Outlaw Kind of Love

by Nicole Snow

  I saw Voodoo look from side to side, glancing at his boys. Then he gave them a slow, solemn nod. I threw myself into Throttle's side, burying my face, right as someone threw the first punch.

  The sounds around me were terrible. Men screamed and swore, scratching and clawing at each other.

  Throttle jerked away from me once. I screamed, suddenly all alone.

  My eyes opened just in time to see him pick up Blow and throw him across the parking lot.

  “Let's go!” His hand was on mine again, forcing me to keep moving. “See that bike over there? That's mine. That's where we'll be home free. Just keep on going and don't look at anything else.”

  We went right past several guys on the ground rolling around. The metallic echoes on the ground were too sharp to be fists or belt buckles. Had to be knives, hammers, and brass knuckles slapping the concrete, sometimes making softer cracks when they impacted flesh instead.

  A second later, he had me settled on the back of his bike, leaning close to whisper in my ear. “Stay here. I gotta finish this shit so we can take off.”

  “No, don't go!”

  I yelled after him, but he was already running into the fray. It looked like the Devils had the upper hand. I hoped so, anyway.

  Several skulls were retreating toward their bikes. I saw Venom's big outline being helped up by another man. They helped him slow walk to the infernal machine I'd been forced to ride on.

  “Voodoo! Voodoo!” He sputtered, over and over, dark blood flying from his lips. “Your MC just signed its death warrant! We're gonna rip all you Devil sons of bitches a new –“

  A gunshot rang out. I flinched.

  Throttle had his pistol drawn, breathing heavily. He fired the bullet across Venom's head – probably intentional.

  I doubted a man like that ever missed. Jonesy was at his side, cradling a wound.

  In a summer second, everybody packing heat had their handguns out and pointed at each other. Voodoo stepped forward, crossing the invisible boundary between the gangs.

  “Get the hell out of here before I change my mind about letting you go with your lives. Truce is dead in another hour. Stay the fuck out of Devils' territory.”

  The old President cleared his throat and spat, barely missing Venom's boot. I could feel the hatred between them, crawling beneath the white hot tension thickening the summer air.

  “Come on. We'll be back to settle scores later. We'll have sharper teeth too...”

  The Devils didn't move until their rivals roared out of the parking lot. Several men grabbed the injured Jonesy and fished a first aid kit from one of the bikes.

  It was like being tossed into a battlefield. My stomach churned.

  I tried to ignore the screams as his biker brothers applied pressure to the cut in his side.

  A strong hand squeezed my shoulder. I looked up at Throttle's face, firm but friendly, staring into those deep blue eyes.

  “See? I said you were gonna be alright. My word in this club goes, second only to Pop's.” He straightened his jacket, giving me a good look at the V. PRESIDENT patch on his left breast.

  Father and son, thick as thieves. Even this crazy biker family isn't as fucked up as mine...

  I should've done a better job controlling my thoughts. I started crying again, and then all over Throttle when he pulled me close, cradling me in his thick arms.

  “Shhh. Don't say a word, baby girl. We'll sort all this shit out after we get you home.”

  Home.

  I didn't have one now. That made me cry even harder, but his gentle touch kept it in check, prevented my sadness from turning into a full hissing, screaming lunatic fit.

  We'll sort all this out. His words echoed in my head. Guess we'll see about that.

  Throttle held me until my sobs lessened. He slipped onto the bike ahead of me, helping curl my hands around him. I instantly noticed a huge contrast with Venom's flabby belly.

  The Devils' VP was way more fit than the ugly ogre he'd run off. Throttle looked like the very icon of what a knight on this steel horse should be.

  “You good to ride, Jonesy?” He shouted.

  I looked up and the skinny man nodded. “I'll manage. This run's only a little under an hour. Frannie can patch me up at the clubhouse.”

  “Hear that, boys?” Voodoo yelled over the roar of multiple bikes. “That's our cue to get ourselves out of this sorry shithole.”

  “Thanks for helping me, Throttle,” I whispered just before we got on the road, my first real words to my savior.

  “Anytime. And call me Jack. That's my real name.” He reached down with one hand and patted mine. “Never got yours, baby girl.”

  “It's Rachel.”

  “Rachel. Rach. I like that.”

  Even after all the horror, the smooth way he said it made me smile.

  II: Licking Everybody's Wounds (Jack)

  Saving that angel took a lot out of me.

  We sat around the big club table, unwinding with beer and whisky. I wasn't the only one who looked thoroughly whipped.

  Pop was at the head, the gavel at his side. He sat up straight, but I knew his bad back was killing him.

  He can't keep this shit up much longer, damn it. Makes me wish I'd given that bastard in Fargo more than just a warning shot. Would've saved myself some trouble down the line when I get the reigns.

  “What's the story on the stowaway?” Creeper smiled at me across the table, his eyes totally hidden in the extra large shades he insisted on wearing in all but the darkest places.

  “Quit calling her that, man,” I said. “Dunno yet. Frannie's cleaning her up and getting some food in her belly.”

  “She'll live,” Warlock said. “My old lady fixes folks right. You guys should see the patch up job she did on Jonesy.”

  “She's in good hands,” I agreed. I turned to Pop. “Now that we've declared war on the Raging fucking Skulls, shouldn't we make sure our equipment's in order? We need an attack plan.”

  Pop narrowed his eyes. He did the right thing helping with the rescue and putting those assholes on the run. But he did it reluctantly, and I knew he blamed me for things going sour.

  “We're gonna dig in and look alive. If there's one thing I learned in Nam, it's to keep on the defensive.”

  “What about a good offense being a fucking awesome defense?” Bolt slammed his whisky shot and clinked his glass on the table so hard it almost broke.

  “He's right, Pop. Why not hit those assholes hard before they call in reinforcements from the south? Sitting here isn't gonna do us any good while they're planning the attack.”

  “You've got a lot to learn, son,” he growled back, revealing none of the pain shooting up as his spine as he sat up straighter. “Before all you hotheads in the room go charging forward, take a second and remember what happened in Sturgis.”

  Everybody in the room cringed.

  It happened just last year. Our charter was part of the honor guard for all the big groups flowing into the annual motorcycle rally. Along our route, we had everything from rowdy riding clubs to the most vicious one-percenter MCs under our wing.

  Something was bound to go wrong. Sure enough, it did.

  The Ontario Snakes, our old Canadian trading partners, got into it with the Grizzles from out West. I was riding with the Snakes on the road, trying to keep the two from tearing each other apart.

  A Grizzly Prospect decided to swing his dick by running the Ontario Snakes VP off the road. Too bad that accident killed him, and then all hell broke lose.

  Our MC stuck by the Snakes, our old allies. It was the right decision to keep our drugs and guns flowing across the northern border, but we let our buds take too much into their own hands to deal out vengeance.

  We rode with them right into a Grizzly trap. Got both our Prospects killed and a whole lot of Snakes bit it too before the Grizzlies roared back to Montana licking their wounds.

  I gritted my teeth. Nothing was worse than Pop being right. Nothing.

  “D
on't break your jaw, Throttle.” Warlock smiled at me. “Your old man's right. We can't risk another dust up like that. More Feds are sweeping the Dakotas since the local police are in MC pockets half the time. You know what those RICO laws can do. Any big blowouts could fuck over our whole business if it attracts the wrong attention.”

  I didn't say anything. Warlock lived up to his name, a big man with bushy hair and a sick power to read faces. He was also our club diplomat and Sergeant at Arms, keeping our boys away from each other's throats and our associates too.

  “I'm calling a vote,” Pop said. “Let's get this shit out of the way so everybody's on the same page. All in favor of going on the offense against the Raging Skulls, speak up now. We'll go with the Nays first.”

  I stared at the table as he went around to the seven of us. Jonesy got a proxy vote while he was laid up.

  Everyone was a Nay. I saw it in their eyes before they spoke their vote aloud.

  Even Bolt voted 'nay.' He always voted the same way as his cousins Shady and Pounce. Didn't matter if he felt differently.

  None of my brothers looked me right in the eyes during the vote. They didn't like disappointing me, or else they were afraid I'd remember one day when I finally took over the club.

  “Now the 'ayes,'” Pop said, fixing his harsh stare on me.

  Why the fuck did he bother? I raised my hand and loudly confirmed my vote anyway.

  But Pop's reason ruled the day. Unanimous except for my 'aye' vote. And that stunk like hell.

  “It's a 'no go.'” Voodoo slammed down the gavel. “If nobody else has any business, then let's lighten up and get our shit in order. It's been a damned long day.”

  “Sounds good to me, Prez.” Bolt lead everybody out, heading straight for the bar to wet his whistle with more brain blasting poison.

  The door clicked shut behind Warlock, last out.

  Pop and I were alone. I looked up at him, holding in my fury.

  “You didn't have to humiliate me like that. Are you trying to make me look like a reckless asshole to the whole club?”

  “Yeah, matter of fact I am, son. That's because you're acting like one.”

  If he wasn't my old man, I would've popped out of my chair and nailed him in the face. I dug my fists into my sides beneath the table.

  “I did the only thing I could! Fuck, I saved us from a lot of trouble with those fucking jackoffs. Rachel can't be a day over twenty and she looked like a scared puppy. We don't need to be doing business with the Skulls when they're buying little girls.”

  “Rachel? That's the name of this bitch we have to go to war for?” Pop glared at me, shaking his head. “Shorting us on coke is bad. But trading bitches – if that's what was happening – is none of our business.”

  The holier-than-thou tone in his voice was really pissing me off. The older Pop got, the more righteous he sounded, and the less he really cared about much of anything.

  It was a stupid fucking paradox. One that worried me too.

  I bolted out of the chair and slammed my hands on the table in front of him, leaning into his face.

  “This isn't you, Pop. This isn't our club. What the fuck happened to you? If you're really that tired of all this shit, then you ought to hang up your jacket and give the gavel to somebody with vision.”

  He reared up like he was about to punch me. Hesitated at the last second. Typical Pop – all bark, no bite.

  It bothered me more that everybody else was starting to realize that too, brothers and enemies alike.

  “Vision? That's what's gotten a lot of good men killed over the years, son. Took me half my life to figure that out. Club business is business, Jack, and there's no room for chivalry in blood and money.”

  My nostrils flared. A brutal heat throbbed through me, even as I held my gaze, staring into the eyes of someone I used to respect.

  I tore myself away, walking past him, straight for the door. The big club banner with the pitchfork on it rippled on the wall with my movement, my burning need to get the hell out of here.

  “Son, wait...” he called after me, weaker and softer than before.

  “No.” I ripped the door open and stopped. “Fuck you and your business. And if that's what this club's all about from now on, then fuck it too.”

  I slammed the door so hard the whole building shook. Several guys at the bar perked up at the noise, roused from their drunken stupor.

  “She settling in okay?” I looked at Frannie, trying to ignore the killer rage dredged up by seeing Rachel with an ice pack tight to her pretty face.

  “I think she'll make it, hon. I'd tell you it's a sure thing if I had a clean kitchen and infirmary to come to at the clubhouse...”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. Prospects haven't been doing their job with all the excitement around here. Gonna have to have a heart-to-heart with them about all that.”

  Frannie's kind sass brought a smile to my face, despite all the bullshit. Warlock landed himself one hell of an old lady, the kind of girl who just got better with age, even if her looks didn't hold up the best.

  Easy for you to say, a voice said in the back of my mind. Let's see how well you look when you're pushing fifty.

  “I'd like that. But only if you guys wanna eat on time and get your wounds licked without an infection,” Frannie said. “If it's not too much trouble.”

  “What Frannie wants, Frannie gets.” I echoed the line the whole club used all the time, and that made her laugh.

  “How 'bout you, baby girl?” I turned to Rachel. “Can you talk?”

  She slowly drew the ice pack off her face. The swelling along her cheek looked redder than before, but going down. Good.

  “Yeah. I appreciate everything...the rescue and the help here, I mean.”

  “Where'd you come from? Is there anybody we should call to help you out?”

  Wrong question. Rachel stared down at her dusty shoes, fighting back a whimper.

  Shit. I just wanted to get some information. Don't want to make this angel's tough time rougher.

  “Jack! This isn't the best time to interrogate the poor girl. Get out of my infirmary if you're gonna do that. This is a place for healing.” Frannie wagged her finger at me like an old mother.

  She'd been a nurse before Warlock claimed her and moved her into the club full time. Good thing for the club that her sweet, but firm bedside manner didn't go when she quit her real job.

  “No, it's okay,” Rachel sniffed. “I...I don't know where to begin.”

  “Just tell me what happened,” I said gently, moving close to her. “We're here to help you out.”

  I took her hand. Frannie eyed us with a skeptical wrinkle on her face, one beat away from swatting me away with the stethoscope around her neck.

  “It was my father. He's the Mayor here, just elected...he drove me out to meet those other bikers. There was no warning. He just told me to get out the car and go with them. It was like he was giving up a stray dog!”

  “Fuck,” I muttered under my breath. I increased my hold on her precious hand, doing my best to soothe her worries away.

  How the hell can anyone wipe away something like this? Had a feeling the new boss was a bastard.

  I'd heard about Hargrove's election. Pop wasn't happy about it either. Hargrove had always been a pompous little man who stuck out like a sore cock in Cassandra.

  He did business and politicking different than everybody else in this little town, but it had obviously won him enough friends in high places to win the election.

  “It's gonna be okay,” I told her. I was dead serious. “Why the fuck would he give you away to the Skulls? Did he say anything?”

  She looked up, meeting my eyes. Soft starlight flickered through them as she struggled to remember the painful details.

  “No, but the Skulls talked to him like he was their...”

  “Their bitch?”

  “Yeah.” Sadness and anger seethed in her, making her pale skin flush. “Said it was for the good of our family.”<
br />
  “Shit. Those boys must have something on your old man.” My face hardened. Just thinking about that puke Mayor made me want to pound on the nearest brick wall. “That doesn't excuse what he did to you. What kind of sick fuck won't fight for his own daughter?”

  “He never cared about me.” She shrugged. “I just never thought he'd do something like this.”

  “Well, he can't hurt you anymore, baby girl. You have my word.”

  It was hell holding back from touching her more. I wanted to bring her soft hand to my face, rub it gently across my stubble, then kiss it until I stopped all her tears cold.

  What I wouldn't give to have Frannie in the other room.

  “Listen to him, Rachel.” Warlock's old lady piped up, laying her hand on my shoulder.

  Pretty strong for an old lady, but I guess years of fixing broken bodies will do that.

  “Thank you so much. Nobody's ever given me this kind of attention...you're better than my own family.” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she cracked.

  I leaned into her, pulling her toward my chest. The shattered dove wept all over me and I let her.

  Cry it all out. I'm gonna make Mayor Fuck-face pay a hundred times over, and the Raging Skulls too.

  “Make sure she gets something good to eat, Frannie.” The old lady raised a warning eyebrow at me. “Didn't mean it like that. Anything that comes out of your kitchen is fucking awesome, and you know it. I'll get on those newbies and whip 'em with my belt if I have to. If anybody around here needs clean facilities, it's you.”

  “You do that, Jack Shields.”

  I started to let go, but Rachel grabbed onto the leather jacket around my shoulders, hugging me closer. Frannie turned back to sanitizing some medical gear in the corner of our little makeshift sick room.

  Warlock's old lady didn't see how one hand crept to the small of my girl's back. I pressed it there. If we were in one of those sappy supernatural shows, I would've transferred some strength into her.

  “Stay strong, little Rach. You're gonna settle in here and be just fine. If there's nowhere else for you to go, then you can stay here as long as you'd like.”