Ride or Die 2

by Claire C. Riley

  “What?” he snapped into the cell.

  There had been three of them—two watching Laney’s truck and one that had gotten inside of it. Even when I thought back, I could clearly see that there were three of them at first glance, and then one had disappeared, yet as I had walked over to the truck, all I had cared about was that there were two men watching me and I had wanted to get inside the truck as quickly as possible and avoid any guns being fired in front of all those innocent people. I was an idiot.

  The biker looked toward me, his dark, sunken features going darker, if that were even possible. He snapped the cell closed and slid it back into his cut before pulling out his gun.

  I didn’t even think as I started screaming behind my gag, because his murderous intent was obvious in his glare. I screamed and writhed to get free from my restraints, the hard metal of the handcuffs cutting into my wrists and sending hot trickles of blood down my arms.

  “You know what my name is, bitch?” he asked, undoing his belt.

  I forced myself to not vomit as I watched his scarred hands work his belt buckle, panic and fear rushing through every nerve ending in my body.

  “They call me the Machine.” He licked his lips and took another step closer, pulling his leather belt from the loops on his jeans. “You know why they call me the Machine?”

  His fingers pulled down his zipper.

  “Because I’m like a machine. I follow orders like a machine. I have no emotions like a machine. And I fuck like a machine,” he laughed, thrusting his hips back and forth.

  He reached the bed and placed a hand on my ankle before sliding it up my leg. I kicked out at him, but he was surprisingly strong given how thin he was. His hand reached my crotch and he cupped me, rubbing his fingers against me hard enough to bruise, his gaze never leaving mine.

  “I just got an order. You wanna know what it was?”

  I screamed behind my gag again, so hard I thought my throat was going to split wide and I’d choke on my own blood. Might be better for me if I did. I’d seen the state River had been in, and I couldn’t imagine that I would fare any better than she did—probably worse, if Machine knew exactly what the Highwaymen were up to at the moment.

  “I got told to kill the bitch. Those exact words,” he said, his fingers continuing to rub me. “Also got told that the Highwaymen just took out most of my brothers in one sweep.”

  Machine undid the button on my shorts and started to pull them down my legs. When they hit my ankles he tore them away and threw them into the corner.

  “I got a Razorback downstairs, and he said to just put a bullet in your head and leave your body here to rot, but my order was to make the Highwaymen suffer. I think if I fuck you up and then put a bullet in your head, that’ll make your prez think twice next time he wants to fuck with us, don’t you?” Machine grinned at me.

  I shook my head as he bent his belt over, making it twice as thick, and then slapped it against my bare thigh. The move was so quick I barely registered what had happened until I was screaming and watching the huge welt rise on my leg.

  I thrashed on the bed, tugging on my arms, not giving a shit if I tore the skin from my wrists or not. All I cared about was getting away from this psycho. If I could find my purse and get inside, I could shoot him! No, I would shoot him, I would. But I hadn’t seen it since I’d gotten in the truck. Machine’s leather belt struck my thigh again and I screamed, tears pouring from my eyes and half blinding me as he laughed.

  “Fucking love it when they struggle,” he said more to himself than me as he pushed his jeans down his legs.

  I gagged at the sight of his cock, bobbing hard and ready between his legs. His gaze went to my wrists and he scowled.

  He moved closer and unlocked the left cuff but left the right cuffed. I slapped at him as hard as I could, fighting with one arm and bucking my body as his hands grabbed me and turned me over, pushing my face into the pillow.

  I choked on the dirty pillowcase, the fibers filling my nostrils and suffocating me. Somewhere I felt hands moving over my body, tearing my underwear away, and then the sharp slap of leather as it bit into the skin on my ass. I didn’t even have the energy to scream as everything started to fade, blackness pulling me under as he pushed my face harder into the pillow and I started to suffocate.

  Thank God, I thought as I gasped for air that wouldn’t come. Thank God.

  Another sharp thwack hit my ass and a hand grabbed the back of my hair, lifting my face up from the pillow. I breathed in lungful’s of air through my nose even though I didn’t want to. Because I’d rather be dead than suffer this pain and humiliation.

  The weight of the bed shifted as Machine climbed behind me and something hot and hard poked my ass. I yelped and tried to move away from it, but there was no chance of that as he held me there.

  Fuck, this was it. This was it, I realized with sudden calmness.

  I breathed in heavily, sobbing behind my gag as one of his hands held onto my hair, pulling it from my scalp, and the other pulled my ass higher to meet his crotch.

  I begged to disappear, to vanish inside my own mind and block everything out, but nothing happened, I was still there and this was still happening. My body trembled in fear and pain, but I was done crying. I was done with all of it. It was almost over, I realized. He’d do this and then put a bullet in my head, and then it would be all over.

  My only regret was that I’d only just found Casa and now I was going to leave him again. I’d gotten a taste of happiness, of love. Maybe in the next life I’d deserve more than that. Maybe in my next life I’d get to live a long and happy and love-filled life.

  Maybe.

  I squeezed my eyes closed as Machine leant over my back and licked my neck. “Scream for me, bitch. Scream,” he ordered.

  I shook my head and he reached around and pulled out my gag. I stretched my jaw and spat out the blood that had filled my mouth.

  “Now scream for me,” he grunted, pushing at my entrance.

  I turned my head to the side to look him in the eye.

  I knew one thing, and I was dead certain of it: in my next life, I would find Casa again. I would find my man and I would love him hard and never let him go.

  Because I knew now that life wasn’t just about regrets and pain; it was about love and living. And I now knew love and I would do my living—maybe not in this life, but in the next.

  I looked past Machine, refusing to see him or his evil, and then I grinned. “Fuck you,” I said between gritted teeth.

  His grip tightened on my waist and he grinned right back. “No, bitch, fuck you.”

  Chapter Thirty-six:

  Casa

  Harlow’s screams echoed through the trees and I charged toward the little house with my brothers at my side. My body was beat up and bleeding, my gunshot was burning and blood was pumping from it with every step I took. Pretty sure Shooter had told me to wait in the van but I was already throwing open the door and jumping out of it before it had even fully stopped.

  Because fuck that.

  Ain’t no way in hell I wasn’t going to get my woman.

  Her screams rang out again and I ran harder toward the shitty little house I could see in the distance. My gunshot wound opening back up and starting to bleed again. Most of the windows were boarded up on the lower floor, and the ones at the top were either smashed or so dirty you couldn’t see through them.

  I registered Axle heading around one side of the house and Shooter standing guard at the door. Gauge had had to wait in the van with the Reverend, since he’d finally come around. That left me and Dom to go inside.

  We both raised a booted foot and kicked the door at the same time, making it crash open with a splintering crack. A gun was fired, narrowly missing my head, and Dom and I dove for cover, dropping to the ground and belly-crawling behind a sofa.

  Harlow screamed again and my heart twisted in my chest.

  I looked at Dom and saw the same fury and fear in his eyes that I no doubt ha
d in mind. “Go get our girl,” he said with a vicious snarl.

  I nodded, and he stood up firing his gun in the direction the bullets had been coming in as I made a run for the stairs. I took them two at a time as the downstairs filled with the sound of gunfire. I followed Harlow’s screams through the house, feeling like I was trapped in a nightmare because no matter how fast I ran, it didn’t seem fast enough. I headed down a short corridor, following the sound of talking and whimpering. I stopped outside a door, not even considering what I might find on the other side of it, and I turned the handle with one hand, my gun in the other.

  The image of Harlow cuffed to the bed and bent over as another man whipped his leather belt across her backside would haunt me to my dying days. His pants were around his ankles and he dropped the belt, gripped her hair, and lifted her head up. I heard her gasping for air as I walked forward, my gun raised.

  “Scream for me, bitch. Scream,” he ordered.

  A dark veil fell over me, pure rage flooding my senses with every word he spoke to her. He reached around and pulled a gag from her mouth, and threw it to the ground and she spluttered and choked. My eyes registered the blood on it and I felt the devil inside me take over.

  “Now scream for me,” he grunted again, his hips bucking forward and making her cry out.

  She turned her head to the side, our gazes connecting for a split second before she looked him in the eye. I took another step closer, my gun almost touching the back of his head.

  She grinned, her teeth bloodied. “Fuck you.”

  He pulled on her hair again. “No, bitch, fuck you.”

  “No, bitch,” I said, pulling the trigger and spraying Harlow and myself with blood and brains. “Fuck you!”

  His body slumped on top of her and she started to scream some more. I dropped my gun on the bed and dragged his body off her, rolling it until it fell off the bed and hit the ground. Harlow’s face was buried in the pillow as she sobbed and gasped for air, her shoulders shaking and her body trembling.

  One arm was still cuffed to the bed and I looked around, seeing the key on the bedside table. I unlocked her cuff, noting that she’d torn half the flesh away from her wrist trying to get away from him and making me wish I could kill him all over again for hurting her. Harlow curled up in a ball and continued to cry and I sat down next to her, unsure of what to do next.

  Downstairs had gone quiet, and I was guessing my brothers had taken care of the shooters down there. I placed a hand on Harlow’s shoulder and she flinched. My heart stung at her fear of me.

  “It’s me, babe, it’s just me, Casa,” I whispered, fighting the urge to just scoop her up in my arms.

  She slowly uncurled from the ball and looked up at me. Her face was bruised and red, her eyes bloodshot, and her bottom lip was split, but it was the fear in her eyes that caught me off guard.

  “Casa?” she whimpered. “Casa!” she cried my name louder, scrambling onto my lap and wrapping her arms around my neck. “I didn’t think you were real,” she sobbed. “I saw you, but I didn’t think you were real. I thought you were an angel come to make it all better.”

  I wanted to laugh. Me… an angel. I was anything fucking but that.

  “I got you, girl, I got you.” I wrapped my arms around her. “I got you,” I whispered in her ear, rocking her back and forth. I could feel her heart beating in her chest, slamming against her rib cage.

  “Take me home, Casa,” she whispered. “Take me home.”

  I nodded and reached over to grab the dirty blanket off the bed. I wrapped it around her before picking her up and carrying her out of the room.

  I walked slowly down the stairs, coming back down into the living room of the house. My brothers were waiting for me, and their faces looked solemn and dark as I passed them. There was blood on the ground, bodies lying cold and dead, but I ignored everything in favor of taking care of H.

  I walked out of the house and back to the van, climbing into the front seat without putting H down or letting go of her. Gauge was in the back with the Reverend and I heard him take out his cell, his voice filtering through to me seconds later.

  “Got Sketch and Dexter on their way with another cage. Get her out of here, brother.”

  The van door slid shut and Gauge reached through the window and handed me the keys, his gaze drifting toward Harlow, who was still clinging onto me like her life depended on it.

  “We got this shit handled. You deal with your woman,” he said, and I nodded. “You need the doc?” he asked, nodding toward my gunshot, which was now bleeding profusely.

  “Nah, I’ll be fine,” I replied hoarsely.

  “You sure? You could barely walk before. The blood trail you just left is telling me you needing fixing up,” Gauge said, his deep voice rumbling with concern.

  “Don’t worry about it. I just gotta get her away from here, Gauge.”

  He nodded, still looking unsure, and stepped back from the truck, and I started the van.

  I’m not sure how I drove home, slowly bleeding out with Harlow wrapped around me, but I somehow did. I took my woman home and I carried her into our house, leaving a trail of blood behind us. I carried her up the stairs and I lay down on top of the bed, her body still glued to mine, just like I always wanted it to be.

  And then we lay there in silence, both of us drifting in and out of sleep, pain humming through both of our bodies while we came to terms with what had just happened and our own ability to survive it.

  Everything hurt, from my body to my mind to my heart. But nothing hurt me more than when I stroked her back and she cried against me, fearful of my touch.

  Before that day I had thought I known fear. But after hearing Harlow’s screams ricochet through the forest, my legs stubbornly refusing to move fast enough, I realized that I had never truly known fear.

  Because how could you ever really know fear when you had never really known love?

  To love was to accept that you couldn’t control everything—not life, not death, and not anything in between. No matter how much you thought you could. I was not invincible, not even with love filling me up.

  I loved Harlow with every part of me there was.

  And there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for her.

  Even die.

  Chapter Thirty-seven:

  Harlow

  One week later

  Tears trailed my cheeks but I wiped them away, refusing to be weak, to be vulnerable. What had happened to me that day had changed me in ways I was only just learning—though it was nothing compared to what had happened to poor River, of course.

  The priest was talking, his mouth continuously moving, but I could barely hear him because my thoughts were somewhere else. I rubbed at my bandaged wrists, liking the stinging pain behind the sterile white cloths that hid the worst damage.

  Things had changed so much, and I had a feeling that things would be very different from there on out. For one, I would never ignore a club order again, that was for damned certain.

  The club had changed, too. Security was much tighter. Bikers everywhere you turned. Everyone had been called in to take down the Razorbacks. A war wasn’t coming, we were already in the midst of it, and like everyone kept saying, there were always casualties in war. In a way, we were lucky that we had only lost a handful of men.

  Maybe lucky was the wrong word, because I sure as hell didn’t feel lucky.

  I looked over at River and her children.

  So much pain was written on all of their faces.

  Axle was a good man, one of the best, and everyone was going to miss him. Even me, and I didn’t even know him. Yet he’d willingly put his life on the line to come and rescue me. I would always love him for that, and I would always owe River and her sons.

  “Hey, you okay, H?” Casa said, pulling me tighter to his side.

  I looked up at him. “No,” I admitted with a soft shake of my head.

  He reached over and cupped my cheek in his hand and I rested my face against
it.

  “It’s all gonna be okay,” he replied. “I promise.”

  I looked across at River again. One of her boys was sitting on her lap, his thumb tucked into his mouth as he laid his head against her chest. The older boy was standing by her side, his face hard and empty. They were only three and seven—way too young to have lost their father.

  “No, it’s not,” I replied, because how could it ever be okay again?

  The funeral finished and we all turned to leave and head back to the clubhouse to raise a drink, or three, for Axle. The war was on, but no matter who you were, even wars were put on pause so you could bury your dead.

  The handful of men we had lost was nothing compared to the other club, but we felt every death.

  I climbed on Casa’s bike and put on my helmet before wrapping my arms around his waist. I held on tight as we pulled out of the graveyard, following the long procession of bikes through our small town.

  The one thing I learned about the Highwaymen was that even a wake was a party. Those men didn’t let people sit and drink and cry and pity Axle or the other Highwaymen for being dead. No, they threw a party that lit the world on fire.

  People danced and drank and fucked—and yeah, people cried as well. But they were happy tears as they reminisced about things that had happened. Stories were told about Axle that had me crying and laughing in equal measure.

  Through it all, his boys stayed glued to their mama’s side, learning about the kind of man their father was and the sort of man they should hope to become. He may not have been there anymore, but those boys learned a lifetime of things about their father that day.

  I was tired. My vision kept on blurring and my eyelids closing no matter how hard I tried to fight it. I yawned loudly and Casa smoothed the hair back from my face.

  “Let’s go to bed, girl,” he said, kissing my forehead.

  “No.” I shook my head, “I’m okay. You need to stay.”

  Casa hadn’t left my side since he’d found me in that room. It was almost as if he was scared of leaving me alone in case I would disappear. In case it was all a dream and he hadn’t gotten to me in time. I knew how he felt, because I still suffered from nightmares every night. In them, he hadn’t gotten to me in time.