by Nicole Fox
Anya shook her head. “I have no idea. When our parents died we were all really young; I think that might’ve affected them more than me. They just kind of … checked out of life, you know? I don’t even think they really care about anything. If I left, they’d probably just waste away.”
“That doesn’t mean you should be stuck to them like they’re a goddamn matching set of balls and chains,” I said.
“What else can I do?” she asked. “We’re the only family we’ve got.”
“You oughta ju—”
But as I leaned forward to make my point, stabbing pain shot up my side. I’d been hiding how much it hurt, but this time a wincing expression of pain covered my face.
“Ah, fuck!” I shot out.
Anya rushed to my side and took a seat on the couch.
“Calm down,” she said, “Don’t get all worked up on my behalf.”
I winced again, sitting back on the couch. Anya put her hand on my shoulder and looked me over with those big blue eyes of hers. I could see the part of her that made her a good nurse and doting family member come out; she seemed to be putting everything else aside as she watched me, making sure that I was OK.
“Is it pain in your sides?” she asked, her eyes searching my body.
“Yeah, fucking kills,” I said, my hand on my side.
She shook her head. “I hate to say I told you so, but this is why we wanted to keep you in overnight. It’s just some bruised ribs, but a good night’s rest would’ve done wonders.”
“Yeah, wonders until those assholes put a knife into me while I was getting my beauty sleep.”
She smirked, conceding the point.
“God,” I said, “I’d kill for a shot of whiskey right now.”
“Alcohol would just make your sleep restless, not restorative. What you need is a solid eight hours of rest.”
“Well, how the hell am I supposed to sleep with this pain?”
She looked away, as if thinking something over.
“Just wait here,” she said, getting up.
With that, she left the cabin. As she was gone, I thought about what she’d said about her family. She was just some chick that I’d fucked a couple of times, but something about a girl like her being forced to slave away for a pair of ungrateful, shithead brothers didn’t sit right with me. Women like her, those who seemed to care about other people before themselves, they had a way of getting taken advantage by people who had a way of sucking the life out of them. Shit wasn’t right.
Anya came back into the cabin, an orange plastic case in her hand. She sat back down on the couch and popped the thing open, revealing all sorts of medical supplies. Rifling through them, she pulled out a syringe and small, glass bottle full of clear liquid.
“This’ll take the edge off,” she said, jamming the needle into the bottle and sucking up some of the fluid.
“Damn, girl,” I said, “you’re not fucking around.”
She flashed another sexy little smirk.
“Nursing does have its perks,” she said. “For example, our first aid kits are a little more … effective than the ones you’d get at Wal-Mart.”
But before she could stick me with the needle, my hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
“Before this shit kicks in, I want you to promise me that you’ll stay here; you’re not safe with those assholes running around.”
“Yeah, of course,” she said, her eyes darting to the side for a brief second.
Satisfied, I sat back into the couch. She jabbed the needlepoint into me, the mild pinprick nothing compared to the pain shooting through my sides.
“There,” she said. “Now, just relax.”
The meds, whatever they were, kicked in right away. The pain was replaced with a calm feeling of peace, a mild, giddy feeling floating into my mind. I sat there like a junkie for a little while, letting the stuff take the edge off. Before too long, my eyelids grew heavy, and after another few minutes, I was out like a light.
Chapter Eleven
Bryce
I was groggy as shit when I came to, and it took me a few minutes to be able to even move my limbs and open my eyes. I felt like I’d been sleeping for a year, like I’d just come out of a coma. When I could finally move well enough to get my phone out of my jeans pocket, I was half-expecting the year to be different. I was surprised to see that only around twelve hours had passed, and it was a little after nine in the morning the next day.
The feeling returning to my arms and legs, I stood up and made the deepest, longest stretch that I think I’d ever made in my life. I let out a long groan, the feeling of blood rushing through my body almost orgasmically satisfying. And as I stretched, I noticed that the pain in my sides had all but gone.
She was right, I thought, just needed a good night’s sleep. Probably dididn’t hurt that last night was the first time I’d gone to sleep in months without drinking a shitload of whiskey first.
As soon as I finished my stretch, however, something struck me- I was alone. My steps sluggish at first, I started looking around the small cabin, hoping to find Anya’s small form curled up somewhere. But nothing. I went outside, the late morning air cool on my skin, and sure enough, no sign of her. And the car was gone.
“Fuck!” I shouted, my voice carrying through the trees that surrounded the cabin.
I ran back inside, spotting something next to the couch. It was a small bottle of water, a handwritten note taped to it.
Drink up; you need the hydration, and you don’t want to be drinking anything from that faucet. Sorry I couldn’t stick around, but my family needs me.
A
And that was it. No instructions on how to find her, no anything. As soon as I looked at the water, though, a feeling of powerful thirst came over me. I pulled the cap off of the bottle, nearly ripping off the plastic. I brought the bottle to my lips and drained the liquid inside in seconds. She was right about the hydration, at least.
But she was dead wrong about leaving. Keeping her here wasn’t me enjoying her goddamn company; it was about making sure she stayed alive. Spider and his crew, those who weren’t in jail, at least, were out for blood. And they knew she was helping me out. They’d want revenge on her, sure, but more than that, they’d do whatever it took to get my location out of her. I shuddered as I considered this possibility. And now, on top of everything, I was starting to feel something like responsibility for Anya—she shouldn’t be a part of this world, and it was my fault she was.
I scanned the living room frantically, straight lines of sunlight cutting through the dusty air. Then, I spotted something. It was a small, dark red rectangle sitting next to the couch. I grabbed it and realized that it was her wallet. Opening the thing, I pulled out Anya’s driver’s license. Everything I needed to track her down was on there. I made a fist and pumped in the air, celebrating my good fortune.
Now, I just had to hope that I’d find her before Spider’s thugs did.
I ran out to the front yard and made a mad dash down the road. Thankfully, the cabin wasn’t too far off the beaten path. Soon, I was back onto the main road of the town. I needed to get back to Rooster’s; hopefully, my bike was still there. Sucking up my pride and sticking out my thumb, I signaled to any and all passing cars.
If I’m depending on the kindness of strangers these days, might as well go all in, I thought.
Soon, a truck pulled over, the driver happy to give me a lift the mile down the road to the bar. He knew of Rooster’s and probably figured I was some drunk ready to sit outside and wait for the place to open up, but I didn’t care. What was important was that my bike was sitting in the same place it had been when I’d come here the night I got jumped. I allowed myself a smile at this good fortune, but knew the job ahead was far from done.
Hopping out of the truck, I let the driver know that if he ever needed a favor, he should come find the Ancestors. I told him the passphrase we used for such purposes, and he seemed to understand the value of being on the good sid
e of one of the baddest MCs in the state.
I dashed to my bike, hopped on, and gunned the engine. The bike roared to life, and I sat on it for a minute, just letting the thing rev. Being off my bike, even for a few days, had me all out of sorts. Getting back on it was like what having a missing limb reattached must feel like to normies.
I looked up the address on my phone and peeled off, making my way to Anya’s home. I wasn’t looking forward to talking her into coming along with me, but it was the only way to keep her safe. Twenty minutes later, I pulled up near the house, which was a run-down little place on the outskirts of town. While the house was a shithole, the property was wide and open—the nearest place might’ve been a mile away. That’d be nice in most cases, but not when you’re being hunted by lowlifes with murder on the brain.
Parking a few hundred feet from the house and leaving my bike in a place where it wouldn’t be found, I approached the house at a careful, but quick pace. As I drew closer, I heard a man’s voice yell out.
“Goddammit, An! You know I was supposed to be up two hours ago! Where the hell were you?”
“Sorry, sorry,” spoke the familiar voice of Anya through one of the open windows. “I got hung up.”
“‘Hung up’?” shouted another voice, this one thinner and whinier. “You know you’re supposed to come back here right after work unless we’re out with you!”
What the hell is with these guys? I asked myself as I continued to approach the house.
Soon, I was near one of the open windows. Keeping low, I peeked into the house. In the living room I could see two men, one tall, fat and slobby who was sitting on the couch, a tall boy near him on the coffee table. The other was short and wiry, a grungy-looking little dude who zipped here and there, looking like he was hopped-up on way too many energy drinks. The fat man on the couch was dressed in a security guard’s outfit, an impatient look on his ugly, scruffy mug.
“Where’re my damn eggs!” he shouted.
“Almost!” responded Anya.
Soon after, Anya walked into the living room, a plate of steaming eggs in her hand. The brother on the couch took the plate without looking and set into them, washing down each bite with a long sip of beer. When he was done, he tossed the plate onto the couch, got up, and finished his drink. The other brother was pacing around anxiously, taking little bird-bites of his eggs.
They’re like fucking slave-drivers, I thought. Goddamn worthless fucks.
But before I could give Anya’s domestic situation any more thought, the grumbling of engines sounded in the distance. I turned where I was squatting and spotted a pair of cars tearing down the road, their tires kicking up clouds of thick, orange dust.
“What the hell?” asked the fat brother, coming over to the window that I was squatted near and taking a look outside.
I ducked down, hoping to stay out of sight, despite the fact that I wanted to drive my fist straight up and knock this asshole’s teeth right out of his head.
“An, you expecting guests?” he shouted.
“‘Guests’?” exclaimed the wiry brother. “Who the fuck would be coming here in the goddamn morning?”
The cars continued to roar down the road, and I looked around for someplace to take cover. I knew that there wasn’t anyone else these cars could belong to other than Spider’s crew. They were here to interrogate Anya, and figure out just where I was. What they had in mind for her after that made me shudder to think about.
“I’m gettin’ my damn gun!” shouted the wiry man.
Bad move, I thought, knowing that the gang probably just planned to rough anyone up who was there, but let them keep their lives. If they encountered armed resistance, however…
I ran to the side of the house and found myself a good hiding place behind a bush. From where I was hiding, I had a view through the kitchen and living room, as well as down the road. I could see Anya standing by one of the windows, a worried expression on her face that seemed to suggest that she knew that she was in trouble.
And she was right.
The two cars swerved right onto the lawn, coming to abrupt halts and killing their engines. Soon after, hard-looking men poured out, all with angry, determined expressions on their faces. Some had knives; the others were armed with clubs, bats, and other blunt objects. Spider hopped out of the car he was in and climbed onto the hood.
“Yo, yo! We want that bitch Anya! Send her ass out and no one gets hurt!”
Hearing a little punk like Spider call Anya a bitch set my blood to boil—I wanted to fuck him up. Bad.
Anya continued to watch, still frozen in fear. I had to tell her to make a break for it. Staying low, I went over to the window.
“Hey!” I said in a loud whisper. “Hey!”
Anya looked around for the source of the sound for a moment before spotting me. Her eyes went wide; she wasn’t expecting to see me here at all.
“Leave now!” I said, pointing to one of the windows. “Make a break for it! I’ll come find you!”
“Last warning, motherfuckers!” shouted Spider.
“And just who the fuck do you think you are, you little shit?” demanded the fat brother, walking out onto the lawn with unsteady strides. “Coming onto my goddamn lawn and telling me what to do?”
Spider glared down at the brother as his thugs formed up around him.
“No gripe with you, fat boy—just give us the girl!”
“You ain’t getting shit!”
Uh oh, I thought.
The two continued to argue, and I gestured to Anya to get going. She finally complied, and climbed out of the window.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded.
“Just shut up and run!” I said. “My bike’s that way—I’ll meet you there!”
“But what about—” before she could finish, the crack of a gunshot sounded out.
“Run!” I shouted.
She nodded and took off in the direction of my bike. Turning my attention back to the yard, I saw that one of the thugs was splayed out on the grass, a bleeding wound on his leg.
Those stupid fucks!
Up in one of the windows, I could see the wiry brother, a rifle in his hands.
“Warning shot, assholes!” he called out. “Next one’s right to the goddamn dome!”
The fat brother then rushed towards the thugs, a fight breaking out. I hoped that this would give Anya enough time to get away, but before I could feel too relieved, I saw Spider spot Anya making a break for it.
“There she goes!” Spider shouted. “You take care of these assholes; you, you, and you come with me!”
Spider jumped back into his car and three of the men climbed in with him. Soon, they were off in Anya’s direction. She was close to the bike, but now that they’d spotted her there was no chance we’d be able to make a quick getaway.
I gritted my teeth, realizing that things were going to get ugly. Standing up, I took off running towards Anya, cutting the distance between us. Spider’s car pulled ahead, disappearing into the woods that Anya had run into. The car came to a halt in front of the trees, and the men all got out and disappeared into the foliage.
“Fuck!” I shouted, realizing that they’d be on Anya in no time at all.
Another gunshot rang out in the direction of the house where the brothers and the other thugs were fighting, followed by a scream in Anya’s direction.
They got her! I thought, not breaking my stride.
Soon, I reached the woods, slowing my speed as I approached.
“Get the fuck off of me!” I heard Anya shout.
My blood felt hot; I couldn’t wait to tear these fuckers limb-from-limb. Reaching into my boot, I pulled out a small knife that I kept hidden just for situations like this. Sneaking through the woods, knife in hand, I eventually came across Anya, Spider, and the rest of the men. Anya was bound with handcuffs, and Spider was pacing in front of her.
“All right, girl,” he said, walking back and forth, “you know what we want
. Tell us where your fuckin’ biker boyfriend is, and we’ll let you leave with that pretty little face of yours unfucked-with. You give us any goddamn lip, though, and I might let my boys have a little fun with you before we start taking fingers.”
Spider pulled a long, sharp knife out of his belt.
“So, what’s it gonna be?”
Rage was overcoming me, and red was starting to form in the corners of my vision. But I kept it together long enough to approach close enough to Anya to allow her to see me. I held up a finger, and through tear-wet eyes, she gave a quick nod.
“Well,” asked Spider, “let’s hear it.”