Red Hot Bikers, Rock Stars and Bad Boys

by Cassia Leo

  ***

  46- FINNEGAN

  Finn unlocked the door to Jon’s office, doing his utmost to ignore the cold steel pressed against the back of his neck. Alex had stopped shaking, at least. Finn suspected the man had no idea how to use the gun, and that worried him more than almost anything else. There were few things more dangerous than putting a loaded shotgun in the hands of an inexperienced man.

  “No funny business,” Alex said from behind him. The tiny bell jingled as the door swung inward. The air that greeted them was only slightly warmer than what they had faced outside. “And we’re only staying ’til the snow dies down. I mean it!”

  “Trust me, I don’t want to be here with you any longer than I have to,” Finn insisted. He walked ahead of Alex with his hands showing, lest the man accidentally mistake his actions for rebelliousness and shoot him. I don’t have a clue what crawled up his ass, but he is in over his head.

  Finn’s eyes scanned the room, taking measure.

  “Hmph,” Alex replied. “You’re awful cocky fer a man who ain’t got the upper hand.”

  Finn faced away from Alex, smiling into the darkness. “You’re right, Alex. I’ll remind myself to be sufficiently respectful of your position going forward.”

  Alex missed the sarcasm, and instead chuckled appreciatively. “That’s a good boy. It ain’t gonna save ya, but it may cause me to have some mercy, when the time fer reckonin’ is upon ya.”

  “All right, Alex,” Finn muttered low, under his breath. He couldn’t begin to fathom what bizarre illusions were fueling this behavior from the old overseer, but he had no patience. If Alex didn’t want to explain himself, fine. Finn didn’t require an explanation. He had come to Jon’s office not for shelter, but to end this ridiculous game.

  Finn found the wall thermostat and switched on the heater. The relief would be slow in coming, but perhaps it would at least take the edge off the deep chill in his bones.

  Alex followed him into the back room, past the examination tables and into Jon’s office. Finn had charged ahead, leaving Alex struggling to keep up. “Stop!” Alex exclaimed, as Finn reached for the office door. “Stop now!”

  Finn raised his hands again. His tone was even, but annoyed. “Alex, do you want food and blankets, or not?”

  The gun still resting on his shoulder, Alex looked down at his soaked gear, and then back up at Finn. He hates that I’m right. “Slowly.”

  Finn did not need to be told to go slowly. He was pretty certain that any surprise would be excuse enough for Alex to send a spray of pellets straight through him, and he was not ready to die. Especially not at the hands of this ridiculous old man who had decided that the middle of a storm was a great time to play cowboy.

  Finn didn’t care what Alex’s motivations were. He only needed to buy time. Food and blankets were the furthest things from Finn’s mind, despite the fact that he was indeed cold. He needed Alex to be thinking about the incoming warmth, and to stay focused on it.

  “I don’t see no blankets,” Alex accused, as they entered Jon’s tiny office. Damn you for being so neat, Finn thought, as he glanced around at the bare room. There was only Jon’s organized desk, a cupboard, a small fridge, and a bookshelf.

  “They’re in the cupboard,” Finn lied. He fingered through Jon’s keychain, searching for something to unlock it. Please have blankets in here. And something else.

  “Check the fridge for food,” Finn ordered, as he fumbled with the cupboard lock. Alex gasped in indignation from behind him. Good, let him be annoyed with me. He can’t possibly be half as pissed off with me as I am with him.

  “You can check it yer own dang self,” Alex said. Finn imagined that if Alex did not have a gun in his hands, he would have his arms crossed, pouting. I’m ticking him off more, by funning with him. He knows I’m not taking him seriously, and it’s possible this is going to backfire.

  Eyeing the fridge, Finn suddenly recalled that was where Jon kept most of his animal medicine. Including pre-filled syringes. I know for sure he keeps tranquilizers here.

  Finn abandoned the cupboard, kneeling down in front of the fridge. Alex was rambling on behind him about something, but Finn was single-mindedly focused on trying to locate the medicine before Alex caught on to the diversion.

  “Well, is there food in there or not?” Alex demanded. Finn was intentionally blocking Alex’s view of the fridge’s content, his heart racing as he read through the labels in a rush. Atenolol. Enalapril. Ketamine. Ketoprofen. None of these names meant a damn thing to Finn, and he wished, for once, that he had occasionally paid attention when Jon talked about his job. One of these has to be a tranquilizer. Jon uses those a lot, and I swear it started with a K…

  When Finn felt Alex kneeling down for a better view, Finn quickly grabbed the syringe marked Ketoprofen. Sliding it under his sleeve, Finn stood, revealing the lack of food. “Guess I was wrong,” Finn said, as Alex leaned in for a closer look.

  And then Finn found his moment. Alex’s focus was entirely on the fridge’s contents. Finn sprung to life, pulling the syringe out and stabbing it into the side of Alex’s neck in one fluid motion. In Alex’s shock, the gun fell to a startling clank on the linoleum, and Alex went flying into the cupboard. The vase on top wobbled, then shattered to the floor in a dozen pieces.

  Alex stared at him in shock, his hands pressed against in neck. His look quickly switched to rage, as he realized Finn had injected something in him. “You little son of a whore! I was gonna go easy on ya, but now I’m gonna wring your neck!”

  Finn did not wait for Alex’s retaliation. He flew into Alex, shoving him hard against the cupboard again, the cabinet trembling at the connection. Alex cursed at him, winded, and Finn threw a punch at his face, wincing as his hand connected and blood flew from Alex’s nose in a long, arcing spray. Finn punched him again, and when Alex sprung back, Finn grabbed Alex by the shoulders and threw him across the room, sending him sailing into the wall with a thud. Alex gripped the bookshelf, wobbling.

  “We’re done with this bullshit, Alex,” Finn panted. Why is he still awake? “Are you ready to stop now?”

  “Yer gonna rot in hell,” Alex seethed through bloody teeth, and charged Finn. The move was so unexpected Finn did not react in time. The push into the cupboard knocked the wind out of him. Oh, crap. Ketamine is the tranquilizer, not Ketoprofen. Dammit!

  “I am not fucking around with you anymore!” Finn raged, and tackled Alex. They both fell to the floor in a mess of jumbled arms and legs, with Finn quickly gaining the upper hand. He had his forearm pressed against Alex’s neck, choking him. “Alex, calm the fuck down!”

  To his surprise, Alex went still beneath him. The man’s eyes were wide and wild, studying Finn. As they considered each other, their heated, panting breaths the only sounds between them, Alex’s eyes filled with tears. Unexpectedly, Finn no longer saw a crazed gunman, but simply the sad, old man that Alex was: age spots, thinning hair, and a lifetime of loneliness. This got way out of hand, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s a lonely old man who got a bug up his ass, and now he’s in over his head.

  Finn relaxed his hold, and some of the color returned to Alex’s face. “If I let go, are you going to stay calm?”

  Alex nodded ever so slightly. His eyes were large, and remorseful. I almost feel sorry for him. “Okay. I’m letting go…”

  Finn’s head filled with stars, and his stomach turned inside out as Alex threw a powerful knee to his groin. He rolled over in pain, struggling to breathe and right himself, but he once again felt the cold steel of the shotgun against the back of his head.

  Finn slowly looked up at Alex. The man no longer looked nervous. He no longer seemed the sad, old man with age spots and thinning hair. A wide, blood-filled, clownish smile, spread slowly across his face, and he was every bit the crazed gunman. He played me like a fiddle. Jon was right about him. Holy shit, he was right all along. Oh, god.

  “Now, do you take me seriously?” Alex demanded. Finn nodded,
realizing, finally, that to do otherwise might be an authorization of his own death warrant.

  “Good,” Alex continued. “Because you are going to die tonight, Finnegan St. Andrews.”

  ***

  47- NICOLAS

  Nicolas wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t this. All he could see clearly was snow, forest, and a mass of land. Houses were scattered sparsely along the tiny coastline, with few lights on at this time of night. He could barely make out the dark outlines of the town itself. Above town, a lighthouse beacon seemed to float and twinkle as it turned slowly. The red and white stripes along the tower’s exterior contrasted against the whitewash of the snow, reminding him of a Christmas candy cane.

  “How many people live here?” he asked the captain.

  “A couple hundred,” the captain responded as he squared them up to the port. “Most o’ the folks live near the center of the island. That’s where the town’s at.”

  “But that’s not where we are going,” Nicolas mumbled. Oz had studied the map and tried to roughly sketch their plan of attack as well as two boys from south of the Mason-Dixon line could. The Deschanel home was on the eastern shore, and they were docking on the far west. Between the two points was a large wildlife preserve they would need to cross, but it would be no easy trek. There was over two feet of snow on the ground, and the snowshoes they had bought only seemed like one more hurdle to overcome.

  The captain lowered the clunky ladder onto the old pier. It was unsteady, but he insisted on avoiding the main dock. Finding a relatively empty area, he maneuvered in the cruiser.

  Their descent was done under the captain’s impatient direction. “Go, go, I need to get back,” the captain urged, his hands gesturing for them to hurry.

  “Could be nicer, for the money I paid you,” Nicolas chided, but started to climb down. His feet met the icy dock with a quick slide, but he was able to right himself as he backed away.

  “Won’t mean nothin’ to me if I die out here,” he said, pulling the ladder back as soon as Oz’s second foot hit the deck. Oz suddenly stumbled into Nicolas, who shoved him straight into the snow.

  “Ass,” Oz complained, as Nicolas helped him to his feet, chuckling. The boat was already departing for the mainland. Oz scrambled to his feet, shouting and waving, slipping across the deck trying to get the captain’s attention.

  “What the fuck?” Nicolas asked. “Change of heart?”

  Oz stopped yelling long enough to say, “No, dumbass! We need a way to get back to the mainland once we find Ana. A smaller detail that, you know, we might want to work out!”

  Nicolas exhaled and stared blankly ahead. It was true, he was never much of a planner. He took vacations on a whim, partied whenever the mood hit, and never remembered important dates. “Oz, stop,” he said finally, when the boat continued on its course. “He won’t help us even if we double the pay.”

  Oz sank back against the wooden rail of the dock, deflated. Nicolas thought maybe he was experiencing his first feelings of regret at offering to come along. Coming out for a few days to find Ana was one thing, but knowing they could be there for a very long time seemed to hit them both at once. Nicolas felt guilty anew for bringing Oz along.

  “Look, once we find her, I will try to call Jennifer, and maybe she can hook us up again. Doesn’t have to be the same guy,” he consoled Oz. Nicolas was always hopeful. Things had a way of working out. He might suck at planning, but he believed there had to be a solution.

  Oz nodded but said nothing. Nicolas didn’t press it. He knew Oz shut down when he was upset, and talking wouldn’t help.

  He pulled the map out of Oz’s pocket and spun around to get his bearings. “We need to go east… which is… that way,” he said, pointing to his right, and the opposite direction of the lighthouse.

  Oz shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking. Nicolas followed.

  ***

  48- JONATHAN

  Jon tried to relax and not think about what was taking Finn so long. There were so many unknowns. Maybe Finn found a way to stay the night, or he might be on his way back. Maybe he had gotten lost in the storm, or had vehicle troubles. The food storage had a code that they all knew in case of emergencies, but what if Finn had forgotten it? So many possible ways for things to go wrong. It was eating Jon up, but he couldn’t pry his mind from the worry.

  Walking away from his rocker, in front of the window, he went to clean up around the kitchen, but it was already clean. He tried busying himself around the house in other ways, like checking on his furry patient, but his mind would start to wander no matter the room. Having Ana around made it worse, although he appreciated her outlook on what had happened.

  Jon expected Ana to come downstairs, wanting to “talk,” about what happened; to dissect it, break it down…make sense of it. He anxiously awaited the sound of her footsteps on the stairway, even practicing what he might say when she came to him.

  But then she had said, hey, look, nothing happened. Jon was relieved at how easy that went, but later he wondered, Was it really that easy to forget?

  I should be grateful she was willing to let me off the hook. I knew as soon as I left the room the two of us had nothing beyond our crazy, spontaneous moment in the shower.

  Jon couldn’t help having a bruised ego. He’d feel differently if he had been the one to lay it out clearly for her instead. He looked forward to telling her, gently, that he wasn’t interested. She was a nice girl but he wasn’t looking for anything serious. It was hard to imagine the courage he would need to say those things, but that’s what people usually did in these situations, right?

  In retrospect, it wasn’t a surprise to him that Ana let him off the hook. She really does like Finn. Enough that she panicked at the thought of losing him, even this early along.

  What was a surprise, though? Jon’s jealousy. His mind betrayed him, recalling the feeling of her wet, soft bottom in his hands; the way her cheeks filled his palms; how, when he squeezed her hips, they responded by lifting higher, her long arms winding around his neck and down his back.

  Jonathan shivered. Stop. It’s just been awhile. And she’s not hard on the eyes.

  Resigned that any distraction he tried to concoct was not going to be sufficient, he headed back to his rocker. Ana was sitting in it now, gazing out the bay window, into the glowing darkness of snow and sea.

  He wanted to ask her to move. To tell her that was his rocker, and he always sat there. He needed to sit there. But talking was harder than adjusting, so he gritted his teeth and pulled up the other rocker.

  Ana didn’t say anything when he sat down. She was lost in her own thoughts. He relaxed a bit as he sat next to her and let his thoughts take over. Not even Finn was capable of sharing this kind of solitude with him. Only Ana would understand the way for people like them to experience true closeness and comfort was to do exactly what they were doing… losing themselves, together, in the place they each felt safest.

  This disturbed Jon, but it also aroused another sensation within him that he had not felt in many years. Rather than dwell in that dangerous territory, he focused on what should be his first concern.

  Finn, where are you?

  ***

  49- NICOLAS

  Nicolas was not the outdoors type. He was fine at a party, or on a yacht, or doing something wild and interesting. He didn’t mind the heat, if he was on a nude beach in the south of France. He didn’t mind the cold if he was skiing in the Swiss Alps. No one had to tell Nicolas how lucky he was to be born into such wealth that he’d never have to labor a day in his life. But while it was no surprise to him he didn’t enjoy their trek through the snowy island, it caught him off-guard how badly out of shape he apparently was.

  Oz was still grumpy, but cruising right along. He was a distance runner, so his heart and lungs were well equipped for the grueling slog through knee-deep snow that threatened to bring Nicolas to his knees. Every few feet, Nicolas had to stop, leaning up against a t
ree, and catch his breath. Oz, several paces ahead, would patiently stop as well, doing so without turning around or saying a word. He’s mad at me. He’s mostly mad at himself, but he’s disappointed in me for being such a slack-ass when it came to planning. The best way Nicolas knew to make it up to him was to ensure they met their goal, found Ana, and brought her home. That would appeal to Oz’s tragic hero complex. When it was all over, and they told the story to the family back home, he would even highlight Oz’s quick thinking and military-like prowess in unfamiliar territory. He chuckled to himself.

  “I’m glad you find your thirty-year old ass panting and clutching a tree funny,” Oz said without turning. They were his first words since Nicolas had stopped him from nearly throwing himself into the freezing waters flagging the captain back.

  “What else could it be?” Nicolas panted.

  “Embarrassing?”

  “Sexy?”

  “False.”

  They continued on. Occasionally they would see lights from houses, but they were further inland, and the house they wanted was on the shore. They trudged through the snow, every step a new effort, every breath wreaking havoc on their lungs. Even with the expensive winter gear they had bought in Portland, Nicolas felt completely exposed.

  Eventually they came to an outcropping, where three houses sat. The space between them was enough for a football field each, but they were the only neighbors each other had for quite a distance, if the captain’s sorely deficient drawing was correct.

  “Ana’s house is the middle one, according to this map,” Oz noted. The house on the left, closest to them, had several lights on. The one on the far right had only a small porch light lit. The Deschanel home was dark as night.