Protect

by C. D. Breadner

  “You and Fritter take the van,” Tiny said, showing up out of nowhere, hand over his ribs as he winced from talking. “I’ll take your bike back.”

  “You okay to ride?” Fritter asked, pointing to the side he was favoring.

  “I think they’re just bruised. Hurts like a bitch to breathe, but the knee must really fucking hurt.”

  “I hope it’s a quick heal,” Buck muttered, hopping to the passenger side of the van. “Gertie’ll kick my ass if I can’t help out with the kid.”

  “Wait up,” Tiny grumbled, taking his hand off his side and grabbing Fritter. “You’re leaking, kid.”

  Fritter looked down where Tiny was pulling his kutte away from his side. At the movement the air stirred up and he felt the cold wet running down his side. His shirt was a light gray, the blood showing up nice and bright. “Shit,” he muttered, tugging the hem of his shirt up.

  Tiny leaned over, letting out a low whistle. “We better try to get Buck’s bike in the van. Neither of you can drive.”

  “What? It’s fine,” Fritter insisted, twisting to see what was the big deal. There was a sharp sting of pain, then he saw something white and the next thing he knew it was sleepy time.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  The brunch spread Rose had been able to command was impressive. She had to admit at home the thought of a meal prepared by sweet butts had not been appealing, but once the smell filled the clubhouse Sharon had to admit it was brilliant.

  A pan of scrambled eggs, curled up bacon, hash browns and toast. Divine.

  She ate far too much and was about to fall into a food coma when someone, one of the Nomads, turned on the radio.

  It would have been nice to pretend the election wasn’t happening. But it was on the news and they all seemed interested in it, even as they cast her a look of apology.

  Rather than listen to the rhetoric she returned to Fritter’s ground-level dorm and locked herself away.

  His belongings gave her no clues to his personality, but she honestly felt they were beyond her needing clues. She knew him, felt it in her heart that she had him somewhat figured out, so the nudie posters tacked to the walls and ceiling and the bike calendar only made her grin.

  The attached washroom was quite clean as well, if not a bit aged and worn. Definitely better than most bachelors had it. And the bed had been made up with fresh bedding when they arrived the night before. The room smelled of fabric softener.

  She pulled the covers back and was had one knee planted to slide in when there was a knock at the door.

  Sharon hesitated, then answered the knock assuming it was Rose or Gertie.

  It wasn’t. It was Melody Horton.

  Sharon froze with the door tucked to her side, mouth open to inquire what was needed, and the woman just looked back at her. Fritter’s mother gave her an up and down, then she broke out in a wide, impulsive grin that Sharon had no choice but to return.

  That was Fritter’s smile, too.

  “You’re having his baby?”

  Sharon swallowed, smile faltering a little. “Um, yes. I am.”

  Ms. Horton nodded, eyes getting a strange softness to them. “He’s kind of a fuck up at times, but I love him.”

  Sharon’s grip tightened on the door knob.

  “I know you’re a good woman, Sheriff. But I also know I raised a good boy. He’s responsible, no matter how he may act sometimes. He doesn’t make mountains out of mole hills, but he knows when to take his shit seriously if it warrants it.” She took a deep breath, and Sharon realized her eyes were filling. “I never thought I’d have grandchildren. Not ones I knew about anyway. I just want to beg you to give him the chance to be that baby’s father.”

  Sharon had to smile again. “Ms. Horton—”

  “Melody, please.”

  “Melody. Against my better judgment, I intend to stay in Markham and have his baby be a part of Mark’s life. And if he’ll have me, I’d like to be with him, too.”

  Melody beamed. “Oh, thank God. I thought you’d be running for the hills.”

  Sharon had to laugh, then she went back on one foot as the woman threw herself into Sharon’s arms, wrapping her arms around her back. It took her a minute to get over her surprise and hug Melody back.

  “And I’m sorry,” Melody went on, rubbing her back before stepping away. “Mark had a huge head.”

  Sharon frowned. “I’m sorry?”

  “His head was huge when he was born. My OBGYN said she’d never seen such a tear. I hope smaller heads run in your family.”

  Fighting back the urge to squirm Sharon forced a smile. “I honestly don’t remember Brayden’s head being that big.”

  “Let’s hope that holds true for this one.” She gestured to Sharon’s tummy then wiped her eyes. “Alright. I’ll go get some breakfast, leave you to your own company.”

  “Oh, I just need a nap. I’m so tired these days.”

  “Of course, of course you are. Have a good rest, my dear.” Then she was gone, sniffling and heading across the parking lot to the clubhouse.

  She was laughing softly to herself as she shut the door and headed back for the bed, then felt the call of nature. Again. Lovely. The bladder shrinkage had begun.

  Still smiling when she was washing her hands, it took a full three seconds to place the noises suddenly wafting from not so far away. Broken glass, crashing, screaming, proceeded by loud, dangerous-sounding staccato percussion.

  Never in her life had she come under automatic weapon fire, but that didn’t mean she didn’t recognize it when she heard it.

  She ducked first, squatting in place. However, this side of the lot was technically “around the block” from the clubhouse, and the shooting didn’t seem to come this way.

  Then she was running; diving and skidding on the worn vinyl tile flooring in her sock feet, wrenching the side table drawer open as she fell to her one ass cheek. Her new Colt was waiting, loaded and ready. Just like Fritter told her to do.

  She threw the door open, racing out into the open and heading for the clubhouse doors. Through the portal she heard moaning and shrieking. Once inside, eyes adapting, she only saw two Nomads, and she cursed.

  Please don’t let this be a trap, she chanted mentally while stooping next to a curvy blonde not overly dressed. There was blood all over her bright yellow tube top. Sharon pressed fingers to the side of her neck. Nothing, the girl’s eyes stared upward. She was already gone.

  The two Nomads looked to be hit, but not terribly wounded. One must have been grazed at the neck. He had a cloth already pressed to it, standing in the doorway, keeping an eye out. The other one was checking the pulse of a man Sharon didn’t know, and she realized he had a kutte on. He must have been Nomad, too. The breathing one looked at her and shook his head.

  She approached him briskly. “Where’s the rest of your group?”

  “Headed out after the shooters.”

  “What if there are more out there? What if this was just to pull most of you out of the building?” she snapped, pulling the guy in the door back inside and shoving both sides shut. “Block the door. Stand up the couches and put them in front of the windows that have been busted open. I’m taking everyone else into the back.”

  “You’re not allowed back there,” the one with the bleeding neck said.

  She planted her feet and raised her chin. “This is a tin building lined with drywall. Back there the walls are cinderblock. These guys had automatic weapons. Which do you think is safer?”

  He backed off, and him and his pal headed for a sofa immediately, standing it on end. Sharon gave her best wolf whistle. “All right everyone, we’re heading to the back. Thicker walls. If you can walk, get going. If you can help an injured person, do it. Let’s go.”

  A tall, rail-thin girl with straight, long black hair passed her, propping up Melody Horton. Surprised, Sharon ducked under her opposite arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, noting the blood running down the woman’s leg.

  Melody shook h
er head. “Stupid luck, that’s all. I ducked when the shooting started and managed to fall right into some glass. Cut up my hand like a bitch, too.”

  Sharon caught the eye of the dark-haired girl. “Do you know where the First Aid kit is?”

  With a nod the woman stepped away from Melody. “Kitchen. I’m on it.” She veered off to the left, and Sharon kept Melody moving into the darker, cooler back room. It even sounded more secure, with the sound of a dozen or so people filing in. Someone found a light switch and with a sharp hum the keg lights overhead lit, dim at first but quickly brightening.

  It was a huge box of a room. It reminded Sharon of a garage, with an overhead door and everything. She wasn’t worried about the door, it led to the lot. There were a few shelving units with cleaning supplies; garbage bags, Fast Orange hand scrub, rolls of plastic, Lysol jugs ...

  She stopped taking inventory, instead taking stock of the people in the room. As she helped Melody to the ground, back to the wall, Sharon found Gertie, Rose and Jolene amongst the people assembled. Satisfied, she dropped, tucked her Colt into her waistband and straddled Melody’s leg on her knees. “That’s a lot of blood.”

  Melody nodded, her eyes fluttering a little. “Yeah. I’m seeing that now. I’m starting to feel a little light-headed.”

  “I’m going to rip these pants, just to see how bad the cut is. Okay?”

  There was no answer and she looked up, startled. The woman passed out.

  “No, no. Come on, Melody. You gotta keep awake for me.” She shook the woman’s chin a bit as the girl from before returned with a plastic tub.

  “Shit,” she muttered. “She pass out?”

  “Yeah. I don’t suppose there’s smelling salts in there?”

  “They got ammonia over here.” Quick as a flash she was gone and back with a bottle. Sharon didn’t dwell on what all the shit on those shelves was for. She opened a large gauze bandage, splashed a bit of ammonia on it then waved it under Melody’s nose.

  With a gasp the woman sat up, eyes unfocused, then after some blinking she seemed to place who she was with. “Oh,” she muttered while rubbing her forehead with a shaking hand. “Damn. Always had trouble seeing a lot of my own blood.”

  “It’s okay,” Sharon assured her, using the First Aid kit’s scissors to turn the woman’s jeans into cut offs. “You don’t have to look.”

  At least it was in the right leg. She was pretty sure the femoral artery was in the left, but that didn’t mean something really important wasn’t injured. When she saw the cut she winced. A chunk of skin was nearly sheared off, and it was still leaking like mad.

  “Get me the biggest pack of gauze that thing has and a tensor bandage,” Sharon instructed, pushing the denim out of the way.

  “Oh, it’s starting to hurt.”

  “I’m sorry Melody. We’ll take care of this fast.” When she had a wad of packing gauze she pressed it in place, wound more around it to keep it in place, then used the tensor bandage to fashion a tourniquet.

  “I hope the guys are back soon,” the soft-spoken girl next to her said. Sharon studied her, then had to ask.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Neenie.”

  “Neenie, does anyone else need any help?”

  Before she could answer the sound came again, echoing down the corridor and filling the room with sound like a huge stone cave. Sure enough, there it was.

  “Fuck,” she muttered, pushing the kit at Neenie. “Can you see if anyone else needs bandaging up?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To see if they need help,” was her muttered reply. She gave Melody’s shoulder a squeeze and stood, palming her Colt again.

  “Don’t go out there,” Melody begged, reaching for her leg. “You’re pregnant.”

  Sharon ignored the argument and strode out into the main room. The two Nomads were on the ground but getting back up, looking to her in shock.

  “Yeah,” she said. “Like I said. It was a trap. I hope your crew didn’t ride right into an ambush or—”

  She was cut off by another round and she turtled on the ground, arms over her head. Then there was banging on the door.

  “Fuck,” one Nomad muttered, pulling her to her feet. “Get to the back room.”

  “There are only three of us who can shoot,” she pointed out. “And those pricks are at the door.”

  “Here,” the bleeding Nomad said, pushing something at her. She found an AK-47 quite suddenly in her free hand, and she lost all ability to talk for a moment. She’d held one before, fired one. But that had been back with Bakersfield PD for weapons training. Markham County had the budget for shotguns, nothing this nice.

  “You know how this works?” The one that said it still had hold of her elbow. She pulled free, put the Colt back in her waistband and held it at the ready on her hip.

  “I don’t know. Which end do the bullets come out of?”

  The bleeding one, whose patch told her was called Meeks, started laughing. “All right, Sheriff,” he drawled. “You can use the toy.”

  “Thanks,” she remarked dryly as the doors gave way under the assault.

  The three of them were all, just in the wink of an eye, suddenly on and tuned in. The AKs swung to the same point and opened fire, catching the first round of bikers totally by surprise. She let herself be herded behind the bar while Meeks gave cover fire. The bottles overhead that had made it this far definitely lost the battle now, raining glass and booze down on them.

  The other Nomad, whose patch just read “T,” jumped up and sprayed the room with a few passes then ducked down. So she took her turn, but he pulled her down.

  “Don’t be stupid,” he scolded. “Fritter would kill us if anything happened to you.”

  “You might not make it as it is,” she pointed out, wincing as Meeks decided to spray some lead as well.

  “Save it for when you have to use it,” T instructed. “Please.”

  It must have only been half a minute. That was the only way to explain how she was still alive to hear bikes approach, stop, and more gunfire add to the cacophony of destruction. Meeks headed out to take out some fuckers, T went the other way, and she stayed put, hoping that those bikes were help.

  She listened. Over the gunfire she could hear footsteps, the kicking of glass, and then one by one all the noise stopped. People were still walking around but her ears were buzzing, and the voices were muddied and unclear.

  When a form appeared at the side of the bar she jolted, bringing the AK-47 around then immediately dropping it when Tank put up his hands.

  “Thank Christ,” she whispered, overcome with the urge to start weeping again.

  “It’s okay, Sharon,” he said in that deep voice, impossibly soft-sounding. “Come on, honey.” He held her arm and helped her to her feet but her knees were weak. He caught her as she slumped, then scooped her up into his arms. “Enough of the brave stuff,” he chided, as if there wasn’t a trashed room full of dead bodies around them. “Let’s get you somewhere comfortable.”

  Fritter’s room seemed impossibly quiet. Tank set her on the bed she’d been about to climb into about a million years ago.

  “I’ll bring him to you, okay?”

  Sharon nodded, curling up on his side. “His mom cut her leg really bad. She needs medical help.”

  “We’ll get someone here to stitch everyone up. Don’t worry. Just rest.”

  “Rose is in the backroom,” she told him, eyes filling up now. “She’s okay, Tank.”

  His smile was sweet and he kissed her temple. “I know she is. You saved all their skins, Meeks told me about it.”

  She wasn’t sure she agreed with that, but she was too exhausted to argue. She didn’t even hear Tank close the door and she was out.

  -oOo-

  She hadn’t woken when Fritter came to her, but when she did wake up it was to someone knocking on the door. A familiar warmth and weight was at her back and she knew he was holding her.

  “Go awa
y,” Fritter mumbled.

  “Cops,” Jayce said through the door, clear as day.

  “Shit,” Fritter muttered, then shouted back. “On my way.”

  “What do we do?” she asked, rolling to her back. Her relief at seeing him whole and alive made her actually sigh, reaching a hand up to cup his cheek.

  He smiled, held her hand while pressing a kiss to her palm. “We let them in. Show them what happened.”

  “What about all those guns?”

  “Those aren’t ours,” he groaned sitting up and rolling off the side of the bed to his feet. “We fought for them, got a hold of a few, and turned them on their owners.”

  She clucked her tongue. “That sounds familiar.”

  “Prove it’s not true.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t, because they don’t have serial numbers.”

  Fritter grinned and bent for his shirt, noticeably wincing. When she saw the white patch on his side with the red soaking through she sat up. “What happened? Are you okay?”

  Fritter waved her off, tugging on a T-shirt. “It’s nothing. I got sliced and the doctor stitched me up. That’s all.” He sat on the bed to push his legs into his jeans. “I promise. I’m fine.”

  When he leaned over to kiss her as reassurance, she watched his face. He had color, his eyes were focused. Maybe he winced when he leaned away but that was it.

  “Did you see your mom?”

  He laughed at that. “Yeah. We got stitches together. It was a real bonding moment.”

  “She was pretty hurt.”

  “Yeah. She’s tough.” His eyes came to her as he stood, pulling his jeans closed. “You probably saved her life.”

  Sharon scoffed, flopping onto her back and wincing at the sudden headache that had started off. But Fritter wasn’t done.

  “And Rose, and Gertie. Jolene. The girls. Shit, once those guys got in everyone could have been dead.” Then he frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Headache. It was very loud.”

  “That’s it? You’re sure?”

  Sharon shrugged. “It has to be. I just need a few minutes of quiet.”