by Cheree Alsop
A small smile touched his lips. “I didn’t exactly give you much of a choice.”
I smiled back and turned off the water. I wrapped a dry paper towel around my hand. “I guess late is better than never.”
“Kelson,” he said when I reached for the door handle.
I turned at his tone. He held out a hand. “Thank you, both for back there and for saving the students during the attack in the auditorium.”
“You already thanked me,” I said, thinking of the candlelight ceremony in front of the school.
He shook my hand. “It’s different knowing who you’re thanking. Your secret’s safe with me.”
I smiled. “Thanks, Principal Dawson.”
He followed me into the hall. We were almost at the gymnasium when he said, “So, about summer school.”
I paused and turned.
“I think we can figure something else out. How about a tutor?”
The thought of not spending my summer at the high school cheered me immensely. “Who do you have in mind?”
“A student who has helped out several others this last year,” he replied. “Martin Carrison.”
The cheer vanished. It was better than summer school, but barely. “Sounds good,” I replied in a reluctant tone. I pulled the door open.
CASSIDY WAS SO EXCITED about getting new chicks for the chicken coup that Aunt Lauren couldn’t put it off any longer. We went to Bailey’s Saturday morning. Mom had to work, so she promised she would see them when they arrived at the house. Cassidy had spent the night at Sandy’s, so she planned to meet us at the farming goods store. Uncle Rick drove the rest of us.
Cole, Jaren, and I wandered between the aisles of overalls, dog food, lawn ornaments, and bird feed. The place smelled like a farm. During my first few days in Sparrow, I would have hated it, but now I enjoyed the scent of seeds, corn mash, potting soil, tanned leather, and the wood shavings the chicks pecked through in the cages along the wall.
“Can I get a bunny?” Cole begged. He pointed at a floppy-eared black-and-white spotted one. “This one wants to go home with me.” He stuck his fingers through the cage. The rabbit hopped over and nibbled on them. “See?” he said excitedly.
“I don’t think we need a rabbit,” Uncle Rick replied.
“Come on,” Cole pleaded. “Mom wouldn’t mind. She likes rabbits.”
“So does Jake,” Jaren reminded him. “Remember when he brought home that jackrabbit? He’d do the same thing to your bunny.”
“I’d keep him safe, I promise,” Cole whined.
“Keep what safe?” Aunt Lauren asked, coming down the aisle with Cassidy.
“The bunny,” Cole said, pointing to the animal. “I’d keep him safe from Jake, I promise.” He drew out the last word as long as he possibly could.
Aunt Lauren shook her head, but Cassidy spoke before her mother could. “Cole, remember the turtle? You kept forgetting to water it. And remember the pigeon? It flew away because you didn’t feed it. What about the pig?”
“You had a pig?” I asked Jaren quietly.
He smirked. “Its name was Porky. Cole forgot to close the pen all the way and it escaped.”
“Lucky pig,” Uncle Rick said as he walked past.
“But I’ll take good care of the bunny,” Cole protested. “Bunnies are so much cuter than my other pets. I’ll walk it and teach it tricks . . .”
I followed Uncle Rick and Jaren up another aisle. I was about to ask Uncle Rick the difference between overalls and coveralls when he stopped. I followed his gaze. Ice flooded my veins.
Two copycat Black Riders had entered the store and were harassing the cashier. One held a bat, and the other had a knife and was gesturing with it threateningly. Their shouts sounded muffled beneath their black helmets. The cashier began pulling bills out of the cash register.
I took a step forward. Uncle Rick grabbed my shoulder, holding me in place.
“I need to help,” I whispered.
“No, you don’t. The police can deal with it,” he whispered back, his attention on the riders.
“What’s going—” One of Cassidy’s hands flew to her mouth as she looked past us to the copycats. Her eyes widened and she stared at me.
I took a careful step back. Uncle Rick’s hand lowered. Cassidy’s brow was creased with worry, but she walked forward slowly and took my place.
I slipped down the aisle. I reached the back of the store and found the rear exit. If Uncle Rick didn’t want me to fight them in the store and blow my cover, I could do it without anybody watching.
I pulled out my cell phone. “Sheriff, two Black Riders are hitting Bailey’s right now.”
“How do you know? Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m there. They’re taking money from the cashier.”
“You aren’t trying to stop them, are you?”
“No. Uncle Rick wouldn’t let me.”
“Good. The last thing we need is for you to blow your cover for two wannabe thugs.”
I glanced around the parking lot.
“I found their bikes.”
I walked up to the old CBRs parked near the side of the building. They had been spray-painted black, though the work had been poorly done and dust marred the paint. The keys were still in the ignitions. I rolled my eyes. Amateurs. I shoved the keys in my pocket.
“They aren’t going anywhere,” I told the sheriff. I hung up the phone and waited in the shadows.
A few minutes later, the copycats came around from the front of the store. They reached their bikes and climbed on. The first rider stared at the front of his bike as if wondering what was missing. I fought back a laugh when he straightened in surprise.
“My key’s gone!”
“Mine too!” the other biker exclaimed.
“If you want your keys, you’re going to have to take them off me,” I said.
Both bikers looked around. The first climbed from his bike. “You’re the kid Magnum’s always beating up. This should be easy.”
The other biker sat backwards on his motorcycle in order to enjoy the show.
The reference to Magnum gave me a clue who the first one was. Some of the pieces didn’t make sense, but I was sure Sheriff Bowley could figure it out if I kept them from leaving.
“You really should just give up,” the biker said. “This won’t end well for you.”
“We’ll see,” I replied.
He swung a slow right hook. I responded with a quick duck, two jabs to the ribs, and a love tap on the helmet just in front of his jaw to wake up him and let him know who he was dealing with. He stared at me. I wished I could see his expression beneath his helmet visor. He glanced at his companion. The other biker shrugged.
“What was that?” the first biker demanded.
I smiled. “Your hook was a question. I answered it.”
He growled beneath his helmet and swung another punch, harder and faster this time. I blocked it with my left arm, drove a straight punch into his chest, and swung a haymaker at his helmet, clipping it sideways.
He staggered against the building. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the second rider climb off his bike. I noted by his walk that he wasn’t one of Magnum’s old gang. This guy was for real.
I heard the sound as his butterfly knife flipped open. I slammed a two-handed punch into the first biker’s chest. He hit the wall and slumped to a sitting position on the ground.
I turned and ducked the attacker’s knife. He jumped back before I could retaliate.
He gave a little nod. “I’ve heard about the Black Rider’s skill in fighting. It’s bold of you to attack without a helmet.” He had a slight lilt to his words, an accent of some kind that I couldn’t identify with the helmet muffling it.
“Takes a little time to get used to fighting with one on,” I replied. I blocked another knife swipe and took a testing punch at his helmet.
He stepped back a few feet with the blow and put a hand to his head. “I respect your ability to do so. Apparent
ly, I need more practice.” He put both hands up to remove the helmet, giving me an opening.
I threw a right, but he had anticipated it. I realized too late that his move for the helmet had been a decoy. He stepped back so I extended too far, spun to the left, and kicked the back of my right knee. I staggered, then rose, but not before feeling the bite of the knife across my back.
A hiss escaped between my teeth at the pain. I faced the rider, determined not to underestimate him again. He lunged forward, drew back when I dodged to the right, and spun with his arm out. His knife caught me across the chest as his leg swept my feet out from under me. I landed hard on the pavement.
I rolled to the right and blocked his knife with both forearms before he could drive it into my eye. I attempted to knee him in the groin, but he was ready and rolled back to the left. I got to my feet. Rage flooded me with heat. I let it roll through my limbs, but kept my mind cool. I bent my knees and fell into the muscle memory I had created during my time as the MMA captain at my school in California.
Moves I had long forgotten saved me from swipes and stabs. The fighting was fierce, brutal. I hadn’t fought an opponent who was faster than me in a long time. I had to remind myself to stay calm and keep my head. There was always someone faster out there—I fought back a smile at the line spoken in many Western movies. At least this was a knife, not a gun.
I saw an opening. It would mean one more cut, but it would be worth it. I feinted with a right punch, then stepped back a hair too slowly. He took the bait and laid another slice across my chest. I grabbed his wrist with my left hand and brought my right up in a punch that broke his elbow. A yell escaped from him. I drove my fist into his stomach, then brought it around in an arch, slamming a hammer-fist into the side of his helmet. He staggered forward.
I kicked his left knee sideways, hit his throat with an open-handed chop, and brought the same chop against his back with all my force. He fell forward to the ground, unconscious, or at least in a great deal of pain. I picked up the knife from where he had dropped it when I broke his arm.
I glanced down. Blood showed through my blue shirt. I let out a frustrated breath. Sirens sounded in the distance. Glancing at my watch, I realized the entire fight had only taken a matter of minutes—it felt like hours. I looked around. The first biker was still slumped against the building. I pulled his jacket off, and he fell to the ground.
The cloth of the jacket was cheap, shiny black like the farmer had described. I pulled the sleeves inside out so I wore the gray cotton on the outside instead. I shrugged it on and zipped it up from the inside. It looked completely stupid, but I figured no one would notice if I didn’t let them look long enough. I put the keys back in the ignitions, then slipped inside Bailey’s just as the police arrived.
I found the Ashbys near the front of the store. Uncle Rick and Aunt Lauren were helping the cashier gather up broken glass figurines of rabbits and tractors while Cole and Jaren picked up model cars and stacked them back on a shelf. Cassidy saw me and hurried over.
“Did anyone notice I was gone?” I asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Just me. Are you okay?”
I gave her a tight smile. “Of course. You know me.”
“That’s why I’m asking,” she replied with a flat look.
I let out a breath. “I need to go to the hospital.” I held up my hands when she opened her mouth. “It’s nothing serious, and I don’t want anyone else to know. Can you take me?”
She hesitated, then glanced at her family and nodded. “Yeah. Give me a minute.”
I bent down slowly and helped Jaren pick up the cars.
Cassidy pulled her father to the side. “Dad, don’t you think Kelson should get out of here?” she asked softly.
He glanced back at me. I pretended to be busy straightening the shelf. “Why?” he asked in an undertone.
“The police, the Black Riders. If they know who he is, they’re going to wonder why he didn’t step in. That kind of questioning could blow his cover, and he doesn’t need everyone here knowing who he is,” she replied.
Uncle Rick glanced around. I felt his gaze on me, and I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. “Good idea. We’ll meet you guys at home.”
“Okay,” Cassidy replied. She paused. “I promised Sandy I’d stop by. We might be a few minutes. I have to tell her what happened.”
Uncle Rick nodded. “I’m sure Kelson won’t mind waiting around while you talk.”
Cassidy rose on her tiptoes and kissed her dad on the cheek, then hurried back to me. “Let’s get some fresh air,” she said loudly, putting a hand to her chest. “All this chaos has made it hard for me to breathe.”
I rolled my eyes at her theatrics and followed her to the front door. The back door to the parking lot opened. A quick glance showed the police walking in. Cassidy and I hurried outside.
“I’m amazing,” Cassidy said, squinting in the sunlight as she made her way to the little blue truck she had been given for her birthday.
I opened the passenger door and slid inside. I hoped the jacket would keep me from getting blood on her new seats. I pulled the phone out of my pocket as she drove to the hospital.
“Sheriff.”
“Kelson, did you happen to leave two copycats black and blue on the pavement behind Bailey’s?” Sheriff Bowley asked.
“Yeah, that was me.” I fought back a smile. “I thought you’d appreciate that.”
“I can’t complain,” he replied.
A thought occurred to me. “They saw my face, Sheriff. They know who I am.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he replied. “We have enough to hold them until this copycat thing dies out. They won’t be making any more trouble.” The sheriff paused. “The knife has blood on it. You okay?”
“Couple of scratches,” I replied. “No big deal.”
Cassidy rolled her eyes as she pulled into the hospital parking lot.
“Good to hear,” the sheriff said. “Take care of yourself. I’ll handle these guys.”
“Thanks, Sheriff,” I replied and hung up.
“Just a scratch?” Cassidy said.
“Just a scratch,” I replied. I opened the door. “I’ll be a little bit. You might want to go visit Sandy and then come back for me.”
“She’s clear across town,” Cassidy argued.
“What is that, like three blocks?” I asked.
“I thought you were through being the Black Rider,” Cassidy blurted out as though she couldn’t hold the words in any longer.
“I was. I mean, I am.” I shook my head. “Look, I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, but I couldn’t sit back and let those guys get away with threatening people and destroying property. It’s not right.”
“Looks like you’re stuck being the Black Rider whether you want to or not,” Cassidy replied with a smug smile.
I fought to keep an answering smile from my face. “Go listen to Sandy talk for an hour about everything you already talked about at school.”
She rolled her eyes. I shut the door and she drove away.
I took a steeling breath and made my way into the hospital. I was distracted by the feeling of blood running down my chest and back. It wasn’t until someone said, “Can I help you?” that I realized I had made it to the desk. I wondered if it was a bad sign that I could make my way to the emergency room without looking where I was going.
“Is Dr. Carrison in?” I asked.
She nodded. “He’s with patients at the moment. We have a few emergencies, because this is an emergency room.”
I realized she was the same nurse who had been disgruntled when I refused to ride out of the hospital in a wheelchair at my last visit. I felt grateful she didn’t recognize me without the helmet and black gear.
“I’ll wait. Could you tell him Kelson Brady is here to see him?”
She gave a little annoyed sigh. “I’ll tell him, but he’s busy. You might be here a while.”
“I’ve got a while,” I
replied. I leaned against the wall. My shirt squished against my back. I stood again and glanced over my shoulder to make sure I hadn’t messed up the white paint. Luckily, it appeared the cheap plastic exterior of the jacket acted as an excellent blood barrier. I shoved my hands in my pockets and hoped Dr. Carrison wouldn’t be busy.
A few seconds later, the nurse reappeared, looking frazzled. “Come this way.”
She escorted me to one of the back rooms where I usually saw the doctor as the Black Rider. She gave me one last annoyed look before she pulled the door shut and left me alone in the room.
I shrugged painfully out of the jacket and set it on the chair. I tried to lift my shirt off, but it stuck to my chest and back where some of the blood had dried. Dr. Carrison walked in while I was in an awkward half-on, half-off position.
“Need some help with that?” he asked with a touch of humor in his voice. I turned and he saw the blood on my chest. “Kelson.”
“Don’t say it,” I replied.
He sighed and tried to help me pull the shirt over my head. When the cloth caught on the wounds, he grabbed a water bottle on the side table and moistened the shirt before attempting again. I gritted my teeth at the pull of my skin, then breathed a sigh of relief when it was off.
“What’d you do? Get caught in some barbed wire?” the doctor asked.
“Something like that,” I replied dryly.
He crossed his arms and leaned against the bed. “I don’t even know if I should be treating you. The Black Rider hasn’t exactly been a friend of Sparrow’s lately.”
Sweat rolled from between my shoulder blades to the shallow slice across my back. I gritted my teeth. “It wasn’t me. There are copycat riders trying to destroy the Black Rider’s name. That’s where I got these.” I pointed to my chest. “I helped the sheriff catch two of them.”
Dr. Carrison nodded and stood back up. “He mentioned he’s bringing in two men to get patched up before they’re taken to the department. I thought it sounded like your handiwork.” He used the bottle to spray sterile water into the two gashes across my chest. They were long, but not deep.
I pointed to my back. Dr. Carrison glanced behind me, then shook his head as he cleaned that one as well. “They deserved it,” I said quietly. I thought of their physical makeup compared to the two men I had watched on the sheriff’s computer. “And there may be more out there, ready to take their place.”