Ironside: A Bad Boy Biker Romance (Heartbreakers MC Book 3)

by Alexis Abbott

  “I...I can try,” I murmur, reaching for the utensil.

  Fork or spoon, I can’t tell. But my captor grabs it for me and starts trying to feed me bites of food. It’s something savory. A little salty and soft. Potatoes, I think, with other vegetables mixed in. I can hardly open my mouth to accept the food. Suddenly, there is a hand holding mine under the table. Warmth spreads through my whole body when I realize it’s his hand. And he’s looking at me with such intensity. He’s clenching his jaw. His body is tense.

  He’s listening for something. Waiting. He turns to me with a piercing gaze.

  “Can you trust me?” he whispers.

  I want to say no. After all I’ve been through, it’s the answer that makes sense. But somehow, for some reason, I murmur, “Yes.” I do trust him. For better or for worse. Something deep inside of me tells me I should.

  “Okay. We need to leave now,” he instructs, his voice barely audible.

  He slides out of the booth and takes my hand, pulling me up to my feet. I’m a little wobbly, and the room spins as he leads me out of the restaurant, a gigantic dollar bill left on the table. We stumble across the parking lot to the motorcycle. We climb on, his arms holding me up. But before we can even start moving, there’s the sharp wail of police sirens. Cop cars come whirring into the parking lot, and the waitress is pointing at us accusingly.

  The motorcycle roars to life and the chase begins.

  Ironside

  “Step off the vehicle, put your hands in the air!” one of the officers barks as I feel Justine’s grip around my waist tighten.

  I can almost feel her heart pounding against my back through my bloodied kutte. Her fingers clutch my shirt. The panting, terrified breathing from over my shoulder is almost a comforting sound compared to the boots of officers approaching us.

  “What do we do?” she whispers. “God, I’m so sorry!”

  “Wasn’t you,” I say under my breath. “I don’t think these are the good guys.”

  Keeping cops on the take might as well be on the first page of the playbook for outlaw motorcycles. Whether for better or for worse, the serious biker gangs keep their law enforcement officers close by, and they keep an ear out for anything suspicious.

  We have cops of our own back in our town. When the mayor or some other fuckhead land developer threatens the honest townspeople, we pull the strings we have to in order to keep them safe. If the cops won’t do that on their own, we’ll do the same, because Heartbreakers don’t wait for someone else to do the right thing.

  I never do. That was what drew me to them, and that’s probably going to be what puts me in the grave in this kutte some day.

  Today isn’t that day. I’m not about to go down by one of Diesel’s bought cops for Justine to get thrown right back where she was. And I know these small town types--the wrong man will do anything for a paycheck.

  The officers are out of their vehicles, slowly walking toward us with their hands on their guns. Justine watches them with a white face before looking to me.

  “Don’t put your hands up,” I say to her quietly.

  “Get off the bike and put your hands in the air, now!” the same officer shouts again, getting ready to take that gun out of its holster. “Step away from the woman!”

  “He’s with me!” she shouts, but I nudge her with my elbow.

  “Don’t give them anything,” I warned her. “Even if you don’t think it’s incriminating.”

  “Then what’s your plan?” she hisses.

  “Hold on tight,” I say.

  “What?” she breathes, just as the cops get about five paces from their cruisers.

  I gun the engine.

  The sound of my motorcycle roaring to life and peeling out of the parking lot gets peppered with the shouts of the officers as hell breaks out. Virtually all the diners have their faces pressed against the window to watch me screech away from the cars and into the road, where I hang a sharp right just as I hear gunshots pop off behind me.

  “Fuck!” I cursed as I heard the sounds of squad cars roaring out of the parking lot after us.

  Cool, dry night air whips over my face as I charge into the near pitch blackness of the long road at night. Clouds are giving us good coverage overhead, which is as much a help as it is a problem.

  As soon as I’m out of the town, I cut my lights, putting us in true darkness and prompting Justine to squeeze me again while the sirens wail behind us.

  “What are you doing?!” she asks.

  “Keeping us under cover of dark,” I shout back over the wind, barely audible at speeds well over a hundred. “If they can’t see us, they can’t find us.”

  She doesn’t seem all that comforted by this, and to be fair, neither am I--animals run out onto the roads all the time, and I’m liable to run into something or hit a pothole and end this chase real goddamn fast. But it’s a choice of either running that risk or definitely ending up dead.

  I can see it all too clearly: the police gun me down as a fugitive, Justine disappears, and the news might run an article about some outlaw kidnapper tied to the Heartbreakers died in a kidnapping attempt.

  Getting caught isn’t an option tonight.

  We’re locked into a chase with the police, and I’m now a wanted man in what I’m quickly realizing is Diesel’s territory, whether or not we realize just how it’s moved and expanded. I knew that stealing this girl right from under Diesel’s nose would be like taking a baseball bat to a hornet’s nest, but I didn’t think I’d rouse the cavalry.

  Lucky for me, Wyoming is all straight roads, and a bike outruns a squad car any day of the week. But it’s not that easy. If it were, adrenaline wouldn’t be coursing through my veins and letting me think and act as fast as it takes to escape the police.

  “Are we outrunning them?” she blurts, looking at the shrinking red and blue lights behind us growing farther away every minute.

  “Yeah,” I bark. “My bike goes. But in an hour or less, they’ll have a blockade up ahead of us if we can’t figure something out. We need a place to hide out.”

  “We picked a great place for that,” she shouts with a hint of sarcasm as we blaze past endless plains of barren wasteland on either side, only dotted by a few hills here and there.

  She has a point, of course. Just because there weren’t any lights ahead didn’t mean it would be like that for long, and we’d have to figure out what little hiding territory there is and work with it.

  But in the meantime, while we race forward and scan the landscape around us every time a break in the clouds gives us a little moonlight, the adrenaline has a chance to stagnate, and the reality of tonight starts to set in.

  I just stole the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met from our biggest rival himself, and now, I’ve got half the county police after me. Pretty little girls like Justine don’t go missing without causing a stir in the news. Then again, Diesel might want to keep her identity quiet if he can.

  It’s too early to know just what the consequences will be for what I’ve done, but I don’t regret a thing.

  There was a time in my career when I couldn’t save someone, even when I did everything right. Some stories from my younger years I plan to take to my grave. I’m not letting myself go back to that place again. Justine isn’t going to slip out of my fingers. I’m going to take care of her even if I have to drive her halfway across the damn continent and beyond.

  I’ll keep riding until I see a light at the end of the tunnel. Nobody deserves what she’s been through. It doesn’t take anyone special to recognize that, just a decent human fucking being.

  “Do you see that?” she calls into my ear, pointing far ahead of us.

  It’s a light at the end of the darkness alright, but I grit my teeth.

  Fuck. I know what that formation of headlights means.

  “Those are bikers,” I shout. “Diesel’s men, most likely, none of my club is riding out here right now.”

  “What?!” she croaks. “Are the police still
behind us?”

  “Do you want to stop and find out?” I shout back, grinning.

  “No!” she says, not in the mood for jokes.

  “Too bad,” I call, “because that’s exactly what we’re going to have to do.”

  I point ahead to a large hill coming up on our left that has just enough of a slope on the other side to give us some cover from the road. There is a little brush dotting the hill that makes me hold out hope we’ll have somewhere to post up and wait.

  When we’re finally close enough to the hill, I quiet the engine and guide it to the side of the road slowly.

  “Why are we stopping here?” she asks as soon as it’s quiet enough that she doesn’t have to shout. “I can still see the biker headlights ahead of us!”

  “And we should start to hear the cop sirens before much longer too,” I say, nodding as I help her off the bike and start wheeling it off the highway. “We’re between a rock and a hard place, and there aren’t many options to hide. So we have to use this to our advantage.”

  “I thought you said the bikers and cops were working together?” she says as she trots after me, and I start to hear the white noise of nighttime in the wilderness all around us.

  “They might well be,” I growl. “But it’s dark, and none of them are going to recognize each other like this. If we’re lucky, they’re going to see bikers, and they’re going to lock onto them. The only thing we have to worry about is whether or not they’re going to collide on top of us or not.”

  She nods her head silently and plods along beside me. I glance over at her periodically, and I can tell that she’s at least alert, but it’s almost like she’s in shock. Her movements are stiff, she keeps staring off into the distance, and she doesn’t look like she’s totally awake on the inside. The poor thing needs a proper place to rest.

  All I can offer right now is the next best thing until we get back to the clubhouse.

  “Here,” I say as we wheel around to the other side of the hill, which has a much steeper slope, to my relief. “This should keep us out of sight.”

  “How do you know they won’t look for us?” she asks, holding herself tight.

  “I don’t,” I admit. “But this hill doesn’t look different from the dozens just like it we passed on the way up here, so unless those pigs want to stop and root around every half mile they pass, we just need to hope they haven’t had eyes on us somehow.”

  I bring the bike to a stop by a patch of brush, and after beating around it to check for snakes, I take out a thick military-issue blanket from the back of my bike and nod to a relatively even patch of dirt near the bike. I spread it out for her while she watches, holding herself. She shivers a bit, and I know the chill of the open air at night must not be something she’s used to like I am.

  “Here, take a seat,” I offer, patting the blanket for her.

  “Are we just going to...wait?” she asks, anxious.

  “Yeah,” I say bluntly. “And this seat is just going to stay cold if you don’t take a break. We’ve been riding hard, and you’re not used to that.”

  “Should we keep our voices down?” she asks, stepping forward cautiously and slowly lowering herself to a seat on it.

  I pick up the back edges to fold and drape over Justine’s shoulders, wrapping her up in a bundle. She draws it close around herself on instinct, which surprises me. The blanket looks a lot like the type I found her in, so I was worried at the last second that she’d be uncomfortable, but she seems to need the warmth.

  She seems to alone on her own, though, and the way she stares ahead of her doesn’t help. The girl has been through a lot, and building trust has already been a...rocky process, at best.

  Considering we’ve only known each other a few hours, I’d say we’re doing alright.

  “Hey,” I say in a low, husky voice as I crouch down beside her. “Keep that blanket tight around you. You’re going to need all the warmth you can get. You’re not dressed for riding.

  I sit down beside her, and I’m surprised when she leans into me automatically, as if she didn’t even have to think about it. There’s a moment of hesitation before I feel her soft body truly relax into mine when she feels how warm I am.

  Without a word, I wrap an arm around her and give her a gentle squeeze.

  “You’re doing great,” I tell her softly.

  “I got the police called on you,” she says, clenching her eyes shut.

  “Don’t give yourself too much credit there,” I say, mostly for her benefit. “That waitress could have called the cops on anyone who looks like me with a girl, not just because you were there. Not that she wasn’t justified, I suppose,” I add with a sigh, wondering whether Diesel had really gotten his claws into this county yet and how deep his pockets ran.

  She doesn’t look like she totally believes me, and she shivers again as we start to hear the sounds of bike engines getting closer. She looks up to me, and my heart melts. I want to give her space, but she seems like that might not be what she needs right now.

  “Come here,” I offer, spreading my legs and nodding for her to scoot into me.

  She gives me a bewildered look, but I open my arms. “Keep low against me while we wait them out. It’ll keep you warm, and we won’t risk sticking our heads out at the wrong time.”

  Despite her reluctance, she doesn’t need much convincing. She scoots between my legs and slowly rests her back against mine while I lean us back and press us to the hill at the angle of the steep slope. It feels like hiding out in a war-zone, and it makes me all the more protective of the girl in my arms.

  “How’s that?” I ask softly.

  “Good,” she murmurs, a single syllable that warms up my heart better than a bowl of chicken soup.

  I feel a smile tug at my lips, but the bikes are getting closer.

  “Stay down,” I order her gently. “Do you have a happy place?”

  “Huh?” she asks.

  “Somewhere you can go in your head,” I say. “Somewhere safe. Now would be a good time to find it.”

  She bites her lip, then nods and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

  The bikes get closer, and I swear I can feel the rumble of them in the earth under me. I move my hand while I listen. I try to make it feel to Justine like I’m just reaching to scratch, but I’m keeping a hand on my gun, ready to draw it and do what I have to do if the bikers find us.

  “I’m going to take you somewhere safe after this,” I tell her, squeezing her gently. “You’re not going down tonight, little one, and neither am I.”

  She squeezes my shirt softly before I hear the bikes roar past us at last.

  They fly by as the sirens get closer, and I watch them rocket past us right into the line of cops heading our way. They probably think they’ll just be passing the cops like any other group of harmless riders.

  But when the bikes are long past, I watch their headlights fly into the red and blue flashing sirens of the police, chaos seems to break out, and I watch the lights start to chase each other back toward the town.

  And all I can think about is whether or not they’ll turn around...and how good Justine feels pressed against me.

  Justine

  The night air is cool and refreshing as it billows softly across my face. The night birds twitter and hoot. The insects sing their scratchy hymns in the underbrush. The moonlight is thin and pale, casting the earth in a pale, sickly glow. But I have my own compass, my own focal point to keep me grounded to this planet even in the face of such horror and confusion as has settled down around me in recent hours. The man who has come to rescue me from an uncertain fate still holds me steady as we crouch in the brush. Every faint movement of his body makes the leather jacket he wears give off a buttery scratchy sound. It’s oddly comforting, like the sound of fresh linens folding and crinkling under one’s cheek. I have my arms wrapped around my hero’s powerful, muscular body, and underneath the flat palm of my hand is his heartbeat. I feel it thu
mping, slow and rhythmic, strong and steady. The sensation is calming, as my own pulse slows to meet him halfway. My fear slacks and falls back.

  He makes me feel safe, like nothing bad can really happen to me as long as I am by his side. In his embrace, no harm can come to me. He will fight off the demons. He will protect me. At least for now-- at least against these particular enemies. I am safe here as long as he is with me. I still don’t understand why he is protecting me. I mean nothing to him. I mean nothing but dollar signs to anyone, even my own father. My self-worth has never been so low, but my savior’s attention makes me feel a faint flicker of my old confidence. I have never been boastful or prideful-- my upbringing never allowed for anything like that. I’m just a girl, after all. The best I can hope for is to make a pretty bride one day and gladly give myself over, mind, body, and soul, to a man.

  But he doesn’t seem to want anything from me. Nothing I would not gladly offer, anyway. At this point, he can take his pick of whatever I have to give. He has rescued my body from a dark end, and I will owe him my everything for that. Even if we don’t survive this bloody night, I soothe myself with the prospect of dying in his strong arms. If I can no longer dream of a beautiful life, then at the very least let me have a beautiful death.

  Then again, the cops are looking for me. Growing up, I was always taught that the police were a force for good, that they would protect the innocent like me. But what if I am not so innocent anymore? Will they still fight for me or have they all turned against me?

  I am so confused. My thoughts are moving slowly, and everything that happens is too fast, too hard for me to comprehend. My body is tired. I fantasize about falling into a pile of soft sheets and pillows. I crave oblivion. I want to sink into the darkness and let my limbs lose their strength until the soft night folds in around me like the arms of a princely lover.

  Maybe, though, I should stop hoping for a prince. Maybe it’s a knight I need instead. Someone with a bright and shiny sword rather than an ill-gotten crown. I need to be somebody’s queen, not their princess. I need to be strong for myself, but he makes me weak. I cling to him tightly, afraid that if I let go for even a second, he will disintegrate and leave me all alone in the cruel world. I can see the cops roving around, their flashlights beaming the grass and pavement as they search for me. A little instinct inside me beckons for me to run to them. To confess my sins the way I have been taught to do. I have never been good at hiding the truth. In my upbringing, a lie was as unforgivable as a murder. A falsehood as ugly as a bloody knife. I know that it’s my training to bend to authority, to submit to a uniform.