Hazard (Wayward Kings MC Book 3)

by Zahra Girard

  She kisses me tenderly. Her eyes glisten with barely-restrained tears. “Don’t die, you son of a bitch. I did not just get you back to lose you again.”

  “I love you, too. Now go.”

  I lead her and Jake to my bike and I help him onto the bike behind his mom. I give him a hug and a quick kiss on the forehead.

  “You’re going to be just fine, champ,” I say.

  “Thank you, Jarrett,” he says.

  I’ve never heard such gratitude. And the kid is looking at me like I’m a fucking hero. God damn, it makes my throat tight. He doesn’t release the hug; his little hands hold me with all the strength he has.

  That little guy is one of the most precious things in my life right now. I can’t let him down. Whatever it takes, I need to make sure he gets away from here. That he can have the kind of childhood he deserves, and grow up to be the man I know he can be. He’s got his whole fucking life ahead of him, and if it costs me mine to make sure he gets his chance, it’ll all be worth it.

  “Be brave, kid. And listen to your mom,” I say, then I ruffle his hair. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Selena starts the bike, blows me a kiss, and, without another moment’s hesitation, takes off down the road. I head towards the stash house and take up position in the back bedroom. Those bikes are close and, if I’m going to die today, I’m going to take as many of those bastards with me as I can.

  This is for Grease.

  This is for Selena.

  This is for Jake.

  I raise my gun.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Jarrett

  Is this really where I’m going to die? In a shit house, surrounded by two dead bodies and some crates of drugs and who knows what else?

  I pace the front room like a leopard on the prowl. Those engines are getting closer and it won’t be long before they rain bullets on my position.

  If I’m lucky, I’ll kill a few of them before I die.

  But I don’t think about leaving, not even for a single fucking second; I need to stay here, I need to draw the fire of every single Jackal in town, and make sure that Selena and Jake have enough time to get away.

  This is my time to take the bullets. This is my burden to bear. So that woman out there and that little man stand a chance.

  It’s time for a show.

  One at a time, I drag each of the Jackal’s bodies out to the front porch. I position them one to each side of the front door, propping their backs up against the wall to the house. I strip their cuts off, take a knife from the pocket of one of the bodies, and use it to stick the two cuts to the door with the knife right through their club patches.

  Aside from standing in the front yard and waving my cock at the Jackals, I can’t think of a better way to tell them ‘fuck you’.

  Back inside the house, I look around for things to secure my position. But there’s nothing except for that flat screen TV, the couch that looks like it’s decaying before my eyes, and the crates.

  Well, if I’m going to die, nothing says I can’t feel good while doing it.

  I pry one of the crates open. It isn’t hard, the thing’s been opened before and the nails have lost their bite.

  Inside, there’s something that brings a smile to my face.

  Guns.

  A whole lot of guns.

  Our club’s cargo.

  It’s a sight beautiful enough to bring a tear to my face. And a hard-on. It’s the kind of firepower that you could arm a platoon with. I just wish I had the time to fully play with this gear.

  Hell, these weapons even have that new-gun smell.

  Am I smiling? Yeah, I’m smiling.

  I doubt Gunney will mind me helping myself.

  I reach inside and pick out an M-4 and grab a few extra clips of ammo. I can’t help running my fingers along the steel. Just holding this piece of weaponry takes me back. To a time when I had one purpose. To a time when I was as much a weapon as I was a man. I shut my eyes for a second, I exhale, and I try to put myself back in that frame of mind. Deadly. Focused. Whole.

  Then, I hunker down out of sight of any of the windows and doors, and I wait.

  It won’t be long down. The approaching roar of engines is right in the street outside.

  I take a quick look the window.

  There’s ten of them. Nine Jackals and a gorilla in a Jackals cut with a scowl on his face and a MAC-10 in his hands. Either way, his size and the patch on his chest marks him as the president — Killian Ward, also known as ‘Bones’, also known as the man I’m going to murder for fucking with Selena’s life and putting Jake in danger.

  The ten of them come to a stop outside. They get off their bikes and pull out their guns.

  It’s time.

  From the look of it, not one of these assholes has any military training. Or at least none of them walk like it — their posture is shit as they get off their bikes and just stare at the welcome sign I left for them on the front porch. They hold their weapons like amateurs. It’s a fucking disgrace.

  Growling and beating his chest like a fucking ape, Killian motions for three of his men to go inside.

  I check over my M-4 one last time. Everything’s in working order and I’ve got a full clip and three more at the ready. Fuck, this isn’t even going to be fair.

  The three Jackals — guns at the ready — barge in without even knocking.

  Rude. And stupid. They’re as good as dead.

  In one smooth movement, I rise up from my place just behind the couch, my finger on the trigger and the assault rifle spraying a stream of bullets. I mow down each of them in the time it takes me to yell out a comment about their mothers.

  No sooner do I let up off the trigger than bullets tear into the house from outside. The Jackals outside hit me with all the fury of seven small-cocked simpletons with automatic weapons.

  I drop to the floor. Flat and face-first in a pool of Jackal blood.

  Shrapnel, chunks of wood, plaster, paint, all hit me as the Jackals outside let loose with a hail of bullets on my position. Round after round tears through the walls, the windows, screeching above my head and turning this house into a war zone.

  No matter how hard I try to keep myself on track, lying face down in the pool of blood while the sound of bullets fills the air, I feel myself pulled back. Ripped back to that day. That place. That memory that I can’t escape. Trapped in the wreckage of a Humvee. Taking fire. Surrounded by the blood and guts of my fellow soldiers.

  It was years ago, but it’s a nightmare still writ behind my eyelids. Still carved into my soul. I can smell the burning flesh of my friends, the acrid metallic tang in the air as every drop of their blood spills into the sand, the stink as their bowels release when death overtakes them.

  The fire from my enemies that keeps me trapped in my mind with the corpses of my friends.

  My heart constricts.

  My trigger finger goes stiff.

  Every thought of mine turns to the inescapable horror of that day.

  I should be dead.

  I should be dead, like every one of my brothers that died that day.

  I’m only half in this house, now. Only half hearing the gunfire ripping this place apart. The rest of me is trapped in that place. With them.

  I stay in my position, quiet, heart racing though my body is still and, deep inside, I pray one of those bullets will find their mark.

  I am going to die.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Selena

  I’m free.

  For the first time in too long: free.

  My son clinging to my back, miles of road in front of me, I’m free.

  This is what I’ve wanted. This is that feeling I’ve only glimpsed hints of throughout my life.

  And now I have it.

  No strings, no obligations, no threats.

  I could drive anywhere — Los Angeles, Vancouver, or even fucking New Jersey — and be certain that nobody from this giant mess would follo
w me. I could start up a new life with my son and be confident that there will never be another Bloody Jackal or Devil’s Rider knocking on my door.

  I thought I felt free after Reno when I took to the road with my son and a bag of cash and the urgent impetus to find somewhere to settle down and start a new life. But nothing compares to this.

  I’m broke, I’m scarred, but I am utterly and absolutely free.

  We move from side-streets to the highway and I laugh at how open the road is. The sun is shining down on my shoulders, my hair is whipping through the wind, and my heart has never felt so light.

  “Hold on,” I yell over the roar of the engine.

  Then, I turn the accelerator. The bike responds like a living thing — speeding up smoothly until we are flying down the road.

  “Careful, mom,” Jake yells.

  Everything inside me feels alive and weightless.

  About ten miles north of Salem, Jake cries out. “Mom. Mom!”

  Again and again. His tight grip turns to a squeeze.

  I don’t want to stop — I want to keep driving until I’m out of gas — but there’s an urgent note in his voice. Something that tells me whatever he wants I can’t solve while going eighty down the highway.

  I take the nearest exit ramp. Some faded, worn-wood sign with rainbows and butterflies declares: Welcome to Woodburn.

  I pull up to a stop in the parking lot of some fifties-style diner called The Tasty Freeze. I hop off the bike, then turn around and help my son down. He’s squirming and anxious in my hands as I pick him up.

  “What is it, honey?”

  “Is Jarrett going to be ok?”

  “I think so, honey.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He hits me with a look that’s full of doubt and fear — I can’t stand to see that expression on my son’s face. And just like that, my freedom feels so hollow. Everything goes crashing from the love of the moment to grim, permanent reality.

  Call me greedy, but I want it all.

  The man I left back in Salem, when he’s having his good days, means almost as much to me as Jake. That man looks at me like an equal, he respects me, he makes me feel like no man ever has, and he can fuck me in ways that make my knees give out just thinking about them.

  I need to do something.

  I take out my phone — Jarrett’s phone — and I dial and I pray.

  Please pick up.

  Please.

  Three rings in, and finally an answer.

  “Hazard?” comes a gruff voice on the other end of the line. “What’s your status, brother?”

  “No, it’s not Jarrett. It’s Selena.”

  My voice betrays me and Gunney’s voice goes softer than a man like him should be able to achieve. He knows things are in a bad way.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s in trouble.”

  “We’re all in a bit of trouble. I can tell you I’m not sitting in a fucking coffee shop, Instagramming my goddamn breve latte right now.”

  Over the phone, gunfire rips in the distance. Two other men’s voices scream, one of them unmistakably a death-rattle. There’s scuffling, a muted cry of “shit, shoot that son of a bitch”, and it’s a tense twenty seconds before Gunney comes back on the line.

  “He’s going to die if you can’t get to him, Gunney. There’s a stash house the Jackals are using, it’s about a mile west of Salem. Just listen for the gunshots. Jarrett stayed behind to keep the Jackals busy so Jake and I could get away.”

  “Son of a bitch always had a death wish.”

  There’s some muffled rustling and Gunney’s ferocious shouting. “Get ready to move out, brothers. Hazard’s got himself in a fix, and if we don’t get moving right fucking now, one of you bastards is going to take over that fucking charity job and I swear to Christ Almighty, I’ll make sure we do a tribute to him with that fucking Sarah McLachlan song.”

  More shuffling and he brings the phone back up to his ear.

  “How many do you think there were?” he says.

  “I don’t know. Five. A dozen. I didn’t stay around to find out. But he’s already hurt — he took a bullet in the shoulder.”

  Jake reaches out and takes my hand, the eyes he looks up at me with loaded with concern and fear. I smile at him and squeeze his hand.

  “He’s hurt? Damn, that means those Jackals have a fucking chance. Whatever. Fuck it, it doesn’t matter. We’ll kill them all.”

  “Thanks, Gunney.”

  “Take care of yourself, Selena. You mean a lot to Hazard.”

  “I will.”

  “Are you planning on sticking around when this is over?”

  He doesn’t say it, but I can hear the implication in his voice. Are you going to become his old lady?

  “Yes. I love him.”

  “Look, if you can, get north to Portland. Sam’s up there. There’s a brewery in East Portland — Cascade Barrel House. She’ll be there. She’s driving my truck; look for a black Dodge with too-many Marine Corps bumper stickers and a gun rack. Take care of yourself, Selena.”

  “Take care, Gunney.”

  I hang up and look down at my son and put on my most comforting smile. My cheeks don’t want to cooperate, but I force them into submission. I will smile. Jarrett’s going to be ok. He’s going to be ok and, when this is over, he’s going to be a part of Jake’s life.

  “It’s going to be all right, honey. The rest of Jarrett’s club is going to take care of him and make sure he’s safe — they’re tough guys. And you and I are going up to Portland to meet one of mom’s friends. Ok?”

  Somehow, my words have an effect on him. Despite every mistake I’ve made and all the trials I’ve put Jake through in my stupidity and arrogance, he looks at me with trusting eyes and smiles. “Ok, mom. Can I have a milkshake?”

  I lift him back on the bike and slide up in front of him. The bike roars and, with my heart still anxious inside my chest, I guide us back into motion.

  I hope Jarrett’s friends can get to him in time. I hope that he survives. I hope for a better life, together, for all three of us.

  I hope.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Selena

  We make a quick stop through the drive-thru of The Tasty Freeze before we get back on the road. Because nothing calms a kid’s nerves like a chocolate milkshake. Jake slurps it through the straw with total ferocity. He gets so into drinking it that, somehow, he gets some on his nose. I wipe it off and, in the late afternoon sun, I can’t help but smile looking down at him.

  After all that he’s been through, he’s grinning and happy because of something as simple as a milkshake. It makes me think that he didn’t see the worst of it and that, maybe, when this is all over, I’ll still have my son as I remember him.

  God, I wish I could be the same.

  As I take us back onto the highway, I can’t shake the feeling that, along with this freedom, my life is never going to be the same. It can’t be the same.

  I need to change.

  For Jake. For Jarrett.

  Shortcuts and selfishness have no more room in my life.

  I’m a mom now.

  And, maybe, if I’m lucky, I’ll be an old lady, too.

  Just the thought of that boggles my mind. Never did I think I’d be happy to be the ball-and-chain of a man — especially an outlaw — but then, never did I think I’d meet a man like Jarrett.

  No matter what he said back there, no matter how reassuring he tried to sound, I know staying behind was a hard decision. He put on a brave face, but going back into that blood-spattered, nightmarish house, had to have stirred up some of the same memories that have haunted him for years. The kind of memories that would wake him up screaming at night. The kind of memories that drove him to drink and chase death more than anyone I’ve known.

  But he went back. He went to face his demons. He did it with a wink and a smile because he puts my life and my son’s life over his own.

  It’s utterly selfless.
r />   I need to do the same. I have two people now to live for: him and Jake.

  Pulling off the freeway into East Portland, and navigating the side streets looking for the brewery, I make a decision: I will change. I’m going to put down roots. I’m going to raise my son right. I’m going to take the harder, longer path to a better life.

  I park the bike on the crowded street in front of the Cascade Brewing Barrel House, and shove my gun into the back of my pants, pulling my shirt over it, before heading in. There’s a big crowd inside. It’s a beautiful day and people of all ages fill every table — from the booths inside to the picnic tables outside lining the sidewalk. There are even dogs out, some tied by their leashes to bike racks and others lounging at the feet of their owners.

  Right away, I spot Sam. She’s got a table all to herself and a conspicuous five-foot clearance around her table, which is probably the result of the steely “don’t fuck with me” look on her face. She looks on the verge of chewing nails and spitting tacks.

  I wave at her from across the bar. The only acknowledgment I get from her at first is a curt nod. Then her eyes flicker to see Jake at my side and she lights up with a grin.

  “Jake, I want you to meet Samantha. She’s a friend of Jarrett’s,” I say.

  Jake stands quiet at my side. Then he waves.

  “Well, hi Jake, it is so nice to finally meet you,” Sam says. “Why don’t you and your mom join me? The grub here’s pretty good. There’s a food truck parked out back that’s serving organic, fair trade grilled cheese sandwiches.”

  I frown. “What makes it fair trade?”

  “Ego,” Sam answers. “The guy making them has three man buns.”

  “Three? Are you serious?”

  She nods. “Two for his hair — kind of like pigtails, except buns — and one for his beard. When I went back to order, I caught him doing yoga. At least the beer here is good. Their sour red is on point, and suits my mood right now.”

  “Just what are you doing down here, Sam? Jarrett told me they’d sent everyone except the men away.”