Fighter: The Devil's Highwaymen Nomads #4

by Claire C. Riley

  I gritted my teeth and held still, my gaze fixed firmly on Penny, watching as the tears lashed her cheeks, cutting me up more than Razuuk’s blade ever could.

  My whole face felt like it was on fire, and blood poured freely from the cuts. My vision blurred as blood dripped into my eyes. Razuuk continued to sneer at me, his hand gripping my chin and blood pouring down between his fingers. Everything hurt. Felt like my whole damn face was about to slide off the bone.

  “We done?” I said, blood dripping into my mouth. I spat it to one side, ignoring the pain.

  Razuuk laughed and let go of my face. He took a step back, wiping the blade off on his jeans again. He smiled down at me as he picked up his glass and downed its contents, looking over my face with satisfaction.

  “You didn’t really think it would be that easy did you, Highwayman?” he gloated. “You come here, demanding my daughter like you’re something special. Let’s see what a great Fighter you are.”

  Razuuk nodded behind me, and I felt the first kick hit my ribs as the sound of Penny’s scream escaped her and I groaned in agony. More hits pummeled my back and sides, kicks and fists, laying into every part of me as I fell forward and curled up into a bloody ball, groaning as a heavy boot slammed into my side and another kicked the back of my head. Boot after boot after boot slammed into me, man after man taking their two cents out on me.

  I forced my mind to go somewhere else, because if I didn’t I’d fight back, and if I fought back there was no way Penny or I were leaving there alive. I let the Vipers take out their anger and humiliation on me, taking their payment in the form of blood and violence, and I lay there and took everything they had to give.

  It was the beating of my life.

  But she was worth it.

  I hoped.

  Because hope and faith went hand in hand, and I had faith in her, and I could only hope she had the same faith in me.

  ~ 30 ~

  Penny

  “Can you ride?” I asked him.

  He was a heavy weight, leaning into me as blood poured down his face and one of his arms gripped his side. He grunted something as we stumbled toward his bike.

  “Fighter?” I looked down at him, seeing his swollen, bloody face already turning a myriad of different colors as the bruises started to form. I needed to get him back to his clubhouse, to his brothers, so they could get him looked at quickly. He was in bad shape; something was broken inside of him, not to mention that mess my dad had done to his beautiful face. I looked away quickly when Fighter fixed his black eyes on me.

  This was my fault.

  I had caused this.

  I had done this to him.

  “Can you ride?” I asked again, and he nodded.

  He couldn’t though. I already knew that and I whimpered in frustration, unsure of what to do. We reached his bike and he leaned on it to catch his breath—his breath which was labored and making him choke on blood if he took too deep a breath. I reached in his cut and pulled out his cell and he looked up at me, breaking me with his pained gaze.

  My chin quivered. “I need to call someone to come and help us.”

  Fighter shook his head and reached for his cell. “No,” he grunted, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “Not here, it’ll be a massacre.” He spat out a mouthful of blood. “We need to go.”

  My eyebrows shot up, “How?” I cried. “You can’t ride and we need to go—now, before my daddy changes his mind!”

  Fighter swallowed and stood up straight with a groan. He grabbed the handlebars of his bike and kicked out the stand. “Come on,” he grunted, and started to walk.

  I stared after him, watching his small, pained steps.

  When I didn’t immediately follow, he turned to look at me. “I said come on.”

  He spat another mouthful of blood out and continued to walk, pulling his bike with him. I caught up to him and grabbed the other side of his bike, taking as much of the weight as I could.

  “We could leave the bike,” I offered.

  He gave me a scathing look.

  “Okay, bad idea.”

  “Very bad,” he grunted.

  The sound of bike engines starting up made me flinch, and both Fighter and I looked behind us, watching as the Vipers climbed onto their bikes and came toward us. My heart froze, my hands trembling in fear.

  “It’s okay,” Fighter grunted. “Just trying to scare us.”

  I watched as bikes drove slowly alongside us and I looked back at Fighter. “Well, it’s working.”

  He hung his head as pain burned through him, his steps faltering as he stumbled. I gripped the bike tighter and he shot me a pained look.

  “I’ve got it,” I said, sweat beading on my forehead at the weight of the bike. I was a strong woman, but after Solomon’s treatment I was weak, my muscles sore and pained, but I refused to let Fighter know how much walking and holding his bike up was hurting. If the bike was important enough to him to push all the way home, then that was what we’d do.

  It hit me then and I turned to look at him. “Where are we going?”

  He tried to smile, but his expression was bloody and made him look more like someone from a horror movie instead of the handsome man I’d come to know. “Home,” he grunted painfully.

  I thought of his brothers, Rider and Gauge, and of Charlie and her little girl, and how close I felt to them all already. Would his other brothers accept me into their club, or would I always be an outsider? Unwanted, unloved. It was what I was used to. What I’d lived with my whole life.

  *

  We walked nine miles that day before someone came to help. Seven miles in the burning Georgia heat, pushing Fighter’s bike and followed by Vipers. Eight men ready to strike the moment either of us fell. Taunting us with each pained, slow step. Both of us were injured and aching, but neither of us were willing to give up. We stumbled, but we refused to go down. Instead we clung to each other, to the bike, and to the faith that we could still make it out of this alive.

  At the seven-mile mark, my daddy’s men turned and headed back toward the clubhouse without a word. Solomon spat at me as he rode past and I lowered my head, refusing to be goaded by him. I put my hand on top of Fighter’s when he snarled at Solomon. Even then, half dead and covered in blood, he was still ready to fight for me. Kill for me, even. And I realized that I would do the same for him.

  It was at this point I fell in love with him.

  Unequivocally.

  Blatantly.

  Blindingly.

  At eight miles, Fighter pulled out his cell and handed it to me. Our eyes locked. “Call Rider.”

  I nodded and opened the phone, hunting out Rider’s name before pressing call. He answered on the first ring.

  “Fighter?”

  “It’s Penny.

  “Fuck.”

  “We’re okay.” I looked at Fighter. He was fading, his skin going pale and his hands cold. His breathing was growing more and more labored. He needed help and quickly. “We need your help. Fighter’s not doing too well.”

  “Where are you?”

  I looked around us, seeing the old farmhouse I used to hang around in with Scratch when I was younger.

  I gave him directions to our location. “We’re going to keep going, though. It’s not safe to sit and wait.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  “Rider?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Get here fast, please.”

  He grunted an okay and hung up and I looked over at Fighter, watching how he was fighting a wave of dizziness. I was exhausted and in pain. But mostly, I was confused by everything that had just happened. My life had done a complete 360 in the past couple of weeks, and instead of the strong woman I thought I was, I felt weak and vulnerable. I gritted my teeth, searching for some strength within me, because I couldn’t give up now; I had to keep going. I owed him that, at least. After everything.

  “It’s okay, we’re going to be okay. They’re on their way, baby,” I soothed. “Just hold o
n.”

  He glanced over at me and tried to smile. “Baby?”

  “Shut up.” I smirked.

  He blinked sluggishly, his expression looking pained. The blood from the knife tracks had stopped flowing and had started to dry in sticky red lines down his face, cracking whenever he changed his expression.

  “You’re going to be all right,” I said with determination.

  “So are you,” he replied.

  I placed my hand on top of his. “Because of you.”

  He shook his head. “No, because of you. You’re so strong,” he said, his words filled with awe.

  *

  A rumble in the distance that sounded like a thunderstorm had me looking up. I watched a cloud of smoke appear on the horizon, and from that cloud six bikes and a van appeared, speeding toward us before coming to a screeching halt. A big man with a thick black beard climbed off his bike and came to Fighter’s side, reaching him before Gauge or Rider could. He threw an arm around Fighter and pulled him up.

  “Help her first,” Fighter grunted, attempting to shrug out from under the other man’s grip. “Battle! Her first.”

  “Stop being a fucking martyr and get in the van, dick breath!” Battle replied. “We’ve got her.”

  Gauge scooped me up like I was a piece of straw and placed me in the van while Rider and another man with long, waist-length hair tied back helped get his bike on the back of a trailer attached to the van.

  “Fighter,” I called to him, and he looked up at me, finally allowing Battle to help him into the van. He lay down across the seats, resting his head on my lap. The longer-haired man dropped to his knees next to us and pulled out a medical kit as the door slammed shut and we started to pull away. Fighter’s eyes rolled back in his head, almost like he knew he could rest now that I was safely with his brothers.

  “I’m Axle,” the man said, looking up at me. He had the kindest face I’d ever seen, and his sincere expression made a sob claw its way up my throat. “What the fuck happened to him?”

  I looked down at Fighter and shook my head, not knowing where to even begin. I was finally taking stock of his face and the mess Razuuk had made of it. Two long, deep gashes were sliced down his face from forehead to chin, just like he’d done to Scratch all those years ago and any other man that had looked at me since. Only this time, Fighter had stayed and fought for me. He had stood up to my dad, refusing to back down. He’d paid in blood and money for me, but it wasn’t dirty or cheap, it was beautiful.

  He coughed and I stroked a hand through his hair gently. His face was covered in dry blood and purple bruises, and his left cheek was swelling something fierce. But it didn’t matter. He was still my dark angel, broken, both inside and out, strong and loyal.

  I leaned over him and placed a kiss on his bloody forehead as my tears dampened the blood on his cheeks.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered against his cold skin. I gripped his hand tightly in mine, squeezing it as hard as I could, and feeling anguish when he didn’t squeeze back.

  “So you’re her?” another voice said from the front seat.

  I looked up sharply, staring at another man that turned in his seat to look at me. His eyes were bright blue and full of fire, his mouth set in a cold, hard line as he looked me over.

  Axle gave Fighter a shot of something, his gaze shifting between Fighter, me, and the man in the front seat.

  “And you are?” I asked, a hard edge to my voice. Because there was something about that man that I didn’t like, and I didn’t trust him one bit.

  “Name’s Hardy, and I’m the president of the Devil’s Highwaymen, and you’ve caused me a fuckload of trouble, woman.”

  ~ 31 ~

  Fighter

  The air smelled of weed, whiskey, and something else that was familiar but I couldn’t put my finger on. I frowned and opened my eyes, letting them focus on my surroundings.

  I was in a small room, black walls littered with posters of bikes and women, a dirty ceiling that had needed repainting twenty years ago, and a single light hanging down from the middle of the room. I was home.

  I turned my head, realizing I was in my own bed and that I wasn’t alone. Next to me was Penny. Her face was relaxed, her features calm despite the bruises across her cheeks and one of her eyelids. Solomon had done a job on her beautiful face, but the bruises would easily fade; it was the damage he’d done inside her head that would take longer to heal. I reached out to stroke her face gently and she whimpered in her sleep.

  My hand was bandaged, two fingers tightly wrapped together indicating that they were broken. I looked down at my body, wondering what else was broken as I shifted and slowly sat up so I could slide out of bed. I was bare chested, wearing only a pair of boxers as I made my way over to the bathroom so I could look in the mirror. Everything hurt as I walked—arms, legs, back, side, head, even my fucking feet hurt. I felt ninety years old and weak as fuck.

  I staggered to the bathroom to take a piss which hurt more than I would have thought possible. Then I turned and leaned on the bathroom sink, leaning heavily on it before slowly lifting my head so I could see myself. My face was purple and black and swollen to fuck, but it was the two large gashes down my face that made me pause. I swallowed and reached up to touch my face as I stared at my brutalized reflection. I didn’t even recognize myself. I was more monster than man, and I swallowed and looked away, taking stock of my body. My chest and stomach were covered in cuts, with boot prints heavily imprinted upon my skin in bloody bruises. My legs were the same and I expected my back would be even worse. There was barely an inch of skin that wasn’t covered in some form of bruise.

  I had beaten men like this. Hadn’t needed a group of people to help me either. But I wasn’t proud of it. In fact, it was the opposite. Right now I felt shame for all the times that I had beaten men to within an inch of their life like this.

  “Why did you come back for me?” Penny’s voice cut through the blackness in the bathroom and I looked up, staring at her reflection behind me.

  “I’m tired,” I grunted, and looked away from her, feeling ashamed at how weak I must have looked.

  She took my hand and led me back to bed, and I winced as I sat down and pain shot up and down my legs. Penny helped me lie back down and I hated every goddamn second of it. I was the man. I was the strong one. I did the protecting. But right then, I couldn’t protect her or myself. I was weak, fucked up, and ugly as hell. I looked like Frankenstein’s monster, only at least he had the strength to use his rage. My rage was bubbling below the surface, but I barely had the energy to walk, never mind inflict vengeance on anyone.

  Penny grabbed the covers and pulled them up to my chest.

  “I’m fine, stop fussing,” I snapped.

  She stared down at me and I closed my eyes, wondering what the fuck I was doing with that woman. What the fuck we were doing there, together. We had no fucking future. We were all wrong for each other.

  “Don’t do that,” she said, her voice quiet but the meaning strong. “Don’t push me away now. Not after everything we’ve been through together.”

  I opened my eyes and glared at her angrily, but I wasn’t angry at her, I was angry at myself. I reached out to stroke her cheek, my bruised fingers stroking down the bruises marring her perfect face.

  “I should have been there for you,” I grunted out, seeing something light her eyes. “This is my fault.”

  And it was. Her getting hurt was on me and the thought made me feel sick. The rage inside bubbled stronger, making my throat burn.

  “You were there for me, Fighter. You came back for me.” She reached up and took my hand, bringing it to her mouth so she could kiss my palm. “No one’s ever come back for me. Not my mom, not Scratch. Only you.”

  “But this, what he did to you,” I said. “That’s on me.”

  She frowned. “It’s nothing compared to what they did to you.”

  “It’s fucking everything, Penny,” I said bitterly, the words catching in my
throat.

  “Why?”

  I scowled. “It just is.”

  “But why?” she pressed.

  “Because you’re mine, Penny, and no one touches what’s mine, and no one hurts what’s mine, that’s why.” As soon as the words left my mouth, she leaned over and pressed her lips to mine.

  I reached around and cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer to me. Her mouth opened to me and I pushed my tongue inside, sliding it along her lips and making her shiver as I fucked her mouth, ignoring the pain in my face as we kissed. She groaned as our kiss deepened, turning hungry and frantic. Her hand moved to my chest and I hissed in pain.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbled against my mouth, moving lower down. She leaned over more, pressing her chest against mine gently, her hand on my arm pressing against where there must have been another huge bruise and making my muscles tense. “Fuck, I’m sorry!”

  “Shut up,” I grumbled.

  “But I’m hurting you,” she whined as my hands roamed down her back to pull up her shirt.

  “You can make it better by sitting on my dick,” I teased, dragging her shirt over her head. She was wearing a simple black bra but it could have been the sexiest fucking lingerie for all I cared, because the sight of her tits in it almost made me cum. Jesus, what was this girl doing to me?

  “Do you think we should wait?” she said between kisses.

  “No.”

  “But you’re hurt,” she whined again. “I don’t want to make it worse. Axle said you had a lot of broken bones and internal bleeding, and—”

  “Fuck, Penny!” I yelled, finally releasing her mouth.

  She stared down at me in shock.

  “I just want to feel like I’m not a pussy, is that okay? I just need to feel like a fucking man again, because right now I feel weak as fuck. I let them hurt you, that’s on me. What kind of man allows that to happen to his woman? And now I don’t even have the strength to get vengeance for you. I’m a piece of shit and you deserve better than that. You deserve the fucking world, not this weak-ass man who can’t protect you.”