by Flite, Nora
Maybe they wouldn't even see us.
“Hang on tight,” he snapped, just loud enough over the engine. I obeyed, clutching my arms around his middle. The velocity of our speed was dangerous; we were shooting like a bullet, piercing the late hour with the teeth of danger on our heels.
It was so easy to forget that minutes ago, we'd been dancing.
Kissing.
Holding Ronin tight, I screwed my eyes up and promised myself that no matter what happened, I wouldn't forget that moment. It had been a fraction of my mortality, but it would remain fuzed into my very atoms until I found my end.
There was a cruelty to all of this. Ronin had found his way into my life and brought so much destruction, even while my own path had led me here. Pain swallowed and stalked us, like we were planets caught up in orbit. But without such pain and tragedy, we would never have met.
Destiny deserved a punch to the jaw.
For awhile we just rode, my ears working to hear anything over the constant rumble. I glanced back several times, anxious to see if there were lights behind us. I never saw anything, but if I was comforted by this fact, it still took Ronin hours before he agreed to slow down.
It was the needle waving at us on his gas tank that had the final say.
The rickety, self-serve gas station we pulled into would have fit better in a horror movie. I kept expecting some guy with a chainsaw to stumble out of the bushes, ready to slice us up.
A hand touched my shoulder; I jumped a fucking mile. Ronin smiled, but he had the look of a man putting on a show. “Go inside, pay for the gas and grab us some water.”
Taking the money he offered, I clutched it. “Those men back there, who were they? Guys with old grudges?” He'd told me people would be after him, but to face it so suddenly...
He turned, focusing on the pump. “They weren't the Girl Scouts.”
I looked at him hard.
Ronin shrugged with his famous half smile. “Honestly, it's hard to even narrow it down.”
The back of my tongue burned. I wanted to argue, convince him to stop leaving me in the dark. One step forward, two steps back. That was us.
Sighing, I walked across the dim lot, making sure the pistol I had from Roach's place was still hidden in the back of my pants. I didn't doubt that anyone running a business like this would take one look at my weapon and aim his own at me.
The door jingled, a slim, leathery man looking my way. His bushy brows waved upwards. “Ho ho,” he said, revealing too few teeth. “Late hour for company. Need directions, Missy?”
“Nope.” I snagged two cold water bottles from a dusty cooler, setting them and the cash on the counter. “Just these and some gas. Thanks.”
Nodding, the hard nub on his turkey-throat wiggling, he grabbed the money. I tucked the waters in my purse, wiping my palms on the front of my jacket. He followed the motion, acting overtly creepy. The man was about to say more, and there was a good chance I didn't want to hear it—but a new noise shut him up.
Engines.
Together we turned, my blood going electric. “Friends of yours?” the man whispered, turning pale as three motorcycles rolled into the lot.
“No,” I said softly, reaching back to touch my gun's hilt. “I think you should call the police. Those men...” I didn't bother to finish my warning. I watched as the clerk ducked, flying into the back room faster than a man of his age had any right to move.
I knew the sound of a lock when I heard one.
Shit.
Terror made me walk on stiff knees, my vision heightened from my adrenaline. Through the window, I could see that the men had dismounted. He must have run for cover when he heard them coming down the road, because I had to search a moment before I spotted him across the dirt.
I didn't know if his plan had been a surprise attack, or just to gain some distance. Whatever he'd been hoping for, the bikers still migrated in his direction, quickly surrounding him.
They were out of the line of sight of the front door. I took some comfort in knowing I could go through, unseen. But peeking past the cracked, dusty glass, I was trembling at the idea of letting Ronin out of view, even for a second. The idea that I might turn away, and in that instant, hear the gunshot that finished him off...
It turned my stomach to ash.
Can I shoot them from here? Pulling out the pistol, I debated my chances. The angle was bad, and the three men were too close—I might hit Ronin. He had his hands in the air, that familiar smile glistening as he said words I didn't hear.
I imagined him trying to talk them down.
Their sneers said he would fail.
Summoning my confidence, I hurried out the door. The air was chill, the same as when Ronin and I had shared our kiss. I could still taste him, and that was torture.
I won't let him die. Not without trying to save him.
It was as close to a promise as I could make.
Looking around, I studied the scene. The lot was barren; nothing but the single, rusted pump and Ronin's bike sitting beside it. He'd started to fuel up, but now, the nozzle dangled in the dirt, the acrid scent of gasoline permeating my nose.
The keys dangled in the ignition. Had he planned to ride away, to abandon me? Or to lead them away for my benefit? The men had rolled up so abruptly, he'd clearly chosen another option, leaving the bike where it was.
Wait.
Wide-eyed, I focused on that motorcycle.
I knew what I had to do.
I'd found our one chance.
Stealthily as I could, I darted over to the vehicle. Here, I could almost see the men around the building. One of them was talking softly, I picked out his smug tone.
It had been a few months since I'd last ridden Claudine's bike. The old adage about never forgetting? God, I hoped it was true.
Jumping on top, I straddled the metal beast. The weight of it, the power, infused me with the strength I needed. This was it; now or never. Hesitation would cut the frail string that was taut between Ronin and I.
I wasn't ready for it to be over so soon.
Lighting up the dark blue landscape, I tore around the gas station in a burst of speed. I got my first good look at the men. It was kind of nice, how shocked they appeared. They were nothing but white eyes and open mouths as I bore down on them.
My hope was that they'd scatter. I needed their instinct for saving their own asses to kick in. But the closer I got, the bike roaring between my thighs, the more I worried they'd stand their ground. I didn't want to mow them all down, but if I did, would Ronin be able to dodge?
Move! I thought desperately. Get out of the way!
Like they heard my prayers, they jumped in all directions. I was going so fast by then that I had to swerve so I didn't hit Ronin. He looked surprised, too, but more so...
He looked relieved.
I slammed the brakes, wanting him to get the hint and jump on. I thought he knew my plan, his legs pumping as he ran at me. “Hurry!” I screamed. “We have—” His hand dipped low, snatching my pistol from the back of my khakis.
I think he winked at me, but it was too dark to tell.
Spinning, he dazzled the night with flares from the gun's muzzle. Again, and again, until the three men were down—either hurt or ducking to save themselves. “Ronin!” I pleaded, watching him stride further away.
I understood why when he kicked a biker over, crouching—then standing with his own gun in triumph. Of course, they'd taken his weapon earlier.
Someone moved, but Ronin was ready, his senses on edge. That time, when he fired, I saw the blood fly. I was thrilling with his success, how he'd proven he was the faster man. I should have been sickened.
How quickly was I becoming desensitized to the violence?
“Go!” Ronin shouted, rushing to me at top speed. I choked the bike, hardly waiting for him to hop on. It was a funny change; him, gripping my waist as we spun across the dirt and onto the strip of road. I didn't look back, but I flinched at the gunfire—Ronin's b
ullets—as he pelted the other bikes, popping their tires. He squeezed the trigger until the gun clicked, empty. They wouldn't be chasing us anymore.
Together, we flew down the pavement.
****
How long did we ride for? I didn't know. Not so long that the recent fueling emptied the tank, but long enough that I was cramping up.
We had just passed a construction site and crossed into Florida when Ronin tapped me on the shoulder, indicating we should pull off the road. I did as he asked, leading the bike off into the brush.
My thighs ached, and even my hands were sore as I turned the motorcycle off. Grimacing, I carefully slid down, testing the strength of my legs. Fuck, I was exhausted.
Bending over, I flexed my joints and just... breathed. We were alive. That would never become a novelty, not to me.
The silence was brief. I didn't know how to explain Ronin's tone; it was soft, velvet in texture... and at the same time, insistent. “Who the hell taught you to ride like that?”
Cracking my back, I let a proud smile take hold. “Claudine.”
From how he laughed, I don't think he was expecting that answer. “No shit,” he said, shaking his head in a slow swing. Tucking his hand into his hip, he offered me my pistol back. “It's out of bullets, but you should still keep it.”
“Right,” I said, tucking the weapon away. Without ammo, it couldn't kill or injure. But, it would still work as a blunt instrument, or to threaten, if I had to.
Folding his arms, he said, “You saved me back there. Thanks.”
His praise made me glow. The heat wriggled from my heart, down to some place much less innocent. “I didn't have any choice.”
“You could have taken my bike and let them shoot me.” The humor had fled. The air felt heavy. “You had that option.”
Breathing in slowly, I took one step his way. My eyes never wavered. “No. That was never an option.”
He stared me down, judging me like I'd never experienced. It was as if the sky had split, a hailstorm rumbling my way and daring me to dodge. Ronin had seen so many of my facets, but whatever it was he was looking for... or expecting... I sensed I kept surprising him.
I liked that.
His hand moved by his side. I tensed, ready and entirely unprepared. Was he going to touch me? What would it be like to taste his lips, so soon after our near death escape?
I was disappointed when he turned away, head hanging low as he walked. “I'll grab some wood for a small fire.”
“Aren't you worried we'll be seen?” The idea of more men attacking us was too much.
“They can't follow us this time.” There wasn't a hint of doubt in his voice.
His confidence reminded me of how little I knew. “How can you be so sure?”
With one brief, final glance, he said, “Trust me.”
Recently, the thought of associating that word with him would have been hilarious. When had it all changed? Probably somewhere between New Jersey and here, I mused.
It was incredible what a long stretch of road and time could do for the soul.
Hugging myself, I relaxed on the grass and watched his shadow. He returned with a pile of various branches and logs, the lighter I'd seen him use when he smoked setting everything ablaze.
Sitting beside me, he rested his elbows on his knees. “You manage to get any water from the gas station?”
He mentioned the place so casually. How much had he seen that we didn't even need to talk about, or decompress, from the fight? Digging into my purse, I offered him one of the bottles.
“Good job,” he chuckled.
Flushing, I hid my smile. “Will you tell me who those guys were?”
Sipping the drink, Ronin's throat worked. I watched the muscles flex, enjoying the sight, feeling myself growing thirsty for something else. Something more solid than water. “Just my past catching up with me.”
“Were they the Knights of the whatever?”
“No,” he said, smiling sideways. “At least, not directly. I was right though, Lucky did put a bounty on my head.”
It wasn't much of an answer, but I was too tired to probe further. Getting the full truth out of Ronin was exhausting.
“You did a lot of good tonight.” His voice was tender.
It pulled me back, our eyes meeting. “I did what I had to.”
Ronin's teeth shone in the firelight. “Don't we all.”
Unsure what to say, I stared into the flames.
“She really taught you to ride?”
I willed the glowing dots in my eyesight to go away. Ronin had his mouth set in a curious line. “Yeah,” I said, smiling at the thought. “She got a motorcycle years ago. Her pride and joy.”
He mulled that over, the rim of the bottle to his lips. “The one in your photo.” It was a simple statement, not a question.
I nodded. “I don't know what happened to it. It was missing back home. Now that I think about it... I'm sure Fiddle took it, dumped it or sold it to make it look like she drove off. The cops were sure convinced.” My chuckle was as hollow as a drum. “She loved that thing. Took it everywhere, and me with her. Once, she let me drive us for miles. Up to this part of the woods, where I'd never even been before. We sat there and listened to the birds, the peace. It was beautiful.”
My eyes watered at the memory; I willed them to stop. “She said we'd leave together, one day. Just her and me... riding across the country. No burdens.” The implication was massive. I was reminded of what my sister had done for me, what she'd endured... and what she'd sacrificed.
Was she alright? Was she locked up somewhere in Miami, wasting away, being used by awful men? Or had she been shipped elsewhere already?
Ronin took another drink. “She sounds like a good kid.”
That shook me from my painful reverie. Cocking my head, I considered his words. “Good kid. As in, not a junkie?”
His simple glance stopped my heart. “People can be good and still do bad shit, Flora. Sometimes you can't choose between being a saint and a sinner. Sometimes the choice is thrust upon you and you just have to make the best of it.”
With the night hours cloaking us, the ambiance sank. I wasn't cold, but I still shuddered, my knees tucking to my chest. Ronin slid between casual humor and somberness as easily as water dripped through my fingers.
Closing my eyes, I debated on a way to make him understand. Claudine wasn't a sinner. She was flawed, but she couldn't be both good and bad... and I knew she wasn't bad.
“Afghanistan.”
It was a single word. It made me sit up straight. “What?”
“Afghanistan,” he said again, looking into the fire. “You asked what I did before I was in the club.” The edges of his eyes sharpened.
“You were a soldier?” I would never have guessed. I associated the army with stiff, rule following protectors of the innocent.
But then...
Ronin had protected me.
Afraid he would stop talking, I held my tongue and waited. I was rewarded by his rumbling words. “A friend of mine, an Afghan translator I'd known for the better part of a year, was out on patrol with us. He and I fell behind and went down the wrong alley to catch up. We were ambushed.” Ronin made a fist, his knuckles shining. “He was wounded. Shot in the leg... The firefight nearly killed us both. Bullets were coming from both buildings, we were completely surrounded. I'm still not sure how I got us both out of there, but I did. I saved his life. My friend.”
How could he sound so bitter about that?
It was as if he wasn't even talking to me anymore. “A week later, he came back to base with a cast over his leg, claiming he was ready to get back to work. They searched him, like they did for everyone entering the base, but they didn't check him well enough. My friend had his leg amputated and had hid a bomb in the cast, knowing they wouldn't check it. He walked into the busy mess hall during lunch and detonated. Dozens of good men were killed or wounded.”
The kindling popped, making my pulse skip.<
br />
He whispered, “I saved the man that went on to kill my comrades.”
Ronin strangled the plastic bottle absently. I imagined what he was seeing in the embers. Was it himself burning away, or his friends?
“It wasn't your fault,” I said gently.
He still didn't look at me. Across his lips, a tormented smile peeled free. “I was at the gate that day when he came back to base, I vouched for him because I trusted him. Trust...” His chuckle was black. “They sent me home with an 'honorable' discharge for it. Saints and sinners.”
This revelation was opening my mind, and my heart. I was so busy with my own suffering, I'd never considered what tragedies a man like Ronin had endured. The hard claws of empathy ravaged my guts. Suddenly, everything about this biker made sense to me.
Reaching out, I clasped his forearm. A magnetic rush slid between us, sparking our awareness. I saw it happen for him, too, those gorgeous irises focusing on my surprised face.
“You couldn't have known,” I said softly, earnestly. “But your good deed isn't wasted just because another man chose a terrible path.”
Ronin's stare was intense, pushing me down into the earth. “Here I am, a killer, standing by a campfire with a beautiful woman, while better men—brothers, even—are below ground somewhere because of my choices. Does that seem fair to you?”
Of course it didn't seem fair, but since when was the world fair? If I knew anything at all, it was that life didn't care where you weighed in on the scales. My own life was proof of that.
But somehow, faced with his dilemma, I couldn't let such a cynical thing be said.
I clutched his hand, squeezing. “Maybe you still have some saintly things to do.”
In the hard lighting, the corners of his lips looked deeper, lusher. His skin was crimson, like he'd stolen the heat of the fire, letting it dance over his flesh where it belonged.
Sliding my fingers to his wrist, I noticed how true that was. Ronin was burning up, a beacon that called to me the way nothing else ever had.
I didn't know if I was a helpless moth, fluttering towards a candle... or if we were both just creatures crashing to our own destruction together.
That time, I was the one to kiss him.