Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance

by Carter Steele

  “No hard turns, Wreck. Slow and straight.” Dreamer wiped the broken glass off the front passenger window making sure he wasn't going to cut himself when he climbed out. “Yoga...”

  Yoga handed Dreamer a semi-automatic shotgun, then set up next to his brother, propping up his own gun on the back seat rest, getting ready to fire out where the back window used to be.

  The jeeps popped off a few shots, most went wild but a few peppered the SUV. One bullet made it inside, barely missed the brothers in the back seat and tagged my odometer. Plastic chips from the impact fell onto my lap.

  “Hold,” Dreamer said, knowing we'd all follow his orders as if they were Dunk's. We were all such fuck ups in most ways, but when it came to club business us misfits were a well-oiled machine. The jeeps began to split left, right, and center as they gained on us, all the while licking off gunshots that were now hitting the Yukon more than they weren't. None of us so much as flinched. Dreamer waited until they were only one streetlight away, then only a few car lengths. Still we held, ready, waiting. It was only until Dreamer could actually make out every single person in each vehicle that he finally exhaled a winter breeze.“For Dunk.”

  The four of us screamed in unison – a primal, hateful thing that channeled hell itself and roared into action.

  I stomped on what was left of the brakes closing the distance between us and the Russians in seconds and slamming us into the center jeep. Dreamer was out the window just after the impact and was the first to start unloading. He was close enough to nearly put his barrel into the startled Jeep driver's seat. Dreamer's icy reserve cracked away with each muzzle flash, replaced with white, hot, metal rage.

  The crash into the jeep behind us had caught the Russians so off guard that a few had even dropped their guns. Yoga and Buck who had braced for the impact had clear firing lines into their front seat. Buck quipped something that I didn't quite make out then they opened up. The whole back seat of the Yukon was awash in belching fire from assault rifles. It was good that nearly every window was blown out in the SUV because the noise rolling off the thunderous hail of gunfire all around me was almost deafening.

  A haphazard shotgun blast punched into my driver's side door from the last jeep which had used the distraction from the other vehicles to creep up on my side. The door frame ate most of the impact, but some deflected pellets and bits of hot, twisted metal raked across me drawing dozens of small cuts along the left side of my upper body and face. The jeep's driver kept his vehicle in my blind spot so I didn't have an angle to use the sawed off shotgun on my lap. Somehow through the din of gunfire all around me I heard the Russian's shotgun re-cock which meant that he was now too close to miss. The next blast was going to turn my head inside out.

  “Hold on!” I screamed, jerking the wheel hard to the left. Curses, protests and a jumbled chaos of shifting bodies erupted around me from both my MC and the Russians that were trying to kill us as I smashed us hard into the jeep at my side. I was rolling the dice by putting both us and them at a disadvantage. The impact blew out both tires on my side which meant we were now riding on three flats. The SUV handled like a pregnant walrus on roller skates. It took everything I had to keep the damn thing from pitching hard to the right and flipping us.

  The dice came up snake eyes as I realized they recovered before us. Another shotgun blast narrowly avoided my head as it bit into my front windshield spider-webbing it to the point that it was barely usable. I considered crashing into them again, but now they'd see it coming and being that their jeep was in much better shape than the Yukon they'd easily be able to avoid it. They would stay deadly close but this time they were in complete control.

  “Somebody kill this motherfucker!” I yelled, emptying my sawed off shotgun blindly out the window. Blood from a dozen small cuts streamed down my face into my stinging eyes making it hard to see and impossible to actually hit anything with my shotty. Our gunfire had stopped completely. Despite the constant buzzing in my ears I could hear my brothers' dry fire clicks of empties as they attempted to reload and fire back. All my jostling around had mixed the full magazines with the spent ones which were now scattered all over the SUV. We were drowning in ammo but no one could fucking find any!

  On impulse and adrenaline Yoga dove out the window behind me and grabbed the Russian's shotgun right as he was about to blow my brains out. Weak as he was, Buck mustered up the strength to clamp down on his legs and keep him from falling completely out of the Yukon. Yoga, a giant of a man in all ways, easily ripped the weapon out of the man's hand, and smashed him in the face with butt. With his whole upper body hanging out of the SUV he turned the shotgun. The jeep started to pull away, but it was too late. Yoga emptied the rest of the buckshot into the jeep's front seat and painted the walls red. With the driver dead, and none of the other passengers in a position where they could reach the pedals, the jeep did a long, lazy turn directly into the front window of a closed convenience store.

  “Fuck me,” Dreamer exhaled with a grunt as he fell exhausted back into his seat. The come down from that kind of an adrenaline rush was more intense than any of the many, many drugs we'd tried. Some people got the shakes, some people felt nauseous or got super emotional. We all handled it differently. Dreamer always caught a wicked migraine after a heavy experience like that, needing quiet time to recharge. He wiped a hand over his face and closed his eyes.

  “Not my type, but Yoga...” Buck wheezed after helping his brother back into the SUV. We all expected Buck to offer up a jab about Yoga taking Dreamer up on that offer, but an emotional surge of relief from terror suddenly washed over him and instead of finishing his joke he punched his brother in the face. “What the fuck is wrong with you diving out like that, you stupid fuck!”

  “Yeah, I love you too, fuckhead.” Yoga wiped his mouth despite the blow not having much juice on it due to Buck's weakened state.

  I glanced at them in the cracked but still there rear view mirror. Yoga pulled his brother in for a hug. It was during these small moments that despite their physical and personality differences it was impossible not to see the two men as twins.

  Everyone in our chapter was a brother, but Buck and Yoga were brothers and that bond ran deep.

  The last several blocks to the parking garage were an agonizingly slow crawl in the SUV, but no one complained. We were lucky the hearty fucker ran at all! The nondescript, tan sedan that was waiting for us was so clean and whole in comparison to the Yukon that it was almost off-putting. When I turned the key smooth early morning classical jazz started playing over the car's speakers. It felt like we stepped into a different world – one not filled with gunfights, blood and death. After loading up everything of value from the destroyed Yukon we left for the clubhouse. I didn't take as much precaution on the drive back as I would've wanted because we needed to get Buck to Mac. Blessedly the rest of the ride was uneventful. If there were more Russians out there we didn't see them.

  Pulling up next to the tractor trailer I planned out the next steps. The worst of it was over, but that didn't mean we were done. Far from it. We all had a long night ahead of us. Mac taught me how to drive the rig in case he ever needed a rest so while he worked on Buck I'd grab Sarah, drive us generally westward for a few hours. It wouldn't matter where the fuck we went as long as it was far away from Maryland.

  “You guys go ahead and get him inside,” Dreamer reclined the seat back. “I just need a few minutes.”

  “We're good, bro. I'll come get you when we take off. ” I put a hand on his shoulder, then got out to help Yoga with Buck. Buck was barely conscious when we arrived and despite how strong Yoga was it still took both of us to safely get him inside.

  “Mac!” I called out, opening the door to the trailer. It was strangely dark inside. He and Sarah must've been waiting in the cab of the truck while we were gone, but why hadn't they left the lights on? The parking lot's residual light flooding into the trailer through the open door was enough to get Buck safely inside. I climbed in
first and dragged Buck along the floor enough to give Yoga the room to climb in afterwards. After we got Buck on the table I ran for the door but clipped my foot on something and tripped.

  “Wreck, you alright?” Yoga asked, concern creeping into his voice, not just for my fall but at the unusual stillness and darkness of our home.

  “I'm good, man. I just -” Groping along the walls I found the lights and clicked them on. Only then did I realize that what I had tripped on was a dead body.

  19

  Sarah

  “You okay, girl? Need anything?” Mac asked as he busily fastened all the bikes to the floor or walls with ratchet straps and secured any other loose items for what might be a speedy getaway. His movements were slow and showed the consequences of a life lived hard but his deftness and efficiency still got the work done faster than someone half his age. It was only after he'd completed that he looked back and remembered I couldn't talk. I tried to sign a response to him but he waved me off and handed me a pad and pen. “I'm too old to learn any new tricks, but I can still read.”

  I scribbled my question and handed it back to him. He took it, held it arms length struggling to make out the words. He touched his forehead, patted his pockets then cursed as he looked around the room. I pointed at a pair of reading glasses on the counter and Mac walked over and grabbed them.

  “Never get old,” Mac grumbled, then started reading my note aloud to himself. “'What happens next?' Ah, hell.” Mac exhaled, pushed his glasses up on to his head then ran a hand over his face. I'd seen Wreck rub his face the same way and it was at that moment I saw how they were related. “Same thing always happens when a job goes tits up. Lick our wounds, find a new city and...well, shit, now that Dunk's gone I guess Dreamer will have to get things moving again.”

  I frowned at the obvious pain on Mac's face from losing his friend. He hadn't cried that I saw since getting the news, but there was definitely a somberness in the way he moved that probably came from having lost many people in his life.

  God, what a hard way to live. Was this what was in store for Wreck too?

  I shook my head and tapped my chest with an index finger.

  Mac exhaled and thought for a moment. He met my eyes briefly then turned away. Given what Dunk and him were talking about part of me expected he'd kick me out then and there. I hoped that wasn't the case but I let my focus drop to the floor and steeled my nerves for a hard answer all the same.

  “I don't know. Dunk had a way of seeing things black and white. Us vs everyone else. We disagreed a lot but I respected the man and more often than not he was right'r than me.” Mac said. “This time though. He was dead wrong. You seem to matter a lot to my nephew. Haven't seen the poor bastard this happy in a long time.”

  I looked up and found Mac holding my scarf out for me to take. He must have picked it up when I wasn't looking. With everything happening so fast I completely forgot I didn't have it. I immediately began to cover my neck with it. Showing myself to Wreck was one thing but the rest of the world...

  “You don't need that around us. We all got our scars.” Mac pulled up the side of his shirt to reveal decades-old burn marks that covered most of his torso. He furrowed his brows more than usual. “And ain't none of us are gonna give you back to the fucker that gave you yours. You're welcome to ride with us ‘til you find your place.”

  I smiled softly and gave a small nod of thanks.

  “I warn ya, it ain't a pretty life” Mac snorted through a haze of introspection. I could only imagine which examples of how unpretty it could be had sprung into his mind.

  A pounding at the trailer door cut Mac off as he contemplated giving me an example. Mac checked his watch and frowned, muttering that it was too early for them to already be back and that Wreck better not have forgotten anything or else he'd tear him a new asshole for taking too long to go help the others.

  “Wreck, you'd better have gotten word from Dreamer telling you to stay put or I swear to fucking God...” Mac muttered as he unbolted the high and low locks and pushed open the door.

  The single gunshot that rang out shocked and tensed me like ice water dumped over my shoulders.

  No no no. I instinctively turned away, not wanting to see Mac's lifeless body collapse. The sound of the impact sent an unreal shiver through me. How? How did he find us? I threw away the phone! It wasn't possible!

  “That was easier than I thought,” said a hideously familiar voice as he climbed the short ladder into the trailer.

  At first I thought about all the weapons in their armory for something to defend myself with, but Wreck had taken their entire arsenal with him when he left. It would probably have been a moot point anyway because I'd never even held a gun let alone used one to kill a person. Instead, I ran and tried to hide beneath their bunks. It wasn't a great plan but it was all I could come up with.

  “Get him out of the way. It's been a long night. Last thing I need is to bust my ass tripping over him.” Patrick gestured dismissively as he set down a large red plastic container of what could only be some sort of gasoline or fuel.

  From under the bunk I saw two of Patrick's thugs move Mac's body off to the side of the main doorway to the trailer. Patrick then told them to set up a perimeter outside the trailer and let him know when the rest of the MC was arriving.

  “C'mon out, little Jezebel. I know you're here.” Patrick walked idly only half heartedly looking for me, the absurdity of the trailer being retrofit into a living space stole most of his attention at least initially. Watching him push objects around with his gun, casually knock things on to the floor and generally carelessly riffle through their lives felt so incredibly invasive.

  Then he started indiscriminately pouring gasoline.

  My heart raced the more he drew closer. With shaking, clumsy fingers I opened the latch to Buck's case that was beneath the bunk with me. Holding one of the decorative collector's spoons in my hand felt like the most useless thing in the world. I tucked it into my sock knowing that it was at least better than nothing.

  “Don't make me come looking for you,” he said, the novelty of the place having worn off and his impatience setting in.

  Knowing I couldn't hide forever I tucked the spoon away and I slid out from under the bed. My heart was heavy with thoughts of Wreck and the rest of the club.

  “There she is,” he said with a wide smile and sweeping gesture, then beckoned me over to him. “You did even better than I hoped. We're almost done. You're almost free. All we have to do now is wait.”

  Patrick didn't even need to gag me. I couldn't scream a warning if my life depended on it, but that was the worst part. It wasn't my life the warning depended on. I didn't know how long I'd been openly weeping in that dark trailer with a gun pressed against my ribs. An hour? The past seven years...

  When Wreck and Yoga arrived carrying Buck and the lights were turned back on to show them all Patrick's handiwork I felt sick. Seeing the hurt and rage in their faces... It was all I could do not to throw up.

  “Welcome home, gentlemen,” Patrick said, drawing all eyes in the room to us on the couch. “Don’t mind the smell. That’s just gasoline.”

  “You motherfucker!” Wreck started towards us, but was stopped in his tracks as Patrick pushed the gun barrel hard into the side of my head.

  “Just the three?” Patrick asked, then gestured at Buck who was in and out of consciousness. “Well two and a half really. Huh I thought more of you would have made it out. Dunk for sure.”

  “Don't you fucking say his name,” Yoga growled, angrier than I'd ever seen the usually laid-back man. The blood covering him from holding up his brother made him look like a demon ready to snap at a moment's notice, but his clear, focused eyes and set jaw gave the impression that he was smart enough to wait for the perfect time to get his revenge.

  “Kill you...” Buck muttered weakly, doing everything he could to keep his head up enough to glower at Patrick. He'd lost so much blood and looked visibly pale. My heart ached for
him. We needed to get him some help soon or he wasn't going to make it!

  The toilet in the bathroom flushed killing all the conversation. The sink ran and the sounds of washing and rinsing hands were crystal clear throughout the rest of the trailer. Mikhail stepped out drying his hands, his large pistol tucked away in plain view across his chest in a holster. I didn't know what kind of gun it was only that it was gigantic, bigger than any I'd ever seen before.

  “Hello,” Mikhail said in a heavy accent with a curt nod to the whole room as if he was meeting coworkers. “Had to shit. Something I ate.” With his hands acceptably dry he un-holstered his gun and pointed it at Wreck.

  “Ok. Everyone just calm down. Lower the guns. We're businessmen. Let's work this out.” Wreck took advantage of the break in tension and turned his pistol up in a non-threatening way then slowly placed it on the floor. He swallowed his seething anger about his uncle and tuned his efforts to saving the rest of us. “Buck's hurt bad. We just want to get him some help.”

  “Oof yeah. Looks like he needs a hospital,” Patrick feigned concern. “You want me to call an ambulance? Or I could have some of my cop buddies give you an escort?”

  “...kill you...” Buck repeated it softly now like a mantra. That hatred might have been the only thing keeping him clinging to life.

  “Alright, here's the offer,” Wreck started. He spoke to Patrick and to Mikhail who was slowly circling the men like a lazy shark, and occasionally glanced at me to make sure I was still alright. “This rig and trailer is worth two mil easy.”

  “Wreck. This is our home, man,” Yoga leaned in to protest softly. “There's gotta be another way.”