by Emma Slate
In truth, my life was utterly desolate.
Maybe the situation with the Iron Horsemen was the push I needed to start over somewhere else, to finish my last semester of college, to decide what I really needed in life to be happy. The status quo was no longer working, and thanks to Richie my present was now riddled with danger.
My phone rang, jarring me out of my cycle of thoughts.
It was Shelly.
“Just saw that you called,” she said in way of greeting. “I didn’t listen to your voicemail. What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“I saw Richie tonight as I was leaving.”
“No shit. What did the scumbag have to say for himself?”
I paused for a moment and then said, “He told me he got into some shit with the Iron Horsemen.”
“The Iron Horsemen? Oh my God—”
“I don’t know the details, but I just dropped him off at the bus station. He’s scared enough to get out of town. But before I left him at the bus depot, he told me to get out of town too.”
“What the fuck? What aren’t you saying, Mia? There is more to this than you’re letting on…”
I quickly briefed her about the night I walked in on them and told her about Dev coming back to ask if I’d seen Richie.
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she demanded. “Do you know how serious this is?”
“You were already giving me grief about the Blue Angels and I didn’t want you to worry.” I paused. “I’m scared, Shelly.”
She fell silent for a moment. “You need to listen to me. You cannot call the police. Do you understand what I’m saying? These people work with dirty cops all the time. If you call the cops, it could be dangerous. It could make it worse for you.”
“I’m definitely not going back to Dive Bar, and neither should you.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “Shit. I’ll text everyone and tell them to bail. Fuck Richie. He didn’t just screw himself, he screwed all of us, too. With the club hanging around Dive Bar, it’s dangerous for anyone who works there. You need to get out of Waco. Now.”
“Yeah, I’m going to,” I said. “I don’t want to live my life in fear, but I don’t want to be stupid either. You didn’t see this guy, Shelly. He’s—there’s definitely a screw loose. I don’t want to be around when he finds out Richie skipped town and bailed on him.”
“Where will you go? And for how long? Do you think you’ll be able to come back to Waco?”
“I don’t know. If I do decide to come back, it won’t be for a while. I’m thinking Coeur d’Alene.”
“What’s in Coeur d’Alene?” she asked.
“Mom lived there. Grammie told me she loved it. It’s on the water, but has mountains nearby.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, of course.”
“If this shit with the Iron Horsemen wasn’t happening, would you still think about leaving Waco?”
I paused a moment before answering. “I don’t know. Maybe. All this feels like a giant wake up call. I can’t keep doing this, can I?”
“Doing what, exactly? Eating takeout and working too many nights at the bar? Not dating or even thinking about dating? I actually support your decision to leave. I just wish it wasn’t happening this way.”
“Me too. I’m packing a bag and will leave early tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll miss the shit out of you, but I want you safe.”
Sadness enveloped me—for a different reason this time. “I’ll miss our morning coffee and pastry time.”
“Me too.”
I would be missing so much when I left town, but I knew I couldn’t stay. Richie’s warning drummed in my bones.
“Love you, girl,” she said quietly. “Call me when you’ve touched down.”
“Love you too. Be safe, okay? Be alert.”
“I will, but that guy didn’t come to me.”
“Thank God for that. I’m glad it’s me and not you.”
Shelly had Mark. She had the promise of a beautiful future. I didn’t want this dark cloud to storm over her head. No, I’d weather it alone. Deal with it myself.
We hung up and I tossed my phone onto the bed. I had just enough energy to pack a bag. I needed a few hours of sleep and then I’d hit the road in the morning. I took a shower to wash the bar smell off me and then put on a pair of my most comfortable pajamas.
I pulled back the comforter and turned out the light of my bedroom. Climbing into bed, I breathed a sigh of relief. My neighborhood was old and quiet, and there was no street traffic at this time of night. Even though my mind was active, my body was exhausted and I managed to drift off into a light doze.
It was the roar of a motorcycle that woke me.
I shot up in bed and listened, my head cocked. I heard the sound again, only this time I could tell there were two bikes. They were drawing closer, and like an animal that knew it was prey, I realized without a doubt that they were coming for me. There was no stealth to them—they wanted me to know they were coming.
They wanted me afraid.
An icy finger of fear trailed down my spine and for a moment I froze like I was trapped. But my brain finally kicked my inert body into action. I threw off the covers and scrambled out of bed.
I slipped on the pair of flip-flops and grabbed my cell from the nightstand. I unlocked the phone and started to dial 911, and then remembered what Shelly had told me about crooked cops. I stuffed the cell into the pocket of my pajama bottoms and rushed to the bedroom window in a panic. My purse and truck keys were in the front room and I didn’t want to waste precious time getting them. I scrambled through the open window as I heard the engines of the motorcycles shut off somewhere in front of the house. I landed in the brush beneath the window. My flip-flops didn’t protect my feet from the bramble and I held in a stream of curses.
I listened for sounds of boots on grass, but there was nothing. Pressing my back to the house, I inched away, heading toward my neighbor’s backyard. I heard a knock on my front door. After a moment, there was another knock, and then after a brief pause, someone kicked in the door.
Keeping to the shadows, I continued to edge away, moving farther from my house. Only when I zigzagged down the neighborhood of old homes with neat lawns did I give in to my urge to run. I tripped over an exposed withered tree root and went sprawling, landing hard on my left wrist and knees. I somehow held in a moan.
I forced myself up using adrenaline to fight through my terror and pain.
I kicked off my flip-flops because they were slowing me down, but I grabbed them before taking to the sidewalk, avoiding broken glass and raised cracks in the old cement as I trekked on. I sprinted across the pavement at the end of the block. I kept going, despite scraping the bottoms of my feet bloody. My lungs burned, but I pushed forward. I ran until I was out of the neighborhood.
I knew exactly where I was headed. Charlie’s Motorcycle Repair was nestled in between my house and the commercial district of downtown. I hadn’t realized that it belonged to the Blue Angels—not until the night Colt kissed me and I saw the Blue Angels logo on his leather vest. When I reached the garage, I looked up at the sign with the now familiar emblem; a skull flanked by open angel wings.
If I was going to turn to anyone, it would be to a man who had already proven he was a protector of women.
My truck and wallet were still at my house. I was in pajamas, alone and injured. I couldn’t call the cops and I refused to call Shelly. Better to take my chances with the Blue Angels than get her mixed up in any of this.
I sat down on the steps that led to the shop’s office, knowing it was a terrible idea to be a sitting duck, but also knowing that I didn’t have much of a choice. So far, the neighborhood was quiet and there had been no street traffic. After sliding on my flip-flops, I tucked myself into the doorway and made myself as small as possible, so that if anyone drove by, they would see nothing but shadows. My heart rate eventually slowed, and I had a hard time staying awake. Cradling my t
ender wrist in my lap, I leaned my head against the doorjamb and succumbed to sleep.
“I didn’t know you could order chicks from Amazon,” a voice said, tugging me from unconsciousness.
“Wake her up,” another voice commanded.
A hand touched my shoulder, nudging me into consciousness. “Shit,” the first voice cursed. “Colt, it’s your bartender from the other night.”
My eyes opened and I flinched in recognition at the face in front of me. I put my wrist down to move and sit up straight and an involuntary moan escaped my lips.
“Mia, right’?” Zip asked.
I nodded.
My gaze wandered from Zip’s leaner form to the man standing behind him. Colt wore a ferocious scowl, along with a few days’ worth of scruff that did nothing to hide a strong, angular jaw. A bruise lingered at the corner of his eye and his lower lip was split from the fight with the meathead. He crossed tattooed arms over his leather cut.
Colt clearly remembered me—and didn’t look happy about it.
“Can we go inside?” I croaked. “My butt is kinda numb.”
“Sure we can,” Zip said. He reached down to help me, and I gave him my good hand, keeping my injured one close to my body. “Have you been here all night?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d you hurt yourself?” Zip asked as he took out keys from his pocket to unlock the office door.
“I tripped over a tree root and braced my fall with my wrist. Not the brightest idea.”
Zip opened the door and gestured for me to go inside. There was a desk in the far corner with a new laptop, two chairs, one in front of the desk and one behind it, and a long brown leather couch up against the wall. My neck had a twinge from resting it against the doorjamb and I wished I had been able to sleep on the couch instead. Bright sunlight filtered through the creases of the blinds, but I didn’t know the hour. There were still no sounds of traffic, and I realized it was still early.
“You’re wearing pajamas,” Colt stated.
It was the first time he’d addressed me since discovering me asleep on the doorstep. And it came out sounding like a surly growl. His voice was just as I remembered it. Gritty, but not smoker gritty. More like Tom Petty, rock n’ roll kind of gritty.
“That I am.”
I took a seat on the couch and looked at my feet, which were covered in dried blood. My cheek stung. No doubt from falling into the bramble. When I saw my swollen left wrist, I let out a low curse.
While I had been busy taking stock of my body, Zip had pulled up a chair in front of me and Colt perched his burly form on the edge of the desk.
Even from a few feet away, he engulfed the space. I tried not to stare at him, but he drew my gaze like a polarizing magnet.
“You better start explaining,” Colt rumbled.
“Easy, Colt,” Zip said.
“No, I won’t take it easy. When I come to my garage and find a battered woman on my steps wearing pajamas, I won’t buy the ‘I tripped over a tree root story’.”
“Battered woman?” My mouth gaped stupidly. “I really did trip over a tree root. And I’m in my pajamas because I had to go out my bedroom window in the middle of the night.”
“Who are you runnin’ from, darlin’?” Zip asked.
I sighed. Was there any harm in telling them the truth? It might be easier to enlist their help if I was honest with them. “The Iron Horsemen.”
Neither of them said anything for a moment and then Colt demanded, “And you’re here why?”
“The Iron Horsemen came to my house early this morning and I escaped through my bedroom window with only my cell phone. I ran, and this garage happens to be in between my house and downtown.”
“How did you get involved with the Iron Horsemen? And why didn’t you just call the police? Normal people call the cops,” Colt said, his voice tight.
When I didn’t answer right away, Zip pressed, “Darlin’? Tell us how you got involved with those bastards.”
“I didn’t get involved with them,” I finally said. “My boss did. Does any of that even matter? I didn’t call the cops because—well—I have a friend who told me I couldn’t. Not if bikers are involved.” I blew out a puff of air, stirring the matted hair at my temples. “I just want to be able to get out of town without the Iron Horsemen on my ass. Can one of you give me a ride to my house so I can get my truck and leave?”
“You’re not going anywhere until someone takes a look at that wrist,” Colt commanded. “And if the Iron Horsemen went to your house last night but didn’t find you, I’d be willing to bet they’re still there, waiting for you.”
The men exchanged a glance and Colt nodded once. Zip stood up. “I’ll head to your place, take some guys and check it out.” He looked back at me. “Where do you live?”
I gave him my address. “The keys to my truck are in my purse by the door. Do you think you can grab them? On second thought, just grab the purse. My wallet and ID are in there, too. And the truck is old so sometimes the carburetor sticks. Be careful not to flood it.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” His lips twitched in humor. “You drive a truck with a carb?”
“We’re in Texas, right?”
He grinned. “I like you, babe.” Zip left, leaving me alone with Colt.
“You’re not fucking one of the Iron Horsemen, are you?” Colt asked as soon as we were alone.
“That’s offensive,” I snapped. “And disgusting.”
“I need to know if I have to worry about some jealous boyfriend shooting me in the back for kissing you.”
“No, it’s not like that,” I said.
“Do you have any idea the shit you’re bringing to my door?”
“What am I bringing? I’m asking you to help me get my truck so I can get out of town. And your boy just went to my house, so I’m guessing that means you’re going to help me?”
“It’s looking that way.” He glared. “What kind of shit did your boss get into?”
“I don’t know. That’s the truth.”
He stared at me a long moment, clearly studying me to see if I was lying.
“Come on,” Colt finally said, gesturing for me to get up.
“Oh, have you decided I’m no longer public enemy number one?”
He shot me a look that told me he wasn’t amused.
“Where are we going?” I asked, even as I followed him out of the office. He locked up and then gestured to a shiny black F-250.
“You need to get cleaned up and have someone look at that wrist.” Colt opened the passenger door to the truck. I struggled to get in due to its height. With little patience and no effort on his part, Colt lifted me up and set me inside. “Watch your feet,” he grumbled.
“We’re not taking your bike?” I asked.
He looked at me. “Why would we take my bike?”
“I don’t know. I just assumed… Don’t you prefer to ride your bike?”
“Your wrist is probably broken. I’m not gonna make you ride behind me with a broken wrist. I’m not an asshole.”
“You’re not?” I blurted out. “Well, you’re doing a great job imitating one.”
“Don’t poke the bear, babe. I don’t care how hot you are, I don’t need your lip.”
I grinned, feeling bold. “You think I’m hot.”
With a grunt, he shut the door and then walked over to the far edge of the parking lot and pulled out his phone. His face never lost its ferocity as he spoke to someone on the other end. The call was short and he marched back to his truck. He climbed in and got the engine going. When we were finally on our way to an unknown destination, I rested my head against the seat and looked out the window. My stomach rumbled, like an ominous thundercloud in the distance.
I pretended to ignore my hunger pains and Colt said nothing about it. But a few miles later, he pulled into a fast food drive-thru. I looked at him with gratitude.
“What do you want?” He reached into his pocket for his wallet. I asked for a bre
akfast combo and coffee. Colt handed over a few bills to the woman at the window before grabbing the bag of greasy fast food. As I unwrapped the breakfast sandwich, I mentally assessed him.
“Thanks.”
“For?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Food. For starters.”
He looked at me for a moment and then commanded, “Eat. Before it gets cold.”
When we were fifteen miles outside the city, Colt turned off the main road onto a dirt one. We jostled and bumped our way along for a few minutes until we arrived at a closed gate. Two men in leather cuts were standing guard, but went to open the gate as they saw Colt’s truck approach. With a greeting in the form of a wave, Colt drove through and parked in the corner of a gravel lot about twenty feet from a house. A cluster of parked motorcycles sat out front, right on the lawn.
The brown structure was large and looked new, the grass manicured and tended. It didn’t strike me that bikers could keep such a tidy place, and I wondered if the inside was as clean as the outside.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“The clubhouse.”
Colt got out of the truck and I fiddled with the door handle. Before I could get the door open, Colt was there, pulling me into his arms.
“What are you doing?” I demanded as he carried me toward the clubhouse.
“Your feet,” he said in way of explanation.
“I’m wearing flip-flops.”
“You could barely get into the truck.”
“That’s because it’s high off the ground and has nothing to do with me being injured.”
“Right,” he drawled.
“I’m okay, I can walk these next few feet on my own,” I said after he climbed the porch steps.
He looked down at me and I realized how close I was to him. I could see the whiskers on his neck and the deep, dark brown of his eyes. He smelled of woodsmoke, leather, and skin. Colt’s scent was distracting, and I instantly tried to breathe through my mouth so I wouldn’t do something stupid—like lean my head in the crook of his neck and sniff him.
“I’m not an invalid,” I stated.