by Jackson Kane
“Hey! Hey!” Despite already having my hands on her, I had to lunge to catch her before her head slapped off the brick alley wall. “Stay with me!”
She was completely unconscious when she collapsed in my arms. I kicked away some broken glass and unidentifiable brown filth and laid her softly down to the cracked ground near a wall. Again, I searched her over but with greater attention to detail to make sure she truly wasn’t injured. Aside from the same few scratches and bruises, I couldn’t find anything more.
Now that she was completely on her back, I carefully brushed the dark hair from her face then gently palmed the side of her head so that I could thumb open her eyelids. Her reddish-brown eyes were dilated, dark, and watery, but still stunningly beautiful.
Confusion set in when she woke up, having trouble focusing on anything. I touched the back of my hand to her forehead. Her sooty skin was clammy. I had to get her to a safe place soon, or this would only get worse.
I eased my hand away from her face, letting her eyes loll and close back into unconsciousness. As my shadow receded, the streetlight caught her fully, and for the first time all night, I saw her without distraction. She was plain with slight and simple features. I was so used to hooking up with worn-out whores and druggies that Maya, being so far out of my realm of experience, might as well have been a Disney princess.
My sleeping beauty.
I brushed her cheek, not because there was anything more to remove but just so I could feel her softness across the rough crags of my skin. It was infuriating how often she was on my mind. Thoughts of her had burrowed into my brain and poisoned my focus for everything else. It felt like I was endlessly talking myself out of being near her, but every time I turned around, there she was. I just couldn’t stop myself from wanting her.
I understood the lust. I wore that as easily as my cut. It was all the other emotions that came with it this time like longing and yearning that had me worried. Maya was the catchy hook of a song that I didn’t know the lyrics to and was afraid to sing along with.
Flashing lights and sirens blurred passed us, robbing us of the kiss that would wake her, or however the fuck that worked. She’d have to settle for a hard ride at eighty miles an hour instead and maybe some coffee.
“C’mon, darlin’. It’s time to go,” I urged her softly, picking her up off the ground. Even keeping the speed down, there was no way she’d be able to hold on behind me. How the hell was I going to get her out of here?
It came to me as her near limp body collapsed against mine. Neither of us were going to enjoy what came next.
I mounted up onto my bike and picked her up, having her straddle my lap and facing me in a hug. It was probably the most difficult and uncomfortable way to ride for both her and me, but with my arms on either side of her, holding onto the handlebars, at least I knew that I could keep her from falling off.
“Oh God... Hendrix?” Maya could barely mumble. Through her disorientation, I could tell she was scared and confused. Surviving something like an assassination attempt tended to unravel people.
“That’s the first time outside of sex that I’ve heard that combination of words in the same sentence,” I stupidly tried to lighten the mood in the hopes that she’d find it comforting. Getting no real reaction, I tried sincerity. “We made it, Maya. You’re all right now. Don’t worry.”
We had made it somehow, just like I had promised. The “how” was so fast and visceral that I would never be able to explain it to Skids if he asked. Shit, Skids... I hoped he got away. I stopped one of his tails, but he had at least two more on him before I set the world on fire.
I should not have survived that massacre. Neither of us should have. Part of me knew that if I didn’t have a good reason to, I probably wouldn’t have. Keeping Maya safe gave me back this lost sense of purpose that I thought was truly gone.
She let me rest her head on my shoulder as I got us moving. As uncomfortable as it was, I couldn’t deny how nice it was to have Maya so close. Through the cocktail of sweat, smoke, and blood, there were hints of lilacs in her stained, silky skin. The remnants of shampoo or lotion maybe? That didn’t matter. I knew, until my last moment on Earth, whether that be in a week or a lifetime, whenever I smelled lilacs, I would be brought back to this moment. With her.
This girl was something else. A balm for my ugly, burnt soul. It was an oddly comforting feeling.
I had initially kept us slow at twenty-five miles per hour. I told myself it was so I could adjust and account for the additional awkward weight, but I knew that the real reason was just to hold onto that moment, the scent of her invading my senses, for as long as possible. I chuckled to myself. I was going soft after all. Still, it was a warm thought, something I’d be sure to cherish on those long, lonely nights back in prison when the cops eventually carted my daydreaming ass back there.
Once we hit the highway, I had to bring us up to cruising speed. The wind cruelly stole my lilacs as I knew it would. The bright cone beaming off my headlight burned the darkness off the rolling blacktop before me, melting it into the inky pools of night that made up the tree line to either side. With no highway lights, the nighttide robbed me of the landscape. There was only the vanishing stretch of road in front of me now. A road that, under the blanket of darkness, looked like countless others I’d traveled on errands for the club.
I sighed.
It filled me with all the ramifications and consequences of what went down tonight, and it reminded me of who I was. First and foremost, I was a biker, a criminal, and above all, at least until I got out, a Coffin Eater.
Thoughts of Maya and flowers finally faded from my mind.
Chapter Six
Maya
I startled awake, gasping for air. I was drowning in a broiling sea of blood and bones and bullets... an intense and horrible night terror.
It wasn’t real, I repeated to myself over and over. Just a dream.
Was it though? Had I woken up yet, or was this still that same dream?
I blinked, rousing slowly from the initial shock, but I still couldn’t see anything at all. Oh God, had I gone blind? My heart started racing again. My chest tightened. Air seemed to flee the room, making it harder to breathe. I felt sick to my stomach.
No, I wasn’t blind. The room was pitch-black, but there was a little glow under a door on the far side of... wherever the hell I was.
I was on a bed. I quickly ran my hands down my sides. I was wearing all my clothes except for my shoes. Where the fuck were my shoes? Irrational anxiety skyrocketed. I couldn’t remember anything about what had happened, why I was here, or even where “here” was, and I’m losing my shit over my shoes? Get a grip, Maya. Be glad you weren’t raped or shot!
“Calm down.” I had to hear the sound of my own voice even though I only dared to whisper it. I took in short, quick, shallow breaths at first, gradually easing out of my hyperventilation.
I let myself think for a second and rationalize my surroundings. I was on top of a large, tightly made bed with far too many pillows. This had to be a motel room. There were no other sounds in the room. No snoring, shuffling, or breathing. From what I could tell, there was no one else here.
I smelled terrible, like smoke and sweat and death, but there was another scent in the air. It was definitely food. Eggs and meat?
I carefully walked my fingers around me, quietly searching, just in case there was someone else in the room. I spread my arms and legs to explore the rest of the bed. There was a loud, crinkly noise as I accidentally kicked something. It hit the floor with a crackling whomp. A plastic bag? It must’ve been full something soft… perhaps clothes?
Okay, if this was a motel, then that meant there was usually a nightstand with a clock and a phone on it. Nothing on my side. I slowly crawled over and found the clock on the other side facedown, so I rotated it over to see the time.
“Ah!” I stupidly looked right at it. The red LED digits were so bright to my light-sensitive eyes that I immediately sl
apped it facedown again. Once my eyes didn’t feel like they were going to explode, I slowly flipped it back up. Now I knew why it was facedown to begin with.
Three in the morning? Okay... now where the hell was I?
I used the clock to scan the room. It yielded extremely low light, but my eyes could pick up that this was a one-bedroom and I was the only one here. I found the switch to the bedside lamp, covered my face with my hand, and bravely clicked it on.
Through the slit between my fingers, I took in the rest of the room. It was a moderately decent-looking place. Nothing fancy but far from shitty, and it was mostly empty. There was a pile of dirty clothes in a corner, the plastic bag I’d kicked off the bed that looked like it was filled with women’s clothes, and a tray of food placed in front of the flat-screen TV perched on top of the chest of drawers. I was right. It was eggs.
It wasn’t until I got up that I realized how famished I was. On the way to the food, I nearly tripped over my shoes, which were placed on the floor off the foot of the bed right next to my purse. Some of that anxiety lifted, and I didn’t feel as vulnerable now that I had my stuff.
There was sausage, scrambled eggs, toast, fruit, and water. The food was cold, but I was too hungry to care. I sucked it all down, wondering how the hell this was even here. No motels I’d ever stayed at served breakfast this early in the morning.
Under the tray was a piece of paper that I’d mistaken as a napkin. On the back of it, a note read:
“Don’t freak out, Maya. You’re safe. I’m on the roof if you need me.”
Who was on the roof? Hendrix? Then the memories came back to me slowly. He brought me here after what felt like a heart attack in that gross alley. Why were we in the alley? We were fleeing some—
My eyes drifted to the pile of filthy clothes again. Red spots and splotches stained everything. Then it hit me like a hammer to the chest.
Oh God... the memories became a flipbook of images. The first few were slow and unreal; then they flipped faster and faster, recreating the entire scene—all the horrible events of the shootout in the Wild Boys’ parking lot. A blur of hell that made the nightmare I had woken up from seem all the more real. The blood that dripped on my shoes from all the wounded bikers loaded into Robbie’s van. That one guy’s head exploding as he rode by.... I shuddered at the thought of the biker with the shotgun.
Someone actually tried to kill me….
Jesus Christ! I actually killed a man!
The noise. The bleeding oil and gasoline from the mangled motorcycles that made the parking lot itself appear wounded. The fire. All that black smoke. The bullets. Screaming. All those bodies dropping.... The hellish symphony of death reached a crescendo in my head, transitioning to the overwhelming clash of its diabolical coda.
Nauseous, I stumbled quickly to the bathroom to lift the lid of the toilet, but I didn’t make it in time and projectile vomited my early morning breakfast into the shower stall. I collapsed onto the cold floor tiling, breathing heavily and unsuccessfully fighting back the torrents of food then bile that escaped me.
I wanted it to stop. I wanted to die.
After a while, the vividness of the memories settled, as did my stomach. I’d seen some bad stuff with the Steel Veins—drugs, nonconsensual sex, and a dead body or two—but nothing like that. No one ever tried to kill me before!
Wait a minute. It was Hendrix. He killed that biker, not me. I was just holding the gun. I felt him slide his finger over mine over the thin, metal trigger, depressing it, and the gun recoiled. That’s right. Hendrix shot him, not me, I reminded myself.
Jesus... I had given Anna a gun and just expected her to be able to do that? To kill with it? What the hell was I thinking? She’d never be able to kill anyone. Not even to save her own life... just like her older sister.
I’d be dead right now if Hendrix hadn’t pulled my trigger.
It was a sobering thought. I couldn’t do this shit anymore. I was wrong to come here. I had to get the fuck out of here, away from these psychopaths. I needed to go back home before this got even crazier. Before I was killed!
I cleaned myself and the floor then ran the shower to take care of the rest of the puke. I was filthy, and the steam looked too inviting, refreshing, and relaxing to pass up. I bottom-locked the motel room door. No one was getting in without kicking it. Finally I felt safe enough to undress and get in.
The water washed away the grime and the sin of it all, and when I was done, I felt like a new person. I was resolved to put all this madness behind me. No more. Period.
The bag had the most ridiculous mix of clothes, half of which were too big and all of it was hideous. I put on the plainest thing I could find, which was a collared plaid shirt obviously meant for a boy and a pair of ripped, faded jeans. There was nothing in the way of underwear so I hand-washed mine in the sink and dried them with the hairdryer.
I grabbed my purse and readied myself to leave this place behind me. Unlocking and opening the door, I thought about Hendrix’s note. Could I really just leave without thanking him for saving my life? Or without asking about Robbie to see whether he was even still alive?
I mulled it over. My anxiety spiked at the thought of it, but I breathed deeply and got it under control. I had to distance myself from the violence, the cocaine, all of it! If I stayed, I don’t know.... I was so terrified that if I saw Hendrix again, it might make everything that happened feel even more real. Instead, I’d call Robbie once I was in a cab and ask him to send my thanks to Hendrix.
That thought made me feel so cowardly.
As I was about to make the call, 2 percent flashed on the cell’s screen. Dammit! Riding all of yesterday and after everything else that happened, I hadn’t had time to charge my phone. Shit!
So much for the coward’s way out.
I sighed, dropped my bag on the bed, and plugged in my phone. Was I really that shitty of a person to think that I could hide until my phone was charged then run away? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I would poke my head up, thank him, and leave. Five minutes tops.
He was on the roof? I chuckled. He wasn’t going to make this easy for me, was he? How was I even supposed to get up there?
It turned out that the motel we were at wasn’t all that big. Fifteen or twenty rooms max, maybe, which meant the hallway to the roof hatch was actually pretty easy to find.
Hendrix had torn the faux leather cover off a Bible—probably the one that came in the room—and used it to prop the door open. Classy. What else would I expect from a biker, really?
The egress room that led to the roof was just big enough for a ladder and some hanging tools. The hatch at the top was wide open, a window to the brilliant starry sky. The front part of the roof that overlooked the parking lot was steeply pitched, probably to help with piled-up snowfall, while the back part was flat and ended in a waist-high wall. Hendrix lay on the uneven, black tar of a small, flat maintenance area. He gazed up at the stars, wearing jeans and a half-unzipped blue hoodie with no undershirt, and sipped at a large bottle of wine.
Where did he get a bottle of wine?
“Watch your step,” he warned, not bothering to glance over at me.
“Where are we?” I rubbed my eyes, having the feeling I was going to either need more sleep or some coffee to get the last of the tiredness out of them.
“A few hours north.”
“Did you talk to Robbie?” I blurted out. The last time I saw him, he was being chased by a few of those awful bikers. “Is he all right?”
“Haven’t heard from him.” Hendrix seemed quite distant, as if I had somehow interrupted him. Prayer or reflection or… something… I didn’t know.
“Jesus... I hope he’s okay.”
“He’s a hard man to kill.”
“How can you be so calm about it? He’s your friend, right?” That really bothered me. Robbie could be hurt or worse, and we had no idea.
“I have to believe he’s all right.” Hendrix finally tossed a look in
my direction through a sip from the bottle. “Tex texted me. We’re meeting up with whatever’s left of the C.E. tomorrow, so we’ll find out then.”
I turned away and walked to the ledge that bordered the perimeter of the roof. I couldn’t look at him when I told him what I’d been practicing over and over in my head on the short walk to the roof hatch. “I can’t.” The words were small and pitiful. I swallowed and began again. My determination kicked in, bolstering the words with more volume. “I can’t come with you tomorrow.”
“You’re leaving?” His tone had a hint of incredulity to it like he was surprised that I would want to go.
“Yes. I mean, all this is just too insane for me. I was almost....” I stopped to swallow the stress of hearing the words out loud. Taking a deep breath, I continued, “I was almost killed because of cocaine. I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I see.” The disappointment in his voice really threw me off.
I had convinced myself that whatever fleeting connection we might have had when we arrived at the Wild Boys clubhouse was only imagined. Did he want me to stay? Here with him? I had to push it from my mind. It was too dangerous a thought. Hendrix was a biker. I didn’t fall for bikers. That was the end of it. It had to be.
“So, thank you for everything. I hope you make—”
I turned my head at the sound of Hendrix chuckling. Why the hell was he laughing?
“You’re leaving right now? At 4:00 a.m.? In Laramie, Wyoming?” He gestured broadly across the horizon. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that taxi services probably aren’t running right now.”
Dammit! I hadn’t even thought of that. Between the attempted murder, fainting earlier, and my PTSD moment, I obviously wasn’t thinking straight. I glanced passed Hendrix. Only one unlit highway broke the endless plains in every direction. Not even distant headlights dotted the edges of the twinkling black sky. He was right. I wasn’t going anywhere for a few hours.