Carrick headed into the clubhouse to make some calls and find out about Ox. I said I’d help Mom whip up some breakfast. As I walked up to her trailer, my stomach was rumbling. This was a good idea. Mom always had fantastic coffee and I was thinking bacon, with eggs sunny side up on toast made from her homemade bread….
I stopped outside the door and frowned. That was weird. Mr. Fluffy was outside, scratching at the door. Mom never shut him out at night. And Carrick was right: she was always up early. So why wasn’t she letting him in?
I knocked. No answer. I pushed open the door.
And stepped into hell.
43
Annabelle
For a second I just stood there on the threshold, gaping. I couldn’t process what I was seeing. That mistake nearly ended me. Hungry for the fresh outside air, the flames surged out to meet me. I heard the crackle as the loose strands of hair on my forehead singed. Just in time, I staggered back, choking on a cloud of black smoke and slapping at my hair.
I ducked low and tried to see through the smoke. The entire inside of the trailer was ablaze. The flames had covered the floor, leaving only narrow channels and islands not alight. It had scaled the walls, the wallpaper and drapes hanging down in charred, burning sheets. When I looked up, I saw the ceiling creaking and groaning: flames had spread up into the insulation and it was crumbling down in flaming chunks as big as my head. Why hadn’t we seen this from the outside?
Then I saw why. Someone had taped black plastic sheeting over the windows from the inside. They’d turned it into a sealed box. If I hadn’t knocked the door, we’d never have known. Beneath the choking smoke, I caught the stink of gasoline. The fire wasn’t an accident.
I took a step into the room, trying to see through the smoke. Surely she couldn’t be in here, but I had to check—
Fear clutched at my chest as I saw her. Mom was sitting on the floor by the sink, duct tape over her mouth. I started towards her, then realized what I’d forgotten to do. I leaned out of the door, looked towards the clubhouse and yelled “CARRICK!” as loud as I could.
He got there before I was even halfway to Mom. He looked as if he wanted to grab me and haul me out of there to safety, but he knew by now that I wouldn’t have listened and he didn’t waste time arguing. I loved him for that.
Together, we dodged and clambered around the flames to where Mom sat. Several times, I felt the flames lick my thighs as we cut it too close. The only thing that saved us was our damp clothes.
As we got closer to Mom, I saw she was conscious. Why hasn’t she moved? Is she hurt? We hunkered down on either side of her. Embers had started her nightdress smoldering in a couple of places and I quickly slapped them out. Carrick ripped off the tape covering her mouth.
“Get out of here,” she said immediately. “The propane tanks!”
My gaze snapped to the huge range cooker and then to the pipes that went down beneath our feet. Shit. She was right: as soon as the fire ate its way under the floor, they’d go off like a bomb.
Carrick and I started to haul her to her feet, ignoring her protests. We’d carry her over the flames if we had to. But before her ass even left the floor, she jerked to a halt.
That’s when we saw the handcuffs. Her wrists were cuffed behind her and the chain was wrapped around the sink’s waste pipe. Oh, shit….
He’d planned this. Volos, or one of his men. They’d set the fire, made sure no one would come to her aid and then left her to a tortuous death, choking and burning, knowing the explosion would come but not knowing when…. The bastard!
Carrick reached under the sink and wrenched...but the pipe was old, hard iron, not plastic.
“Get out,” repeated Mom.
“No!” both of us said simultaneously.
“There’s no time.” She started coughing. “The tanks will go up any minute.”
“There’s an extinguisher in the clubhouse,” said Carrick, and started to get up.
“It doesn’t matter,” rasped Mom. “The fire’s already under the floor.”
We looked down and realized she was right. The floor was starting to sag as the flames filled the dark spaces beneath the trailer, where dead leaves and other debris had been building for years. Even if we put out the fire inside, we couldn’t stop that one, not in time.
“Go,” said Mom.
“We’re not leaving you!” snapped Carrick.
I reached behind Mom and squeezed her hand, tears in my eyes. When I looked at Carrick, he was searching my face. I frowned. What?
Then I got it. This was something that couldn’t be fixed with brute force or violence. This was a mechanical problem...and so he was looking to me for a solution.
I took in a terrified gulp of scorching air. I don’t know! I couldn’t think of anything. But if I didn’t, Mom was going to die.
I stared at the waste pipe and tried to force my brain to work. Could we cut through it? There might be an acetylene torch somewhere in the workshop but there was no time to learn how to use it. Bolt cutters on the handcuffs? I couldn’t remember seeing any. There was a crash as another section of the ceiling fell in and I turned to look behind me, the heat searing my face.
My eyes fell upon the huge, purple couch. Too big to go through the door. The boys took the whole side of the trailer off for me.
I looked around at the blazing walls...and the whole structure came apart in my mind. Four walls, pinned together at the corners with bolts so that the same parts could be reused to make different configurations of trailers. And the plumbing, including the pipe Mom was cuffed to, was part of the wall, not the floor.
“Find some chain,” I told Carrick, coughing. “Thick, heavy chain. Fix one end to your bike and put the other end through the window. I’ll pass it around the pipe. Then go.”
Carrick stared at the pipe. “That’ll break the pipe?”
“No. It’ll pull the whole wall off.”
“What?!”
“Do it! Go!”
He hesitated. I could tell the idea of leaving me there killed him. But someone had to stay to do up the chain. He finally growled and ran off through the flames.
Mom coughed. “I never thought I’d see Carrick listen to reason. You’ve got that boy hooked good.”
Another piece of the ceiling fell in, spreading flames across the floor towards us. I tried using a blanket to smother them but everything was too hot, too dry: the flames sprang up again as quickly as I put them out. Mom and I huddled by the sink, drew our legs up and squashed ourselves into the smallest space we could. She started coughing again and I hugged her tight, her long silver hair trailing over my hands. Hurry, Carrick.
I hear the roar of a bike outside and the clank of heavy chain. I threw open the window above us and Carrick passed the end of the chain through: old and grimy but as thick as my wrist. I looped it around the metal pipe and passed it back to him. He grabbed me by the wrist and stared desperately into my eyes, as if he wanted to haul me right through the window and away with him.
“I know,” I said. “Go!”
He ran to his bike. I ducked down. “Hold onto the sink,” I told Mom. “As tight as you can.”
From beneath us, there was a horrible, metallic creak, the sound of pressure that’s built too high. I imagined the propane tanks, their paint blistered and peeling, their metal sides bulging….
I heard the bike accelerate away and the rattle as the slack in the chain was taken up. I squeezed Mom tight. Would this work? Would the momentum pull out the bolts or would the bike just snap to a stop at the end of the chain, sending Carrick flying to his death? Please be right.
The sound of the bike got quieter and quieter as it sped away from us. Then there was a metallic chink that vibrated through the whole trailer as the chain snapped taut and—
It was like being in a car that’s suddenly rear-ended. One second, Mom and I were clinging to a stationary object. The next, our arms were almost yanked out of our sockets as the sink, the cupboards and the
whole wall were jerked away.
Cool, clean air and brilliant sunlight drenched us and there was an instant when we were flying through the air. Then the wall become the floor as it crashed to the concrete and we were being dragged along behind Carrick’s bike like sailors clinging to a makeshift raft. I felt one of my sneakers come off and looked down to find one of my feet was trailing on the ground. I snatched it back to safety. If my laces hadn’t been loose, I probably would have lost a foot.
Carrick cut the engine and we slid to a stop a hundred feet from the trailer, sparks flying where the wall scraped along the floor. I looked at Mom, then down at myself. My hip was bruised from when the wall had slammed into the ground and I felt like I might throw up, but both of us seemed to be okay.
Carrick ran over, crouched down, and put his arms around both of us. I grabbed his bicep and clung tight, panting with adrenaline. I stared at the trailer: the flames had completely filled it, now, the remaining windows shattering as the heat got too much.
I turned to Carrick. “We should call—”
I didn’t hear so much as feel the explosion. I think it was just too loud for my brain to register as sound: I just felt the aftershock of pain and the hot gale against my cheek. I threw my arm up instinctively to cover my face and felt it pelted with scorching metal and glass.
When I looked again, it was like there’d never been a trailer. There was just a blackened, twisted mess of metal that had once been the frame and a ring of shrapnel around it, most pieces no bigger than my hand. Then I saw something moving through the smoke. Mr. Fluffy padded over to us, leapt into Mom’s lap and settled down as if nothing had happened. I don’t know where he’d been when the trailer exploded, but he must have used up at least one life.
Carrick mouthed something but I couldn’t make out what. Bits of lighter debris started to drift down. I recognized scraps of purple fabric from Mom’s huge couch. I put my arm around Mom and hugged her close. She hugged me back, then mouthed something at me.
“What?” I asked, frowning. Why did they keep miming? “Just say it!”
And then I realized they weren’t miming at all. I just couldn’t hear them.
I put my head on Carrick’s chest and all three of us sat there, watching the debris drift down, until the first fire truck arrived.
44
Carrick
Word got around fast. Everyone in town had heard the explosion and the compound was soon full of fire trucks, sheriff’s department cars and bikers. Incredibly, no one was hurt, but fragments of Mom’s trailer were found way down the street.
Our hearing came back after a few hours. Mom had some minor burns. Annabelle had escaped with some singed hair and a few bruises. After digging in the debris, she even managed to find the sneaker she lost and held it up proudly. I grabbed her and clutched her to my chest. She could have been killed. They both could have been. I could feel the rage start, deep inside me, a red-hot storm that grew and grew.
I had a hacking cough and it hurt like a motherfucker every time I took a deep breath: I’d inhaled a lot of smoke when I fought my way back out of the trailer to get my bike. The paramedics wanted to take me to the medical center but I shook my head. I helped clear some of the wreckage, hurling big chunks of blackened metal into a dumpster, but however much anger I vented there was always more inside.
I saw Mac having a heated argument with Sheriff Harris. The explosion was way too big to cover up, especially after the fire at the warehouse. Either the FBI or the ATF would be starting an investigation into the club, even though we were the victims.
I stalked into the clubhouse but there was more bad news inside. Ox had come through the surgery but he hadn’t woken yet. There was no way of telling if he would, or if there’d be permanent damage to his brain. My anger flared, white hot, my whole body trembling with it. The whole club’s being torn apart. Just like Volos promised.
I got Mom moved into one of the spare rooms in the clubhouse. I made sure Annabelle was okay and then told her I needed to go for a ride to clear my head.
I passed Mac on my way out to my bike. He grabbed hold of my arm. “Where are you going?”
“I need to think,” I snapped.
“You need to stay here. We got to figure this out as a club.”
I snatched my arm away. “Fuck that! Mom nearly got killed, Ox is in the hospital, our warehouse is gone...what’s next? You? Hunter? Viking?” I swung my leg over my bike. “You figure it out as a club.” And I roared off before he could stop me.
Riding down Main Street, I could feel the eyes of the townsfolk on me. Sure, they’d always feared us...but that fear had been balanced by respect, even need. We’d always protected the town. Now we’d brought chaos to it: rocks coming through the window of the diner, a major fire and now an explosion right in the center of town.
They didn’t trust us, anymore. And even an outlaw club can’t operate unless its town is on its side.
I rode down to the lake and cruised along the road that skirted it. The sun was catching the waves, the sky was blue...everything was perfect, just like the day I’d first brought Annabelle here.
Except now, a thick, black plume of smoke rose from the center of town, spreading out and hiding the waterfalls. The picture postcard was ruined.
I’d started this, when I’d kept my promise to Annabelle. I’d brought this down on the town, on the club, on my friends. I had to fix it. And that meant doing the unthinkable.
I dug in the breast pocket of my cut and found the card Agent Trent had given me. And then I called him to make a deal.
45
Carrick
When I got back to the clubhouse, Mac was waiting for me outside along with Hunter, Viking and the others. “We gotta talk,” he told me.
I shook my head and pushed past him. Found Annabelle, grabbed her hand and led her out to my bike.
But Mac was standing in front of it. I could see his fists clenching and opening: he was hovering on the very edge of rage, just like me. “Brother, you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. Where are you going?”
“I don’t have to tell you that.” I tried to push him aside but he held fast.
“Who were you talking to, last night at the hospital?”
“Get out of my way, Mac.”
“Was it a fed?”
I froze. Which was all the answer he needed. He grabbed the front of my cut and slammed me up against the clubhouse wall. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he roared.
“It wasn’t a fed!” I snapped. But I’ve never been good at lying. I heaved him away from me but he grabbed my arm and we spun around. Both of us went crashing through the doors of the clubhouse and we sprawled in the hallway.
He was up first, leaping astride me and driving a fist into my face. It hurt, but what hurt a lot more was when I glimpsed Annabelle through the half-open doors. She looked horrified...and disappointed. But I’m doing this to save you!
Mac was shaking his head. “You were like a brother,” he spat. “I never figured you for a rat.”
I snarled and threw him off me. He went crashing into the trophy cabinet, shattering several of the panes. The framed copy of the original set of club rules fell off the wall and smashed on the floor.
I jumped to my feet and pushed my way through the doors before Mac could stop me, grabbing Annabelle by the hand. But Hunter and Viking were waiting outside, standing in front of my bike.
I only hesitated for a second. They were my brothers. This was my club. But I had to end this thing.
I grabbed Caorthannach from its holster on my bike and pointed the shotgun right at them.
Annabelle grabbed my arm. “Are you crazy?! Think about what you’re doing! Carrick, just think!”
“Get the fuck out of my way,” I told them.
They slowly backed away, their faces like thunder.
I climbed onto my bike and felt Annabelle climb on behind me. Then we were roaring off and out of the compound, feeling their eyes on us the
whole way. I blasted out of town and down to the lake, taking the back roads until I was sure they weren’t following us. I finally slowed to a stop near a muddy trail that led right down to the lakeside.
I almost didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to face her. But I had to. She was crying, her eyes red, her cheeks shining. “What’s going on?” she sobbed. “Just tell me!”
“We’re going to meet an FBI agent,” I told her. “We’re doing a deal, so you can be safe.” I climbed off the bike and led her by the hand.
She shook her head, hanging back. “No. No! I know what the club means to you. They’re your family, you can’t rat them out! I don’t want to be safe, not if it means that!”
But I kept walking, towing her along. If I didn’t hurry and get it over with, I might break down myself. Because this was going to be the hardest thing I’d ever done.
Agent Trent’s SUV was parked in a clearing halfway down the slope. I could just see the lake sparkling in the distance. Trent was in the back seat and I could see a driver up front. Two serious-looking guys in suits—more agents, I guessed—were standing guard by the front of the car.
“You ready to do this?” said one of the guys as we approached. “We can take you to a safe location right now. The two of you can be in witness protection by the end of the night. All you gotta do is give Agent Trent what he needs to put the club away.”
Annabelle spun to face me. “You can’t! Carrick, this isn’t right and you know it!”
I looked her in the eye and nodded. “You’re right,” I said softly. “It isn’t right.” I looked at the two guys. “That’s why I’m changing the deal.”
Immediately, they shook their heads. “No changes. You give us the club or no deal.”
But the electric window of the SUV whined down and Agent Trent looked at me curiously.
I took a deep breath. “I can give you something even better.” It took me another few seconds before I could bring myself to say it. I’d been keeping the secret for so long, until Annabelle helped me let it out. “I’ll confess to the murder of FBI Agent Walker eleven years ago.” I looked at Annabelle. “Annabelle goes into witness protection...and I go to jail.”
Outlaw's Promise Page 19