by Snow, Nicole
Yes, I prayed, even when I saw what a total, undeserving bitch I'd become, the last girl in the world who deserved a rescue by the man who haunted her dreams.
But I wasn't stupid. The universe never, ever worked like that. I didn't believe in coincidence or miracles, and I definitely didn't deserve one after what I'd done.
Shit! It was so fucking dark down here, and I didn't dare turn on the lights and give them an easier time. I ran into the washing machine, its cold metal slapping my hands. When I looked up, the bikers' dark shadows blocked the hall, boxing me in.
When Hatter lunged, pulling at my hair, I lost it.
The screams, the prayers, and everything else went numb. He whirled me around, slapping me against the wall before I lost my balance and began to fall. Nothing broke it. Nothing caught me. Nothing except brutal regret as I hit the floor and they started tearing at my clothes.
That thing they say about your whole damned life flashing before your eyes right before you die? I thought it was crap – until it happened.
I remember everything, past and present flashing like strobe lights, colliding jigsaws in my head. Every piece of Stinger, I tried to cling onto, but I couldn't. It was all coming in a blizzard, churning too fast, the few good pieces always out of reach.
I'd lived on a merciless ledge, and I was an idiot to think there'd be anything different at my life's sudden dead end.
One second, I caught a fragment. Just one.
I remembered Stinger's warmth, his strength, his powerful arms wrapped around me, so real my heart stopped shaking to tatters in my ribs. And then it was gone in a wink, replaced with the savage wolves behind me, grabbing me by the ankles and ripping at my clothes.
II: It Always Catches Up (Alice)
Months Earlier...
It was a run like any other. Or that was the way it started, anyway.
I was perched in the big truck's passenger seat next to my Dad, quietly humming to himself as classic rock blasted over the radio. On the lonely highway cutting West through Bozeman, we looked like any other truck hauling freight, and that was his goal.
Nobody would've guessed Mickey James was anything more than an ordinary trucker unless they'd done business with him. If they could've seen the way he lived, they quickly would've realized the lie...
I never knew how much my Dad made running guns and contraband over the years, but it must've been millions. Too bad the long stays we had in Vegas and Reno always managed to take his latest fortune. The odds never cared how big a man's fortune was. The hungry casinos devoured it just the same.
I'd been on the road with him since I was seventeen and he took me out of school for the very last time. Whoever my mother was – some junkie whore, he said – I doubt she'd have approved of the way we lived, if she was a decent soul.
And there was some serious doubt about that.
I was almost asleep when we pulled into the rest stop. Dad's humming stopped and he held his stomach, popping the door and quickly running to the bathroom. I straightened up, staring into the night, hoping it'd be morning soon so I could enjoy the familiar mountains heading into Missoula.
The stress was killing him. After years of wheeling, dealing, and killing when he had to, his lucky star was fading. I'd overheard him bitching to contacts about business being down ever since the Grizzlies and Prairie Devils, two warring motorcycle clubs, cut some kinda truce. In the blink of an eye, two of his biggest clients no longer needed to stockpile weapons to point at each other's heads. Worse, the Devils were running their own supply lines through Grizzlies territory into Canada, and Dad was just one of many suppliers vying for his tiny cut.
He came back wiping his mouth, shirt reeking like he'd just spat up his stomach. His eyes were bloodshot. I breathed the sickly smell deep, making sure he hadn't taken to drinking on the road. I didn't think he'd completely lost his mind yet, but I had to be sure...
No, he was dry. The foul scent was too gross to be whiskey. Thank God.
“You okay?” I whispered, reaching over for his hand.
He jerked it away. “One day, I'm gonna teach you to drive one of these rigs, Alice. I'm fine. Just a little older for wear and a bad hotdog back in Bismarck or something. Fuckin' gas stations...”
“This wouldn't have anything to do with the deal that's about to go down, right?” My eyes narrowed.
So did my father's. For a minute, I thought he'd chew into me for sticking my nose where it didn't belong. Instead, he started up the truck and chuckled as we got onto the road.
“Nah. Nothing like that. The boys we're going to see won't refuse the shit we've got in the back. We can do business with the Grizzlies. They're our ticket to making some bucks without having Throttle's little stamp of approval on fucking everything.” He growled the name of the Devils' national President. “You're turning into a curious little cat, ain't you?”
I looked away. His tone sounded half-impressed and half-mocking. I could never be sure which feeling won out in my Dad's weird mind.
“That's okay, hon. If I can get a few things stitched together right, then maybe we can figure out some college or something for you after you get your GED.”
“Yeah.” My lips twisted sourly. How many times had I heard that? “Maybe if it doesn't all get pissed away at the casinos this time.”
Dad's friendly expression melted. The sickly, grayness on his face returned. I turned away from him, staring out the passenger window and into the deep, dark Montana night. If I didn't know any better, I almost thought he was ashamed.
I couldn't blame him for wasting his money on games. Learning something practical sure as hell didn't interest me, and sending me to an art school I'd probably flunk was barely better than losing thousands at the tables. My fingers pinched the bag with my sketch book, all I had for company on these long, miserable trips, not counting the man next to me.
Dad kept his maps in there too. He left me in charge, knowing I never misplaced anything.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. Growing up was nothing but disappointment and feeble promises that never materialized into anything better. Time had done nothing but grind us down more, and I doubted it would change now that I was old enough to drink.
It was hard to imagine how it could be any worse. A shame, really, because if I'd seen the blackness coming, maybe I would've been prepared for the tragedy that came next.
“Alice? Honey, wake up.” Dad pressed a cold bottle to my cheek.
I opened my eyes and sat up. A knot in my neck burned, always the same spot. Too many years spent sleeping in screwed up positions on the road with him left little quirks youth couldn't heal.
Like always, I snatched the cold orange juice out of his hand and popped the cap. We'd just left another gas station and the sun was high overhead. The mountains made me smile as I sipped on pure acid.
The cheap OJ was fake as hell, but at least it was familiar, the same as the rolling peaks closing in fast as the truck rumbled down the road.
“How much longer?” I asked.
“Just another hour or two. The Rams' place is up near the Idaho border, wedged between a couple little towns. Keep an eye out for toothless fucks with banjos and shotguns in them hills. From what I understand, these boys keep their clubhouse way back.” He winked.
I managed a weak smile at his lame ass joke. Good thing a life of dealing with criminal buyers meant neither of us was truly likely to be rattled by some backwooded mouth breathers.
An hour later, the wisecrack took on a grim reality. Dad had to shift gears several times to force our heavy load up the narrow unpaved road, cut up the side of a mountain flanked with trees.
The place looked even dingier than I imagined. It was early afternoon when we rolled in, and nobody came out to greet us. Dad and I were in their clubhouse, taking seats at the bar, before anybody stirred.
A muscular man with gray hair and a beer belly came out of a room down the hall twenty minutes later, rubbing his eyes.
�
��Hello, Block,” Dad greeted him. “You ready to talk business?”
The Rams' President eyed us warily. He looked gross, shirtless except for the cut draped on him, potbelly sticking through the opening.
“I'll be ready soon, but the other guys aren't. Hold your horses. I need the whole club in on this so we can vote. You know how this shit works. Nice and democratic.” He picked up an open bottle of whiskey on the counter and chugged it down. “Make yourselves at home, you two. Must be a bitch and a half barreling all the way here from Michigan on such short notice.”
“Desperate times,” Dad said darkly. “Gotta do whatever it takes to drum up business. You got contacts who are interested in buying bulk at a good price. Can't do that with the Devils blocking the old routes going East to West.”
“Fucking Devils,” Block snarled, clanking the nearly drained bottle on the counter. “Those pussy bitches are supposed to show up here next week. Bastards want us patched over quick as a support club since this state's their territory now – otherwise they'll disband us.”
Dad's face tightened up. I waited for an explosion, but I should've known I'd be waiting an eternity. He rarely let his real emotions out. Very rarely.
“Don't worry,” Block said, settling an uneasy hand on Dad's shoulder. “I'm not gonna double-cross you. Those fuckers won't be keeping too close an eye on us out here as soon as things are settled. I got plenty of ways to hook you up with the right guys.”
“That's what we're here for. Both of us.”
I nodded, giving Dad my quiet support.
“Gotcha, dude.” Block looked at me and slowly grinned. Not a smile I wanted to return. Thankfully, the dickhead seemed too drunk to care when I looked away from him.
Dad cracked a beer while the creepy Pagan Rams President made the rounds, trying to rouse his men from their rooms in the back. He looked high and low for something I could drink behind the bar, but came up with his hands dusty and empty. He shrugged.
“Looks like these fuckers are all out of Coke and water. Last beer too.” He held up his bottle and shook it.
“How about a shot of something to take the edge off?” I said, looking over at the fresh bottle stacked up behind the bar.
“No,” Dad said quietly, taking his seat next to me again. “Need us both to stay focused. This little club's new to me, but their big brothers aren't. Grizzlies are serious enough fuckers to keep us both on our toes, Alice. Remember that.”
A chill crept up my spine. Living like we did, it was easy to forget that every one of these deals could easily go badly and end with both of us dead. I trusted Dad knew what he was doing.
He'd been screwed over a few times before, once when I was with him. He was selling weapons to some thugs in Portland. They weren't waiting out on the street where he'd agreed to meet them. I knew something was wrong when he warned me to duck, pushing my head down beneath the widow.
Instinct told him they were waiting behind a rusted warehouse garage door, waiting for us to pull close to ambush. Dad never got that far. He picked up the automatic between us and shot through my open window, riddling the door with bullets, sending the men behind them to their quick and dirty deaths.
I trusted him after that. There was no reason to think he wouldn't be able to handle these sloppy, drugged out bikers past their prime if things got dicey.
The four Rams didn't shuffle out until another hour passed. Then they sat at the dirty tables away from us, bullshitting amongst themselves. The way these crude, coarse men always talked about the women they fucked and threw away made my stomach churn.
I looked at my father warily. Did he say the same things when I was out of earshot? Or did he have more respect for girls because he had a daughter? Obviously, he'd been wild in his younger days, only tightening the leash because I'd been dropped in his lap to raise.
I shook my head. No wonder I was still a damned virgin at twenty-one. How could I want anything to do with men when I'd grown up hearing old bikers and leering thugs talking about which hole they were going to fuck next?
Dating? Not in this life.
Good guys worth having relationships with were reserved for the normal, law abiding, civilian world. And that world was just as distant and strange as the idea of loving a man instead of just fucking him. Or, rather, being fucked by him, fucked and thrown away like an empty bottle.
Dad's ears perked up when we heard the rumble of motorcycles. He pushed away the empty beer he'd been nursing for over an hour and stood, giving me a serious look that said look alive, hon. Here we go.
He was halfway to the door the Rams were all gathering around when several guys pushed their way in. Dad took one look at their patches and his smile melted.
“Slingers? What the fuck? You're another support club.” He turned to Block. “You told me full patch Grizzlies MC brothers were coming to cut this deal. Come on, Alice.”
He waved to me. “We're getting the fuck outta here. I'm not wasting my good fucking time dealing with more middle men.”
I'd never seen him so pissed. Well, not since he'd lost six figures one night in Vegas several years ago.
“Whoa, whoa, fuckin' whoa!” The tall bald man with the scarred face and the brightest SLINGERS MC patch threw out his hands and nearly hit my Dad in the chest. “What's the hurry, buddy? We just got here to party.”
The other Slingers and the Rams moved to block the door, smiling the whole time. Dad was a big guy, and he bowed up right away, unused to taking shit from anyone like this.
But he wasn't a fool. We were so stupidly outnumbered it wasn't even funny.
My heart leaped into my throat. These men from the other club weren't slow moving old stags like the Rams. They looked lean, mean, and seriously hellbent on getting their point across – whatever it was.
If things went bad...then I wasn't sure the luck we'd always had in these deals would hold.
It'll be okay, I told myself. You've seen him talk his way out of standoffs with gorillas bigger and more pissed off than these guys. Just keep it together.
I backed up, taking the furthest seat from the bar I could. The man with the bright red colors looked past Dad and smiled at me. If the devil himself decided to crawl out of hell and take human form, I would've guessed he'd smile a lot like this guy. It was a strange smile too, evil because his teeth sat so damned perfect in his scarred face.
“Relax. Bring your slut over to the table, friend. No secrets here. We're all gonna sit down like gentleman and hash this out.” He forced his hand on my Dad's and gave it a powerful shake. “Name's Nero. I'm the President of the Slingers MC, and I'm here to do business, just like Block told you. The Grizzlies are too busy with the cartels in SoCal to send their own boys out here. They need every man for the Mexicans. So, I came out with my main crew here: Shark, Wasp, and Hatter.”
He pointed to several big, bearded, and brutal looking men next to him. The last guy was leaner, twitchy like he'd had too much caffeine. He also had a crazy glint in his eye I didn't like one bit.
“You got my advance?” Dad asked, grinding his teeth.
I swallowed hard. He still wasn't backing down.
Nero smiled and nodded. “Yeah, man, of course I do. It's in my saddle bag. Two hundred big, just like Block said. It's yours – long as we cut ourselves a deal here today.”
Slowly, my father turned to me. I could see the rage boiling in his red face, tempered only by the possibility that things might not go straight to hell. If we played along and heard them out, maybe we'd walk out alive.
“Come on, Alice,” he said. “Let's sit down and talk.”
“Good choice, Mickey. You're smarter than you look,” Nero said, walking over to the big table the Rams had formed with several smaller ones pushed together.
“Go get the drinks, Reaper. We've got special beer for a special occasion,” Block ordered, tapping the man with the VP patch next to him.
We all sat down in silence, Dad and I taking our places across from the viciou
s looking Slingers. The Rams all sat on the ends, sans Reaper, who came back several minutes later pulling two huge kegs and a tray of heavy mugs. I watched him fill each glass from the tap, shifting to the second keg when he got to ours.
The beer landed in front of me. I started to drink it when I saw Dad doing the same. I guessed the earlier warning about staying focused had taken a back seat to mimicking these jackals across from us, all of whom were gulping down their brew in loud slurps.
Nero drained his mug and slammed it on the table. Dangerously close to Dad's hand. He wiped his mouth and smiled.
“Well, what's in the truck?” Nero lit a cigarette and looked at us.
Dad pulled a list from his pocket and began rattling off a long list of names. I'd heard the words lots of times, but I still had very little idea what these weapons were: AK-something-or-others and Kevlar vests, stun grenades and RPGs, guns and bombs with big numbers attached, only matched by the number of people they'd killed.
Nero's cigarette was half burned by the time he finished. He waited for Dad to stop, then exhaled a long snort of smoke, before replying.
“Fucking impressive,” he said. Dad's fingers tensed on the list in excitement, rustling the paper a little. “But I got a different deal in mind.”
We both blinked simultaneously. I looked at Dad nervously and saw the light go out in his eyes.
“Yeah? What kinda deal we talking?”
“The kind that lets me poach any weapons I want for free. You're the one guy in this biz who's got his supply routes tracked from Maine to California like nobody else. You know exactly what's coming and going, whether it's yours or not. I'm fucking impressed. I know you've got some way to keep track of everything. If you wanna hand over that pretty little map, we'll call it good and be on our merry way.”
Dad laughed once and slammed his fist on the table. “You gotta be shitting me! Did you know about this, Block? What's in it for your ass?”
He turned to the Rams' President. The heavy man shrugged, then nodded. “Deal's a deal. Everything you need to know's right in front of you. I've kept up my end to get you here talking to Nero.”