Hunter (The Devil's Dragons Motorcycle Club)

by Nikki Wild

  Whoever was chasing me had abandoned all pretense of trying to hide their intentions. He was running just like I was, but his feet were hitting the ground faster.

  Up ahead, I could see the corner where I’d catch the bus when my car was in the shop. And just around the bend was the small daycare center where my sister used to take my nephew. But at this time of night, it might as well have been the dark side of the moon. There wouldn’t be anyone around to help me.

  If I could just make it within shouting distance of my building, maybe someone would come out. One of my neighbors would recognize my voice and want to know what was going on.

  My legs fired like pistons and I ran with the stride of an athlete, although I hadn’t been one. It wasn’t going to be enough. The footsteps were louder than ever and closing fast. I tried to yell for help, but nothing came out. My voice caught in my throat and stayed there no matter how hard I willed it.

  He couldn’t have been more than twenty feet behind me when I remembered my cell phone. The puff-puff-puff of his outgoing breaths now coincided with his heavy footfalls.

  I yanked the phone out of my back pocket without losing much speed. It unlocked with one quick swipe. Thank God I had removed the passcode when Kevin and I broke up. My thumb found its way over the phone app and I was almost there. If this bastard was going to grab me, it was all going to be recorded by the police.

  9-1-…

  It all happened so quickly. My foot came down, but not where I expected. Though only an extra eighteen inches, the step off that curb felt like it lasted an eternity. In my haste to get the call out, I’d lost my bearing.

  The unexpected dip caused me to land with a jolt, and my phone flew from my hand. It hit the ground and bounced a few feet to my right.

  I turned and bent to scoop it up.

  His body hit mine like a train shot off the tracks. The full brunt of his weight sent me tumbling head over heels. My shirt tore at the seam and pulled down off my shoulder. The right side of my jeans shredded down the hip to the knee.

  From my back, I had an inverted view of my cozy little condo. The light was on at the front porch, the way I always left it. It was so close.

  A rough hand cupped my mouth and the weight of a large body pressed down on mine. The smell of cheap tobacco was overwhelming.

  Two

  Luke

  I like running when it’s dark. Sometimes, I go in the morning while all the men without discipline sleep. Other times I go late at night, long after the nine-to-fivers have kissed their kids and gone to bed. I don’t train for the sport of it. I don’t do it for fun. I do it because it’s how I get what I want.

  Money isn’t free and neither are fame or beautiful women. You have to earn whatever you desire in this life, and I’ve been earning for a long time.

  I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon, either.

  Here comes the climb.

  The boys at my training facility call it heart rate hill. Stretching out at a thirty-degree angle, it’s steep enough to drop most fighters to their knees by the midway point. Not me. I love the burn it puts in my lungs. Just like when I get in the cage, I thrive on pushing past the thresholds that others can’t.

  A quarter mile in is where the men separate from the boys. It breaks a lot of athletes when they look for the horizon and realize they’re not even close. They’ll suck in huge breaths and fall off the pace.

  At a mile, the attrition rate is fierce. Even some of the top guys can’t maintain their rhythm.

  By the time you hit the mile and a half marker, you know you’re in good company. Fighters who can run -and I mean run- at this point are serious. They’ve likely trained for years and have the discipline to go places in life.

  And that’s where I separate myself from the pack. Because I have another gear. Because I know how to push. Because I’m the alpha.

  The blood flows hot in my veins as I scope the crest. My breaths are deep but measured. This is always the point when the adrenaline hits. Some people call it as a runner’s high, but not me. I don’t care what it’s called. I just know it’s the point where cheap fucking foreign cars start to lag and I run faster.

  When the hill plateaus you can see for miles. The bright lights of Atlas City give way to the outskirts of Washington Heights to the west and Cardale to the east. Most nights I have to force myself to stop here just so I can look out at the city. And why wouldn’t I? I fucking own it.

  Three

  Bria

  I struggled for air. All of my wind was spent from running, and trying to breathe with his hand clamped over my nose gave me a claustrophobic feeling.

  His grip was like a vice. At first I thought he was wrestling to gain control of my purse. My shock turned to blinding fear as I realized he was dragging me into the alley.

  “Keep your mouth shut. If you don’t do exactly what I say it’s not gonna be good.”

  He spoke through his teeth. It was similar to the way my father used to sound when he was angry, only this had so much more hatred behind it.

  He let the blade of his hand slide over my lips and come to rest beneath my chin.

  “What do you want from me?” I tried to sound tough but there was a pleading in my voice that was unmistakable.

  “You know what I want,” he growled. “My car is parked behind the gas station. That’s where we’re going.”

  “Please just let me go. I won’t say anything to anyone. Look, you’re drunk. I know you don’t really want to do this.”

  When he leaned back the orange glow from the street light lit his face. Until now, the only image of him I’d had was what my own imagination stitched together. The real-life version was worse.

  His face was angular and sickly. The lines in his forehead looked like they were etched in stone. When his lips parted in a sinister smile I could taste my dinner in the back of my throat.

  “Not a sound,” he said.

  His hands never lost contact as we stood together. When he let them slide down to my hips it chilled me to the bone.

  “Back this way,” he directed. Turning me toward the station and giving a little shove. I strained to see back over my shoulder, wondering if it was the last time I would set eyes on the peaceful little home.

  I frantically searched for anything that could save me. There still wasn’t another person on the street. Any of the buildings that had their lights on were so far in the distance that there was little point in running. My only shot was going to be at the gas station. I’d have to wait for an opening. Any little distraction and I would tear myself away. I’d scream louder than this fucking creep even thought possible.

  “Don’t even think about it,” snapped my captor. “You try to get more than an arm’s length away and I’ll stick this blade so deep into you, they’ll need pliers to get it out.”

  He grabbed me by the hair and turned my head toward his mid-section. Then, he pulled his dirty coat back just far enough to reveal the tip of his knife. He clutched it in a death grip down by his hip.

  My heart seemed to sink into my shoes. Was this really happening? The thought of this dirty son of a bitch touching me made my skin crawl. I needed to take stock and figure out a way to get out of this.

  Surprisingly, my body felt okay. There was a bit of a scrape on my shoulder where my top had shifted, but it was superficial. The other spot on my backside wasn’t bad either. My jeans had taken the brunt and it didn’t even feel as if there was any damage. They were wet around the knees too. At first I thought they were soaked from blood, but it was only egg yolk from where I had landed on top of the carton.

  The ambient light from the gas station illuminated the side of the building. It seemed like we had gotten back so much faster than it had taken for me to walk away. A taxi drove by on the main road. My captor pulled me tight to his side.

  “Right here,” he said. “The grey car. You’re gonna get in the driver’s side first, then slide over. And I swear to God, bitch, if you make a sound I’ll
put you in the dumpster.”

  The car wasn’t grey, it was primer-colored and it was what one might imagine a creepy rapist’s car would look like. An older model Buick with a rusty door handle and bent antenna, it screamed “suspect.”

  At the very least, if he did murder me and dump my body, he’d probably be the first guy questioned by the police.

  “Think about what you’re about to do,” I begged. “Just let me go...”

  “Enough. Get you little ass in the seat.”

  The floor on the passenger side was littered with empty bottles and old fast food bags. The dash was cracked and dusty.

  He shimmied his way in after me. The pressure of his heavy body made the worn shocks creak and groan. He was over 6 and a half feet tall if he was an inch. The way his face sucked in made it hard to tell for sure how old he was, but my best guess was early thirties. His shoulders were broad, but not in a good way. He was wide, the way a door is. Everything lined up straight from the edges of his shoulders, to his hips, to the odd way he left his stance wide open.

  “Rick,” he snarled.

  “Huh?” I asked, confused.

  “My name is Rick. We should probably get to know each other since we’re gonna be spending so much, uh, time together.”

  He cranked the ignition. With much protest the Cadillac roared to life. The car eased back and without making a complete stop lurched forward onto the street.

  Four

  Luke

  The road home was easy. It was more of a cool down than anything else. Two short miles to the industrial park, a right on Jackson Parkway, and I’d be back at the gym.

  Up ahead, a pair of headlights flashed and turned down a side-street near one of the old office buildings. It was odd to see a car at this time of night in this part of town. Probably just some kids looking for a place to drink. Though, that didn’t quite seem right.

  The car took the corner in a hurry, so I didn’t get the best look. It didn’t look like the kind of ride a bunch of spoiled Washington Heights kids would be caught dead driving. The thing was a rust bucket.

  I continued down the sidewalk along the neatly manicured landscaping. I let my mind drift back to my last big fight. It had been against some steroid-pumped kid from Brazil. He was undefeated and coming off a big win in his home country. My opportunity to take the fight came when his scheduled opponent dropped out due to injury. When they needed someone to save the event, guess who they called?

  The promoter had groveled at my feet when asking me to take the fight. The show was scheduled to be one of their biggest of the year, and the pay-per-view numbers weren’t going to look good unless they had a name on the card.

  My manager hadn’t wanted me to take it. He said the fighter from Brazil was dangerous. He was someone I would have to train for and not take lightly. It would require a full training camp, and I shouldn’t do it on two weeks’ notice.

  And that’s the day I started looking for a new manager. The one thing I hate is when my own people doubt me. He’s dangerous? I’m dangerous. I called the promoter back and made the deal myself.

  Name your price, he had said. We’ll give you whatever you want.

  Now, that’s more my style. I told him I’d take an even million and a quarter of the gate. He didn’t even hesitate. Now you can’t even get me on the phone for less than seven figures.

  I was quickly approaching the spot where that beater had turned off the main road. I knew there was nothing but a dead end down that alley. I’d run by it more times than you can count. Not that I cared if some kids were back there getting high, but something about that beat up old car grabbed my interest.

  I shortened my stride and slowed to an easy jog. The car was there, sure enough, nosed up to the concrete barrier between the road and the open lots behind it. There was some movement but nothing discernable. Probably some bum finding a place to sleep off his drink.

  Just as I was about to ramp it back up I heard a muffled scream. Did that come from the car? I stopped dead in my tracks and let the thudding of my heart slow while I strained to hear.

  One thing about being in this part of town at night is you could hear everything. Another thing is that if you were going to do something that you didn’t want anyone to hear, this is the part of town that you would go to.

  The car bounced again and even though the lighting was shit, I could make out the clear silhouette of two heads through the big rear window of the car.

  I crept down the alley. It was probably only thirty feet. I made quick work of it. Years of training body control, coordination, and core strength allowed me to move fast and quiet when I needed to.

  In the blink of an eye, I was settled against the rear quarter panel. Through the steamed window I could see her, a gorgeous little brunette with frantic big brown eyes. And pinning her against the door and tearing at her clothes was a grotesque monster. He had a blade pressed firmly to her throat.

  Five

  Bria

  “Please,” I whispered, trying to stop the tears from coming. “I’m afraid. If you take me home right now, I’ll never say a word to anyone. You can go and we can forget about all of this.”

  He had driven for the last twenty minutes without saying a word. When I tried to read his face it sent shivers down my spine. His eyes kept darting from left to right and back as if he were looking for something. His breathing grew rapid; even more so than after he had chased me.

  It appeared as if he was going over in his mind all the things he was about to do. At one point he looked over and stared directly at my chest. He ran his tongue over yellowed teeth and made a barely audible ‘mmmph’ sound.

  In all the books about women’s safety and self-defense they tell you never to get in your attacker’s vehicle. They say that your chances for survival decrease significantly if you allow yourself to be taken to a different location.

  I’d always thought to myself how stupid do you have to be to let some creep put you in their car? I’d always just assumed I’d have the wherewithal to kick him in the balls or something and run for help.

  But that certainly wasn’t the case in real life. The fear is almost paralyzing when a determined maniac is holding a six-inch knife against your ribs. You just keep thinking to yourself, someone will save me… I’ll keep waiting for my chance. But your chance doesn’t come, or at least mine hadn’t.

  During the drive, I considered opening the door and jumping out. The car was old and it had those pop-up style locks that could easily be pulled. I nearly tried it when he slowed to take that first turn. It was too hard. I couldn’t force myself to do it. I knew that taking my chances with whatever injuries may come from jumping was a better option than doing nothing and letting fate play out. Again, when faced with the harsh reality, it wasn’t so easy.

  When he pulled into the alley, I knew what he was going to do. He parked in a way that completely stumped any plan I had to get out and run. With the passenger side hugging the exterior of the building, the only way out was past him.

  Rick let the engine idle for a moment. His dead eyes bored into the concrete wall in front of us. The fact that he told me his name was maybe more chilling than anything else. It made things clear that he didn’t plan on letting me go. The way he went about the whole thing told me that this wasn’t his first time doing something like this. It was all too calculated.

  He was a predator. A pervert sitting alone, drinking in his car, waiting for someone to take advantage of. And there I was. Oblivious to the dangers of the world, unprepared. I bet when he saw me get out of that car he thought he had it the lottery. Young, pretty, all alone… vulnerable.

  But he wasn’t making his move… We sat in dead silence for several minutes as I tried desperately to think of a way to escape.

  There was a noise from outside the car, but before I could focus on it I noticed that his lips had curled up into a smile.

  “Bout time we get started,” he whispered. “Come here.”

  �
�No!” I screamed. There was no way I was going easily.

  He grabbed ahold of my left wrist and pinned it to the door while hoisting himself across the seats and back on top of me. The stench of dirty clothes, tobacco, and sweat didn’t faze me this time. He struggled to control my free hand but I swatted him away. I was able to post up on my elbow and strike out with a kick. It hit him flush in the balls. I heard the air escape his lungs.

  “Fuckin’ bitch! You almost made me cut you.”

  He still held the knife but for some reason it didn’t scare me now. I knew he wanted me alive.

  He drew back his fist and swung with full force at my head. I dodged it at the last second and it landed with a thud against the passenger window. I struggled and squirmed against his substantial weight. I put everything I had into it but his strength was too much.

  He reached for my neck. I tried to push him away but my one free hand couldn’t match his. His fingers found my throat and slipped to either side. He bared down with a crushing grip.

  I flung myself spasmodically back and forth, putting every last bit I had into surviving. The fight was draining the life out of me. My struggle for oxygen was real. As I focused all of my energy on staying conscious his fingers started to probe and tug at the button on my jeans.

  I’m let my eyes relax. My will to fight wasn’t gone, but my ability was. How could this happen to me? Things like this don’t exist in my world. I wanted my mind to go to a happier place, to block out what was about to transpire. That’s when my gaze fell beyond my attacker’s shoulder and came to rest on a heroic face. Staring back at me with eyes full of concern and rage was a man I knew I’d never met. Somehow, he still seemed vaguely familiar.