as I put the truck back in reverse and fix my mistake.

  I’m Molly Masters. Daughter of Crazy Bill and sister to Wild Will, world-famous stunt riders. I grew up on a dirt bike and I can back a trailer up blindfolded.

  I open my eyes, calm again.

  Now back to the business at hand. Putting my dead brother’s bikes to rest. I back the trailer up a little more, then angle it into a small turnout and pull forward to head back the way I came.

  I get about ten feet before the wheels start spinning. So I shift into four-wheel drive and try again. This time I get about five feet before I slip and slide a little over to the edge of the road.

  Bike boy wasn’t kidding. His road is tricky.

  Asshole.

  I try again and again and again. I put it into two-wheel drive, four-wheel drive, get out, find some pine branches and stuff them under the wheels, get back in, try it again. And the only thing I accomplish is getting even more stuck in the mud.

  I hate my life. My life sucks because…

  I’m stuck in the mud.

  I’m sad.

  My brother is dead.

  My father is
dead.

  My mother is insane.

  I will never make this appointment.

  This will not be the first day of the rest of my life.

  I might die out here in the mountains.

  My only hope is some crazy asshole who lives in a tunnel.

  I sit there for several seconds trying to think of a number ten because my particular brand of OCD likes to round things when it has a chance. And ten is a perfect list, right? But I’m grateful and hopeful about the new job. So I’m out of bad stuff to complain about.

  I feel better though. So I get out and follow bike boy’s tracks into the darkness.

  Little red lights line the tunnel. It sorta reminds me of an airport runway. The mud turns to concrete about twenty feet in and there’s a small light up ahead. I’m really not sure what to expect, so I get my gun out just in case.

  A few paces on and the tunnel turns sharply to the left where the light is brighter. I can hear yelling. Bike boy is yelling.

  Someone is talking back to him, but he’s laughing too. I let out my breath and relax a little as I creep forward into the chamber. The first thing I see is the wrecked bike mounted on a red mechanic’s lift. Then toolboxes, some weird contraption that looks like a… robot, rolling around? A computer, then another, and another. A whole wall of computers, actually. Food wrappers and half-empty protein shake containers. Parts. A black muscle car. A long table lined with shit that looks like pieces from a chemistry lab. And a massive aquarium-sized tank holding luminescent jellyfish.

  All this time bike boy is yelling and waving those black-gloved hands in the air, splashing a protein drink all over the floor.

  “What the fuck, Case? I told you not to mess with my bike, you asshole.”

  “I didn’t touch your bike, Lincoln.”

  “Stay the fuck out of my business. I crashed the goddamned bike and had to hitch a ride home and Sheila is somehow offline. Offline! You motherfucker!”

  “Calm down,” Case says. “She’s not gonna miss anything being offline for a few minutes. In fact, if I were you I’d be asking how it’s possible she got knocked off so easy. Doesn’t that strike you as weird?” It comes from a giant face on a wall-sized flat screen mounted on the side of a… cave? What the fuck? “And you lost your right to work alone months ago, so don’t get all self-righteous about me being around today.”

  “What’s that supposed to—“

  “Hey, asshole,” the guy on the screen says over bike boy’s tantrum, cutting him off.

  “I didn’t need this complication—” Bike boy stops talking. Because the guy on the screen is waggling his eyebrows at me. “What the fuck are you doing?” bike boy asks. “Stop making stupid faces—”

  “We have com-pan-eee.” The guy on the giant screen nods his head at me.

  Bike boy whirls around, shoots me a dirty look, and then growls, “I’ll call you back,” as the giant screen goes black.

  We stare at each other for a few moments, our eyes locked. “Oh, my—”

  “You’re still here,” he says over me.

  “—God.” I look around one more time.

  Cave filled with…

  Super bike.

  Souped-up muscle car.

  Giant flatscreen phone chat.

  Computers everywhere.

  Robot?

  Some kind of science lab.

  A few loud beeps interrupt my list. “Online,” a female voice says from the ceiling. A pause, and then, “There has been a breach and we have a visitor.” A hologram in the form of a woman appears in the middle of the cave and I can only assume this is…

  Sheila, apparently back online.

  I look around a little more and spy… not a cape, thank God, but a… a…

  Helicopter, parked at the far end of the enormous cavern.

  And then I get the perfect list after all, because I see…

  Guns.

  No, they are more than mere guns. I know my way around a gun and these are—

  “What the fuck are you doing here, gun girl? I thought we parted back in the forest.”

  “Oh, my God,” I repeat. “You’re Batman.”

  Chapter Four - Lincoln

  I force a smile as I set my protein shake down, but inside I’m pissed as hell. She is not supposed to be here. “How the fuck did you get in?”

  She’s shaking her head, gun in hand, and backing up the way she came. But I can’t just let her walk out. Not after she’s seen all this. Not after she’s seen me. Jesus Christ, she might be able to identify me. I really need to do something.

  “The gate in front of the tunnel was open and I just followed your cave running lights.”

  “That’s what happens when Sheila goes down.” I curse under my breath at Case.

  “And I can tell by your reaction”—gun girl is still backing up—“that you’re not one of the good guys, are you?”

  “Good guys?” This actually makes me laugh. “There’s such a thing?” I lunge at her, trying to cut her off before she backs herself into the entrance, but she dodges me and skirts to the right, kicking over an oilcan as she moves. “Why are you running, gun girl?”

  “Why are you chasing me, bike boy?”

  “Not Batman then, huh?”

  She shakes her head, her eyes are darting around like she’s looking for an escape route.

  “Sheila,” I call out. When I look over, Sheila’s got a little smirk on her face. Like she’s feeling vindicated about this whole fuckup.

  “How can I help—”

  “Uh…” I cut Sheila off before she says my name out loud. “Secure the perimeter and the tunnel.”

  “Perimeter and tunnel secure,” she says as soon as I’m done.

  “That’s clever,” gun girl says. “What are you, some diabolical mad scientist?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I’m gonna get out of here. You can’t keep me here. And if you think I’ll surrender and let you—”

  “Hey,” I say, putting my hands up, palms out in front of me. “Take it easy, OK? I’m not keeping you here. I just need to make sure the place is buttoned up. I have a lot of expensive stuff happening in this room.”

  She stops backing up, and that’s enough for me at the moment. “Who are you?”

  I shake my head. “You don’t need to know that.”

  “I’m afraid I do. I brought you here. You made me bring you here. And now I see those wheels turning in your head. You can’t let me go. Not after I’ve seen all this stuff you have. Do you have permits for this place? Hell, do you even own this land?”

  I scrub my gloved hand down my unshaven face and sigh. Think, Lincoln. Think. How the fuck do I get out of this? There’s probably six different ways I can handle this, but most of them would be difficult, involve a lot of talking and explaining, and I’m not in the mood for that shit right now.

  “I just want to go, OK? But my truck is stuck in the mud. So if you help me get it back on the road, I’ll leave and never come back.”

  I shoot her a grin, the one that disarms all the girls I never bring home. It’s big, with dimples, and makes my eyes soften so people trust me. “No problem. Let’s go do that.” I shoot her a little wink.

  Gun girl recoils a little. She starts shaking her head again. “You’re lying. You’re lying and I’m not falling for it.”

  “I’m not lying, I’m gonna help you.” Just not the way you think. I take a few steps towards her, but she takes off running to the right, trips over a floor mat, barely catches herself before she faceplants, recovers, and stops on the other side of my black muscle car.

  “You wanna play the kiddy chase game, gun girl?” I laugh a little at the thought. She’s tough, and scared, and holding a weapon aimed at my chest. So the whole idea is a little ridiculous. But she’s very cute in her I’ve-got-a-gun-and-I-know-how-to-use-it way. “I can play, but I always win.”

  “Well,” she says, a little out of breath and with one of her hands on the hood of my car,
like she’s trying to calm down. I take a few steps forward, and she eases away. “I always win as well. So we’re an even match for this game.”

  She’s in bolt mode. One wrong move and she runs. And even though I could catch her easily under normal conditions, I don’t have the energy to catch her right now. My body is more fucked up than it looks from that crash. I need to eat and recover or I’m gonna pass out.

  Her feet are not sure which way to go until I make a move one way or another, so I need to play this smart. “There’s no need for such fierce competition,” I say, taking a few steps towards the front of the car. She sprints to the rear end, keeping the car between us. “I might not be a good guy, as you put it. But I’m really not gonna hurt you.” Especially after what happened out there on the road when I grabbed her foot and took her down. I want to think a little harder about that, but she starts to move, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Right,” she says, moving two steps away with each one of mine. “I pegged you for some kind of deviant criminal the moment I saw you fly past me on that bike. Careless, reckless, and so sure you’re invincible, the safety of other people on the road is of no concern.”

  “What are you, some do-gooder crossing guard? It’s a deserted mountain road. That’s what we do up here.”

  “It wasn’t deserted, I was on it!”

  “Yeah, but we went around you.”

  “That’s not the point. You could’ve hurt me. What if I had swerved into—”

  “OK, fine,” I say, getting bored with this quick. This was not how I planned to spend this day and I’m already getting a migraine. “I’m the bad guy, you’re the good girl. I give up. Now do you want help with that trailer or not? Because I’m still soaking wet here, and I’d like to change.”

  And that’s when I make my move.

  I reach down and grab the edge of my dripping wet t-shirt and pull it up over my stomach. I catch her eyes going wide just as I tug it over my head. And by the time I’m tossing it aside, she’s staring at my abs.