by Lee Savino
“No? I hear you’ve done all sorts of entertaining at the lumberjack camp.” Dex motions to Jagger’s limp form on the floor. “This one told me.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “What are you going to do with me?”
“That depends on how you behave. What do you think, Sierra? Can you be a good girl?”
I lick my lips. “It doesn’t matter. The club thinks I killed Jack. You told them.”
He shrugs. “Stories can change. I think we can come up with something different to tell them.”
I shake my head again, slowly. “You needed him to die for some reason. And I was a convenient one to blame.” I bit my lip as I watched him toy with his gun. What could I say to get him to spare my life? How do you reason with a psychopath?
I locked my knees, forcing myself to stay strong. “Why did you kill him, Dex?”
The club president’s eyes glitter. “He was selling out. Going to the cops, dealing to club enemies. He was trying to get out of the Riders.” His brow creases as he studies me. “Maybe it was for you.”
The words hit me and I stagger a little. Jack and I had talked about a different life, about running away and starting over. I didn’t realize he meant it.
“Yes,” Dex murmurs. “He didn’t tell you, but he was turning over a new leaf. Once in a while, one of my men gets enamored with pussy, makes all sorts of promises. It always ends the same. I catch wind of it and”—his smile is horrifying—“drag him back to hell.”
“Murderer,” I mouth the words. I have no courage left shout accusations, or even say them. Jack. Oh, Jack.
“Enough now,” Dex commands. “Time to come here, and convince me to spare your life.”
I hesitate, knowing there’s nothing I can say or do to convince this evil man that I should live. Any begging is an exercise in futility. But each remaining moment is precious. If I can delay my death even an hour, I have to try.
Before I can take a step, the door flies open behind me and a shot rings out. Dex jerks, his own arm spasming with the gun. A shriek escapes me as a hard arm wraps around my middle and yanks me back.
Mason’s face fills my vision.
“Come on,” he barks, and pulls me outside. He’s pushing me, we’re running down the long outdoor walk past hotel doors, shut tight, deaf dumb and blind to the violence going on inside.
“Come on.” Mason drags me the final few feet when I would fall to the ground, wheezing for breath. “Get in the truck.” I scramble in the driver’s side, and settle. Mason has the ignition on and hits the gas before his door is even closed. I hang on, gritting my teeth and panting, every molecule in me fighting to hold it together as Mason guns the truck through town.
In the distance, bike engines roar. A storm of motorcycles, blowing through town. Any minute they’ll realize their prez is dead, and start combing the country for the object of their revenge.
“You killed him,” I hear myself say.
Mason doesn’t answer. His jaw clenches as he takes a hairpin turn. The truck flies around and squeals forward. At one point, I swear we’re on two wheels. My fingers will leave permanent marks where I’m gripping the handle.
By the time we hit the town limits, it’s full dark.
“Mason,” I gulp. “Jagger—”
“I know,” he says. “I saw him.”
I study his profile in the gloom, the sharp line of his jaw silhouetted in shadow. He looks as fierce as he ever did. Does he still hate me? It’s my fault his friend is dead. He probably hates me again, if he ever stopped.
The miles fly by, marked by black forest. Where are you taking me? I want to ask, but I don’t know if he’ll answer, and I don’t want to make him mad.
I swallow and ask in a small voice, “How did you know how to find us?”
“Followed you from the store. I drove to town after I heard he took you. Jagger suddenly had a phone and reception; I knew he was up to something. He used to deal, figured he was at it again.”
“Dex killed him. Jagger asked for the reward. Dex gave it to him, and then shot him.” I shut my mouth tight. There’s no reason for Mason to believe me. In fact, he should blame me for Jagger’s death. I blame myself.
I fall silent as Mason drives like a demon down the long, dark road. The pines press closer and closer to the narrow strip of pavement. I’ve never seen such a dark night, the shadows pressing in until I can’t breathe. Not even the night Jack died. That night is sealed in the sepia of my memory, lit by the yellowed street light and the dull glow of cigarettes smoked by the bikers who waited outside the house, calling for my blood.
Tonight is big and empty as the wilderness and the mystery of where Mason is taking me. I have no idea where we’re going. My body cramps from bracing. I’m crammed into the corner of the seat, staring blindly into the dark as the truck hurtles closer to the middle of nowhere. Questions claw my throat; I swallow them down. I vacillate between shock, terror, and relief, but as the miles stretch on, fear crawls up from my heart, burning my throat like acid. Mason still hasn’t said anything about where we’re going. But we can’t drive forever. On the dash, the gas gauge needle wavers, dipping toward empty.
It occurs to me that Mason might have found a way to take care of all his problems. He’s got a truck, and a dead man’s posse on his tail. I’m the only witness to everything. He could easily get rid of all the evidence. He’s got a gun, but he doesn’t even have to kill me. Just has to drive me into the wilderness and leave me to die.
My mouth is too dry for me to cry out when Mason slows the truck, pulling onto the rocky shoulder and braking to an abrupt halt. I’m a statue in the seat as he exits the car, and comes around to open my door. “Get out.”
Numb, I peel my fingers off the oh-shit handle and edge of the seat. He has to help me down, and still I stagger, legs cramping.
“Come on,” he orders, and marches me into the forest.
This is it, this is it. I tell myself to run, but I can’t. We’re deep in the forest now, our boots kicking up wet leaves. Mason guides me by some invisible compass, weaving through the brush and wilderness as branches tear our legs and arms. We walk up a hill and down into a ravine, following a stream. I blunder along best I can, wondering if I’ll have a chance to get free. Mason keeps his grip on me.
At last, we climb a hill. I jerk when I realize there’s a tiny building up ahead.
“Not far now,” Mason murmurs. Bile gnaws my insides again. My breath escapes me in a ragged rush.
My feet turn to concrete as we approach the small, dark shack. It looks like the perfect place for a serial killer to live. Home sweet home.
Mason has to drag me forward the final few feet.
“No,” I fight and claw at him. It’s no use. He’s too strong. He hauls me through the door and fumbles on the wall for something. A second later, a flame flares, illuminating the harsh planes of his face. He holds a lantern. Doubled over, I catch my breath as he uses his lighter to get the kerosene soaked wick to catch. He hangs the old-fashioned light overhead and steps around it to loom over me. The small light makes his shadow double. Fuck, he’s between me and the door.
I launch myself at him with a hoarse cry and he grabs my arms, stopping me easily. He stares down at me with such malice I flinch as if he’s about to strike me down.
“Sierra, what the fuck?”
“Are you going to kill me?” My voice is strangled.
Disbelief wars with anger. “Is that what you think this is? I saved you from that biker fuck to drive you out here and kill you?”
I don’t answer, trying to tug my wrist free. He pulls me forward, shackling both wrists and glowering at me until I stop fighting.
“I’m not the monster you think I am.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” I snap back. I must be out of my mind.
Mason just stares at me, dark eyes fathomless, mouth rigid.
“Just do it,” I hiss.
“Sierra.” He shakes his head, his thick dark hair w
aving. “I’m not gonna kill you.”
Despite myself, I slump, like a puppet whose strings have been cut. “No?”
“No. That’s not why I barged in and shot a man. I did it to save you. To get you out.”
I’m crying again. My bones are liquid with relief. I lean against Mason’s strong form as my own body turns into a fountain of tears. “You… you don’t hate me?” I ask between blubbering.
“No,” he answers cautiously. His fingers touch my face, hesitant as they brush away a few tears. “Is… is this hormones?”
“I don’t know.” I cry harder.
“Shit,” he says and folds me in his arms. He’s not as big as Lincoln or Saint or the twins, but there’s plenty of strength in his lean body. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I don’t want you to die.”
I swallow my sniffles, forcing myself to get under control. Mason’s shirt has a wet patch where I hid my face. “The club will come for you. Dex was the president. They can’t let an outsider get away with killing him, even if it was self-defense.”
Mason’s face is in shadow. “I know.”
“Well”—I wipe my eyes—“what now?”
10
Sierra
My breath is ragged as I follow Mason up the hill. He helps me over a fallen, moss-covered log, and lifts me when my boots would sink into a muddy patch near a grove of ferns. It’s a long hike from the cabin to where we are, and it feels like it’s all uphill. My muscles are screaming.
I have to remind myself that this was my plan all along—to spend more time getting exercise outdoors.
“You all right?” Mason asks as I pause, sucking harsh air into my lungs. Gulping, I nod.
He takes my hand and guides me around a downed tree. “We’re almost there.”
The first sign of our destination is a glimpse of yellow-orange between the trees. As we tromp forward, large pieces of equipment come into view, sitting at the end of freshly scored tracks in the black mud. The first guy we see is Oren, his red hair waving like a flag as he climbs the rise to where we stand.
“Hey,” he greets us, and pulls me into a hug. I’m cold, my limbs are chilled from sleeping in the shack huddled in Mason’s arms. We both woke before dawn and started hiking here.
Lincoln and Saint arrive next. The big black guy hands Mason a bag. “Change of clothes, food, more kerosene,” he says.
Mason nods and checks it.
“How did you know?” I ask, teeth chattering from adrenaline. Lincoln pulls off his jacket and wraps it around me.
“Heard some talk on the police scanner. Shooting in a hotel. Two men gunned down. One gun found on scene. The other… no trace. The murderer ran. Pinning it on a club—the Hell Riders. Witnesses said they saw a guy looking like Mason and a girl looking like you at the scene.”
“It was us,” Mason says. “Club prez shot Jagger, was gonna do the same to Sierra. I interrupted. Shot him and got out.”
“Yeah, I figured.” Saint treats us to one of his impenetrable stares. “Time to gear up. You better go back into hiding. You got everything there you need for a few days.” He points to the duffel bag he brought.
‘You gonna run?” Lincoln asks.
“There’s no time,” Saint replies before Mason can answer. “They better hide.”
“What about you guys?” I ask.
Mason and Lincoln exchange glances, communicating silently.
It’s Saint who answers, crossing his arms over his chest. “The Riders want a fight, they’ll get it. We prepare for war.”
I bite my lip. “You should go. Tell them I ran. Don’t you understand? You’re in danger.”
“Shhh, girl,” Saint rumbles.
“It’s okay, Sierra,” Lincoln starts.
“It’s not okay! They’ll come after you—all of them. They won’t stop until they take me.”
“They won’t take you. Not without a fight.” Lincoln steps into my space, tips my chin up to look at him. “We’re gonna protect you. I told you from the start.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want you to do that. I don’t want you guys to get hurt.” I glance at Oren, pleading. “Please don’t do this.”
“We have to,” Lincoln starts.
“You don’t. You can let me go.”
Mason growls at that. I drop my eyes to the leaves at my feet.
“That’s not an option,” Lincoln tells me gently. “Even if you have to run, we’ll follow. We’ll stay with you.”
“But why?” I blurt.
Lincoln turns me to face the rest of the guys, supporting me with one hand while the other slips over my belly. “We stick together. That’s what families do.”
My mouth falls open. Oren grins at me, and Saint’s lips curl up slightly. Even Mason is nodding.
“He’s right, Sierra.” Mason steps forward to fix my collar. When he’s done, he strokes his finger over the apple of my cheek, adding, “You’re one of us.”
After that, the guys kiss me, tucking my hair carefully under my hood, and send me off with Mason’s arm around my shoulders. We’re to hike back to the cabin, settle in, and wait.
In the end, we don’t have to wait long. A week after Dex and Jagger die, Elon and Oren roar up on ATVs. I ride back with my heart in my throat. As soon as we turn into the yard and I see the guys standing next to a big bonfire and a stack of motorcycles, I’m on the edge of my seat. Elon brakes and I practically leap into Lincoln’s arms.
“It’s all right.” Lincoln’s eyes are shadowed, tired. His clothes are dirty, and his beard is ragged with neglect. But he’s alive. And so are the rest of the guys.
I ignore the tangle of axes beside the fire. If I’d looked closely, I’d see the sharp edges stained with blood.
Later, they tell me how it all went down. How Saint planned the whole operation and Lincoln oversaw it. How they dragged logs into the roads and laid long branches as traps and barriers over the largest potholes. While Mason and I waited, hunkered down in the cabin together, the motorcycles had come roaring up the road, only to be stopped by the debris. Some of the Riders had trucks that rolled forward, only to be stopped by the biggest logs.
They didn’t tell me the rest—but I guessed. How they waited for the Riders to stall out, then fired warning shots from the yard. When the Riders drew their guns and started shooting, the lumberjacks returned fire. Shots flew into the trees on either side of the road and struck the logging equipment. None of the bikers got very close to the guys hiding in the woods. One guy almost reached the gates of the yard, but he’d run out of bullets. And one of the lumberjacks was waiting with an axe.
Whoever lived, fled on foot, leaving bodies behind. Elon was clipped by a bullet, but there were no casualties on the lumberjacks’ side
After that, there was only clean up. The guys dismantled the bikes and towed away the trucks to prise apart and hide. Some parts they salvaged. Others they destroyed—made quick work of it with their machines and axes.
They buried all the bodies deep in the woods.
I hold Lincoln’s hand as he tells me the story. My other hand covers my belly as if to protect my child from such a dark tale. It’s something out of Brothers Grimm. At the end, when he falls silent, I kiss him.
“You’re safe,” he says. I caress his jaw, sifting my fingers through his silky black beard.
“Thanks to you.”
His head drops for a moment, his brow pressing against mine. “You can stay now.”
“Yes.” I swallow, digesting the heavy truth. These men killed for me. We’re bound together, now.
“You’ll stay,” Lincoln says. It’s not quite a question.
I nod.
It might be best for us to go away. Find another company, and another camp. But we’ll stick together. Home is where they are.
I belong with them. And they belong to me.
That night, after dinner, I turn on one of Jagger’s playlists and dance. Lovestoned/I Think She Knows by Justin Timberlake. See You Aga
in by Wiz Khalifa and Charlie Puth. Put Your Lights On by Santana and Everlast. The men watch quietly as I twist and turn and drop my clothes. And if I cry a little, it’s for the ones who are not here. Tonight I dance in their memory.
The last note dies. Before the men can stir, I head to Lincoln. He scoots back from the table to welcome me and I lean into him, smelling the wild scent of earth and sky. I brush back his thick hair from his brow, bend and give him a soft kiss. My fingers go to the button on his jeans. He makes a small noise, but sits back, letting me open his pants. My arms go around his neck as I straddle him.
Are you sure? Lincoln’s eyes ask.
Yes, I drag my hips up and down, rubbing against him before tugging my panties to the side and sinking down on him. I’m sure. I’ve never been more sure of anything.
I fuck him slowly, gritting my teeth at the stretch, a low hum in my throat at the delicious feel of him filling me.
“It’s been a while,” he gasps.
“Yeah.” I nuzzle his neck. We rock and shudder together. I squeeze my muscles around him, and his head drops, his lower half jerking as he fills me. “Thanks,” I murmur, and give him a kiss.
“Anytime,” he mumbles with a laugh.
Around the table, the guys have their cocks out.
“Table,” I murmur and Lincoln rises, lifting me up, laying me down. I reach for Elon, who already fists his cock. I watch him jerk off, admiring his freckled forearms, sleek with muscle covered in hair the color of rust. It doesn’t take me more than a grunt to convince him to let me suck him. As I do, Oren approaches the foot of the table and grasps my hips. The two dip in and out of me, filling my sight and senses until I’m shuddering between them. They cum with a cry, and retreat, leaving me shivering, ready for my own climax.
“My turn,” Mason growls. He pulls me to the edge of the table, flips me around. Bent in half, I grip the wooden edge helplessly as he pounds me from behind. The guys surrounding us murmur nervously. Faster, harder, I pant soundlessly as bright lights flash behind my eyes. My orgasm hits, rolling up from my core to my head, curling my toes. I sag and Mason grips my hair, making my body bow backwards as he plows my pussy. I dance on the end of his cock, jolting as electric pleasure sings through my limbs. Mason wraps an iron arm around my waist, holding me upright as he finishes, groaning. As I slump in his arms, he tugs my head to the side and fastens his mouth to my neck, sucking and kissing and claiming.