Again, the sense of defeat washes over me and I feel even more exhausted than before.
But then… as I’m sitting in front of the door, something else occurs to me through the darkness. A sound. A somewhat familiar one.
Human voices. Male voices, judging by the deepness and the tenor of them. For the first time, I am detecting signs of life beyond these walls. Maybe I’m not as alone and abandoned as I thought I was. My heart begins to pound and adrenaline floods through my veins. I realize that there is, in fact, something on the other side of the door. Cautiously, unsure of what I’m about to overhear, I lean forward and press my ear against the door. I scarcely let myself even breathe as I focus all my attention and energy on listening to the goings-on beyond the door.
The door is obviously made of a very thick, dense material, because the voices I hear are incredibly muffled. It’s infuriating being able to hear the voices but not determine what the hell they’re actually saying. It sounds as though I’m trying to play the world’s most dangerous game of telephone or something. Still, even though I can’t exactly identify the words, I can definitely tell that the voices belong to two men who are talking in angry tones. They sound like they’re moments away from coming to blows.
I’ve always been naturally afraid of men raising their voices, so it takes all my willpower to keep listening and not shy away from the door in fear. Neither of the voices sound especially familiar, to my disappointment. Neither of them sounds much like the man who put me on the back of his motorbike last night. These are different men altogether. I wonder who they are, what they’re called. I wonder if they’re aware that I’m locked up in here. Surely, they would have heard me by now, right?
Unless the room is better-sealed off than I even thought.
Then, my ears seem to adjust to their voices and I manage to make out a few words here and there. I hear one of the men growl something about transporting across state lines, though I have no idea what he’s talking about specifically. The other guy answers in a rageful tone, issuing a very determined and solid no. I wonder what the hell they’re discussing and why they’re so pissed off about it.
I imagine it must have something to do with the location of this crappy little room. Maybe I’ve been carried across state lines somehow. But then again, the second speaker said no pretty adamantly, as though he is issuing a command. And that would indicate that I’m still currently in Wyoming, but that the first man is trying to cajole his way into taking me out of state. I am sure I could be wrong about my interpretation of their argument, but then… it’s the best explanation I have come up with so far.
I must still be in Wyoming, just in a part of the state I am not familiar with. I haven’t exactly done a lot of traveling in my life. With five kids in my household and a shoestring budget, my family vacations have been more like staycations than traveling abroad. I have only rarely stepped out of the bounds of Stonedale, and even then, I only barely left the area, and never for very long. I press my ear against the door even harder and hear what sounds like two pairs of footsteps echoing across the floor. One of the pair of footsteps seems to dissipate slowly, getting quieter and farther away by the second. I determine that one of the arguing men must have walked away.
But which one?
And why?
Then, to my surprise, I hear the other pair of footsteps… and it’s getting closer.
I fall back from the door, clutching the sharpened point of plastic hanger, my eyes wide and my heart hammering painfully in my chest. I realize that this may be my only chance to beg for help. I hurriedly get up on my knees and start banging on the door with my free hand, shouting and yelling.
“Help me! Please! Let me out of here!” I wail. “At least bring me some water or food, I’m starving! Help, help!”
The footsteps are so close now, and then they stop short in front of the door. I can feel him there. I can see the faintest shadow underneath the door. He’s there. I can hear his breathing.
“Please open the door,” I beg. “Let me out!”
The man says nothing. Instead, I’m quieted by the appearance of two small white pills being shoved underneath the door frame into the room. I frown down at them in disgust. There’s no marking on them, and I can barely see them in the darkness of the room, but I know one thing for certain: I will not take these mystery pills.
Hell, no.
“I’m not taking any drugs. I want food. Or water!” I demand angrily, shoving the pills back under the door. Before I can say another word, the pills get pushed back to me again.
A gruff voice interrupts me and says, “You can do this the easy way or the hard way. Take the damn pills.”
I stare down at the white pills, shocked to hear the man’s voice.
“No! You can’t make me take these stupid drugs. Let me go,” I reply defiantly.
“Look, I am trying to help you,” the man hisses between gritted teeth. “But you have to help me, too, little girl.”
“What do you mean? How the hell can I help you when I’m locked in this disgusting room? Where is my friend? What did you do to me? Where am I?” I ramble off.
“Keep your voice down,” the man orders in a growling undertone.
“No! I need answers,” I shoot back.
Silence.
Something in me told me I needed to be silent too.
Next thing I know, I hear rapid, heavy footsteps approaching, as well as a discord of enraged male voices shouting at one another. I hear shoes scuffing on the floor, the sounds of grunting and bones crunching and fists connecting with faces. I clap a hand over my mouth, listening to what sounds like pure carnage on the other side of the door. Bodies slump to the floor. Men cry out in agony and fear. Then there’s a deep silence, broken only by a heaving breath. I hold my own breath, waiting to see what has happened beyond the door.
And then, to my shock, the door knob jiggles and the door falls open with an eerie creaking sound. I squint my eyes at the onslaught of bright light flooding into the room as the door opens. A huge man is silhouetted in the doorway, and behind him on the floor is the body of a fallen man. I gasp in horror when I realize he’s not moving at all. Around his head, a pool of scarlet blood spreads out like an unholy halo.
He’s dead.
And for all I know, I could be next.
Breaker
I feel the trickle of blood that isn’t my own running down from my gleaming brass knuckles I’m still clutching. Its wet warmth runs down my thick fingers and beads up at my fingertips before falling to the ground like a silent witness to what I had just done. The woman before me stares at me with wide eyes full of fear, like an animal trapped by the hunter, trembling like a leaf.
And the only comfort I have to offer isn’t going to make her feel much better.
What I did was cross the point of no return, and now, I feel like the midnight stars are gazing down on me with as much shock as the beautiful woman in front of me. She’s more beautiful than I could have possibly imagined. The hair I saw framing her delicate features is a rich and soft auburn. Her clothes look a little worn by now, and I can only imagine she’s been through a lot, but she still looks so radiant that it seems almost criminal for me to be standing here, staring at her… especially in light of the situation.
That part hasn’t quite set in yet, but the fact is there.
I just killed Roadster.
It feels so childish now to tell myself that he started it, but it’s true. The rest of the meeting couldn’t have been more uncomfortable, but I held it together the whole time, nodding along with whatever the prez said. I was always quiet during meetings, unless I had something important to say, so it didn’t seem out of line. Spending the rest of the day with the guys didn’t feel right in the slightest, especially because Roadster kept me busy the whole time.
We spent hours shooting pool and discussing plans for the club. I humored him at first, avoiding the elephant in the room while Buzz and the others kept to themselves.
I wondered what the other three thought about all this bullshit, but I had no way of knowing. They had been as tight-lipped at the meeting as I had, with a few exceptions. Buzz was a hard man, and he had the club’s respect, including mine. Up until now.
But after hours of shooting the breeze about what we might do with the money the place will rake in and how we want the new place to look, we went to get takeout, and Roadster started drinking more heavily the second we got back. He said stupid shit when he drank. He had always been like that. I knew it was only a matter of time before I was forced to deal with one ugly conversation, but I never dreamed it would play out like this.
Half an hour ago, more than a little buzzed, asked me if I wanted to come check out our “down payment” on the bar that Buzz had just bought. The rest of the guys were busy with a poker game, so I followed him, but not because I wanted to ogle the prisoner like he did. I wanted to have a heart to heart with a man I called my friend.
As we stepped out into the cool night sky, he dodged out to take a leak. I had just a second to try to put my plan into action, but there wasn’t enough time. She was too frightened to submit.
The second he returned, I realized there was only one option through this. I had to get Roadster on my side. I had to know that he still had a conscience.
“Are you really down with what Buzz is doing, man?” I asked as we started heading around to the shed. “I didn’t hear anything about this.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Pissed off that my dad snatched the bar out from under your nose? I mean, that’s fair, but at least you got to kick someone’s ass. So, the night wasn’t a total waste, yeah?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” I said a little more aggressively, and this time, I picked up the pace so that I could stand side by side with him. He came to a stop, swaying a little, but looking vaguely surprised at me. “The girl,” I growled.
“Jesus, dude, we’re getting to her, chill,” he said, chuckling. “Has it been a while? Figured you’d have gotten laid before coming home last night.”
“That’s not what I mean, River,” I said, taking a step closer. Roadster looked taken aback by my use of his real name, and his warm, fuzzy expression started to go cold.
“Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, Breaker,” he said, and the warning undertone in his voice wasn’t lost on me. “This ain’t the time for that.”
“Cold feet?” I said. “You and I have robbed a loan shark at gunpoint in this gang, and we’ve personally put a pimp six feet under outside Pocatello. This is not us, Roadster. What the fuck is Buzz doing?”
“What my dad is doing, Breaker, is making this club worth something,” Roadster snarled, taking a step closer to me. I held my ground. “Unless you want to live out the rest of your sorry-ass life knocking over convenience stores and dive bars, we all need to be on the same page with this.”
“I’m not,” I said firmly, and the words seemed to hang between us with stunning force for a moment.
We locked eyes, and I could feel my heart trying to pound out of its chest. My fists were tight, and my body was poised. I knew what Roadster looked like when he was about to start swinging, and his body was wound up tight as a spring, ready to go.
“Think we need to talk to Buzz, Breaker,” Roadster said, deadly tension in his tone.
“Nah, that’s not gonna happen,” I said in a slow but clear tone, fully aware of what that meant. “I’m going to open that shed, and that girl is going home. Period.”
I watched Roadster’s jaw tighten.
“Can’t let you screw this up, Breaker,” he said. “Dad’s been good to you. I’ve been good to you. And if you want us to keep being good to you, what you need to do right now is fall in line, even if I’ve gotta put you there.”
“River,” I warned him, “don’t do anything st-”
Roadster swung at me, and I leaned back just in time to feel his knuckle graze my chin. In an instant, the tension broke, and the world seemed to move ten times as fast. Roadster lunged at me, but I was faster. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him with his own momentum, and I watched him stagger as I got myself ready.
What I hadn’t been expecting was him pulling that switchblade.
I cursed and reached into my pocket, slipping the brass knuckles over my fingers and pulling them out so Roadster could see them. But Roadster was seeing red. He must have had more to drink than I realized, or maybe the idea of going against his dad just got under his skin too well. He came in hard and fast, and if I hadn’t moved in time, he would have plunged that knife into my gut.
Roadster’s inexperience was showing, and it almost cost me my life. Older members wouldn’t be fighting to kill, but Roadster always had that damn temper of his. I’d fought with him before, but I knew that look on his face.
When he came at me again, I saw my opening and went for it. One solid blow to the jaw would be all it took, I thought. I’d break it and knock a few teeth out, knock him out if I was lucky. All I needed was enough to put him out of action long enough for me to get the girl and run.
Instead, Roadster staggered on his own attack, and his head came forward a hell of a lot faster than I thought it would. My brass knuckles caught him right on the temple, and I felt them sink in and crack skull.
The moment his body hit the ground, it stunned me. Somehow, I knew. Before I even stooped down to check his pulse, I knew he was gone by the way he fell, even though I couldn’t explain it. And indeed, his heart went still as blood poured from the head wound. My face went pale, but I had no time for my conscience to catch up to me. I grabbed the keys off his belt and made for the shed.
And now, I’m standing before the most beautiful woman in the world with fresh blood on my hands.
“Please, I-I don’t have anything-” she starts to say, but I shake my head and offer her my hand, which gives her pause.
“No time,” I grunt, gesturing for her to hurry up and come out of the shed. “We need to move. I’m getting you out of here, and you’re not going to want to stick around for what happens when the others find out about this,” I say, holding up my bloodied brass knuckles.
It didn’t occur to me until it was too late that brandishing a murder weapon isn’t the most comforting thing in the world, but the redhead surprises me by looking relieved and hurrying out of the shed immediately. She doesn't hesitate for a moment… at least, until she sees the body behind me and puts her hands to her mouth.
“Is he…?” she asks, afraid of the answer.
“Honey, we need to go,” I order more firmly, and I start heading toward the row of bikes.
“Where’s Moxie?” she asks as she hurries after me, but I put my finger to my lips as we make our way around the warehouse and get to my bike. My keys are already out, and I finally slip my brass knuckles off in my pocket before getting on and looking to her. I’m half-expecting her to jump on the back without further question, but instead, she’s standing a few feet away, looking like her nerves are catching up to her.
“Not the time for second thoughts, kid,” I say, shaking my head.
“I-” she stammers, looking back at the warehouse door in terror before looking back at me. “I-I-I don’t… what the fuck is even happening?” she breathes, and I can sense panic threatening to grip her. “Where’s Moxie? Where’s my friend?”
“I honestly have no idea who that is or where they might be,” I say as curtly and urgently as this situation calls for. “But if we want to get out of here alive, you need to listen up: if you don’t get on the back of this bike, the guys in there are going to have you entertaining scumbags the rest of your life, after they torture me to death. Your call.”
“I have no idea who you are,” she says, shaking her head quickly, eyes wide and face pale. “I-I don’t know where my friend is, or where the hell we are! I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “We’ve still got ti
me on our side, but we’ve got to get the fuck out of here before someone finds that body. You’ve been kidnapped, and I’m getting you out. Are you game, or do you want to take your chances with them?”
She looks about as stunned at that as I would expect, and before she can answer, a voice from behind the warehouse gets our attention.
“Roadster, where the fuck did you two get off to?” Buzz calls, and my heart skips a beat.
“Time’s up, kid,” I growl, firing up my engine. The powerful roar of the engine is a dead giveaway that something is up, and I know it’s now a matter of minutes—if not seconds—before the club realizes the truth.
That they have a traitor in their midst, and it’s me.
I hoped the engine roar would snap her out of her paralyzed panic and get her to start thinking sensibly, and I’m pleasantly surprised when it seems to work like a charm. She curses and hurries onto the back of the bike, gripping my kutte with her small hands. I catch a whiff of her sweet perfume as I rev the engine and take off, leaving my old life behind me.
The warehouse compound near Table Rock, Wyoming looks abandoned from the outside, besides the fact that it has a working gatehouse and a rusty chain link fence that surrounds the place. When the club moved in, we figured it had been used to store some military equipment or some shit like that. It worked like a charm for us, but now it presented one more hurdle to get through.
I pull my bike up the road toward the gatehouse, where a lone prospect sits watching something on a grainy little television. He stands up as my bike approaches, and I turn to speak to the girl in as quiet a tone as I can manage without letting the prospect hear.
Breaker Page 4
