by Zahra Girard
Josie looks out over the horizon, a deeply wise look on her nine-year-old face.
“Do you want to do it, though?”
“I want a lot of things, Josie. I want to protect the club. I want to protect the person this plan would put in danger. And I want something more than that, too,” I say, just letting my thoughts out, while remembering it wouldn’t be a good idea to tell a nine-year-old that I’m in love with Stone’s daughter.
“Snake, even if its dangerous, you should help your club if that’s what you want to do. Even if it breaks the rules. Because sometimes — actually, most of the time — the rules suck. I mean, do you know why Ash Williams is one of the best heroes of all time? Well, best hero except for Ellen Ripley.”
“Well, obviously Ripley is at the top all time. She slays aliens like it’s nobody’s business and she does it while still portraying a humanizing vulnerability. Speed Demon, have you been watching Evil Dead without me?”
“Yes, because it’s awesome. Ash is awesome. And do you know why he kills all those zombies and demons?”
“Because he has a chainsaw-hand and a shotgun?”
“Well, OK, that too. But he also breaks the rules a lot. And he only has a chainsaw for a hand because he doesn’t let anything keep him down. Like, when that deadite infected him and he had to cut his own hand off to save himself, he could have just given up. Instead, he stuck a chainsaw on his hand because, even though it’s crazy, he had to protect people from the monsters.”
“Ash isn’t a smart guy, though.”
“No. I mean, he can’t even remember three little words. ‘Klatu Verata Nictu’ isn’t so hard. I’ve only seen the movie once and already I know it. If I ever found the Necronomicon, I’d know how to beat it. I’d make it bring up zombies just so I could beat them up. But even though Ash is kind of dumb, he still beats the bad guys and gets the princess.”
“Great. But real life isn’t a movie, Josie.”
“No, because then I’d be able to kill zombies. And mom would let me have a shotgun and a chainsaw. So we have to make do, Snake. But that doesn’t mean we can’t learn from them. Be like Ash. Kick some butt.”
I muss her hair, and she glares up at me through her messy long locks. I needed to talk to her, even if just to hear from a little girl who still believes in heroes and that, maybe sometimes, I can be a hero, too.
It might cost me everything, I could lose my place in the club, and it doesn’t mean that I can continue to be with Addie, but it might be the only way to save the people I care about. Maybe it is the right thing to do. Maybe Addie’s plan isn’t so crazy.
“Let’s get you home, kid. At least we can break to your mom the good news that you’re a Ranger now, so you don’t need to do the marching every morning.”
“Sure. She’ll be happy about that.”
I get on my bike, and just as fast, she’s up behind me.
Once I give her a stern look, she grabs hold of me for stability.
I swear, if that kid didn’t have someone watching her to remind her to play it safe every once in a while, she’d probably be in line at the nearest military recruiter’s office, bullying whatever sergeant is on recruitment duty into accepting her straight into the Special Forces.
When we pull into her driveway and she hops off her bike, I reach out and pull her to a stop for a second.
“Hold up for a second, Speed Demon. I’ve got something for you,” I say. Then I reach to my neck and take off the dog tags that I’ve worn every day since I left the service. “Lower your head for a second.”
“Really? Snake, really?” Her voice rises to a pitch almost beyond human hearing, she’s so excited. And, as I hold the dog tags out to slip them over her neck, she’s bouncing so hard from happiness that she’s nearly a blur.
“These are for you. You’re an honorary Ranger, now. And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. But maybe let your mom sleep a little more in the mornings, OK?”
She does a salute. It’s sloppy, her hair flies everywhere, she’s such a mess of excitement, but she’s grinning from ear to ear and it’s the best damn salute I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Sir, yes, sir,” she yells at the top of her lungs with the enthusiasm that only a nine-year-old can muster.
She’d overwhelm even the toughest drill sergeant.
I salute her back. “Go in there and protect your home, soldier.”
She makes an exaggerated turn and then marches with perfect form all the way back to her door. She keeps her military demeanor until Kendra opens the door and then Josie turns into a jumping whirlwind as she shows off her dog tags.
Kendra flashes me a grateful smile and waves as I turn around and head back home.
At an intersection not far from her place, I take out my phone and call Axel, let him know that I’m on my way and he’s free to leave.
There’s a fire inside me after talking with Josie. Fire and determination to do what needs to be done. It’s time Adella and I get to work. We can’t be a couple anymore, but we can still do this job to save the club and keep our family safe. I’ve been a jaded soldier for so long, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young, dumb, and idealistic, back when the idea of being a hero didn’t seem so far-fetched. Back when I was that wide-eyed kid from Marietta, dreaming about joining the Army and saving the world.
Maybe I can do that again.
One last time.
We’ll break the rules, win this goddamn war, and then I can see her off to the life that she deserves. Away from all this shit, where she can find the success that she craves.
It’ll hurt, but doing the right thing ain’t always easy.
Those thoughts occupy me the rest of the way home. So much that I don’t notice the unfamiliar car leaving the parking lot. Or realize anything is wrong until I climb the stairs leading to Addie’s apartment and hear her blood-curdling scream coming from outside.
Chapter Nineteen
Adella
My bed is empty when I wake up, but I’m not surprised Snake is gone. Not after everything we talked about. Though our conversation and the impending breakup makes my heart hurt, I know he’s facing a horrible choice.
Maybe things will be different once I take care of that FBI agent.
Maybe, once the club is safe, we can sit down and talk to my father.
My mind’s stuck in those thoughts when I leave my bed, take a quick shower, get dressed, and then head into my kitchen to make some coffee. Out my kitchen window, I see Axel on his bike, watching my place and trying to look inconspicuous while being as conspicuous as it gets — that biker is a big-armed, big-bearded mountain man — and he would stand out everywhere except a viking convention.
I wave to him.
He waves back.
I hold up a coffee cup and point to it, and he politely shakes his head. Probably feels uncomfortable even coming into the apartment of the president’s daughter. Snake might be the only one I want, but he’s not the only one who’s looked at me as I’ve grown up. These guys all might think of me as their daughter or their kid sister — well, except for Snake — but that would change if my father wasn’t the head of the club.
I drink my coffee and I check my watch, impatient for Ruby to show. I’m not excited about shooting someone, the thought makes me nauseous — though I’ll do it if I have to to protect my family — but I am impatient to get this gun and get it over with.
Ruby should be here in ten minutes.
I’m done with my coffee and glancing idly at my phone in anticipation of Ruby calling to tell me to let her up when Axel gets a call of his own and abruptly starts his bike and heads out of the parking lot.
That must be Snake coming back. I hope Ruby gets here first. Snake will flip his lid if he gets even a hint of what I’m up to.
The second Axel leaves the parking lot, another car — midnight black and with tinted windows — comes closer to the building and two men get out.
I don’t like the look of them.
One, especially.
I know him.
Slade.
With my heart trying to claw its way up my throat, I reach for the nearest weapon — a paring knife — and get ready for a fight.
I hardly take a breath before my front door comes flying inward, propelled by Slade’s booted foot. He and the other man enter, guns held casually in their hands.
“Time to go,” he says. “Uncle’s tired of waiting, which means your daddy needs a little extra motivation.”
I hold my knife out. “I’m not going to just let you take me.”
Slade rolls his eyes, walks toward me without even hesitating, not even when I slash the knife at him.
“Adella, you’re not the only woman in the club. Not the only leverage we could take. There’s your mom, and there’s any number of women and children in the club. You can do the sensible thing, come with us, and spare those other women some pain. Or I can shoot you and try again with the next bitch.”
“Get the fuck out of my home,” I shriek, hoping that maybe I can make enough noise that someone will call the police or that I can delay them long enough for Snake to get back.
Slade just shrugs. Then he raises his gun — a garish .44 magnum Desert Eagle handgun — cocks the hammer and points it right at my head.
“Choose,” he commands. “Either you come with us, or some other bitch will see a visit from me and my friend. Maybe we’ll go find that little girl Josie, first.”
I can’t let someone else get hurt because of me. I set my knife down on the counter and hold my hands out.
“Fine. Take me. You bastard.”
“Good girl,” he says, and then he motions to his companion, who slaps a ziptie around my wrists. “Now, let’s go.”
With his gun jammed in my back, he leads me downstairs to his car, where I’m shoved in the back seat. I stare out at the world as we leave the lot in the dead of morning. There’s no police in sight as we get on the road. No sign of Snake, either.
Then I see a flicker of something. Of someone. A car I recognize tailing us at a far distance, guided by a steering wheel held in aged, wrinkled hands.
Ruby.
There’s a moment where she pulls close enough that I can see her face. Can see the flicker of her eyes that tells me to get ready and, for the briefest moment, she forms her hand into the shape of a gun, before setting it back on the wheel.
Terrified, I look to Slade and the other man. Neither of them have seen her. Why would they care about some old woman who happens to be following them this early in the morning? Ruby always looks like she’s off to the country club to eat scones and biscotti and gossip with her rich old friends while the men in their group chat about 401Ks and the sorry state of the world. No one would ever suspect a woman like her to have the heart of a killer.
But she does.
And she’s getting closer.
I need to be ready.
My heart is racing. My breathing come in gasps. But Slade and his friend don’t pay attention — they think I’m just freaking out because I’ve been kidnapped.
Closer still she comes. They stay silent. His friend behind the wheel, and Slade in the front seat, his gun resting in his lap.
He’s the one I need to go for.
There’s a long stretch of road ahead. An endless straightway through the desert, probably leading to wherever it is they will keep me hostage.
We hit that stretch.
Except for Ruby, there’s no other car as far as the eye can see.
She accelerates.
“What’s this bitch doing?” The driver mutters.
“Look at her — she’s probably late to fucking church or something,” Slade says.
She pulls alongside. Turns, smiles.
Then raises her gun.
That’s when I strike.
“Oh shit,” the driver screams.
I scream, too. Wordless. Fury. And I dive for Slade, aiming to scratch his face. I gnarl my fingers around his ear and I plant both my feet against the back of his seat and I pull for all I’m worth, feeling flesh rip and tear, blood soak my fingers.
Slade roars. “You fucking bitch, I’ll kill you.”
A window shatters.
A bullet pierces the driver’s skull with pinpoint accuracy, going in one side and out the other. He slumps forward; the wheel swerves to the left, and — for a heart-stopping moment — I’m weightless as the car dives into the ditch and then up the other side.
We go airborne.
Turning, twisting, spinning in air, until the roof of the car lands hard on the ground. Until my teeth clack together a hundred times with each bone-shaking thud.
I scream again and again, but I stay conscious.
And the second we stop rolling, I grab the door handle and pull. It flies open. I scramble out.
Ruby’s coming, her car going down and up the ditch, driving across the hard-packed desert terrain right toward us. Feet away, she stops. Gets out, gun raised.
“Get back, Addie.”
Slade is right on my heels.
“You’re dead. Fucking dead,” he roars.
But I don’t run. Even though I should.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe it’s the hate for this man and everything he represents — the turmoil that’s rocked my club, that’s brought me together with Snake only to have us ripped apart — but I attack him.
Kicking. Screaming. Clawing.
Every bit of rage that burns inside me.
But it’s not enough.
I scratch his face; I kick him as he crawls free of the overturned car; I stomp and I bite and I howl, and he keeps coming, though he’s missing an ear and blood is streaming down his face, he keeps coming.
“Addie, get out of the way. I can’t get a clear shot,” Ruby yells.
It’s too late, now.
Slade puts his hands on me, lands a skull-thrumming punch to my face, pulls me tight to his chest as a human shield.
“Put the gun away,” he orders Ruby.
She keeps her gun raised. Her voice is cold as ice.
“You think I can’t hit you, boy?”
Slade puts a squeeze on my throat. My sight goes black, I thrash and spit and feel my blood pound in my ears. “If you even think about pulling that trigger, you’ll find out what Addie here looks like with a crushed larynx. You think you could get her to the hospital before she drowns in her own blood?”
He squeezes again. My head throbs in agony and, when he lets up, I spit mucus and blood at my feet.
“Please, Ruby,” I gasp.
“You silly girl,” Ruby says, but she lowers her gun.
“Drop it. Kick it toward me. And throw me the keys to your car.”
“You thuggish buffoon. You want my car, too? Do you know how much this ride cost me? Fucking yokel, you don’t even deserve to suck the fumes from its exhaust pipe.”
Slade squeezes me again. My head is swimming with pain. “Keys. Gun. Now.”
Ruby drops her gun to the ground and kicks it away. Then she tosses her keys to the ground halfway between us. “Pick them up yourself, you son of a bitch.”
Growling, Slade hauls me forward, then drags me lower. “Pick them up for me, bitch.”
It’s hard to move with his hands on my throat, my head is pulsing and I’m fighting for air. But, as I bend over, I catch Ruby’s eye. There’s a glint there. A tenseness in her jaw.
This isn’t over.
I put my fingers around the keys. Then I slip one key between my fingers and make a fist. At the same moment, Ruby drops to her knees — so quick for her old age — and she grabs a handful of dirt and throws it at Slade’s face.
In the same breath, I turn, ram the key into his gut.
He roars. Blood spurts.
He swings with one heavy fist and connects with me right across the jaw.
My lights go out.
I lose time, hit the ground, and snap back to a dizzy alertness.
See Ruby scramble f
or the gun, see Slade do the same. See the desperation in her eyes as she gets her hands around the pommel of her pistol, only to have Slade put his hands on her.
Shouting, she throws the gun toward me as Slade hammers her with a heavy elbow on the back of her head, a blow that sends her limp to the ground.
I reach for the gun. But I’m not close enough. All I hear is the pounding in my ears, the desperate beating of my heart, as I crawl toward the weapon.
I reach it before him, hold the steel in the grip of my hands, twist and aim the barrel right at his head.
“Don’t move,” I growl. “Don’t give me an excuse to pull this trigger.”
There’s a rumbling noise in the distance. It blends with the thunderbeat of my heart.
A motorcycle engine.
Snake?
I don’t have time to look. All my attention is on Slade.
And the way he cocks his head to the side. The dire smile that slants across his face.
He takes one step toward me.
“You don’t have it in you.”
The engine rumbles closer. I see the sun flash off chrome. See a familiar, leather-wearing shape.
“Don’t move, Slade,” I say.
My voice wavers.
Do I have it in me? Can I shoot him?
Another step. That smile grows, turns my stomach to lead.
One more step.
“Don’t move or—” I start.
But he leaps.
And I pull the trigger.
But there’s no crack. No concussive snap in my hands. It’s jammed.
Slade hits me like a malevolent ton of bricks. Drags me to the ground. Perches above me like a menacing gargoyle, all fangs and a gory face and bloodthirsty hands ready to throttle the life from me.
“I can’t wait to watch you die.”
Then there’s a crack.
A look of pale shock covers his sinister face. Blood wells from his shoulder, spills from him like a waterfall. Drips on my face, my mouth, my chest.