White Lies

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White Lies Page 25

by Autumn Jones Lake


  “Some guy who harassed her at school. Showed up here. I need to have some words with him.”

  “Fuck yeah.” Jake cracks his knuckles.

  “Jesus Christ,” Heidi mutters.

  Jake elbows her. “No one messes with you, girl. You know that.”

  “Apparently not,” I grumble.

  “I’m going to go find Sully.” Jake holds his hand up to his ear. “You need me, call.”

  I find Dex and give him a rundown of the situation, just not the part where Heidi kept all this from me. That’s between the two of us, not the club.

  “You serious?” He glances at Heidi, who blushes and looks away.

  “Let’s search the parking lot. See if he’s still here.”

  I find Griff and signal to him that I’m headed outside.

  The parking lot is a vast expanse of broken asphalt, gravel, and weeds. The commercial light poles scattered around the parking lot burned out years ago. Remy and Griff use a few high-power light towers like you’d find at a nighttime construction job to illuminate the area, but they only cover so much ground.

  Dex takes the far right. Heidi and I go left.

  “He always parks way in the back lot at school and takes up like three spots.”

  “Of course he does.” I don’t want Heidi with me if I confront this kid, but I also want to get my hands on those photos and end this situation now.

  Oh, and kill this kid.

  A brief yellow glimmer in the woods behind the parking lot catches my attention.

  The flick of a lighter.

  An orange glow.

  Pressing a finger to my lips, I take Heidi’s hand and we walk the tree line.

  “Blake,” she whispers. “That’s his car back there.”

  I follow where she’s pointing. As much as I want to kick this kid’s ass, the fact that he has photos of not only Heidi and me, but of my brothers, pushes this from a personal matter to club business. I take out my phone and send Dex a message with the location of the car. He responds immediately.

  Dex: On my way.

  We’re so close now, I don’t bother hiding in the shadows anymore.

  The headlights of the BMW flick on, flooding the area with blinding white light.

  The roar of an engine. Tires squeal. Burning rubber singes my nose as the car peels out. I yank Heidi hard to the left, and we narrowly miss getting hit.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “What the fuck?” Dex yells, running up to us. “Was that him?”

  “Yup.”

  We both search the parking lot, but there’s no sign of the car.

  “He didn’t make it out of here that fast,” Dex says. “Get her home. I’ll take care of him.”

  “Griff’s inside, have him help you.”

  Dex turns and jogs back to the Castle.

  “Come on.” I take Heidi’s hand and lead her to my bike.

  Half-hour home. Drop her off. Half-hour back.

  Shit, I hate leaving and losing sight of this weasel.

  “Blake!” Heidi screams. “Behind—”

  She doesn’t even spit out the full warning before something slams into the back of my head.

  I hit the dirt. Hard.

  Grass, mud, and blood coat my mouth.

  Pain sears my palms, but I press them into the ground, lifting myself out of the dirt and grass.

  I cough and choke, rolling to the side. Something warm and wet trickles down my back.

  One of the bikers we threw out of Zips stands over me with an aluminum bat in his hands.

  That’s what hit me? A bat being wielded by this prick?

  I should’ve fucked up this motherfucker the last time I had the chance.

  He tosses the bat from one hand to the other, daring me to come at him.

  Don’t worry, fucker. I’m down but not out.

  I pull myself off the ground and lunge at him, tackling him at the knees. The bat goes flying, landing on the hard ground with a clang.

  “Blake!” Heidi screams.

  I turn. The batter wasn’t alone.

  Just the man I’ve been looking for.

  Bryce looms over Heidi.

  I glance back at the batter who flashes an evil grin. Guess he and Bryce are a team.

  Doesn’t matter. Both these motherfuckers are about to die.

  I slam my fist into the batter’s face twice. He hits the ground, but he’s a strong fucker. He digs his fingers into the dirt, desperately trying to reach the bat. I need to disable this asshole and fast.

  It’s time for Bryce to bleed.

  Thirty-Seven

  Heidi

  Blake’s bleeding.

  The couple of seconds when he hit the ground and didn’t move sent a spiral of fear through me unlike anything I’ve ever known.

  Rage swelled up in me like a tidal wave.

  Then I fell on my ass.

  The guy who hit Murphy looked as surprised as I did. Bryce doesn’t seem to care one way or another. He’s too focused on me.

  “Why’d you have to be such a bitch?” he says to me.

  Not this again.

  Blake groans.

  Thank God.

  Shaking off the hit, Blake lurches to his feet and tackles the guy who hit him. His movements are slow but still no match for the man who’s only strength was the element of surprise.

  Bryce keeps coming at me, and I scramble backwards.

  “You and Dawn really fucked me over,” he seethes. “I’ve got payback that’s a whole lot more interesting than some shitty blackmail photos for her.”

  Instant terror for Dawn chills my blood. She and her son Jet live with Dawn’s elderly mother. Dawn will never be able to protect herself if Bryce takes his crazy revenge out on her next.

  “You stay the hell away from her, asshole!” Something metal jabs into my back. I’m up against Blake’s bike.

  “Dex!” I scream over my shoulder, hoping someone will hear me over all the ruckus. “Jake!”

  “Shut up.”

  From the corner of my eye, I catch a blur coming at me.

  I jerk sideways.

  Bryce grabs my sweatshirt and tries to yank me to my feet. The sweatshirt belongs to Blake, so it’s loose, and I slip out of it easily.

  “Fine by me. Get naked, baby.” Bryce cackles. “Told you I liked your tits.”

  Goosebumps spread over my exposed arms, but I don’t care. Frantically, I pull at the buckles on Blake’s saddle bag. Why didn’t I tuck my little green hammer into my pocket tonight?

  Because who thought I’d need to use it again so soon?

  One buckle loose.

  Enough room to slip my hand inside.

  I’m not sure if Blake has a gun on him tonight, but he always carries his trusty ball-peen hammer. Good self-defense weapon, yet nothing more than a simple tool if you’re ever stopped and questioned by the cops.

  It’s in here somewhere.

  Bryce’s fist closes around a chunk of my hair and yanks at the same time my fingertips graze the end of what I think is the smooth wooden handle of the hammer.

  I throw all my weight forward, desperately wrapping my fingers around the handle and dragging it out of the bag.

  No time to line up my target.

  Without even thinking, I swing wildly. This hammer’s heavier and longer than my little one, but I have a good grip on it now.

  Thwack!

  The steel head smashes into the side of Bryce’s jaw with a crack that makes my stomach lurch.

  Blood and white chips of teeth spray everywhere.

  He plummets to the ground with a sickening thud.

  Bile burns the back of my throat. My stomach heaves. I squeeze my eyes shut and will myself not to puke.

  “Heidi,” Blake croaks.

  My legs are shaking so bad, I can’t stand up. Instead, I dig my fingers into the ground and half crawl, half drag myself over to Blake. On the way, my knee lands on something hard.

  A cell phone. Maybe Bryce’s. It�
�s too dark to tell. I swipe it off the ground and stick it in my back pocket.

  “You okay?”

  I’m shaking so bad my teeth are chattering.

  “Where’s your sweatshirt?”

  I glance down and realize I’m only wearing a thin tank top. “Bryce.”

  Blake growls and lifts himself off the ground. He stands over Bryce and kicks him in the gut once.

  Bryce groans.

  Thank God, I didn’t kill him.

  Blake swipes my sweatshirt off the ground, shakes off the dirt, and hands it to me.

  Murphy

  Griff, Remy, and Dex jog over to us. “What the fuck happened?” Dex asks.

  Griff and Remy just stare at the carnage in front of them.

  Sure has been a lot of blood spilled since we started hanging out with them. Might not make them feel all warm and fuzzy about being our support club.

  “This one.” I point to Bryce. “Tried to run us over. The other one used my head for batting practice.”

  Am I slurring my words?

  Dex bends over and picks up my ball-peen hammer. “Little hammer,” he points the end of it at Heidi, “What are we going to do with you?”

  Remy and Griff stare at Heidi.

  “I need to have you hang out with Molly more.” Remy shakes his head. “You sure know how to nail a bad guy.”

  Griff leaves and returns a few minutes later driving a large all-terrain vehicle with a dump bed. “Let’s get these fuckers somewhere secure before more people come out.”

  Dex and Remy help him load them up.

  “We have a place.” Griff slaps my shoulder. “Take her home. I’ll text you the info.”

  Dex swings his gaze back and forth. “Stay with them, brother,” I say in a low voice.

  “I don’t think you should ride alone.”

  “I’ll be fine.” As Road Captain, I didn’t have a lot of authority over the general members unless we were on a club run. As VP, it’ll be a different story. “Go.”

  Still looking unsure, he gets on his bike and follows the ATV.

  “Fuck my head hurts.” I rummage through one of the saddle bags, positive I have some Advil stashed in there somewhere.

  “You need to go to the hospital.” Heidi tugs on my arm. “You passed out for a few seconds when you hit the ground.”

  Did I?

  “My head’s harder than that fucking bat. I need to get you home then come back and deal with this.”

  “Like hell.”

  I swipe my fingers over the goose egg already forming on the back of my head. The bleeding seems to have stopped. That probably won’t reassure Heidi so I don’t mention it. “I’ll put some ice on it when we get home.”

  “Blake, seriously, do you think you should ride like this?”

  “I’m fine.”

  She steps closer and brushes the back of her hand against my cheek. “You’re really pale.”

  “I’m part Irish, I’m always pale.”

  “That’s not funny. I’m serious.”

  I close my eyes for a second, briefly swaying on my feet. “I need some Advil, ice, and to get you home.”

  Still looking unconvinced, Heidi climbs on behind me.

  The ride seems to take double the amount of time. I glance down and realize I’m barely doing thirty. At this rate we’ll never get home.

  Heidi clings tight to me and I swear her warmth and touch keep me anchored to here and now.

  I blink.

  The bike swerves, waking me back up.

  I’m not going to make it.

  Thank fuck the roads are mostly clear at this hour.

  We’re in the last stretch before the turn off for the clubhouse when I swerve again. The bike shudders.

  “Blake!”

  “I’m okay!” I shout. At least I think the words came out of my mouth.

  My brain to motor function wiring feels a bit off.

  Teller’s mailbox with the insane iron rooster squatting on top of it—a gift from Rooster—somehow catches my eye in the dark.

  I flip on my blinker and hang a wide left into the driveway, slowing almost to a crawl.

  “Blake!”

  Heidi clings to me tighter.

  Did the bike stop moving?

  Instinct has me putting down my feet and toeing the kickstand.

  Everything goes black.

  Thirty-Eight

  Heidi

  That was the most terrifying ride of my life.

  “Marcel!” I scream.

  Blake slumps over the handlebars.

  “Blake!” I shake him. “Please wake up.”

  With trembling fingers, I search his neck for a pulse. It’s steady and strong. My fingers slip through a thick pool of blood around his collar, though.

  “Oh my God.” I pull my hand back, staring in horror.

  I scoot off the bike. We’re still a ways from my brother’s house. I hate leaving Blake but we need help.

  Sprinting down the driveway, I yank out my phone and dial my brother.

  “Help! I’m outside,” I shout into the phone, not even sure if my brother picked up or not.

  I keep running. Pumping my legs as fast as I can, praying I don’t twist an ankle over the uneven path.

  Every light in the house is blazing when it finally comes into view. Marcel throws open the front door and thunders onto the porch with a shotgun in his hands.

  Charlotte follows behind him, carrying a rifle.

  “Where’s Blake?” Marcel asks.

  Helplessly, I point down the road. “He passed out. Someone hit him in the head. He wouldn’t go to the hospital.” I spit out fragments of our night in between trying to catch my breath and calm my racing heart.

  The tears will come later.

  “Where?” My brother’s already sprinting down the driveway, and I chase after him.

  “Blake?” Marcel screams as soon as he sees him. “Heidi, what happened?”

  “Some guys. Hit him in the head. A bat. He got up after. Said his head hurt. He wanted to get home.”

  “He let you ride—”

  “Shut up and help us!” I’m not in the mood for my brother to start bitching about how I shouldn’t have ridden with Murphy in his condition.

  “We have to get him to the hospital.”

  “No shit, Marcel.”

  Bright headlights momentarily blind us and the roar of an engine has me stumbling to get out of the way.

  Charlotte skids to a stop next to us in her truck. Thankfully, it’s not lifted like my brother’s, so it’ll be easier to get Murphy inside.

  Carter jumps out of the passenger side. “Oh, shit.”

  “Murphy!” Charlotte yells. “Oh my God.” She races around the front of the truck, slipping on the gravel and catching herself on the fender.

  “Should we call an ambulance?” My trembling voice can barely be heard above all the other noises.

  “No time. Help me lift him, Carter,” Marcel barks out.

  “Please,” I sob, not sure what I’m begging for really.

  With care and a gentleness that would surprise most people, my brother slips his arms under Murphy’s and pulls him off the bike, while Carter keeps the bike steady, so it doesn’t tip over. The whole process is awkward and seems to take forever.

  “You hefty, motherfucker,” Marcel grumbles. “You have some nerve complaining about me weighing a ton.”

  Once Murphy’s off the bike, Carter runs to the other side and grabs Murphy’s legs. “I got him.”

  Together, they drag-carry him to the truck. Marcel pauses and eyes the truck bed for a second.

  “Don’t you dare,” I warn. “He has a head injury.”

  Charlotte climbs into the backseat and helps the guys maneuver Blake inside. “I’ll stay back here with him,” Charlotte gestures to me. “Get in the front with your brother. Hurry.”

  Even though I’d rather be with Blake, I’m not about to waste a precious second arguing. Marcel holds the door open, and
I jump inside.

  “I’ll go lock everything up and call Rock,” Carter shouts as he jogs back to the house.

  Marcel tears out of the driveway, hitting the old country road with a hard bump and fishtail to the left.

  “Easy,” Charlotte says. “Let’s get him there in one piece.”

  “Is he breathing?” Marcel shouts.

  “Yes.”

  The drive into downtown Empire has never felt so long.

  Thirty-Nine

  Heidi

  The hospital is horror-movie-right-before-the-killer-shows-up quiet at this hour.

  They rushed Blake inside as soon as we arrived.

  I refuse to take a seat. Instead, I pace in the waiting room. Occasionally, sounds drift in—beeping, hushed conversations, distant shouting, a siren wailing in the distance.

  Someone comes in and informs us that they had to take Blake into surgery.

  I’ve spent too much time in hospitals over the years. Members of the club injured in different accidents. My grandmother after her heart attack. My brother after his accident was probably the worst until tonight.

  It never gets any easier, and I never hate the cold, sterile environment any less. Weird, since I want to work in the medical field. But I can separate the collecting-a-paycheck aspect of a hospital from the waiting-for-information-about-a-loved-one.

  The doctors gave me all of Blake’s belongings. We’d left his cut in the truck, knowing he’d never forgive us if the doctors sliced it up by accident, but his wallet, phone, and rings are all stuffed into my hoodie pocket.

  His phone buzzes.

  Griff - Get H home ‘k?

  Me: At the hospital with M. - H.

  Murphy shouldn’t be here. He’s too young. Too full of life. And I need him too much.

  We’re supposed to be getting married in a few days.

  “Heidi, you need to go home.” My brother’s raspy voice intrudes on my inner worrying.

  “No.”

  “Heidi,” he pleads.

  He takes my hand, and I wince.

  “What happened?” he asks.

  I glance down at my wrist expecting it to be bruised or bleeding, considering how much it hurts. My hands are filthy, and there’s a dark stain on my palm. Rusty smears on my fingers. I glance around the room. “I whacked one of the guys who attacked us with Murphy’s hammer.” I flex my fingers. “Hurts like a bitch.”

 

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