by Bourne, Lena
“Piston sure trusts you,” I say bitingly, but it’s mostly to hide my own shock and disappointment.
Ace said we’ll be leaving soon, but clearly soon in this case could mean months or even a year.
“He talks and I listen,” Brenda says. “I think I’m the only one in the whole damn MC who listens to him, so he tells me a lot of things.”
“Good for you,” I say, not even sure why I’m continuing with the angry argument.
“Look, I don’t want to fight with you all the time,” I add hastily. “You’re my only friend here.”
“Isn’t Ace your friend?” she cuts in.
I shrug. “I think he could be. I think he might be. But I only just met him and I’ve known you forever.”
It’s time to end this conversation now. This isn’t the same Brenda who’s been my friend, since we were twelve. This is someone else. Someone I’m not sure I can trust.
“Exactly, that’s why I’m warning you now,” she says. “Be careful with that guy. He’s dangerous, and he has no real friends. But he has some big enemies. Don’t get caught in that crossfire, Stormi. It’ll be like going from bad to worse.”
“I’m sure that’s just a bunch of exaggerating. Piston and Horse always play things up.”
“You never heard of Devil’s Nightmare MC?” she asks in a tone that suggests I should have. I shake my head, although the name sounds vaguely familiar.
“Another bunch of dead-beats? Do I need to know more than that?” I ask with an exaggerated shrug.
“They’re the most notorious killers in the country, and they have it in for your new boyfriend. They’ve been looking for him and they want to kill him,” she says. “Piston’s surprised Ace lasted this long with them after him.”
She tosses the cigarette on the ground and squashes it under her foot like it hurt her as deeply as her words cut me. They clove me right in half. I’m not even sure how I’m still breathing. Ace hunted? Ace dead? That’s about as much thinking as my fear-paralyzed mind can do. The answers to those questions are impossible for me to think about.
But I do know one thing. This is just one more very good reason for us to run away as soon as possible? But if I go to my sister with him, I’ll be bringing a double danger to her—the Sinners and whoever these Nightmare guys are. Why can’t anything in my life ever be simple? Why?
The door to the bar slams open and Horse glares out at us. Two, three, four, maybe more of my nightmares are colliding, and my head is spinning so hard that my vision is turning black at the edges, as black as Horse’s eyes as he yells, “Hey! We need some service in here!”
Brenda rushes toward him to obey. I know I should do the same, the unblinking look of pure hatred and meanness Horse is giving me tells me that plainly, but I can’t will my body to fall into my old life so easily. Even though a new life, the life I want to live forever, and thought I could soon, was just pretty much snatched away from me by what Brenda told me.
If all she said is true, then I’ll be jumping from the fire into the frying pan if I run away with Ace.
* * *
Ace
I’d hoped to wake up with Stormi still beside me, so I could fuck her as thoroughly as I planned to this morning before I fell asleep, but she was gone, her side of the bed cold though her summery scent lingered. The light coming in through the small window is soft and yellow, so it’s afternoon. Hopefully early afternoon, but either way I probably won’t get the chance to hang out with Stormi before heading out with Horse and Piston to set that dumb bomb. Pity.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on my boots and eying the room to spot my shirt when a loud rap on the door interrupts me.
“What?” I ask.
“Hurry up, we gotta go,” Horse informs me without opening the door.
“In a minute,” I tell him.
I didn’t have much of the two bottles of Jack we finished while we made the plans last night, but I feel like I had at least one by myself, as I get up and the room kinda rocks around me. I’m getting old. It’s a problem. A cold shower would help wake me up, but I don’t want to piss off Horse by making him wait too long. He might do something rash such as leave without me.
“Like we planned?” he asks as I emerge into the courtyard, the bright yellow ball that’s the afternoon sun hitting me right in the eyes. And burning my brain. I nod and mumble, then head for my bike. The first thing I do is get my shades from the saddle bags, and put them on right away.
“You hung over or something?” Piston asks mockingly and I just glare at him, though much of that is lost behind the dark lenses of my aviators. Young men. I envy them right now. But then I remember all the dumb hotheadedness of youth that always got in my way more than it helped, and I feel marginally better. I pull out one of my Glocks and tuck it behind the waistband of my jeans.
“Lead the way,” I say hoarsely and mount my bike.
“Yeah, I better,” Horse retorts. “You’ll just get us lost again.”
Soon we’re riding down the same country road as last night. What I took for empty fields in the darkness are actually large estates. Every so often I spot a large house through the shrubbery and bushes lining the road. They’re mostly white, mansion-type residencies, and a long stretch of fields along this road is actually a large golf course. How the fuck do they keep them so green when all the rest of the fields I’ve seen are covered with dry summer grass? Who cares?
We don’t turn down the same side road that we rode to her house last night. Instead we follow another road a ways further from that cutoff. It’ll lead us to the top of the hill that borders the neighborhood on one side. The plan we made last night was simple. Stake out the house, wait until Ink’s mother is asleep then plant the bomb under her gas tank outside if there is one. If there isn’t, I’ll try to talk them out of the whole thing. They’ll probably insist on planting it on her car, which hopefully won’t be there. I also plan on leaving them to it while I go get a good, hearty dinner and that shower I skipped before. Maybe Stormi will join me.
The reason it took all night to explain this simple plan to Horse and Piston was that Horse kept insisting we don’t need to take much precaution at all where innocent bystanders and possible witnesses are concerned. He didn’t say it in so many words, even though I pressed him, asked all sorts of questions regarding why he’s not afraid of the cops, or of one of the neighbors spotting him and describing him to the police afterwards. He was flippant about it, certain something like that won’t happen. Despite all my questions, I couldn’t get a good handle on whether he’s just that dumb and arrogant, or he’s enjoying some sort of protection from the cops like a snitch would.
I overtake them once we’re near the top of the hill. The neighborhood we’re headed for is already stretching below us, the afternoon sun glaring off more than a few car windshields. I recognize it by the park and playground where we left our bikes last night.
One of the things we also did last night was search satellite map images of the area to find a good spot from which to observe the house. Some of my brothers think using technology like that is for chumps and nerds, but I never shied away from using all the tools available to me on a job. I was surprised Horse and Piston never used it before. Then again, I shouldn’t be. I doubt they were sent on many complex missions, and I doubt they planned a single one of them on their own.
Should I just tell Griff what they’re doing and have him take care of it?
This hill is something straight out of an old Western. It’s covered with reddish brown, sunbaked earth with barely any vegetation, but there are a bunch of boulders scattered around, some large enough to hide ten men. We’ll have no trouble observing the house below without being seen.
As soon as I spot a big boulder right by the side of the road, which is actually more of a footpath, I make the hand signal the Devils’ use for stopping. I do it not once, but twice before I realize how dumb that is. I’m slipping up. I shake my hand as though a cra
mp is causing me to make weird gestures with it, hoping the guys will be fooled.
They pull up beside me when I stop behind the boulder, and I explain that we’re going the rest of the way on foot, since our bikes will be hidden from view of anyone looking up at the hill here, while giving us easy and quick access to the road if we have to flee in a hurry. But then I have to listen to both Horse and Piston complain about the walk, while we search for a hiding spot with a good view of the house. They’re thirsty, they’re hot, Piston’s boots are slipping on the dusty ground, Horse’s throat is parched, his eyes are stinging, and why couldn’t we park closer? They’re supposed to be men.
I’m just about ready to lose it and shout at them for being such fucking crybabies when I finally spot an area that’s obscured from the road and houses below by thick bushes. There’s even some smaller rocks for us to sit on while we stake out the house.
“You got the binoculars?” I ask, and Piston nods, pulling them out of the backpack he’s carrying.
“The night vision ones, just like we said,” he affirms, handing them to me. “They work in daylight too.”
Fancy shit.
“Why’d we stop so far from the house?” Horse asks, but I ignore him as I put the binoculars to my face and start searching for the house we’re targeting.
I find it by first locating the hedge we hid behind. The white BMW is also there, parked in a different spot today, but not far. The driveway of Ink’s mother’s house is empty.
“Check out the view,” I tell Horse as I hand him the binoculars. “Is this the perfect place, or what? You can see right into her living room from here, and the gas tank is right next to the house. I told you I knew what I was about.”
Horse puts the binoculars to his face, and I think he has trouble locating the house, because quite some time passes before he finally says, “Yeah, you’re right,” and hands the binoculars to his brother.
Piston doesn’t have the same problem.
“Her car’s not there,” he says.
“Yeah, she’s obviously not home,” I tell them. “But we’ll know the second she comes home. And the moment when she goes to sleep. Then we’ll set the bomb. What more could you want?”
I take a seat on one of the sun-warmed rocks, wearing a very satisfied smile like I’m proud of a job well done. The sun is setting behind our backs, and we’re rapidly losing daylight, but it’s still hot up here. Compared to the beach, this would be a much warmer place to spend the night outdoors. Not as pretty though. And just like that, Stormi comes alive in my mind. I can feel her soft skin and softer hair against my palms, see the way her whole body shivers when she comes, smell her flowery, summery scent that doesn’t come from any perfume, revel in the way her pussy fits my cock like a glove… I’m rock hard and breathing kinda shallowly when Piston asks, “So what? We’re just gonna sit here? Why don’t we just go down there and set the bomb now, while she’s out?”
Man, this is gonna be one long night. So much for me leaving them here to get dinner and visit Stormi. Food and sex will have to wait unless I want them to do something stupid.
“We don’t wanna be seen, which means we wait until we’re as sure as we can be that she and her neighbors are asleep,” I say feeling like I’m explaining something very obvious to children. “Did you get a detonator fitted on the bomb like we talked about?”
“Yeah, wanna see?” I don’t, but Piston reaches into his backpack and pulls out the bomb. He folds back the black cloth it’s wrapped in and shows me the bomb with the new detonator. He also shows me the trigger. I don’t like bombs, and we rarely use them on jobs. Too much can go wrong too fast with bombs is the general belief in my club.
Last night, I regaled them with at least fifty stories of stakeouts and bomb plantings I’ve done with the Spawns to impress them, and make them believe I’m a real expert at this. I take the bomb and study the detonator and trigger like I know what the fuck I’m looking at. In reality I’m just hoping I don’t set it off accidentally.
After that, they actually take the stake out seriously for about twenty minutes. Nothing much happens down in the neighborhood during that time, so they both pull out their phones and start playing with them in between casting glances at our target. It’s nearly dark now, and I’m sure the glow from the screens can be seen from below, but I leave them be, since this isn’t a real job. We’re just playing pretend.
* * *
I left Horse and Piston on the hill about two hours into our stakeout, since I was too hungry to keep my temper with them any longer. For most of that time they played with their phones, the rest of the time they complained, and asked stupid, annoying questions of the, “are we there yet” type. I wanted to go get Stormi, take her out to dinner, but there’s no telling where that would end. Probably not on this hill with Griff’s two sons. Even knowing that, it was hard to not give in to the urge and do it anyway.
When I left, the neighborhood was still well lit up and kinda bustling, with cars coming and going, people strolling around with their dogs, teenagers walking up and down the street with their friends, joggers, and little kids on bikes. This is a good neighborhood. The last thing they need is a bomb going off. I told Horse and Piston not to do anything while I was gone, and the level of activity below made me certain they wouldn’t.
I didn’t take my time, but it did take me awhile to find a place that wasn’t packed, or a taco stand. It’s almost midnight now, as I ride back up the hill, with a bag of chilidogs and cokes for Piston and Horse hanging off my handlebars, every bump in the road sending up a waft of the spicy meat. They didn’t ask me to bring them back anything, but I figure eating should keep them occupied for awhile, and prevent them from constantly asking me if now’s the time to set the bomb.
The neighborhood below is quiet now, but the bluish light of TV screens is still spilling out from a couple of homes near Ink’s mother’s house. It’s too early to make our move. The moon has risen and it’s more than half full. Moonlight is reflecting silver off the handlebars of their bikes still parked behind the boulder by the road. I hope no one can see that from below. But then again, they probably wouldn’t know what they’re looking at if they did see it. Maybe they’d assume it’s a cat or a coyote, its eyes glowing in the dark. Thinking of coyotes gives me another good reason for wanting to wrap this up fast.
I park next to their bikes, grab the bag of food and make the trek to our stakeout spot, glad for the clear moonlight lighting my way, because I don’t want to take a tumble down this hillside. Piston might be a whiny little brat, but he was right about motorcycle boots slipping something awful on this dusty, dry, pebble strewn terrain.
Piston and Horse aren’t where I left them. For a second I’m thinking I got the spot wrong, but I remember the bushes, remember the smaller rocks that are so perfect for sitting behind them. Then I trip over the binoculars.
I get my phone and turn on the flashlight, not caring who can see me from below. Only our footsteps lead to this place, and the ground around where we’ve been hiding for the last five hours shows no signs of a struggle, no blood, nothing to suggest that Horse and Piston didn’t just get up and leave. Those damn idiots. Why can’t they follow a simple order like, “Stay put”? I’m still kinda hoping they just went to take a piss together as I pick up the pair of binoculars to look down at the house.
Sure enough, there they are, lumbering along across the open, barren field that stretches for at least 200 yards between the hills and the first row of houses. Moonlight is glinting off every zipper on their jackets, and they’re taking long strides while bent over at the waist like that’s gonna make them less visible. All it does is make them look more suspicious. Piston is already holding the unwrapped bomb and the silver light of the moon is reflecting off its metal parts. Fucking dumbasses! Now that I know where they are, I can see them clearly even without the binoculars.
They’re closer to their target house than they are to the hill, so there’s no way I can
just call them back. All I can do is follow them, and god damn it, I don’t want to, but I do it anyway. The house is dark, as it has been all evening, so I have no reason to think anyone’s inside. There’s also no reason to set the bomb if the house is empty. I already told them so. More than once.
I start down the hill in the most direct line, going pretty much straight down, sliding and stumbling more than walking, while trying to keep my curses as quiet as I can. The lack of well-trod footpaths up this hill reinforces the idea of wild animals roaming it, and I again wish I’d chose a different place to stake out the house from. But not as much as I wish it when a shout of, “It’s them! Get them!” breaks the near silence. I look up from the ground to see six men leap out of windows and doors at the back of the house. They start running to intercept Piston and Horse.
Fuck!
I start running too, but there’s no way I’m gonna catch them before the Knights do.
Horse and Piston were about two thirds of the way to the house, and now they’ve stopped stupidly, looking for the source of the shouts, instead of fucking hightailing it out of there and back to the darkness of the hill. I’m still at least 300 yards away from them. I’ll be no help if the Knights start shooting at them. As it is, I’ll probably get shot too. None of the Knights know me.
“Piston! Horse! Run back! Run to me!” I shout at them. “Now! Run back to me now!”
Moonlight glints off more than one gun in their pursuers’ hands. The brothers hear me, but now they’re frozen while staring at me.
“To me! Over here! Run!” I shout again.
This finally jolts them into action. They start running toward me, but all the noise we made is causing lights in the nearest houses to come on.