Wanted: An Outlaw Anthology

by Lane Hart

  She arches one dark eyebrow at me. “You expect me to believe you came here just to retrieve a piece of clothing?”

  I huff in frustration. “Yes, that’s right. Maybe you don’t understand what a man’s colors mean to him. Adrian’s fuming, and he wants it back, but I’m also here to talk to your cook about something else. I hear he might be…how shall I say…involved?”

  “Involved?”

  “In the biker life,” I explain. “Adrian thought he might be, and we want to make sure we’re not crossing any boundaries, that’s all.”

  Most people hearing that would probably back off at this point, but not her. She steps closer to me so what she has to say will be for my ears only. She’s so close, a waft of her alluring perfume fills my senses, and I will myself to keep my cool and ignore my racing pulse.

  “Steve is out of that,” she hisses. “He’s been out for years, so if you or your goons hurt him, so help me God—”

  “Whoa!” I say, raising one hand in defense. “Who said anything about hurting anyone? Honestly, I just want to talk to him.”

  She doesn’t say a word, she just stares at me suspiciously. I’m a tough guy, but it’s unnerving, and eventually, it’s me that breaks the silence.

  “Look, Jo. There’ll be no threats. You have my word,” I say, knowing I’d have to straighten that out with Adrian later.

  Jo looks at me intently for what feels like an eternity. Finally, she agrees. “Okay then, but not now. You can see we’re as busy as hell,” she says, waving her hand at the evening crowd. “You can come back later, after closing time. Just you, ok?”

  I nod my agreement. It’s not ideal, but I’ll take it and I leave feeling a little easier about the situation. I’m determined not to screw this up—not only for the club’s sake, but for mine. If I play this right, maybe I can break down Jo’s defenses at the same time.

  ‘And then what?’ says that nagging voice in my mind. ‘What are you gonna do? Leave the club? Stay home and play house with her?’ I let out a deep sigh. What was I doing? Did I really think trying to make a connection with Jo would change anything for me?

  I leave the diner and roam aimlessly around the neighborhood. It’s late, and almost time to go back there to meet with the chef. I’m preoccupied, thinking about Jo, when a single shot rings out, and before the sound barely registers in my brain, I feel intense pain in my right side. I cry out and fall hard onto the asphalt. All I see are shadows, emerging from the dark who now stand over me.

  “Maybe it wasn’t you that shot him, but that’s for Edgar, you fucking son of a bitch,” one of them spat out. “We’ll get the rest of you, one by one.”

  “Go on, you fuckers. Finish it,” I say, defiantly, fully expecting a double-tap to the head anytime soon.

  “Nope. I want you to die real slow,” another of them says, quietly and calmly. “You’re gonna feel so cold and alone as the blood drains out of you. Think about that, and I’ll see you in hell, motherfucker,” then they laugh as they walk away.

  I guess if you live by the gun, you die by the gun. I blink up at the night sky and I only have one thought.

  Jo.

  Chapter Six

  Jo

  “I don’t like this at all,” Steve says, and I roll my eyes.

  “Yes,” I say, “You’ve already said that. Like a dozen times already.”

  He grunts as we glance at each other, and I sigh. He’s sitting at a booth in the now-deserted diner, glaring anxiously at the front door while I pretend to be busy behind the counter, straightening mugs that I’ve already straightened, and wiping down work surfaces that I’ve already wiped.

  We’re trying to be patient waiting for Flynn to show up, but the truth is, we’re anything but. Steve is furious and clearly can’t wait to give him a piece of his mind. As for me…I don’t know what I’m feeling. Seeing Flynn again earlier in the evening after I’d told him to stay away should’ve made me angry. Instead, even though I’d put up a show of bravado in front of him, secretly I was happy he showed up.

  I just wish our circumstances were different, and I wonder what it would be like to get to know each other in a normal environment, without the shadow of the MC and Flynn’s chosen life looming over us. What would’ve happened? Would we even have a connection? Would we have the same attraction that, by now, has become unable to ignore? At least, for me it has, and I realize it’s been there from the moment we met. I’ve been pretending it doesn’t exist, but earlier, when I stood so close to him, all I wanted to do was lean in and kiss him, long and hard.

  It’s the same weird feeling I had the first day he walked into the diner. I can’t put my finger on it., and I can’t shake the thought that I’ve seen him before somewhere. But, that’s ridiculous. We’re just too different.

  “Jo!”

  I snap out of it when Steve’s voice interrupts my daydream, and I look up to see Flynn stumble into the diner. It takes my brain a moment to kick into action and realize something’s seriously wrong with him. For a moment, I wonder if he’s drunk, but despite the kind of life he leads, he doesn’t strike me as the type to get off his face on alcohol when he’d planned to meet Steve.

  Then I see the blood-stained shirt.

  When I see Flynn’s hand pressed against his right side, and blood running through his fingers, I’ve never moved so fast in my life and I run across the floor to him.

  “What the hell happened,” I ask, concerned. I throw his arm around my shoulder and help get him to a nearby chair.

  “I thought you didn’t care?” he says with a small smile. He can obviously still be cheeky, even when he’s injured.

  “You thought right. She doesn’t.” Steve comes to my side, looking sternly at Flynn. He twists his body, screwing up his face in pain with the movement. He wheezes when he takes a breath, licking at the blood his fingers have smeared on his lips. He clutches his wound as he looks up at Steve, smiling.

  “Go fuck yourself, old man,” Flynn says, defiantly, and I admire the fact that, despite his diminished strength and the state of his body, he still has the balls to challenge Steve, towering above him.

  Steve bends down and leans in to Flynn, their faces just inches apart, and there’s a wild look in his eyes that I’ve never seen before.

  “I want you gone from here,” he says in a low voice. “And listen, friend, Jo is way out of your league. Don’t get any ideas about bothering her or I’ll pull you out from whichever rat hole you hide in and finish the job. Do you get it?”

  Flynn winces in obvious pain as he pushes himself to his feet, and Steve steps back to give him some space. Flynn hangs his head in exhaustion, and simply nods. He shuffles toward the door while Steve stands there watching him with his hands on his hips. I can’t believe how mean he’s being, but I freeze, not knowing what to do.

  After a few steps, Flynn glances over his shoulder, and I feel deep pity and longing in the pit of my stomach. I can’t just stand by when he might die. That would make me no better than him for shooting someone.

  “Steve, he’s hurt. He needs urgent medical attention.” I say, shaking the giant of a man by his arm.

  “He needs to go and leave us alone. That wound there is the mess of his own making, so he’d better clean it up himself,” he replies, his stare cold and unwavering.

  Now I’m mad. Something inside me snaps and I pull Steve around to face me, almost unbalancing him. I know now he’s a dangerous man, and I work alongside an ex-MC member every day, but what he’s doing is just wrong and goes against every fiber of my being.

  “For fuck’s sake, Steve!” I scream. “I thought you were kind, but actually, you have a heart of stone. You say you’re out of that life, but you just proved you’re still no different to any of them. He’s hurt, and I can’t stand by and watch him suffer, let alone die. I won’t do it. What kind of animal are you, anyway?”

  “Then you go save him, but I want no part of this,” he says, pulling the bandana from under his shirt collar.
He shakes it hard before putting it on his head, then stares at me for a minute. I’m sure my words have hurt him, but I don’t regret saying them for a minute. He is nothing like the man I thought he was, and I’m disgusted with myself for thinking otherwise.

  Just as he’s about to turn on his heels and walk away, there’s a loud thump. We both turn our heads toward the door to see Flynn, splayed out on the ground and, apparently, lifeless.

  “Oh my god! Flynn!” I scream, running over to him, trying to rouse him. He seems unconscious, and when I try to lift his body, I slip and fall into his blood that’s pooled by his side. I scream again and look at Steve, hoping he’ll help, but he’s still standing in the same spot, just looking down at me as I struggle to my feet.

  Words can’t describe how much I hate him right now and I give him a look that should leave him in no doubt of how I feel. I’m covered in Flynn’s blood, but I don’t care. I run across to the counter to call 911, but as I pick up the phone, Steve cusses me out then rushes over to me like a charging bull.

  “Okay, Jo. Stop. I’ll help you,” he says, reaching for the phone in my hand.

  “Fuck off, Steve!” I shout, pulling it away from his grasp. “A minute ago, you were happy to let him die like a dog. I don’t need your fucking help,” I scream in his face, as I punch in the first digit.

  “Don’t call 911,” he says, looking me in the eyes. “Trust me, as someone who knows from experience. He wouldn’t want you to do that.”

  That gets my attention, but I’m so torn on what I should do. I have to help Flynn. I can’t let him suffer, but I don’t want to create any trouble for him with the authorities either, if should he live.

  I pause, then say, “Okay, I won’t, but you’ve absolutely got to save him,” I plead.

  “I can’t promise you that, Jo,” he says. “But I will promise I’ll do my best for him.”

  Steve gently teases the phone out of my hand and puts it back on its cradle then rushes to the kitchen, grabs the First Aid kit and runs back across the floor to Flynn. Maybe he took a First Aid course, but he seems to know exactly what he’s doing as he applies pressure, then bandages and plasters Flynn’s wound to stem the bleeding. I get the uneasy feeling this isn’t the first time he’s treated a bullet wound.

  “Press gently here,” he says, taking my hand and placing it over the wound. “I need to make a call.”

  “Who are you calling?” I ask as I follow his instructions, but he’s already dialed the number and holds up a hand, signaling me to keep quiet.

  “Charlie, it’s Steve. I need an urgent favor.” He pauses a second while the other man speaks. “Can you call Doctor Jed? I’ll text you the address in a bit, then grab a couple of your boys and get down to the Full Moon Diner right away.”

  I hear the other man say something, then Steve says, “A guy’s been shot. Tell Jed to bring whatever he needs and clean up the diner the way only you know how. No prints, no blood, no nothing.” Another short pause, then, “Great. I owe ya one. See you in five.”

  I look at him in disbelief. “You know doctors and cleaners who’ll come out at this time of night?” I ask.

  “Not just any old cleaners,” he says. “These guys are specialists. Blood, bodies, they do it all. Dahlia will never know what’s happened here by the time they’ve finished.”

  I feel my skin crawling at the thought of what Steve just told me, and I wonder what kind of sick world I’m living in. But that will have to wait, and by the time we get Flynn off the floor and into Steve’s truck, Charlie arrives, and Steve hands him the keys to the diner.

  “Lock up when you’re done. I’ll pick them up later,” Steve says as I climb into the front seat next to Flynn. When Steve gets in, he looks at me and seems to sense the question I’m burning to ask, but daren’t.

  “Don’t worry. Jed is a real doctor, you know. Not all MC members are no-good, down-and-out’s like most people think. He’ll take good care of your boy here.”

  “How did you—?”

  “Because I’m old and wise, and I’ve lived a life,” he interrupts. “Now, let’s go. We don’t want to keep the good doctor waiting,” and we drive to my apartment in silence.

  My place isn’t that fancy, but it’s big enough and comfortable enough for my needs. Plus, it’s only ten minutes away from the diner. By the time we arrive, Flynn seems a little more lucid and between us, we manage to get him through the back entrance of the building without anyone spotting us and calling the cops.

  Once we get him inside my apartment, we lay him on my bed, and Doctor Jed opens Flynn’s shirt. Luckily, the bullet has only grazed his side, but it’s a nasty gash, nonetheless, and he’s lost some blood. Thankfully, not so much as to need a transfusion.

  The doctor cleans the wound and patches him up again with a fresh bandage. He gives Flynn a couple of shots, one to help him sleep and one for the pain, and leaves me some meds for when he wakes before telling me what I need to do to take care of him.

  By the time he and Steve leave, it’s almost four in the morning and I feel exhausted and emotional as I finally curl up on the battered couch in my living room to get some rest. But sleep seems far away as I recall the events of the evening, over and over again, in my mind.

  I toss and turn for a while, but sleep eludes me and when I finally doze off, it’s not long before I wake again, terrorized by a vivid dream in which Flynn and I are running, hand-in-hand, inside a dark tunnel—the light at the end, barely visible. Then gunshots ring out, echoing inside the tunnel, and I crash to the ground.

  I open my eyes and find myself lying flat on the carpet next to the sofa, caught up in the sheets that I’d covered myself with. Then I hear a laugh, and I know it’s his laugh. I roll over to see Flynn standing next to me, bare-chested and looking down with those twinkling eyes.

  “Jeez, that was some recovery. You know you shouldn’t even be out of bed,” I say, groggily as I rub the sleep from my eyes.

  “Good morning, Jo,” he says, smiling.

  “Is it good? Is it even morning?” I say as I scrape myself off the floor and sit on the couch, wrapping the sheets around me. “Surely, that wound of yours must be hurting like a bitch.”

  “It’s not that bad, and I think it’s a great morning,” he says, sitting on the couch next to me. “For one thing, I’m still alive. I can’t thank you enough for everything you did for me last night. I could’ve died.”

  “It’s not me you need to thank,” I say. “It was Steve who stopped me from calling 911, and it was him who called some doctor buddy of his to get you fixed up without needing to go the hospital.”

  “Good man, your Steve. But I know he would never have done any of that without your intervention. He made that perfectly clear, so I want to thank you for doing what you did.”

  “You’re welcome,” I say. “Now, are you going back to bed? The doctor said you need to rest and build up your strength again.”

  “This your place?” he asks, avoiding my question.

  “Yes, it is, but don’t get yourself too comfortable,” I reply. “It’s big enough for me.”

  “I promise I won’t,” he says, looking intently into my eyes. I look back into his and feel them pulling me in to him. Our faces are inches from each other. I can feel his warm breath, and my lips tingle, so close to his. God, I want to kiss him.

  “I need coffee.” I break our gaze and untangle myself from the sheets that cocoon me. “You want some?” I say, getting up from the couch, only to realize I’m only wearing a T-shirt that barely covers my tummy, and a very short pair of shorts, but it’s too late to worry about that now as I walk to the kitchen.

  I return a to the living room ten minutes later with scrambled eggs, toast and coffee for us. I set the breakfast plates, my strong cup of joe and a vanilla latte I’ve made specially for him on the coffee table, then curl up at one end of the sofa.

  “You need to eat. The doctor said you lost a fair amount of blood. Get it while it’s hot,” I s
ay, without even thinking about the unintended innuendo, and I smile.

  Oh, how I would love some of his hotness.

  Chapter Seven

  Flynn

  I look across at Jo, curled up at the far end of the sofa, and I think I get the message, loud and clear. Don’t come near me, stay away, biker boy! But it’s proving difficult to do with every passing second. And anyway, I saw the way she looked at me when she opened her eyes this morning, upside down, from where she was laying on the floor. I may be hurt, but I’m not blind. I feel such a connection with her and I’m hoping she feels the same way.

  When she got up to make coffee earlier, I almost had a heart attack. That tiny sleeveless T-shirt she’s wearing doesn’t cover much at all. Underneath, a silver belly ring, and a tattoo of two intertwined snakes that run from her navel to the side of her waist, then disappear under the waistband of those skimpy shorts.

  She’s so beautiful, funny and sexy, and I’d love to find out where that tattoo ends up. I join her on the sofa by the coffee table and laugh when I see what I assume to be a vanilla latte she’s made for me. She giggles when she sees the amused expression on my face.

  “Very funny,” I say. “Did you run out of regular coffee cups?” She’s put it in the daintiest of bone china cups with a pink floral design and a gold rim around the edge, sitting on a matching saucer. What’s more, it’s piled high with voluminous, fluffy foam and chocolate sprinkles on top.

  “I thought you’d appreciate it?” she says, still giggling. “Nothing wrong with a little refinement and finesse, even for a biker, you know.”

  “I guess not, and I do appreciate it. Just never, and I mean ever, make one for me like this again in front of the guys or I’ll be laughed out of the club,” I say, with a chuckle. I take a sip. It tastes good, but too late, I feel the foam sticking to me like Santa’s mustache and she throws her head back, laughing out loud. The more time I spend with Jo, the more I want to be with her, and it just doesn’t feel like I only met her a few short days ago.