by Carmen Faye
We crashed into the wall with an impact that made my teeth rattle. We traded body blows for a moment, but in so close they didn’t have much strength behind them. I tried to shove him off of me, wanting to get some room to maneuver, but Jonas wanted to stay in the clench. I knew his weakness was his mangled face, so I grabbed the back of his head and snapped my head forward.
The impact left me staggered, and seeing stars, but Jonas reeled back and fell. It took me a moment to shake off the headbutt. Jonas was scrambling to his feet as I reached him. I must have still been a little woozy because I left myself open and he drove a hard fist straight into my balls. I bellowed out my pain, my stomach clenching as it tried to empty itself. I doubled over, both hands going to my groin as I stumbled back and tried to recover from the crippling blow without going to my knees.
We were both hurting now; two bulls engaged in a fight to the death. Jonas came at me again, and I grabbed him, falling to my back as I held his jacket, putting my feet up and catching him in the chest to lever him over me. He landed on his back with a crash. I tried to keep my grip on his jacket, but it was wrenched free.
I was still slowed by the blow to my balls, but I scrambled to my feet as fast as I could, preparing to defend myself against Jonas if he was coming for me, or press my advantage if I had him on the ropes. Jonas must have had the same idea as he was also scrambling to his feet. His jacket was torn and hanging on him at an odd angle. He wrenched it free and threw it aside in disgust.
“I’m going to fucking kill you, you motherfucker!” Jonas snarled.
“Come on, you fucker!” I said, slapping myself on my bare, blood-covered chest.
I was beyond thinking and rational thought; the red fog of rage clouded my judgment. This asshole had ruined everything, and I wanted to rip his fucking throat out. We took the two steps toward each other to close the distance, throwing punches as we entered combat range. We didn’t even try to block our opponent, willing to take a hit to deliver one.
After a second devastating left to my face, I realized that I couldn’t stand toe to toe with him. He was hurt, bad, but he was beyond feeling any more pain. I grabbed the back of his head and tried to yank him down into my fast-rising knee. It would have been the closer, but he blocked it, taking the blow to his ribs and shoulder instead of his face. He began to twist away, and I grabbed his shirt to try to hold him, but he powered out of the grip, leaving me holding his shirt minus the one sleeve he still wore.
We stared at each other for a moment, both of us surprised that he had escaped so easily before we charged into each other again. Our bodies slammed together with the sound of a hammer on meat; our hands at each other’s faces as we strained against each other in a mortal test of strength and pain endurance.
He was trying to claw my eyes out as I went for his throat, our other hands locked around our opponent’s wrist. We grunted and strained against each other, and I felt his fingers tearing the flesh on my face. I whipped my face free of his grip and tried to take a step back, but our legs tangled and we went to the floor.
He drew my head down with an arm around the back of my neck as he wrapped his legs around my waist and locked his ankles. I grunted and strained, trying to break free as I drove blow after blow into his side. We were locked up—Jonas unable to let me go and me unable to break free. A stalemate.
I let him hold me for a moment, grimacing against the pain as I panted, summoning my strength for a final convulsive effort.
With a bellow, I lunged, putting everything into my final effort to escape. I felt his arm slipping on my sweaty skin as he roared in effort. I continued to strain against him, our screams of defiance loud as his arm slipped a little more. It felt like I was going to rip my arms from their sockets, my muscles burning in effort, then I was free.
I was nearly spent as I stumbled to my feet. We were gasping and weaving, but we couldn’t stop. We had to finish it.
Jonas charged again, and I wrapped him up as we collided. We went through the door and landed on the pavement outside. We rolled and tumbled, the rough pavement shredding our backs and arms but we felt nothing, so intent on killing each other that nothing else mattered. We froze, our muscles standing in stark relief as we snarled into each other’s face, our hands wrapped around the other’s throat. Jonas’ turned red as his face twisted in anguish, but my own vision was dimming and going red at the edges.
He was on top, his spittle falling on my face. I didn’t know if I could outlast him, and with the last of my strength, I thrust with my hips and rolled, trying to break his hold. It didn’t work. My chest was about to explode, my vision dimming more, yet I hung on, trying to crush the life out of him before he did the same to me.
Suddenly his hands were gone, and I could breathe, but before I could even take a breath, he grabbed my arms and jerked. It was an unexpected move, and he managed to rip my hands free. I was off balance, and he lunged with his hips, rolling over then slowly scrambling to his feet.
Only hate and rage kept us going. We were both covered in our own blood and the blood of our foe, our bodies slick with sweat. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me up. I fired a left into his gut with everything I had left. He grunted and doubled over, then drove into me again. I crashed into his bike, knocking it to the ground as we tumbled over it. I roared in pain as the hard bits of the machine dug in as he fell over me, his weight landing on me making it worse.
We were on the ground beside his machine, grunting in effort and pain as we held each other’s head under our elbow and drove blow after blow into our enemy with our free hand.
I had screamed an instant before Jonas did the same, our bodies locked by the electricity pouring through us. We’d been so busy trying to fuck each other up we hadn’t even heard the police arrive. But the Tasers got our attention.
As the agony ended, we slumped, my body draped over Jonas before rough hands dragged me off. My head was pressed into the pavement with a knee on my neck, and my hands were yanked behind me. And an instant later, I felt the bite of the cuffs being tightened. At least Jonas was getting the same treatment.
Just as I began to regain control of my body, I was jerked to my feet, a cop on each arm, and they weren’t being gentle.
“I’m going to kill you, Jonas! You hear me! I’m going to fucking kill you for what you did!” I shouted as they dragged me away and slammed me into the back of a cruiser.
I was hauled to the police station. I looked like shit and felt worse. Every muscle in my body hurt, and I had bled all over the back of the police car. Good, serves them right for interfering in a club matter. I didn’t see Jonas again, but I assumed he was getting the same treatment I was. I went through processing and then was tossed into a cage. I’d been here before. I knew the drill. All they had me on was disturbing the peace. They would try assault and battery, but I would claim self-defense and beat that. After all, Jonas was the one that pulled the gun.
What I needed was my phone call. I need to let Butch know that Jonas was alive and what he was doing. I would get it in due time, but every minute it was delayed put Leah in more danger. The Chasers had to know they were being played.
Chapter Thirty-two
When I woke up, everything felt wrong. The heavy weight that depression sometimes left on me was worse than before. Instead of feeling like it was okay to not be okay, the way that I knew I should, I felt like a failure for not being able to beat it. I rolled over and stared at the ugly mustard colored wall, wishing I were home and wishing I never had to go back there at the same time.
I worked up the courage to get out of bed and made it to the shower. It wasn’t the cleanest place I’d ever seen, and I made my bathroom routine as quick as I could. I towel-dried my hair, and when I looked in the mirror, I hardly recognized the person staring back at me. The dark circles under my eyes had gotten worse, my hair wasn’t styled the way it usually was, and my skin looked pasty in the fluorescent light.
I got dressed and walked back to the
bedroom where I paged through a year-old magazine, then clicked on the television only to click it off after I flipped through all the channels. I was bored out of my mind, and this was my first official day away from the real world. There was nothing to distract me from what I was feeling and no one to turn to.
I missed Pax. I hated that I did, I hated that I’d admitted to it, but the fact was that I had been able to speak to him about whatever bothered me. He’d been there for me even though it all been a lie. I felt betrayed and heartbroken, independent and liberated. It was a conflicted concoction of emotions, and I hated it.
Whenever I thought of Pax, his good intentions and the time we spent together were mixed with what he told me about who he was and the nightmare I had of him. I didn’t know if I could trust him anymore, and that was the problem. That was another reason I had to get away. If I couldn’t trust myself, it was that much more important that I could trust someone else. Abby had given up on me, and that left Pax. The man that had lied to me.
It was all just one big mess. Black and darkness everywhere. I hated how I felt like such a pathetic loser. I took a deep breath and got up. Stepping outside would make me feel better. I opened the door and a beautiful day greeted me. The smell of the ocean was strong in the air as if the wind had brought it to my doorstep. My first reaction was contentment, and then dread followed on its heels. Another braid of conflict. Fantastic.
I spent a bit of time in the sun, sitting on the little patch of grass that was the only green in the concrete and asphalt all around me. The sun was warm, but it did nothing to heat me up on the inside or to drive away the darkness that hung over me like a cloud. I sighed, and got up and walked to my room. I felt like I was being watched, like the entire world was beginning to conspire against me. Dread settled in my stomach. I’d found a dead body and my life was starting to fall apart. It wouldn’t be out of place if someone were following me. Maybe whoever killed the others was now going to kill me.
I stopped. I looked slowly around but didn’t see anyone. A new dread crept in, and it chilled me more than anything before. Paranoia. That was what it was. I was losing my mind. I’d finally snapped, and I was descending into madness. I took a deep breath before I hurried to my room and closed the door behind me, turning the deadbolt in the door so that I was locked in. I turned my back to the door and blew out the breath I’d been holding. I wanted to cry. On top of all my other problems, I was going mad.
Maybe it was time to move on. I was being a pain in my own ass. I was making everything a hell of a lot worse than it needed to be. That was what I’d been doing since the start. I stood, back against the door, gently bumping the back of my head against it before I slammed my head back hard. It hurt. It hurt a lot, and now I had a headache, but it focused me.
I knew that I was being an idiot now. And still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. Even inside, with the door locked and the curtains drawn, I felt like there were eyes on me. I needed to get out of there. If I could just go somewhere else—somewhere I would be able to feel safer.
My plans to go to Montana or Arizona weren’t set yet. I didn’t want to run away. I was scared to run away. I was scared that running away would mean that something would chase me again. Eventually, I was going to run out of places to hide. At the same time, I was scared that if I stayed this shit would never stop haunting me.
I was caught in a place where I felt like everything I did was wrong, no matter what it was. I’d been here before. I was here again. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I shoved myself off the door and threw the few things I’d removed back into my bag. I chucked the bag into the back of the rented Ford and drove to the office. There was nobody around, but I still felt the creeping nerves, like someone was watching. I was losing it, and I knew it, and that scared me more than anything.
I wanted to go home, where I felt safe, but if someone were after me, I wouldn’t be safe there. They would know where I lived. They who? I didn’t know, but panic was rising within me. I needed to go somewhere I would be protected. The first person that popped into my head was Pax. I shook off the thought. He wasn’t an option anymore. He never should have been. The second person was Abby. I didn’t want to go to her, either. She would just tell me that I was being silly. I probably was, but I didn’t want her to confirm it for me. She had her life together, and everything I thought I had was falling apart. I felt like a failure next to her, and I didn’t need that on top of everything else. And if I was right, I didn’t want to drag her down with me.
When I reached the outskirts of Coquille, I’d decided the police station was my best option, but I didn’t know where it was. I’d taken my GPS from my car, but it was in the trunk, in a suitcase, and I damn sure wasn’t stopping and getting out of the car. I was paralyzed with fear, jumping at shadows and ghosts. I knew it was stupid, but I couldn’t help it.
I drove aimlessly for a while, trying to see if anyone was following me as I hoped to stumble across the police station. I felt like an idiot. I was getting to a point where I was starting to look crazy. Maybe I was crazy. All of this was crazy. Maybe going home was exactly what I needed to do.
“This is so fucking stupid!” I told myself. I made up my mind. I was going home. I was going home, and I was going to put my fucking life back together. I’d probably been fired, but I could go and reapply for the job. Who knows, maybe they would hire me. If not, then I could find another job somewhere else. But this had to stop. The thought that I was becoming deranged scared me into action.
I began to make turns with a clear purpose. I was going the fuck home, and I was putting this shit behind me. As I approached home, I noticed a bike parked beside my car.
At first, I thought it was Pax, but as I got closer, I realized the bike was the wrong color, and it had a windshield that Pax’s didn’t have. Fear clutched at my heart, and I drove past without stopping. I wasn’t paranoid after all. This was real. It wasn’t Pax or anyone else I knew, but seeing him waiting for me to get home filled me with dread. The feeling of being watched became stronger. Someone was after me, and I had no idea why. I watched in the rearview as the bike pulled out behind me. I whimpered. He must have recognized me as I drove past.
I continued to watch the rearview. I made a couple of turns for no reason, and each time the bike turned with me, I whimpered. There was no doubt I was being followed, and my blood ran as cold as ice. I didn’t know what to do. I drove around, afraid to stop, but with nowhere to go, until I pulled into a gas station. The bike pulled in behind me, and I fought tears as I dug in my bag, frantically looking for my phone. I had a moment of panic when I couldn’t find it, thinking I’d left it at the motel, but then relief washed through me when I finally found it.
“9-1-1 Emergency,” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“Yes! This is Leah Tennyson. I’m being followed by a man on a motorcycle,” I said, watching the man on the motorcycle speak into his own phone.
“Where are you now, Ms. Tennyson?”
“I’m at the Shell station on Ocean Front!”
“Is the motorcyclist there also?”
“Yes! He followed me all around town and pulled in right behind me.”
“Are you inside?”
“No! I’m afraid to get out of my car!”
“Remain in your car and lock the doors. I’m dispatching an officer right now. Can you describe the motorcycle?”
“It’s black. That’s all I know.”
“What kind of car are you driving?”
“A red Ford Fusion.”
“License plate?”
“I don’t know. It’s a rental.”
“Very well, Ms. Tennyson. I’ll remain on the line until the officer arrives.” I sat in silence for a moment. “The officer should be on the scene any moment,” the emergency operator said.
Good to her word, a dozen heartbeats later, a Coquille police cruiser pulled into the parking lot; its lights popping on as it approached t
he motorcycle. I heard the bike roar as it shot away, the cruiser in pursuit, it’s siren wailing as it passed.
“The bike is running, and the car is chasing it,” I said. I didn’t know if I was relieved or upset.
“Do you have someplace to go? Family or a friend’s house? Someplace that’s not your home?”
I thought about it. Abby was still out, but I remembered the message Pax left—the one I’d ignored. It apparently wasn’t just a ploy to have me call him after all. “Yes, I think so.”
“Go there. If you notice any additional suspicious activity, contact us again.”
“Did the officer catch the guy?”
“No, I’m sorry,” the dispatcher said. “He evaded the officer. But we have a description of the bike and the license plate number. We’ll pick him up.”
I breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”