I’m not sure which emotion is at the fore, as different ones hit me one after the other. Anger that I’ve been forced out of my house, disgust with myself for not fighting back, and dismay that I hadn’t seen what monster I’d invited into my life. I drive on autopilot, only thankful that the streets are relatively empty this time of night.
I’m tired as hell—it had been a long, trying shift. I’d got home hours after I should have clocked off. But in my job, you don’t punch out at a set time, you stay until the job’s done. Pete’s never understood, never shown me compassion when I’ve come home tired, bearing the weight of the world on my shoulders.
I should have given him his marching orders a long time ago. Or better still, never have offered him a room.
Worrying how I’m going to get him out of my house, it takes me a moment to notice my car feels wrong. It jumps forwards, then stutters back, the engine noise sick sounding. Shit, don’t let me break down.
But tonight’s really not my night. The engine cuts out, and now I’m coasting onto the hard shoulder. The electrics are fine, the dashboard’s lit up, and a red light flashing shows in my panic and pain, I’ve forgotten one thing. Pete must have used my car and didn’t refuel it.
I’m stuck on the I10 just outside Tucson. What’s worse, when I open my purse I immediately remember, the first thing I did when I got home was to plug my phone into the charger. The charger on my hall table. Resting my head on the steering wheel, I force myself not to cry.
What on earth am I going to do now?
Get out and walk? No, I can’t do that. It’s almost midnight, and there’s dangers being a woman alone on the road. Spend the night in my car? That’s not much safer. Someone might crash into me, a drunk driver perhaps, not expecting a car to be stopped on the median. Which reminds me, I switch on my hazards.
Shit. What options have I got? Feeling alone and vulnerable—a man’s already hurt me tonight—I force myself not to dissolve into those threatened tears, and hit the central locking, making sure all the windows are rolled up. All I can do is wait until morning, then perhaps try to walk back into town when it’s light and there’s more traffic on the road.
I lean my sore head back on the headrest, turning it to the side to relieve the tender spot on the back where he’d pulled at my hair. Blood’s still running down my face, an inconvenience more than a concern. I know a nose can bleed like a bitch, and I’ve just got to wait until it decides to stop. I dab with my tissue, regretting I’ve not even got tampons in my purse that I could use to stop the bleeding.
Pulling down the sun visor and switching on the interior light, I’m examining my hands, face, and shirt, which are covered in the red sticky liquid, when I hear a thunderous noise which passes, and then stops a few yards in front. I’ve switched my headlights off to conserve power, but from the lights and the sound, know it must be a motorcycle. Unknowing whether this could be my saviour or someone out to harm me, I recheck the button to make sure the doors are locked.
In the light coming from inside the car, which I haven’t yet turned off, I can just about make out a giant who’d dwarf even Pete, coming toward me. As he draws closer, I can see he’s wearing a leather cut. Then, when he’s right by my door, see the flash that denotes him as sergeant-at-arms.
Nervously, I keep my eyes on him, remembering the Satan’s Devils biker compound is rumoured to be around here somewhere, down a side road off this highway. It’s a bit of a myth among firefighters, as the original vacation resort now taken over by bikers had been destroyed by a wildfire.
Frozen in place, not knowing what I should do next, I see his mouth move but can’t make out the words. He shakes his head, then raps on the window, making a motion with his hand which obviously means he wants me to roll it down. He crouches down by the side of my car, and immediately looks less threatening.
I’m a woman on my own, broken down, the odd car passing but no one stopping except this lone biker. I shiver, unsure what my best move is. He waits patiently while I decide. After a minute or two has gone past, I roll my window down an inch. Enough so we can talk, but insufficient for him to put his hand through.
He’s clearly had enough time to examine me, his first words not what I expect, nor is the business-like tone of his voice. “Have you broken down, darlin’, or stopped because you’re hurtin’?” Unnecessarily, he points to my face where, at last, the blood has stopped flowing freely and is beginning to dry. As he watches, his brow creases, and the light reflected in his eyes appears to darken. “Who did this to you? Nah, scratch that, it doesn’t matter for now. You need help. Tell me what I can do.”
Mouthing ‘thank you’, I take a second to think. My confidence in men has been shattered tonight, and I have no idea what to ask for. It seems a bit much to request that he goes to get me some gas.
Again, he doesn’t hurry me, or give me cause for concern. I watch him, crouched outside, the odd truck rushing past far too close, but he’s completely unmoving, as if sitting exposed by the side of the road isn’t unusual at all.
“I was going to Phoenix. But I’ve run out of gas. Stupid thing to do.” I’m annoyed with myself. Mind you, last time I drove my car I had a full tank.
Slowly, he nods. “Long drive when you’re hurtin’. You sure you’re up to it tonight?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t much matter whether I am or not, I haven’t an option.” Oh, I’ve got friends I could wake, but something is making me long for the security of my family, if it could ever be described as that. I should have realised the symptoms of being in shock before, but they’ve been creeping up on me. Phoenix is the last place I should be going. Suddenly the tears I’ve been holding back start to fall.
The stranger’s eyes soften, but without asking me to do anything which I’m not prepared to now, he moves away back toward his bike. Before the darkness swallows him up, I see him take out a phone.
That’s what I should have done. Asked to borrow his phone. I will when he comes back. Then I can get gas and be on my way.
Chapter 3
Peg
After my disastrous evening, even my ride hadn’t put me in a much better mood. I wasn’t feeling particularly charitable riding back to the compound but had automatically slowed as I drove past a car with its hazard lights flashing, seeing by the interior light that there was someone inside. As I passed, I could make out it was a woman.
I could have driven on, but something made me stop. Maybe helping someone else might help salve something of this fuck-up of a night—for them, even if it wouldn’t do anything for me. I’m handy with engines, maybe getting my head under the hood might give me something else to think about rather than that bitch Lorelei. But as I stepped off my bike and went cautiously back to see her, always aware anyone could be carrying a gun, and let’s face it, I’m not the friendliest looking guy around, what I noticed first in the light coming from the interior was the blood. She was covered in it.
Admiring her caution that she didn’t want to roll down the window, I was patient, waiting until finally she cracked it so we could talk. At first I was worried she was seriously hurt, but she was making sense, despite looking tired and confused, and surmised her injuries were probably worse than they looked. And it looked bad enough. No stranger to such things, I immediately suspected someone had hit her.
Whether my approach was the right or wrong one, I watched as she started to shake, and those tears came to her eyes. I’ve seen it before, people carrying on after getting an injury, thinking they’re fine and can just work through it, the hows, whys, and wherefores only slowly catching up. I give her some space by going back to my bike and placing a call to Fergus, one of our prospects, uncaring I’m dragging him out in the middle of the night to rescue a damsel in distress. As a prospect he’ll do whatever I ask him, even if I instruct him to perform a striptease in the middle of the road to entertain her. And he’d do it with a smile on his face. But I won’t ask. The sides of my mouth turn up at the thought. The last t
hing she probably needs to see tonight is a naked man.
Then I frown. What do I know what she needs or doesn’t? I’ve barely seen anything of her, just a face which might be attractive were it unbruised and not covered in blood. I can’t even tell how old she is or what shape her body is in. As for conversation, we’ve had none at all. But I’ve a strange reluctance to walk away without learning something about her.
No questions asked, the prospect is coming. It won’t take long, the compound’s only a few miles up the road. Returning to the car, I’m about to inform her, when I suddenly feel stupid. Of course, she’s probably already contacted AAA or someone to come and help her, and there’s no need for me to stay. Unless she’s called that motherfucker who hurt her. If she has, I’ll wait and have a few words with that person. With my fists. Men who hit women are scum.
“Sweetheart,” I start as I rap on the window again. “You got anyone bringin’ gas?”
A shake of her head, and it gets me deep in the gut to see the hurt in those eyes. “I left without my phone.”
She must have left fast or been chased out. I wipe my hand over my face. “Got a prospect bringin’ some gas for you, darlin’. Only a gallon can, but it will get you on your way again at least, then you’ll need to stop and fill up.”
I watch as another tear runs from her eye, and it doesn’t take a genius to realise she won’t want anyone to see her in the state that she’s in, even a gas station attendant. I don’t know how, but something tells me she’s a strong woman, and whatever happened tonight isn’t normal for her. She’s not acting cowed and scared like someone used to abuse. Has she been attacked? Mugged? Whatever, I have a desire to help. “Our compound’s just up the road. Why don’t you follow me there? We’ve got a doc we can call to come have a look at you. Get you sorted and cleaned up, a bed for the night, and you can be on your way in the mornin’.”
She gazes at me, her eyes open wide, and I realise she’s going to refuse my invitation before she says the words. “I couldn’t do that.”
It’s not that she doesn’t want to put anyone to any trouble, it’s that she’s wary of exactly what I might be offering.
I crouch down again, resting my back against the door, wishing I could comfort her or make a practical suggestion. “What happened, darlin? A man hit you?” As I wait for her answer, I watch the traffic, not too much now, but it’s probably not the safest place to be sitting. My leg’s protesting the unfamiliar position, my stump resting at the wrong angle on the prosthesis.
“Who says it was a man?”
“Huh.” I almost laugh. “Less likely to have been a woman. They tend to slap rather than punch.”
“He did that too.” Her breath hitches. “He slapped me first. Then he took objection to me asking him to get out of my house…and you’re right. He punched me, then threw me to the floor, pulling me around by my hair.”
I stay where I am. From this position I’m not able to look at her, nor she at me. Probably the reason she’s opening up. “Your house? Who is he? Husband.” I frown. “Boyfriend?”
“Friend or, I suppose, housemate, if you want to label it. He moved in a couple of months ago, only for a week supposedly, but then he stayed.”
“And now he’s outstayed his welcome.”
I hear a deep sigh. “I would have given him time to sort another place out, but he’s started to get these crazy ideas. I was home late from work—admittedly, very late—and that’s when he started on me. But he knows what I do, and that I can’t control it, or pick up a phone and say, ‘Honey, I’ll be late getting home’.”
“What do you do?” I’m prepared for anything, doctor, nurse, receptionist, shop assistant. What I’m not primed for is what she tells me.
“I’m a firefighter.”
I start. Fuck me. That wasn’t what I expected. The woman sitting behind me runs into burning buildings, rescuing people, providing first-hand medical assistance at the scene, wearing heavy clothing and carrying fuck knows how much equipment in the already blazing hot Arizona climate. I take my hat off to any man willing to do that job… A woman? Hell, she must be up there as the bravest and toughest I know.
As I haven’t thought of anything to say, she gives me more. “We were on a call, a warehouse fire. You can’t simply give up and go home. The next crew came on shift, but they still needed us.” She pauses, a takes a deep breath. “There were reports there was a person stuck in one of the offices. We did what we could, kept on trying to reach him, could hear him screaming for help, but the fire kept beating us back.” Her voice breaks off, but I sense there’s more coming. “When we eventually managed to find him, it was too late, and he was dead. His wife was waiting for us to bring him out…but we couldn’t, or not alive at least. She was pregnant.”
Shit. I thought I’d had a fucked-up evening. Her shit of a friend should have been letting her talk it out, listening to her and giving her a shoulder to lean on. Not fucking going off on her for being late. My fists open and close as I know just what I want to do with them.
Suddenly I stand, placing my elbows on the roof of the car. I lean in and speak through the cracked open window. “Here’s what’s gonna happen,” I speak through gritted teeth. “Prospect will bring enough gas to get you movin’. You’ll turn around and I’ll follow you home. Get this prick out of your house once and for fuckin’ all. He’s not a man. Fuck, woman. The job that you do? You deserve someone better than him.”
You deserve me. Leaning my head back, I look up at the star-scattered sky. What am I thinking? I don’t deserve a heroic citizen like her. I remind myself, apart from her occupation and that she seems to open her home to strays, I know nothing about her.
When I look back down again, her mouth’s open in shock. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
I smile, gentling my features for the first time. “Didn’t hear you askin’, but I sure offered.”
I hear the distinctive sound of a Harley approaching, and step away from the car before she can say anything else, thinking the best thing is to leave her to mull it over it for a moment. She can see what I am, a biker, and, if she’s read my cut, an officer and the sergeant-at-arms. She’ll have no doubt that I can chuck one motherfucker out of her house but is probably worrying whether she’ll end up exchanging him for a devil. A Satan’s Devil at that.
Fergus draws up. Without a choice, she passes me the keys and we empty the gallon can into her gas tank, then Fergus waits for further instruction. As I go to hand back her keys, I see her stifling both a yawn and a groan. Her face must hurt, and if she was thrown on the floor, other injuries which I can’t see. Now the first rush of adrenalin has worn off, it’s clear to see she’s had enough.
“Shift over.”
“What?”
I dangle her keys in my hand. “You must have had medical training. You should know you’re in no state to drive. You’re the very picture of exhausted, and from what you told me, in a lot of pain as well. I don’t care to think what could happen. What if you took someone else off the road?” She’s a firefighter, she must have been called to enough car crashes to know what I’m talking about. I’m playing on the fact she wouldn’t want to add to them.
Her eyes widen, and I know I’ve got her when she says, with a worried look at the second biker standing next to me, “I’m not coming to your compound.”
“No. I’m driving you back to Tucson.”
“But your bike?” I’ve found one thing out, she’s not selfish. Her glance ahead and the way she worries her lip shows me she’s concerned about my expensive Harley being left unattended.
“I’ll get Hyde, our other prospect, to bring the crash truck down. They’ll get my bike loaded up, then Hyde will come pick me up. Wouldn’t want to be in your hair any longer than you want me to be, darlin’.”
She gives me a searching look and places one hand to her forehead. As she rubs it, I think I’m right about her pain making itself known. A last glance at me, and then she’s sliding acro
ss the seat, manoeuvring herself over the handbrake. I give her some time to get set, then turn to Fergus.
“You get all that?”
“Call Hyde, get him here with the crash truck, then come and get you. Got it.”
I nod. I’ve taken to him over the past year and think he may well patch-in soon. Hyde, well, he’s doing alright. He’s just got to get Slick and Heart’s vote to proceed. Which will mean we’ll be on the lookout for more prospects. Can’t run a club without someone to do the shit jobs. Or who you can call in the middle of the night to help a woman you’ve only just met.
I heard a clunk before she slid across, and realised she’d popped the locks. As I open the door, I turn back. “I’ll text you the address.”
Fergus nods as he takes out his phone, and walks off, clearing the way for me to drive off. But first, I place the cut I’ve just taken off in the rear, then I have to push back the seat. A long way. I notice she’s looking at me wryly, so I shrug. “Sorry, I’m a big fella.” Shit, I’m supposed to be reassuring her. I hope she doesn’t take that the wrong way.
But that wasn’t what she was worrying about. “I’m Darcy, by the way. As you now appear to be my chauffeur, I think we ought to exchange names.”
“Too right.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Peg.”
“Peg?”
“If you’re thinking there’s a story there, you’d be correct.” But I don’t say anymore. It’s her who needs taking care of tonight. I’m not getting into a discussion about my missing leg now. Thank fuck, she’s got an automatic. Oh, I can drive a stick shift, it just takes me a bit longer to work an unfamiliar clutch, and like any man, even in these circumstances, I want to impress, and who wants to stall in front of a woman they’re intrigued by?
She gives me her address, I text it to Fergus. I know the area, so only need to ask for details when we’re coming up close. It’s a small house, front yard looks like it could do with some work, but I’ve no doubt doing the physical job that she does, keeping it tidy is probably the last thing she wants to do when she comes off shift. But the fucker I haven’t yet met goes further down in my estimation. If he’s freeloading off her; surely he could repay her by doing some work around the place?
Peg's Stand Page 3