Ruthless

by Gillian Archer

  Then there was that aspect of the biker life. I couldn’t forget who exactly Zag and his friends were. Who society judged them to be. Despite my earlier ostrich-like hiding in the sand—before Preacher—I’d known that Zag and his crew got up to some serious stuff. Could I handle the dark world they lived in? Were my feelings for Zag and the sense of belonging enough?

  It was humbling to know that while they accepted me for me, I’d judged them like everyone else had. I hugged Zag’s waist and turned my head away. Screw society. I’d never been one to run with the herd, anyhow.

  Although I guess now I was in a totally different pack, with a man I was having some pretty strong emotions for. I couldn’t bring myself to think the l-word. Not until I knew how he felt.

  Especially about the baby.

  I just had to find my nerve.

  —

  Later, at the barbecue, the thought was always close to my heart. I’d almost blurted it out twice, but the lack of privacy had me biting the words back. We were never really alone. Between Zag’s duties during the ceremony and the chaotic crush at the barbecue, we’d hardly had time to say three words to each other. Instead, I’d spent time with Bumper and even Reb, although neither of them was particularly chatty.

  To be honest, it was the strangest collection of people I think I’d ever seen. During the ceremony, city council members rubbed elbows with long-haired and heavily tattooed bikers while a local TV station filmed it. Maybe it wasn’t such a stretch for a “normal” like me to fall in with Zag’s crowd. Plus their food was amazing.

  “So Jess, how’d you like the ride?”

  Mid-chomp into my burger, I waved Bumper off and chewed my huge bite behind my hand. What can I say? I’d never been a dressing-on-the-side kind of girl. I paused inches away from another huge bite of my burger. “It was freakin’ awesome.”

  “Uh-oh…” A beautiful Amazon redhead came up from behind Bumper and put her arm around his hips. “I never thought I’d see the day Zag was packing double.”

  “Angel, Jessica. Jess, this is Angel.”

  I gave Angel a half wave as I took a long swig of my soda. Something told me that Angel wasn’t her given name, and I had a strong suspicion of how she came by the nickname, given that Bumper was the third biker I’d seen her getting friendly with in the last hour. “Nice to meet you,” I murmured.

  Angel took a long draw from her cigarette and blew her smoke in my direction. “So is this the bitch who tamed Zag?”

  I gagged at the smell and took a giant step away. Bitch? My hackles rose at being referred to as a bitch. But since it wasn’t the first time that day I’d heard it used—just the first time in reference to me—I tried to let it roll off my back. Apparently you were either a biker or a bitch. And since I didn’t have a bike…

  I took a deep breath and gave her a half shrug.

  “Lay off, Angel.” Zag almost choked me when he tossed an arm around my neck and pulled me close. “Jess is officially off- limits. I don’t want to hear about you pulling your shit on her.”

  Zag’s voice was terse, his grip tight. He was pissed. The fact that his anger had come out because he was defending me had me choking up. And it had nothing to do with the arm around my neck. Maybe it was the hormones…

  Angel blinked her baby blues in an exaggerated “Who, me?” expression.

  She didn’t look as innocent as her pantomime. Although that might’ve had something to do with the hand she had crawling down Bumper’s waist toward his crotch.

  Embarrassed by her public display, I looked away.

  “Fucking knock it off, Angel. There are kids still here, for Christ’s sake.” Bumper scowled and batted her hand away.

  “What the hell is wrong with you guys today?” After tossing a glare in my direction, she flounced away in a cloud of cigarette smoke.

  “What the fuck was that about?” Zag grumbled.

  “Ah, you know Angel.” Bumper’s eyes darted toward me, then away. “She’s been pissed ever since you stopped coming—”

  Zag cut him off. “Got it.”

  An uneasy silence fell in our tight little circle while raucous laughter mixed with rock music around us. I looked between the two guys. They looked back at me.

  “Um, I’m just gonna go throw this away.” I waved at them with my now empty plate.

  “And then come straight back to me.” Zag’s eyes were hard and unyielding.

  “Yes, Dad.” I shook my head.

  As I walked away, I heard Bumper ask Zag, “Any sign of Preacher or Tramps?”

  “No. I wish they’d show up, though. Fuck me. I don’t think I can take any more of this lying-low bullshit Reb’s got me doing. I should be out there…”

  The rest of their conversation faded away as I continued to the trash can. I didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping. Zag was so twitchy when it came to club business. I dodged a couple making out on the sidewalk, but I hardly noticed them. My mind was whirling with scenarios involving Zag not lying low.

  I was almost afraid to imagine what it would be like when Zag was out there living it up. I’d seen the bruises and scrapes Zag came home with. How much worse could it get? Sutures from stabbings? Bullet wounds?

  My full stomach twisted and rolled. Could I handle raising a child with a man like that? What if he ended up hurt from a fight or a wreck? Or even worse.

  But just as equally, I couldn’t imagine my life without Zag. He’d taken up almost every corner of my life. I couldn’t go five minutes without thinking about him, wanting to be with him, hear his laugh, touch his body. The thought of having none of that in my life left me with a huge gaping hole in my heart.

  I was so screwed. What the hell did I get myself into?

  A few hours later, after all the children and politicians and most of the news media left, things really got wild. Motorcycles still lined the street and the sidewalks heaved with people. I’d never seen so many people outside of a hotel convention before. Afraid of losing sight of Zag in the crowd, I stayed glued to his side.

  We mingled and talked with bikers from visiting chapters—California, Oregon, and as far away as South Dakota. Well, we talked when we could hear one another over the rumble of bikes.

  “What?” I yelled at Zag as a True Brother bike roared down the street. The biker pulled up and performed a pretty impressive wheelie. He held it at least half a block before putting it back down. The crowd cheered with approval.

  “I said: Bumper’s going next. We should stand back!” Zag yelled while he pulled on my arm.

  I let him tug me farther from the curb, but I was confused. If we were fine where we were standing while all the other bikers performed their stunts, why did we have to move now?

  My unspoken question was answered a few seconds later as Bumper tore down the street on his bike. He pulled up into a wheelie, but pulled too high and the bike flipped over on him. They both slid across the street. I caught my breath in a horrified gasp. Fortunately, the bike didn’t pin Bumper down as it skidded down the street in a hail of sparks and grinding metal.

  Bumper lay on his back in the middle of the street. He wasn’t moving. I started toward him, but Zag pulled me back again. I looked up at him in confusion, but he wasn’t looking at me. “What are you doing? We need to go see if he’s all right.”

  Zag stared at a point over my left shoulder, his eyes narrowed. “He’s fine. That’s just Bump being Bump.”

  “What? I thought he was your friend…” I trailed off as I saw Bumper roll over onto his shoulder, his face split with a wide grin. He let the few people around him help him up, then went over to check on his bike.

  I turned back to Zag. “Did you see that? I don’t think he even has a scratch on him.”

  Zag was still staring at the far side of the street. His brow wrinkled, and that mean biker look was back in his eyes.

  “Zag? Is something wrong?”

  “Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, then shook his head. “What? Nah, Bump’s fine. I’ve
seen him try the same damn trick every year, and he lands on his back every fucking time. It’s a good thing he’s got a hard head. Come on. Let’s go make sure he’s okay.”

  Even though his words were supposed to comfort me—or maybe distract me—I could tell he was the one who was distracted. We walked over to Bumper, and the whole time, Zag kept his arm around me as his eyes darted left and right, surveying the crowd. I looked around, too, but whatever hidden danger Zag hunted was lost to me. It looked like the same crowd of bikers, bitches, and gawkers since we’d been here. Everyone was a little more liquored up, judging by all the red plastic cups and bottles of beer. But otherwise it all looked the same.

  When we reached Bumper, he was kneeling next to his bike checking out the huge scratch down the side. “Fucking fucker!”

  I hovered in the background. I really didn’t want to get in the middle of a guy and his bike. If I’d learned anything during my time with Zag, it was that a man’s bike was sacred. Zag practically worshipped his.

  “I just redid the paint job. Fuck!”

  I flinched as Bumper chucked his helmet and sent it flying across the asphalt. It skidded to a stop in the gutter across the street. I had Bumper pegged as the nice guy of the group—he was the one who cracked jokes with me and teased Zag like a brother. So to see him flipping out was kind of unnerving. He was every bit as scary as Zag when he got all pissed off.

  Zag rolled his eyes and walked across the street to retrieve Bump’s helmet. When he came back, he waved it at Bumper. “What the fuck do you expect? Your bike is too fucking big for that shit. When are you gonna learn?”

  “Fuck you.” Bump took his helmet back with a growl. “I almost had it. Besides, Tank’s bike is bigger than mine.”

  “And Tank’s got you beat by about fifty pounds.”

  “Fuck off.” Bump sighed as he looked at the matching scratch on his helmet. “Did you just come over here to gloat, fucker?”

  “No. I need you to take Jess out of here.” Zag stepped closer and the guys had a furtive conversation.

  “Wait, what? What’s going on?”

  They both ignored me and continued their low-volume exchange.

  I looked between them and the crowd a few feet away but still couldn’t see the hidden danger Zag was so concerned about. Who was here? What was going on?

  Did it have something to do with Preacher or the Tramps? My skin crawled, and the crowded street took on an ominous hue. They could be right there and I wouldn’t know it. I didn’t know about club patches and who the bad guys were. It wasn’t like the westerns where the baddies conveniently wore black hats. Everyone here was dressed the same—jeans, leathers, tattoos, and facial hair.

  My heart pounded loudly in my ears.

  “Come on, princess. Bumper will take you to my house. You’ll be safe there.” Zag put a hand on my shoulder and urged me toward Bumper’s bike.

  Bumper’s bike that’d just skidded down the street.

  The thought of riding with Bumper dovetailed with my panic, and I freaked. “Are you kidding me? He just crashed. I’m not going anywhere with him.”

  “Fuck me, princess. I do not have time for this shit.” Zag cupped my jaw and breathed his biker ire down at me. “Get. On. The. Fucking. Bike.”

  Oh God. I don’t think there was anything I’d ever seen in my life scarier than that. I tried to move—toward Bumper, away from Zag, anywhere—but Zag wouldn’t let go of me. Tears clouded my vision, and I whimpered.

  Zag heaved a huge sigh and dropped his forehead onto mine. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to scare you. Just get on the bike, okay?”

  I nodded as my breath hitched in my chest.

  “Fuck me.” Zag’s eyes went all soft before he took my lips in a gentle kiss. After a moment, he pulled back slightly and rested his forehead on mine. “Go with Bump.”

  I melted into Zag’s arms. The danger of the moment was eclipsed by the unexpected sweetness of my badass boyfriend.

  Bumper pushed between us and shoved me behind him. “Shit, Zag. You packing?”

  “No, why?” Zag swung around and froze solid.

  Preacher slowly crossed the street, his hand ominously buried in his coat pocket. “Hey, look, the gang’s all here.”

  Zag’s body vibrated with tension. “Keep on walking, Preach. This isn’t the time or the place. There are cops everywhere.”

  “Then I guess we gotta keep this quiet and between me and that bitch cowering behind you.”

  “Not happening in this fucking life,” Zag growled.

  “Fine, if that’s the way you want it.” Preacher’s arm swung out from his jacket and he pointed the biggest handgun I’d ever seen in my life in our direction.

  The pop of the shot was buried beneath the roar of the bikes around us. But someone must’ve seen it, because the crowd roared with screams and pandemonium ensued.

  Instant, searing pain sucked the breath out of me. I looked down: Blood bloomed from just below my collarbone and ran down my blouse. My head swam as all the sounds around me faded.

  Vaguely, I heard Bumper curse. “Shit, Zag, you’re hit.”

  “Nah, he just winged me. I’m fine. Come on, let’s get Jess outta here, then get our fucking hands on Preacher if the cops don’t already have him.”

  “Zag?” I gasped just before everything went black.

  Chapter 26

  Zag

  Zag spun around just in time to see Jessica collapse in a heap.

  “Shit,” Bumper cursed.

  But Zag didn’t even spare his buddy a glance. Calling himself every kind of dipshit under the sun for not getting to his girl before she fainted, he crouched down next to her and cupped her head in his hands. He didn’t feel a bump, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t cracked it when she hit the ground.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck me.” Bumper jumped up and tore his cellphone out of his inside vest pocket.

  Zag turned his head to question Bump when he saw it.

  The front of Jessica’s blouse was soaked through with a dark stain. His breath stuttered in his chest as a red-hot rage swept over him. There wasn’t enough light to see clearly, but there was no mistaking what that stain was.

  Blood.

  A hell of a lot of blood.

  “Son of a bitch!” Zag tore his vest and T-shirt off. Wadding up his shirt, he pressed it against her chest to stem the flow. Jessica’s eyes flickered, and she moaned. He’d done this to her. He’d promised nothing would happen to her. That this wouldn’t touch her.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Come on, baby. You’re gonna be fine. I’ve got you. Everything’s gonna be all right.”

  Bump’s voice trickled in through all the chaos around them. “…shot—we need an ambulance.”

  Zag glared at his buddy. “Where the fuck are the first responders and the cops? She’s bleeding out, for Christ’s sake!”

  “…we’re at fucking Street Vibrations. I don’t know.” Bump swung his head wildly from side to side. “Virginia and Liberty. We’re in the fucking middle of the street.”

  Where the street had been teeming with people, it was now deadly silent. The panicked crowd had either left or was watching from the sidelines. Zag didn’t bother to look up to find out which. And Preacher was long gone. No matter how badly Zag wanted to go after him, that would have to wait until later. Right now his baby needed him.

  In seconds, Zag’s hand felt damp with a telling wetness. He stared through a film of tears as his white T-shirt quickly turned into a bloody mess. “Bump, give me your shirt.”

  “This isn’t a fucking crank call. Get someone here now, dammit.” Bumper ripped his vest and T-shirt off and handed the shirt to Zag. Putting his phone back up to his face, he knelt next to Zag. “We’re applying pressure, but she’s already soaked through one shirt…”

  Bumper continued to drone on with the 911 dispatcher, but Zag couldn’t hear him over the pounding of his heart. Shit, he shouldn’t have brought her here tonight. He should’ve kept his f
ucking distance since day one. Jessica deserved a hell of a lot better than him. She sure as shit didn’t deserve to die in the fucking street.

  He couldn’t lose her.

  Not now. Not like this.

  He felt so powerless. All he could do was press the bundle of shirts against her chest and pray the ambulance showed up in time.

  “Don’t die on me, baby. You still owe me a session with chocolate syrup.” Brushing a finger across her cheek, he found her skin cold. Too cold. And in sharp contrast to the warm, damp clothes he pressed against her chest.

  Oh God. Oh God. She was gonna die and there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do about it.

  “Where’s the ambulance, dammit?”

  As if to answer his question, a siren warbled through the chaos around them. Three blocks away, Zag could make out the beam of headlights slowly making their way down the center of the closed-off road. Driving slow as fuck. At this rate, they wouldn’t be here by Tuesday.

  What felt like an eternity later, the ambulance stopped in front of them and two men hopped out.

  Bumper stood up. “Woman, late twenties. Gunshot wound to the chest.”

  “Is there an exit wound or is the bullet still lodged inside her?” one man asked as he knelt on the other side of her.

  “Shit, I don’t know. We’ve just been applying pressure to her chest. I didn’t even think to look…” Zag trailed off as his sense of helplessness doubled.

  The paramedics worked efficiently, checking Jess over, strapping an oxygen mask on her, moving her to a backboard and then a stretcher, as Zag and Bumper stood back and watched.

  Zag reached down, grabbed his vest, and tugged it on. He followed the medics as they wheeled the stretcher around to the back of the ambulance.

  “What hospital are you headed to?” Bumper called from behind Zag.

  “Saint Mary’s.”

  “I’m coming with,” Zag informed them as they loaded the stretcher into the ambulance.

  “We don’t have the space. There are strict procedures—” The paramedic broke off as he turned and faced Zag. “Is that your blood?” He nodded at Zag’s left arm and the flow of blood that’d tampered off to a trickle.