by Cat Porter
I rubbed a hand across my mouth. She’d said yes though, hadn’t she? She said she’d come with me if I showed up to get her out.
My skin crawled as I guided my bike through the quiet roads of Emmet, a small town west of Agra, Kansas, just below the Nebraska state line.
Along with watching their clubhouse for over a day, I’d been watching a house a few members frequented, but no sight of her. Did they keep her at the club 24/7? I’d spotted a young girl enter and leave with a backpack, but that was it. Was she part of Med’s harem?
I’d managed to find out that this morning at nine thirty a delivery truck from the local grocery store with booze, soda, and food would make a delivery there. I checked my watch. Nine o’clock. I had to get on that truck.
At the store, one middle-aged man loaded crates of beer, sodas, and two large kegs into the back. Another man came out with a wad of papers in his hand and got in the driver’s side of the cab. He lit a cigarette and waited.
I stashed my bike in a far corner down the street behind an abandoned store. There were plenty of closed businesses in this area. The recession had torn through here like a tornado. Keeping my gloves on, I put a thin black hoodie over my colors.
I didn’t use my own bike. That would’ve been stupid. This bike was a piece I’d stolen a while back to rebuild, along with a plate that I’d stashed for a project like this. If I had to, I could abandon it without worrying that it would get traced back to my club or to me.
In the parking lot, the truck doors gaped open, and the guy loading turned his back, bending toward another crate. I slid inside the hold, flattening myself against the wall by crates filled with cereal and packages of sliced bread and coffee. My mouth dried as the double doors slammed close and the bolt lock slid across them. Voices, goodbyes. The truck jerked to a start and took off out of the store parking lot.
I was closer.
One step closer with every breath, every chug and pull of the truck.
Over fifteen minutes later, the truck slowed down and lurched to a stop.
A sweat broke out over my lip and my brow, and I swiped it away as I remained crouched down by the fucking sliced bread. I turned my head, taking in a deep breath.
The door pulled open, and light and hot air suddenly flooded the space. I shook my hair in front of my face and snatched the baseball cap from my back pocket. Grabbing a crate of cola cans, I backed down out of the truck.
“Hey! Where’d you come from?” asked the driver.
I slanted my head. “A lot to unload. Gotta get this shit done. You got a problem with that?”
His eyes narrowed, inspecting my torn jeans, tats up my arms, and ringed fingers. Was I Smoking Guns biker material enough for him?
“Nope, sure don’t.” He got inside the truck and shoved and pushed at crates.
I headed toward the back door of the Smoking Guns clubhouse. A skinny brunette cleaned a large tabletop with a spray bottle and paper towels. She eyed me as I walked past, raising the crate in my arms.
“Over there.” She gestured down a hall with the spray bottle. “Past the kitchen.”
I walked into a ratty kitchen with aging appliances. A girl with long red hair was making sandwiches at the counter. She glanced up at me, and my heart stopped.
Serena gripped the knife in her hand tightly. Her gorgeous blue green eyes widened. “What are you—”
My gut seized. Her face was striped with black and blue marks down one side. Purple welts were over her chest peeking out from the V neck of her T-shirt. All I wanted to do was take her in my arms and hug her hard. Kiss over the bruises. Grab her and run. Fly into the sky like fucking Superman. But I was no Superman.
“Where should I put these?” My voice came out lower and scratchier than ever.
She only stared at me, stock still.
“Just answer the question,” I said softly.
Light streamed in from the window behind her, a golden aura floating around her head. She looked like some magic fairy from another world.
Yeah, she was magic all right. My magic.
She rubbed her hands on a towel, her eyes hardening, never leaving mine. “Over here. Follow me.” She tossed the towel to the side.
“What’s up, Rena?” asked a deep voice. A Gun strode through the kitchen toward her, and I froze. Young, buzzed head, lots of earrings in one ear. He ripped open a bag of potato chips, chomping as he stared at her.
Serena’s eyes darted to him. “Pop and beer delivery.”
“Ah yeah, good. We’re outta Dew, get me a can.”
“Sure. Your sandwich is ready.”
“Cool.” He tossed the bag of chips onto the counter, slid onto a stool, and stuffed a chunk of sandwich in his mouth.
Serena moved toward me again.
“Hey,” he growled through a mouthful of food, turning his head to the side.
She stopped once more, standing perfectly still, and my lungs crushed together.
“Don’t forget the cans for recycling out back,” he said.
“I won’t.” She finally left the kitchen, and I breathed again.
My pulse raced as I followed her down a back hallway. A line of vending machines and refrigerators stood against the end wall. Serena walked slowly, stiffly, a slight limp to her gait. My jaw tightened. What the hell had that motherfucking whack done to her?
She opened the door of a large commercial refrigerator. “Load them in here.”
I bent over and took the cold soda cans from the crate and lined them up on the shelves. “You all right? What happened?”
“Are you crazy?” she said her voice low, eyes flashing.
“I told you I’d come for you.”
“You did, but—”
“You didn’t believe me?”
Her eyes searched mine. “I don’t believe in anything.”
My lips curved up. “That’s why I had to come.”
Her eyes flared, lips parted. A mental stutter. I’d shocked her. Something in my chest slid into place. Locked and primed.
“They’ve gone to California for the week.”
“I know. Who’s here?”
“A couple of prospects at the gate, and three more in here wandering around.”
“You got a car?”
“Me? No. But Jan does. The girl inside.”
“Can you borrow it and get us out of here?”
She grinned. “No, she hates me, but I’ll get her keys.”
“You can’t take anything with you.”
She let out a huff of air. “Nothing I want from here anyhow. I’ll be right back.”
She took off down another hall and was back within a few minutes carrying a pink handbag.
“It’s Jan’s,” she said and fished out a pink teddy bear key chain. “Car.”
I smiled, and she smiled back, and that unique heat shot through my veins adding its special hit of spice to my adrenaline rush. She took out Jan’s wallet, grabbed the cash, and tucked it in her front jeans pocket. “All set, let’s go.”
Serena took my hand in hers, and I gripped her tight. She led me down the other end of the hallway. We got outside, and the hot sun roiled over my skin, shocking my eyeballs into submission. I pulled my cap down lower.
We headed for a small gray Ford Fiesta with Oklahoma plates out in the lot.
“She’s from Oklahoma?”
“Yeah.”
I opened the trunk, and she whispered, her voice shaky, “You know I trust you.”
“Good.”
“But I can’t get in there. I can’t. They had me—”
My eyes flared with the memory of her telling me how Med would lock her in his closet whenever he wanted, which was a lot of the time.
“Back seat.” I grabbed what looked like a rolled up workout mat from the trunk and gave it
to her and closed the door. She crouched on the floor of the backseat and covered herself with the purple rubber mat.
I got in the driver’s seat, the thick plastic of the wheel burning through my thin gloves. I started the car and rolled to the front gate, my redneck baseball cap pulled down low at an angle, my bandana up high to cover my scars. The grocery truck had just taken off and rounded the corner at the end of the street.
“Who the hell are you?” asked a short, stocky, blond guy, a meatball sub hanging from his hand at the gatehouse.
“Jan’s ex. Bitch took my shit when she left me in Oklahoma. I’m taking back what’s mine.”
“That can’t happen, man,” said the blond, his thick eyebrows rising into peaks. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
“You all can have her whoring ass. I just want my wheels back. Now open the goddam gate.”
“Hey, you look—”
“Stop! That’s my car! Stop!” Jan came running toward us, arms waving, brown hair flying.
I whipped out my Kimber and fired at the blond guy. His mess of a sandwich fell to the ground in a splatter of blood and tomato sauce, his body crumpling in a pile next to it. I jumped into his booth and pushed at the buttons of the control panel box. The gate slid open.
“Holy shit!” Jan screamed.
“What the fuck?” shouted that guy from the kitchen, running toward us, eyes raging, gun in the air. I shot him in the chest, his buzzed head snapping back, his body twisting, falling to the ground.
Lunging back into the car, I reached out to close the door and a blade ripped into my arm, pain tearing through me. Holding a bloodied knife, Jan dove at me again. I grabbed the bitch’s hair with my other hand, pulling her head back. She screeched, and I yanked harder on her. The knife went flying.
Bam.
She dropped to the ground like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Serena stood over her, a gun in her hand. Her dark eyes met mine. “No one hurts you. Not again. Not ever.”
The vision of Avenging Serena burned a hole right through me and made me forget any kind of pain.
“You got a gun on you?” I said.
“I’d be stupid not to.”
I let out a laugh. “You ain’t stupid.”
“They’re a couple more men out in the back.”
“Baby, get in the car.”
Serena tucked the Glock in the back of her jeans, and she folded herself under the mat again as I slammed her door shut. I kicked Jan’s body away from the driver side door, got in the car, and tore out of the Smoking Guns property just as two other men came running toward us. I wiped the sweat from my face, and my arm burned, but I ignored it as I gunned the engine.
We finally got into town. I took Serena by the hand and quickly led her to my bike. I lit up the ignition, stealing a glance at her. She grinned at me, her fingers brushing over the scars on my cheek. Her lips landed on mine, and my lungs crushed against my rib cage.
It was true, it was real. We’d made it fucking happen. She was free, and we were together.
“Justin—”
“Get on,” I choked out.
She swung on my bike and settled in behind me with a wince and a small groan.
My hand reached back and squeezed her leg. “You okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” She put her hair up in a knot and adjusted herself on the saddle. “You’re the one bleeding.”
“Huh?”
“Your arm.”
Blood had soaked through my shirt and streamed down my arm. The sting remained steady, but I pushed back the wave of pain.
“You have something I can wrap it with?” Her hands made quick work of the buckles on my saddlebag. She found a bandana and quickly tied it around my bleeding arm.
The roar of pipes screamed in the air. They were onto us. “Fuck it, we gotta move.”
She wrapped her arms around me, her hold firm. “Get us out of here.”
13
We’d gotten out of town and laid low in a ravine, hiding until I was sure the two men on our tail were circling and couldn’t find us. I stopped at three different rest areas to use a pay phone. Each time was a fail.
No Dig.
Once more, I tapped out my number on the metallic keypad. I waited. And waited. No return call. Through the scratched, cloudy glass of the phone booth, I watched Serena arch her back, adjusting herself on the saddle.
We would head north out of Kansas through Nebraska to South Dakota, a trip that would take roughly five hours. I’d feel better about everything once we got out of Nebraska, but shit, Serena wasn’t looking so good.
She was pale, her thin form curved over the seat. She wore the extra pair of shades I kept on my bike, and they were plenty big on her face, overtaking her delicate features. She was delicate, yeah, but invincible.
Still nothing. No return call.
Where the hell was Dig, goddammit?
I wanted us off the major highways, to lay low, but I also needed access to a goddamn phone. My nerves scraped through my flesh. The Guns could have scouts everywhere.
I abandoned the phone booth. “You sure you don’t want to get up, stretch out?” I asked her.
She only shook her head tightly.
Was she sick? Or maybe they did something to her to match the bruises on her face? I could tell she was uncomfortable with every small move she made, adjusting her ass on the seat, taking in a deep breath as she rolled her shoulders back, flexing her feet, stretching out one leg at a time.
At the next rest stop, I bought us orange juice and a package of small blueberry muffins, which we downed quickly. I made her get up this time, and I wrapped my arm around her, holding her against my body as I again punched the number of the payphone onto the keypad.
No answer.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I slammed the receiver onto the phone.
“Shh, don’t attract attention,” she said into my neck, her cool lips moving against my skin, a hand stroking my back.
“I can’t fucking believe this shit. He promised me. I should’ve made sure before I left. Damn it!”
“Is there anybody else you can call?”
I released my hold on the payphone and caught a glimpse of vulnerability and fear gliding over her face like a quick moving cloud.
I had to keep it together. Yeah, things were not going as planned, or everything was fucking unplanned on my part—my fault—but I had to let it go and focus. I took in a breath. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll try him at another number.”
I dialed the number for the One-Eyed Jacks clubhouse. I’d memorized it a long time ago, like I’d memorized a lot of phone numbers out of necessity.
“Yeah?”
“Is Dig there?”
“Who’s this?” came an amused male voice on the other end of the line.
“I’m a friend of his.”
“Oh yeah? Well, Dig’s not here, friend.”
“I need to contact him. ”
“Who the hell is this?”
My pulse quickened. “This is Finger. Who the hell are you?”
“This is Jump,” he replied. Jump was an officer of the Jacks, their Secretary.
“He’s not answering his beeper. Where is he?”
“Dig’s got a lot of beepers, man.”
“Don’t we all?” I shot back. “I need to talk to him. It’s important.”
“Dig’s away, out of town. He left all his beepers behind, except for one. And only I’ve got that number, and it’s for 911s. Only.”
This asshole.
“He’s expecting my call. You call him for me, then. I don’t give a shit. I just need to hear from him.”
“Ain’t that interesting? No can do. Man’s on his honeymoon. A honeymoon that got delayed since his flash wedding a few weeks ago.”
“Wedding?”
“Sorry, you didn’t get the invite. It was a spur of the moment thing. So no, I ain’t disturbing him for anything or anybody. Man never gets away, and this was a special deal. You got something you want, you can tell me.”
I wasn’t about to tell Jump shit, but I needed help. I was counting on Dig’s fucking safe house. I needed to get Serena safe.
“Dig promised me access to a safe house in South Dakota.”
“Huh. You’re shitting me.”
“I’m not shitting you, and I need access. Now.”
“Oh, now, huh? That ain’t gonna happen. Ever. He had no right to promise you shit, and I’ll deal with him when I see him. I don’t want to know what you got going on, but you aren’t involving the Jacks in any of your shit. Crap between you and every other club on the map is hot, and I ain’t risking my club for any of you.”
“Jump, I need—”
“I don’t give a shit what you need. Can’t help you.”
“Just for a couple of days, then I’ll be gone. I need to lay low for a few—”
“And that is your fucking problem. Why should I take a risk for you? No fucking way. Dig’s been chasing your skirt for a while now, don’t think I haven’t noticed. But it ends here and now, with me.”
Serena pulled at the blood soaked bandana on my arm, and I sucked in air. Was that why nausea was roiling in my gut, and my vision was getting dazed? Yeah, that must be it. Bleeding at the side of the road.
“Got to keep moving,” Serena mouthed silently.
“Fuck you, motherfucker,” I spit into the phone. “I ain’t ever gonna forget this.”
“I already have,” Jump replied.
The line went dead.
I slammed the phone into the cradle and stood there, my skin hot, my eyes burning. Serena’s hand slid up my back.
I wrapped my good arm around her shoulders and pressed my lips against the side of her face. “We’ll keep heading north.”
Even though we were now in my club’s territory, I couldn’t risk being seen by one of my own. I’d get us out of Nebraska and north into South Dakota, into Jacks territory. Jump be damned.
“Just a a few more hours.”
“You don’t have to make it pretty for me.”