Raw: A Motorcycle Club Romance (Minutemen MC)

by Evelyn Glass

  Camilla frowned. She looked back up at him. There was a hint of disappointment on his features, as though deep down he would have indeed liked to be different from what he was.

  “You don’t have to do anything about it,” she said after a moment, and she smiled. “I like you for who you are.”

  Dirk blinked in surprise, taken aback by her words. Camilla flushed, suddenly feeling foolish. But he didn’t seem to mind that she had said what she had said. Something hung in the air between them, a sort of electric current, softer and different from the sizzling sexual energy that had bound them from day one.

  Camilla wanted to kiss him. She wanted to go to him and wrap her arms around him and never let go. They moved at the same time, standing to go around the pile of ashes and charcoal…

  …and then Dirk froze. Camilla cursed herself. Did she really think that a man like Dirk Coleman could give in to a moment like that?

  “Shit!” Dirk cursed under his breath, and Camilla realized that the sudden tension in his body had nothing to do with them. His eyes were glued to the far distance.

  Camilla hurried over to him and followed the direction of his gaze. She saw nothing but a layer of dust and dirt rising from the line of the horizon.

  “What is it?” she asked, but even as she did, she already knew. She felt her stomach clench and her blood grow cold.

  “Tar Mongols,” Dirk said, darkly. “They’re coming.”

  “How do you know they’re not Minutemen?”

  Dirk shot her a look like she had just asked the stupidest question he had ever heard. “I just know,” he snapped. “Come on.”

  He grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the bike. He didn’t wait for her to climb onto the seat; he simply lifted her up and placed her on the Harley. It would have been hot if they weren’t in such mortal danger.

  “Hold on extra tight,” he said, as he swung himself up on the saddle. “The ride downhill is going to be bumpy.”

  Camilla did as he instructed. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on for dear life.

  The Harley plummeted itself onwards and down the slope of the hill. Camilla tightened her hold until her arms hurt; “Bumpy ride” was the understatement of the century to describe their descent. She could feel every rock underneath the powerful wheels of the bike. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that it would all be over soon—all of it.

  The desert whizzed by, the air whipping at her clothes and skin, making her long, auburn hair fly behind her like a veil. How much longer? she thought. How much longer before Dirk’s prowess carried us to safety? How much longer before we leave those nightmarish creatures that were the Tar Mongols behind? How much longer will I have to be chased, hunted? How much longer will I have to be afraid?

  She was really tired of the terror. It had crept up to her that day a mere few weeks ago—although it felt more like a lifetime had passed—when Tobias Alvarez had betrayed her and kidnapped her to deliver her to Herman Ruiz. The fear had snuck up on her that day, digging itself a place into her very self—muscles, tendons, nerves. Heart. Her heart was constantly afraid.

  As the Harley continued its mad run through the Mojave Desert, Camilla kept her eyes closed and her forehead pressed against Dirk’s back. It was a surreal time, when she could do nothing but think the thoughts that ran through her head as crazily as the bike was running through the desert.

  Try as she might to maintain a positive outlook even in these circumstances, Camilla couldn’t help but feel like this was it. For better or for worse, this was it. They were not going to escape the Tar Mongols. They would have to fight. Or rather, Dirk would have to fight. Once again, Camilla would be completely useless. She was also tired of feeling powerless, but this wasn’t her world; she didn’t know how to behave in it. She didn’t know how to act, what to do. She had no moves.

  She thought back on that godawful night when she had made her escape from Dirk’s place in the desert and ended up stuck in a canyon with two bloodthirsty Tar Mongols for her efforts. She had been powerless then, too. If it weren’t for Dirk, she wouldn’t be here. Ruiz would have killed her already—after his men, and maybe him, too, had their way with her. It had been a very close call, and Camilla still shook every time she thought about it.

  She knew that if they stopped, if they were forced to face the riders who were coming after them now, this time would be even worse. This time, it wasn’t just two men they had to deal with. She didn’t know how many Tar Mongols were currently hot on their tracks, but she knew there were enough. She cursed herself. She should have listened to Dirk. She should have stayed behind and let him go on his exploration. Now he was stuck with her, and she would be nothing but a liability.

  “How’s it going back there?”

  Dirk’s voice carried through to her as if from a great distance, even though he was right in front of her.

  Camilla swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and forced her voice to remain steady. She was pleasantly surprised when it complied. There were no cracks in her voice as she said, “I’m good!”

  She felt more than heard Dirk laugh in the wind. “Are you sure?”

  Camilla scowled. She thought it was incredibly insensitive of him to make fun of her right now. “I’m fine!” she yelled again, and she could hear the anger in her voice.

  Dirk heard it, too; she was sure of it, but he was completely unfazed by it, and he laughed again. “Hold on!” he said for what felt like the hundredth time, but this time Camilla had the feeling he wasn’t just talking about her holding onto him so as not to fall off the bike.

  “Where are we even going anyway?” Camilla asked, yelling to be heard past the roar of the Harley and the howling of the wind.

  “It doesn’t matter!” Dirk called back. “All that matters is that we lose them!”

  “And are we?” Camilla asked. She couldn’t turn around to look for herself, otherwise she would have toppled off the saddle and maybe even brought Dirk and the bike with her, sending them all out of balance. “Are we losing them?”

  “Doesn’t look like it for now!”

  Well, fuck.

  “Don’t worry!” Dirk said, as if he read her mind. “We’ll make it!”

  “I don’t feel too confident!”

  Dirk laughed one more time, and that was when Camilla realized that he wasn’t laughing at her. He was laughing because of what was happening. He was thrilled; he was exhilarated by the situation. It was the laughter of a madman who thrived in war and danger and blood and bullets.

  Camilla shivered. She definitely did not like that notion. Not one bit. She lay her forehead against Dirk’s back, and she squeezed her eyes shut once again. She clenched her jaw to keep in the scream of frustration that had come to tickle at her throat.

  She didn’t know how Dirk did it. She didn’t know how he had done it in Afghanistan, and she had no idea how he was doing it now. How did anyone thrive in this kind of predicament? Never like in that moment had Dirk Coleman seemed so alien to her.

  Chapter 34

  Dirk rode like a madman. He rode like Hell and the Devil were on his heels—which, as far as he was concerned, was exactly the case. He knew Camilla was terrified; he could tell by the way she was squeezing him so tight that it was a wonder she wasn’t breaking a rib, and he felt a pang of guilt. Because he, Dirk Coleman, was not scared at all. In fact, he was elated.

  He knew Herman Ruiz was amongst the riders that were after them. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did. He could feel the man’s dark presence like dogs sniff out the bones they have previously buried deep into the ground. Dirk thought of Eleanor’s bones—deep, deep in the ground. He thought about the man who had put her there, and he fumed a silent, deadly fury.

  His blood was on fire. His skin was crawling. His nerves and muscles and tendons were taut with the good kind of tension, the kind that made you ready. Ready to spring. Ready to hit. Ready to kill. Dirk knew without a doubt that this would be the day when Herman Ruiz would
die. If it was the last thing he did, Dirk knew that today he would settle his score.

  He stepped onto the gas and spurred his beloved, trusted Harley onwards. He laughed, as the wind whipped at his face. It was a madman’s laughter; he knew that, but he couldn’t have cared less. He had never claimed to be sane anyway. The desert was his. It was his home. The desert understood him, and he understood the desert. He had learned to understand the sand and rocks and dirt back in Afghanistan, the land of fire and ice. Afghanistan had taught him to read the desert, and he had found out soon enough that all deserts were the same at heart, whether they were rocks or sand or a little of both.

  The Mojave Desert was no different. It spoke to him. It was the reason why Dirk had set up his house smack in the middle of this endless expanse of rocks and cactuses. It was his place, his home. He felt safe. The desert wind now spoke to him and spurred him onwards, and Dirk was all too happy to comply. Behind him, he knew Camilla was having a hard time, but he also knew there was nothing he could do for her. This was war. It was just the way it was.

  “How’s it going back there?” he asked anyway, yelling to be heard over the joint roars of the wind and his Harley. It was the sweetest song he had ever heard, and it was a song he knew by heart, so much so that he was almost tempted to sing along.

  “I’m fine!” Camilla yelled back.

  Dirk laughed. She didn’t sound “fine” at all, but he appreciated her attempt at bravery. “Hold on!” he offered. He knew that one way or another, Camilla’s ordeal would be over soon. And he would make damn sure that it ended with Herman Ruiz’s death.

  “Where are we even going anyway?”

  He almost missed Camilla’s voice in the wind, but somehow he managed to hear her question anyway.

  “It doesn’t matter!” he said, and he knew she wouldn’t like that answer. “All that matters is that we lose them!”

  A moment’s hesitation. He had begun to think she wouldn’t say anything else when her voice carried back to him once again, “And are we?” she asked. “Are we losing them?”

  Dirk threw a quick look over his shoulder. The dust clouds were getting closer. “Doesn’t look like it for now!” More silence, and Dirk cringed inwardly. As far as reassurances went, he was definitely lacking. “Don’t worry!” he said, although he knew she had good reason to worry. “We’ll make it!”

  “I don’t feel too confident!” Camilla replied.

  He had to laugh at her irony, at the hint of humor he could catch in her voice. Camilla Hernandez was one hell of a woman. Here she was, running for her life on the back of the bike of a madman, and she was keeping her wits about herself and making jokes. Dirk admired her. In fact, he felt something different and a lot deeper than that for her, but he refused to stop to think about it.

  His stomach clenched briefly as he assessed their situation. He was confident enough that they would lose the Tar Mongols, and then he could bring Camilla to safety and go after Ruiz alone. But what if that didn’t happen? What if they were somehow forced to face the horde riding behind them? What then?

  Dirk knew Camilla couldn’t fight. She could shoot—or so she claimed—but there was no way she was a good enough for the battle that would ensue. Speaking of battles, he was also sure she had never been in one. And if a ride through the desert scared her, a full-on raging battle would probably paralyze her. He wished she had listened to him and agreed to be left behind and wait for him where it was safe—or, well, safer. He wasn’t sure he could engage the Tar Mongols and keep an eye on her at the same time.

  He thought of Stephan and the others. He wondered if they were all right. He had told Camilla they most definitely were, and he believed it. But there was no way that all of them were okay. There must have been a few casualties from yesterday’s ambush, and he shuddered to think of whom they might have lost this time around.

  He spurred the Harley onwards. His priorities were changing quickly now that the rush of the ride was wearing off and he could think more clearly. He had to bring Camilla to safety first and foremost. And then he would get his revenge.

  To Dirk’s horror, the next sound he heard was a godawful sputtering. The bike shuddered underneath him, and it took all of his strength to plant his foot firmly on the ground and catch it, holding it and Camilla and himself upright when the Harley stopped running.

  “What’s going on?” Camilla asked, her voice laden with fear.

  Dirk turned around to look at her. Her green eyes were so wide that they seemed almost too big for her face. He grimaced, not liking what he had to say to her.

  “Bike’s dead,” he said somberly.

  If possible, Camilla’s eyes went even wider. “What do you mean, it’s dead?”

  Dirk swallowed nervously. He was more afraid of her wrath than of the Tar Mongols gaining ground behind them. “Something must be on the fritz. The carburetor, perhaps. I don’t know, I don’t exactly have time to check right now.”

  Camilla stared at him in disbelief. “What do we do now?” She cast a nervous look over her shoulder. “They’re coming!”

  “Okay, relax—”

  “Relax?” Camilla all but roared.

  Dirk cringed. It had clearly been the wrong choice of words. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  He helped her dismount, and he grabbed his saddlebags and a rifle, slinging the weapon over his shoulder. He took her hand and led her to a clump of rocky dunes nearby. He crouched down low, and he leaned his back against the rock, which already burned hot from the morning sun. He welcomed the heat against his clothes. It kept him alert. It kept him focused. It would keep him alive.

  “I want you to stay here, you understand me?” he said as he loaded the rifle and readied it for what was to come.

  Camilla watched him worriedly. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to go over there,” he pointed to a faraway, higher dune to their right, “and I’m going to wait for them. And I’m going to take out as many of those sons of bitches as I can.”

  “Then I’m coming with you.”

  It took all of Dirk’s self-control to stop him from rolling his eyes at her. Instead, he said, “No,” leaving no room whatsoever for discussion.

  Or so he thought. Camilla, of course, argued anyway. “Don’t give me that again,” she snapped. “I’m not staying here and watching you get slaughtered.”

  Dirk snorted out a laugh. “Slaughtered? Honey, that dune is a godsend. I can take out quite a few of them before they’re on us.”

  “And then what?” Camilla retorted. “What happens then?”

  “I take them out in close quarters.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “You sound mighty confident for a man who is alone against a horde of bloodthirsty assholes.”

  Dirk had to laugh at her definition of their mutual enemies. However, he sobered up quickly. “Look, Camilla, I know what I’m doing. It’s not like I haven’t done this sort of thing before.”

  She stared at him. “Afghanistan?”

  “Yeah.” Dirk cleared his throat. He never talked about the war to anyone who wasn’t Stephan. “Listen, we don’t have much time. I want you to take the gun I gave you and be ready, just in case someone gets away and comes for you. I mean it, Camilla. I need you to stay here. It’ll make it easier for both of us.”

  “It’ll make what easier?”

  Her green eyes were burning into him. She knew what he meant. She heard the words he wasn’t saying. If they had to die, it would be easier to do it away from each other, where they couldn’t see each other’s last moments.

  He took a deep breath. “If I don’t make it—”

  “Dirk, please, don’t.”

  “Shut up,” Dirk snapped, and sure enough, she clamped her mouth shut. He’d have to remember this for later on…provided that they made it out of here alive. “If I don’t make it,” he said again, “I want you to run. Look for the others. Look for Stephan, he’ll help you out.”

  Camilla star
ed at him, long and hard. “I’m pretty sure Stephan Walker would be quite happy to kill me and have this over with.”

  Dirk grinned. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But he wouldn’t. For me, at least.”

  Camilla snorted. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

  Dirk smiled. He reached out and cupped her nape with one hand. “Be careful. Run if you must. Don’t pull any crazy stunts, okay?”

  Camilla swallowed visibly. She was clearly struggling not to cry. “Right back at you,” she said quietly. And she surged forward and kissed him.

  Dirk stiffened in surprise for a moment, but then he kissed her back. As always, he had no other choice; he couldn’t resist her even if he tried…not that he had any intention to try, especially right now when it could very well be the last time he felt her lips on his.