His weight acted as a wedge, forcing the air from her lungs. The edge of the rocker panel dug into the back of her bare legs. The car handle jammed into her lower spine. She hit the back of her head on the window. Powerless, she stopped struggling. Tears mingled with perspiration, and she tasted salt at the corners of her mouth. Having lost her only weapon, she had no choice but to surrender.
Breathing from his mouth, Mason bared and clenched his teeth. His long hair lay flat against his cheeks, and his sniper’s stare pinged an unfamiliar sensuality within Ellen, incapacitating her logic. The heat of his breath rippled across her neck. The smell of spice fused with his sweat. His body was hard, strong, and dangerous. What would it feel like to have his mouth on mine? How would it taste? Ellen imagined his tongue rolling down her neck, rolling over her nipples, rolling down her belly. She studied him. His grip loosened but not enough. Soft eyes traced her body, affirming his desire. Kiss me!
Logic recovered. What the hell is wrong with me? Have I gone mad wanting this man to kiss me? Ellen turned her head to hide her shame.
“I have to call JD at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.” Barely audible, her fragile voice begged for mercy. “He’s going to be so upset if I don’t call him on time.”
Fugitive tears rolled down her face.
“Let her go, Rambo!” Mad Dog startled them. He looked confused as his dark eyes darted from Mason to Ellen. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Mason let her go then stepped back. “Whoever this JD dude is, he can’t be much if he let you come out here all alone.”
Mason breathed heavily.
“JD is my ten-year-old son, you stupid Neanderthal! And he has autism. If I don’t call, he’s going to be frantic.”
Mason looked stunned. “You have a son?”
“Yes.”
“Shit!” Mason’s brows moved together. He combed a hand through his hair. Turning away, he walked a few yards down the side of the road then stopped. Hands on his hips, he shook his head and rocked on his heels as he mumbled something.
She glanced at Mad Dog. He looked as confused as Ellen by Mason’s bewildering response. Her suspicions heightened.
Mason walked back, rubbing his forehead. “You come with us,” Mason said gently, “and tomorrow we’ll go ask Old Man Mullen if you can use his phone to call your kid.”
Mad Dog placed his hand on her shoulder. “You have my word as a father of three. Tomorrow you can call your son, and I’ll get a truck out here for your car. What do you say?”
Mad Dog smiled. “Don’t make Rambo and me get ugly. For a couple of Neanderthals, we really don’t like to have to drag our women by the hair kicking and screaming.”
Ellen smiled involuntarily. She wanted to trust them. After all, Mad Dog had a pistol in his pocket. He hadn’t threatened her with it, and he did try to fix her car. So why did apprehension still continue to nag at her about returning to that farm? She decided to play along and return with them, but the first chance she got, she’d head to the house to call a tow truck to come and get her tonight.
“Okay, I’ll go back.”
She dried her tears with the back of her hand.
Mason untied his bandana, handing it to her. She wondered if he was trying to apologize. She blew her nose, balled up the handkerchief, and tossed it over her shoulder. Without a word, she walked toward the bikes.
Mason gingerly picked up the sullied bandana by a corner, holding it out as if it were a dirty diaper. Mad Dog laughed and slapped him on the back. “Let’s go party, Rambo.”
Mason smirked, jamming the dirty kerchief into his pocket. He hadn’t knocked the fight out of Ellen after all. He admired her determination, but he couldn’t let her stay on this road by herself. It was too dangerous now that the bikers knew about her. Whether she believed him or not, he would keep her safe.
Ellen stood by the bike. He noticed the welts on the back of her legs. Guilt brow beat him. Silently, he mounted his motorcycle and watched Ellen from his mirror as she climbed on. Her ankle struck the hot exhaust pipe. She bit down on her lip. He knew she had burned herself, but he didn’t say a word. Instead he made a mental note to take care of it as soon as they got back to the rally.
“Are you ready?”
Mason turned. Ellen nodded. Mason recognized Ellen’s deceptive look. He’d seen it on women before. That sweet expression professing everything is fine but really they’re pissed as hell. She gripped the sissy bar instead of his waist. He started the bike. Be angry all you want, Ellen Abrams, but I’m doing this for your own good. And if you think I give a shit about you not wanting to touch me, think again.
Mason revved the engine in a show of power. The two men turned their motorcycles onto the pavement. The moon hung low in the summer sky. As they rode, Mason began to realize the absence of Ellen’s arms around his waist did matter, and he couldn’t understand why.
CHAPTER three
When they arrived at the farm, Mason and Mad Dog parked their motorcycles in the barn and then retrieved their rifles where they had stashed them earlier. Ellen stood at the barn entrance. Stars pricked holes in the smooth, black satin sky. Not far away, the farmhouse loomed like forbidden fruit. The thought of making a break for it crossed her mind, but Ellen dismissed it. She knew she wouldn’t get very far before they caught her. No, it was best to bide her time and wait for a better opportunity. She thought of JD and sighed, rubbing her arms to keep from shivering. The hot night offered no comfort.
“We’ve got to find you a pair of jeans. Shorts are no good for riding a motorcycle, and you look half frozen to death,” Mad Dog commented as he approached her.
Mason shone his flashlight on her ankle. It was beginning to blister. “First we’ve got to put something on that burn.”
Ellen eyed the rifles slung over their shoulders, the personification of their hold over her and dismissed their concern as a feeble attempt to keep her from fleeing. She jutted out her chin in defiance. “Had I been allowed to stay in my car, I wouldn’t have burned myself, and I wouldn’t be cold.”
“You’re a fighter aren’t you, Ellen?” Mason grinned. “Come on; let’s get you to Dee’s tent. She’ll fix you up.”
They walked in single file down a narrow, rutted path. Mason leading, Mad Dog taking up the rear, and Ellen sandwiched in between. The glow of flashlights flicked erratically across the bottom of Ellen’s legs. She studied the wide plane of Mason’s shoulders, recalling the strength that lurked beneath his Sons of Thunder vest. The leer of the flaming skull snaked a chill down her spine. They passed through the grave of a long-forgotten paddock. Tall, damp grass flanked them. The dry brittle bones of wooden posts marked an elusive fence line. Incongruous music and laughter combined with the natural hum of nature’s nocturnal singing.
The path widened into a crude road where truck tires had uprooted the grass and left long scars of hard packed earth. Rows of tents and strings of lights came into view. At nearly every campsite, the chrome bodies of motorcycles shimmered in the moonlight. Toward the far end of the field, party--goers surrounded a flatbed truck that served as a stage. A band played. Guitars screeched and drums pounded a rhythmic beat into the surrounding pines, subjugating the pastoral calm. Hoots and hollers rose upward. An undercurrent of decadence permeated the carnival atmosphere.
As they moved among the tents, the men positioned themselves on either side of Ellen. The smells of cooking and wood smoke intermingled with beer, tobacco, and marijuana. Men wearing various biker club insignias grunted greetings to Mad Dog and Mason, holding bottles of beer or cigarettes to their lips. Bearded, long-haired men, topless women, tattooed and pierced bodies, lewd stares, and vulgar speech all resurrected Ellen’s terror regarding the kind of people she had entrusted with her safety.
They passed couples groping one another in the shadows of trees or openly before the heat and flames of campfires. At one point, two women wearing only strings of colorful beads to cover their breasts stopped to talk with Mad Dog and Maso
n. The women eyed Ellen suspiciously. She couldn’t help but gawk at the tiny silver dog bones piercing each of their nipples. She looked up at Mad Dog and Mason. Their nonchalant expression made her wonder if conversing with half-naked women was common.
Continuing on, they came upon a crowd huddled around a young man and a middle-aged woman. Seated at a make shift table, they were playing a card game.
“Looks like Apostle and Scarlet. Better check this out,” Mad Dog said as he motioned to Mason.
Standing on the perimeter, Ellen watched the man with tattooed fingers deal two cards down to the woman, and then two cards face-up to himself. He wore the Sons of Thunder vest. The woman who Ellen assumed to be Scarlet appeared to be quite inebriated. Scarlet surveyed her hand, tapped her cards, and then said, “Hit me.”
Apostle turned over the king of hearts. The spectators fell silent, and all eyes fell on Scarlet. Grinning mischievously, she tossed her cards onto the plywood table. The crowd burst into laughter. Men hooted. Ellen watched in horror as Scarlet pulled her black tube top over her head.
“This is definitely not good.” Mason pulled his rifle around to his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Panic rose up in Ellen’s throat. She moved closer to Mason.
“Scarlet is married, but not to him.”
Mad Dog frowned. “Squinch is going to be loaded for bear when he hears about this.”
“Who’s Squinch?” The name almost made Ellen laugh.
“Her old man,” the two men replied in unison.
The next hand of Black Jack, Scarlet won. But instead of Apostle taking off a piece of clothing, he paid Scarlet a ten dollar bill. Her heart beat racing, Ellen watched Mason survey the assembly. His heel nervously tapped the ground. A “whoop” resounded around them. Scarlet, completely naked now, jumped up on top of the plywood plank and curtsied to her audience. Apostle scooped up her ten-dollar bills. Rolling them into a tight wad, he waved it in front of her. Cupping her breasts together, she leaned forward. He attempted to stuff the money into her cleavage, but she lost her balance and fell on top of him. Everyone cheered.
The couple wrestled on the ground, too intoxicated to stand. Apostle grabbed Scarlet and kissed her hard on the mouth. The mob began to chant, “Go, Apostle! Go, Apostle!” Ellen stood dumbfounded.
Mad Dog turned to Mason. “Time for security.”
Mason agreed. “Ellen, stay right here. Don’t move a muscle.”
Before she had time to protest, the men were shoving through the crowd.
“Show’s over, boys and girls,” Mason announced. “Everyone can go home now.”
Mason laid his rifle across his chest. His eyes threatened the throng while Mad Dog pulled Scarlet to standing. She was still unsteady, so he sat her down and then retrieved her clothes. Apostle staggered to his feet. He looked like he might go after Mad Dog, but Mad Dog grabbed him and twisted his fingers in the man’s shaggy brown hair.
“What the fuck are you doing messin’ with Squinch’s old lady?” he snarled, jerking Apostle’s head from side-to-side. “You’d better hope he doesn’t find out about this, or you might not live to see tomorrow. Now get the fuck out of here!”
Still gripping Apostle’s hair, Mad Dog spun Apostle around with such force that Ellen thought he might break the man’s neck.
“Move!” Mad Dog barked and then kicked Apostle’s backside so hard Apostle fell face down. Groaning, Apostle stumbled to his feet and then staggered away.
The crowd began to disperse. Her nerves on high alert, Ellen trembled. She rubbed the tops of her thighs, to calm down. A slap to her buttocks whirled her around. A short, stocky man with tight curly hair ogled her. The strong scent of alcohol made her wince.
“Where’d you come from?” The man took a long drink from his whiskey bottle.
“Back off!” Mason growled. He hugged Ellen close.
The drunk squinted and swayed.
He pointed the bottle, splashing whiskey on the front of Ellen’s jacket. “Who are you?”
Mad Dog joined them. “Do as Rambo says and find some other woman to party with tonight. This one’s taken.”
Teetering, the drunk blinked. “Sure you wouldn’t like a foursome?” He directed the question to Ellen.
Mad Dog shoved the drunk aside, and they continued on their way. Numbed by cold or fear or both, Ellen moved in a trance. A foursome? And that man and woman rolling on the ground… the chanting. Would they have had sex, right there in the open, if Mad Dog and Mason hadn’t stopped them? She wanted to run--run as fast as she could to the farmhouse… or the car… anywhere but here. What is going to happen to me? These people are savages. Mason squeezed her into his side, and the gesture reassured her of his protection.
Shortly, the men stopped in front of a circle of tents. Mason dropped his arm to his side, forsaking Ellen. Two men and two women watched a large fire blaze in the center of the campsite. A charcoal grill, puffing blue smoke, rested on the open tailgate of a red pickup truck. The smell of steak hung in the air. A tall blonde with a slender, sensual figure sitting next to a long-legged man wearing a straw cowboy hat looked up. The man in the cowboy hat quickly removed his arm from the back of the blonde’s chair.
“Looks to me like your guest, Jack, isn’t as harmless as you thought,” Mad Dog said to Mason.
“Rambo, where have you been?” The blonde sprang to her feet and started toward them but stopped when she saw Ellen.
Mason greeted her, taking her hand as he drew near. “Desi, this is Ellen Abrams. Ellen, this is Desi--my girlfriend.”
The word punched the air from Ellen’s lungs. Dazed, she held out her hand, but Desi ignored it, turning instead to Mason.
“Who is she, Rambo?”
Ellen wished she had kept Mason’s bandana so she could hide her embarrassment.
“I’ll explain it all in a second.” He looked at the man in the cowboy hat and continued. “This is Jack Nelson.”
Jack took off his hat and stood, offering his hand. Neat and clean shaven, his blond hair highlighted and cut in short choppy layers, he looked like a model from a men’s magazine. He wore a polo shirt, pressed jeans, and a gold watch, and diamond studs sparkled in his earlobes. The only thing Ellen could see linking him to this crowd was the sleeve of tattoos running down both arms. She shook his hand.
“This is Jack’s friend, Muck Eye.” Mason continued, “And this is Dee Dee Mullen. Spider’s wife.”
Ellen sucked in a deep breath. Why would Mason take her here when this woman’s husband wanted her gone? A petite woman with wild auburn hair that glared crimson and thick black eye-liner outlining her dark eyes, Dee Dee Mullen blew a ring of smoke towards Ellen and then reached for a can of beer nesting in a cup holder. She tipped the can at Ellen. “Want a cold one?”
“No, thank you.” Ellen swallowed. She needed to sit.
Mason took Desi into his arms. “Her car broke down on the highway, and Mad Dog and I have been trying to help her. So what’s been goin’ on here?”
He eyeballed Jack, the muscles in his neck constricted.
“I’ve been waiting to talk business with you. But your girlfriend has managed to keep me entertained. What’s a beautiful babe like her doing with the likes of you?”
“She’s likes the way I make her scream.”
Jack laughed. His slick, smooth voice gave Ellen the chills. She folded her arms across her chest, rubbing her triceps.
“I’m having a great time.” Jack smiled, showing perfect white teeth. “Thanks again for inviting me and Muck Eye.”
Jack turned to the small man, who sat erect when acknowledged. Muck Eye’s long, boney fingers drew a cigarette to his lips.
“You got a pair of jeans or something you could let Ellen wear?” Mason asked Desi.
“You don’t need to do that. I’m fine.” Ellen looked away from the couple and pointed to a vacant chair. “Dee, may I sit here?”
“Suit yourself.”
Ellen sat down, holding her hand
s out to the fire. She turned her back to the men. Irritated by Mason’s attachment to Desi, she half-way listened to their conversation. Her thoughts turned to JD. She imagined him safely tucked into bed oblivious to the danger his mother had put herself in. Jack’s angry voice startled Ellen. She turned to see Muck Eye kicking at the dirt.
“How am I supposed to find the girls in this crowd?” Muck Eye whined, tossing his cigarette butt into the fire.
Instantly, the suave Jack Nelson, Ellen had shaken hands with moments ago, erupted into a crazed sociopath. He lunged at the small man, toppling him into the row of lawn chairs. “I don’t give a shit how you find them: just do it!”
Jack’s eyes constricted and nostrils flared with manic fury. Ellen closed her eyes but opened them when she heard Mad Dog.
He shoved Jack.
“Settle down,” Mad Dog cautioned and then helped Muck Eye to his feet. “Better do as the boss man says.”
Mad Dog jerked his head to the side. Muck Eye brushed himself off, shot a disdainful look at Jack, and then left. Mad Dog turned to Mason next. “Better keep your guest under control, or you’re going to regret this day for the rest of your life, brother.”
Ellen shivered at the cold, deadly sound of Mad Dog’s voice. Mason nodded then glanced at Ellen. Without a word, he took Desi’s hand and led her away. Jack slouched in the chair opposite Ellen. She looked down, afraid if she watched the fire their eyes might connect. Mad Dog came over to her. He squatted to eye level. “I’ll be back.”
He put his hand on her cheek and then left her alone with Jack and Dee Dee. Mason’s promise of safety banged around in her mind like a door left carelessly open on a windy fall day. She pulled the nylon hood of her jacket over her head.
***
Standing at the entrance to their tent, Mason embraced Desi and nuzzled her neck. She smelled of smoke and exotic flowers. The warmth of her body made him wish he didn’t need to leave.
The Word of a Liar Page 3