Outlaw's Ride: An MC Romance

by Carter Steele

  With a mournful expression Wreck's mouth tensed into a white line as he flicked his eyes to Mac's body, then to Buck, then shook his head. Yoga followed Wreck's eye line. His wide muscular frame slouching a bit as he shouldered more and more of his brother's weight. Eventually he matched Wreck's gaze, unspoken words passed between them, and exhaled. Yoga finally understood what Wreck seemed to grasp right away.

  There was no winning here. Just surviving.

  “We will take it and chop it.” Mikhail scoffed as if that was already a given. His demeanor started shifting into impatience which raised the hair on the back of my neck. He was a dangerous man at the best of times...

  “And at best you'll only get a few hundred grand from all the pieces on the black market and that's before shelling out for any bribes along the way,” Wreck snapped at Mikhail before settling into a calmer tone and addressing Patrick. “Everything here is above the board. Paid for in full and taxed by the government.”

  “Your offer is a legal transfer so we can sell everything at full retail price?” Patrick entertained the thought as he laid his arm over my shoulders and crossed one leg, letting the gun rest on the cushion to his right side. “Interesting.”

  I thought about lunging for it but it was on the other side of him and he'd easily stop me before I reached it. Instead I endured his weight which pushed in on me from two sides and bided my time. There was going to be a way for me to help Wreck even if I hadn't exactly worked out how or when yet. There had to be.

  “Yes. A cold, legal million for each of you after an easy sale. We have receipts, titles, everything. Buck was meticulous about the paperwork and it's all in his name. If he dies, everything becomes more complicated and you lose a shitload of money. Let us get Buck some medical help.”

  “You'll of course have to go out of state to avoid connection to tonight's mayhem,” Patrick reasoned, mulling the idea over. He furrowed his brow and worked out some of the details in his head.

  Wreck had found the one way to actually reach Patrick For all his many, many faults Patrick was a businessman. When there's a large amount of money on the table he's willing to put everything else aside and close a deal. Outgunned, a negotiation might be the only way that any of us were making it out of this room alive.

  “We'll have to get some transfer paperwork written up,” Patrick decided. “But I think we can come to—”

  “I have counter proposal,” Mikhail frowned, coming to a complete stop behind Wreck, Yoga and Buck. He'd been slowly pacing for the entirety of Wreck and Patrick's negotiation. “ I give you bullets...”

  No! I wheezed the word out soundless as I lunged forward.

  Mikhail raised his gun and fired it into the side of Yoga's head. A thunderous boom rang off the walls and made my ears whine. It was even more startlingly loud than when Mac was killed. Both men crashed to the floor in a heap. Lucidity snap-returned to Buck like a shock of ice water. He crawled over his brother holding what was left of his head and openly started sobbing.

  “Goddamnit, Mikhail,” Patrick shouted, grabbing and jerking me back onto the couch with him.

  Wreck's eyes took on an edge I'd never seen before as he turned toward Mikhail. The Russian had retreated a few feet to keep from being rushed and had leveled his gun at Wreck. The next gunshot punched a hole right through Wreck's bicep, but did next to nothing to slow the man's approach. Mikhail as calm as a seasoned killer took a moment to line up the shot at the charging biker's head then stepped forward firing.

  At that range there was no way Mikhail could miss killing him.

  I was across the room and being held back by Patrick. I braced for another deafening blast of that awful pistol, but none came. All I could do was turn my head so I wouldn't have to watch Wreck—and all the hope I had left—die.

  I looked up at the sound of bodies crashing together. When I saw Mikhail punch at Wreck instead of shooting him I realized his giant gun must've misfired and jammed. Luck was the only thing that saved Wreck, not me, not even his own skill or tenacity. Just luck.

  Mikhail cursed at Wreck in Russian, pummeling him with the butt of the pistol. Wreck held his own in the fight, but he was weaponless and his left arm was nearly useless, bleeding badly from the gunshot. I strained against Patrick, ripping at his grip, desperately trying to get over there and help. I thrashed wildly, but caught a heavy, full-hand slap across the side of my head that was hard enough to daze me.

  “No, I think we'll be staying out of this fight,” Patrick said to me in voice low enough that Mikhail wouldn't be able to hear. He squeezed my arms painfully tight and pulled me close enough to him that I could drown in his rancid mix of BO, cheap cologne and stale coffee breath.

  “Patrick! Get this prick off me!” Mikhail shouted, bashing Wreck in the face and breaking his nose. The Russian looked to have the upper hand in the fight, but it was a bloody, messy, painful-looking exchange that would leave its mark on him for the rest of his life.

  Wreck for all his injuries had latched onto Mikhail's clothes with his bad hand and wouldn't let go. For every strike Wreck got in Mikhail got in two, but it didn't seem to matter. All the trauma had finally reached a tipping point for Wreck. There would be no more negotiation, no more compromise now that Yoga was dead. The fury had taken over. Wreck, now fueled by only rage, would not stop until either he or Mikhail were dead.

  Mikhail finally broke Wreck’s grip and backpedaled toward the biker’s discarded pistol, desperately trying to put some distance between the two men to put a proper end to the fight, but in the scramble he tripped over Yoga’s corpse and toppled onto his side. Wreck had dropped to a knee and wheezed, his injuries finally catching up with him.

  No… I can’t let it end this way.

  Wrenching suddenly to the side I was able to pull Buck’s decorative spoon out of my sock. The handle had a surprisingly sharp point, nowhere near that of a knife but with how hard I brought it down it was good enough to bury into Patrick’s thigh. He screamed and I was able to twist out of his grip. I dashed to Mikhail and kicked the gun in his hand as he raised it to fire at Wreck. I connected with the gun too high and caught the metal against the bottom of my shin sending a stab of pain up my leg as it fired. The shot was wide and missed Wreck but Mikhail didn’t let it go like I hoped, instead he turned it on me.

  “You die too, bitch,” he growled the words at me. Horrified at staring down the barrel of a gun, my body froze. Wreck screamed something but I knew he was too far away to help. Unable to do anything, I snapped my eyes shut and braced for the gunshot that followed.

  There was more screaming and firing but I didn’t feel any pain aside from my shin. Was I in shock? Or had I been killed? I opened my eyes to find neither.

  With his last modicum of strength Buck had thrown himself on top of Mikhail at the last second. He’d been shot several more times, but the hate and pain at losing his brother had given him the strength to pull the knife he always carried and bury it into the side of the Russian’s neck.

  Both men bled out in a heap next to Yoga’s body. For all he endured Buck died with a hint of a smirk on his lips at having gotten his revenge in the end.

  “What a fucking waste,” Patrick grunted pulling the spoon out of his leg. I wasn’t strong enough to stab it too deep, but I took some small measure of satisfaction in the painful grimace on his face at having to remove it. The gun was back in his off hand so I didn’t let too much of that show. “Not at all how I wanted that to go. Sure I was planning on getting rid of Mikhail but would’ve preferred it was after the sale of the trailer.”

  “Are you OK?” I signed to Wreck, then quickly slipped under his arm and grabbed his waist to assist him in getting his feet under him. He wasn’t the type of man who asked for help readily so feeling the amount of weight he needed to put on me just to stand up was concerning. His face and arm was a bloody mess and he felt tenderized all over. For as tough as he was now that most of the adrenaline spike had worn off there’d be no more extended f
ist fights in his near future, at least not any he could win.

  I would have to find a way to protect him now.

  Gunshots rang out just outside with a few rounds skipping off the reinforced walls of the trailer. My first thought was that help had finally showed up, but then I bitterly remembered that the cops in this part of town were in Patrick’s pocket.

  “Ah, would that be the last member of your little club then? The Mexican fella?” Patrick asked with obvious false sympathy. “Looks like you’re the last man standing for your nomad chapter of the Devil Kings. Congratulations.

  “If it makes any difference I didn’t know Mikhail was going to do that. But I guess that’s what happens when you and your crew wipe out half of his crew in what was supposed to be an ambush.” Patrick adjusted his glasses up and chewed on his lip as he pondered his next step. “You don’t happen to have any other million dollar properties you want to discuss? With your friend dead I’m willing to guess the trailer is more trouble than it’s worth.”

  “I’ve only got one thing left for you.” Wreck held out his empty hand, curled the bottom two fingers into a pretend gun and whispered the mouthed the word Bang.

  “Oh how defiant of you till the bitter end,” Patrick snorted in feigned amusement. He fished a lighter out of his pocket, lit it and unceremoniously tossed it toward some gasoline dampened rags. The impact caused the flame to go out.

  “Goddammit,” he cursed then walked over and lit the rags by hand all the while keeping his gun on us keeping us from moving. The fire was slow to start, but would quickly spread being how the trailer was part house part garage. Patrick made for the exit but paused, then turned back in a few steps, picked my scarf up off the ground and smelled it. “I bet you’re wondering how I even found this place especially after our lovely girl there threw the phone away.”

  Oh no… I sucked in a sharp breath but the air was heavy with dread.

  I meant to fully come clean, I really did! With all the death and insanity over the past few hours I'd forgotten that I'd never told him everything about my deal with Patrick. I'd be lying if I said I was waiting for the right time. Honestly I was just terrified to admit what I'd done. Wreck had been nothing but wonderful to me and I had to go on and tell him that I betrayed him. It was too hard at the time and now he was going to find out in the worst possible way.

  “Every conversation, every secret, every plan you and your club made...They were all mine.” Patrick ripped my scarf and pulled out a little device I’d never seen before. Holding it up for us both to see he marvelled at it with smug, self satisfaction. Whenever possible, Patrick could never resist letting everyone know he was the smartest person in the room. “Location pinging, audio recorder. Our dear Jezebel was working for me the whole time”

  How? When had he bugged my scarf? I always had it on…

  Then it dawned on me. When he found and destroyed my evidence against him, he must’ve slipped the device into the same hidden pouch in my scarf! That bastard!

  “Well done. You’ve earned every bit of your freedom, girl.” Patrick threw the ruined scarf into my chest, then turned his attention back to Wreck and offered an almost mournful shake of his head. “You and your silly club never had a chance, Stewart.”

  20

  Wreck

  “You…” The words dried up and died in my throat. I tore away from her support and staggered backwards into the club meeting table in the center of the trailer. Sarah immediately started to sign but I turned away. Looking into her eyes after what Patrick had just told me was more painful than the hole in my bicep. The tears welling my eyes and the stinging smoke that was filling the room made it hard to concentrate, but that wasn’t the real reason I couldn’t look at her. Instead I forced myself to sweep the room looking anywhere but her as if there would be any comfort left in what would soon no longer be my home. First Dunk and how we left things, then my uncle and now everyone else…

  It wasn’t just the trailer. My whole world was on fire.

  “Well then, I’ll be off. I’ll leave the door open for you, but I get the feeling neither of you will be leaving. Why would you? There’s nothing left for you out there.” Patrick shrugged, tucked his gun into the back of his pants and began climbing out of the trailer.

  All the strength drained from my legs with that one final stab from Patrick and I fell to my knees next to the bodies of Yoga and Buck. The worst part of it all was that Patrick was right. There wasn’t anything left for me in here either. The only family I’d ever had was lying in pools of their own blood and the girl I’d fallen in love with had been selling my secrets to the enemy this whole time.

  When I found the courage to look up I saw her sobbing near uncontrollably having also collapsed into a sitting position. I studied her as she fumbled with something in her pocket, hating myself for still finding her so beautiful. Even now after everything she helped Patrick do to me and my family every part of me wanted to go and hug her until the end.

  Did I ever know anything real about her?

  Flames were licking up the rear gate door and while I could only slightly feel the heat the ceiling was heavy with smoke. Between that and the blood loss it wouldn’t be long now. The pain was almost over.

  There was suddenly more gunfire outside. Patrick’s pistol and the heavy fire of an assault rifle. Could’ve been Mikhail’s guys double-crossing Patrick or even the remnants of Billy Bones’ crew looking for revenge. Patrick sure made his fair share of enemies so much so that I wasn’t all that surprised to see him climb back into the trailer for cover. The trailer walls were reinforced against small and medium arms fire. It’d repel anything short of a rocket. If he hadn’t lit the damn thing on fire he could stay in here indefinitely. Patrick cursed between bouts of coughing as he stumbled around looking for a fire extinguisher. I could’ve told him that it was too late for that but I didn’t care anymore.

  My part in this whole clusterfuck was over.

  Sarah had crawled over to me and slid a well-worn picture across the floor to my hand. It was a professionally taken family-style photo that was commonly done with a department store photographer. It was of a fair-skinned woman in her mid to late forties holding a boy who couldn’t be older than ten. Both wore their Sunday best and easy summer smiles. There was no question about the resemblance. This was Sarah’s family.

  I felt a pang of sympathy that Patrick made them think she was dead, but so what?

  They were still alive. If Sarah wanted to, she could walk out of this inferno and go see them. I began to slide the picture back to her when she stopped me. Her hand quivering, Sarah turned the picture over. It’d been pressed flat like that for so long that I didn’t realize there was more to it.

  Patrick was folded out of the picture.

  I didn’t understand at first. Why would he be in this photo with her family? When I looked up to ask she’d already turned away. I unfolded it and took in the picture as a whole. Patrick being there wasn’t a surprise and the family didn’t look like they were there as hostages. This wasn’t blackmail material or anything like that. If anything Patrick was the one that looked a little uncomfortable. It was a traditional family photo and he looked like he belonged in it. Then it hit me like a baseball bat to the side of the face.

  Patrick had joined her family to keep Sarah in line and doing what she was told.

  Everything suddenly made sense. Why she did what she did. It wasn’t for her own freedom or getting back to see her family and telling them she was alive. She was trying to protect her family from Patrick. It was a hard pill to swallow, but looking at all my brothers dead on the floor around me and knowing what I’d have been willing to do to keep them alive made me understand.

  She never had any choice but to betray me.

  Patrick had abandoned the search for an extinguisher and instead tried to figure out which button would automatically raise the rear trailer door and vent the smoke. The fire would still be a problem but it would at least allow him to
think about the threat outside and more importantly- not suffocate.

  I couldn’t see Sarah’s eyes as she crept up behind Patrick, her scarf twisted tight into a rope, but I didn't need to to know the icy calm that settled over her soul. Sarah waited until he was most distracted by the smoke and by finding the right switch to loop the scarf around his neck and squeeze with all her might.

  Patrick flailed behind himself clipping her a few times with fists and fingertips but nothing that could stop Sarah. She was too small, too quick. Twisting the fabric harder, she dropped to the ground bringing all her weight down on Patrick’s throat. Patrick’s glasses flew off as he was forced to fall backwards to keep his neck from snapping. Even wounded, he was stronger than her, but with all her strength squeezing just against his throat he didn't stand a chance.

  When a person is pushed as far as Sarah, it’s not the passion and rage of loss that makes that person dangerous, it’s the complete understanding that there’s nothing left to lose. Nothing holding you back anymore from stepping over a line you can’t come back from. Stone cold murder – justified or not – changes the way a person sees the world. When you become a hammer it’s hard not to see all your problems as nails to be bashed in.

  I thought of Sarah’s drawing. Even trapped and hopeless she could take a world that no longer cared about or even noticed her and turn it into something truly beautiful on the white pages of her sketchbook.

  Sarah screamed soundlessly on the floor finally getting revenge against the man who had taken everything from her. The naivete, artistic curiosity, and what was left of hope that there was any goodness in the world drained from her face as she squeezed harder and harder. Her fair features strained with exertion, turning ugly and hate-filled. I watched the tears stream down her cheeks as she became a killer.

  “Stop!” I cried crawling over to her, but she wouldn’t listen. Damnit, Sarah, this isn’t you. It shouldn’t be!