by Nicole Fox
He wasn’t there. The chairs were mostly empty except for a scared-looking woman sitting alone, huddled under a blanket. Kelsey felt a pang of sympathy, but she kept moving, walking quickly without daring to look back. Her ears were tuned for the sound of the doors swinging open behind her, of someone calling her name.
It never happened. Before she knew it, she was stepping out into the cool dark night. The sign above the door splashed red light onto the asphalt, and as Kelsey walked away from it, she could feel the shadows descending around her. She shoved her hands in her pockets, kept her head down. Her stomach felt strange and flat beneath the strap of her purse.
Where would she go now? Even if she could bring herself to face Chopper, she was sure he wouldn’t forgive her for the little stunt she had just pulled. She thought about the place she’d given up to live with Spike, and wished she had exercised just a bit more forethought. But back then, she’d been riding almost exclusively on hope and the confidence that things would somehow work out. She was empowered by her determination to seek justice for her sister. And now, all that was gone.
Kelsey had failed in everything she set out to do, and she had burned every bridge that would bring her back to the world she lived in before. Ironically, either the Mongols or the Outlaws could have helped her get new documents if she wanted to change her identity, but it was too late for that. She was stuck being Kelsey Jones, bereaved and fallen from grace.
She walked as far as the edge of the lot, where she paused to assess the situation. The hospital sat near an entrance to the freeway, which was preceded by a moderately busy two-lane road. If she followed that road, eventually she’d end up back in the city. On foot, the trip would take hours. Kelsey shrugged to herself as she turned onto the sidewalk. It wasn’t like she had anything else to do, or anywhere else to be.
She’d barely gotten twenty feet when a car came rushing around the nearest lane of parked vehicles, its headlights blaring directly into her face. Kelsey threw up an arm to shield her eyes, and because she did that, she didn’t immediately see who was there. All she heard was a voice, which filled her blood with ice.
“There you are, little lady.” Someone grabbed her roughly by the waist, lifting her off her feet. Kelsey tried to scream, but hands clamped firmly over her mouth. A blindfold snaked its way around her head. She felt it knot tightly at her nape.
“We been lookin’ for you for a while. Ain’t Spike gonna be pleased.”
She didn’t say anything in response. The men swung her around so that she was suspended on her back in the air, and then they put her down—into what she quickly realized was the trunk of a car. “Don’t you look pretty lying there,” one of them said. “Now be a good girl and open wide.” Kelsey’s skin crawled. She kept her jaw firmly locked closed, and when she felt them prying her mouth open, she fought as hard as she could. A few fingers were bitten, some curses were uttered, and she was hit across the face, hard. Stars popped behind the blindfold. Her neck and jaw went slack. Something bitter poured onto her tongue.
Then everything faded away.
# # #
The two Mongols exchanged a glance, standing over the girl’s unconscious form in the open trunk. The one on the right nursed a couple of bleeding fingers, scowling down at the mark he’d left on her smooth white cheek. “Didn’t want to hurt ya, sweetheart. Wasn’t going to.”
“Spike said she was pregnant,” said the other. “She look pregnant to you?”
“Ah, who gives a fuck,” came the answer. He reached in and tucked one limp hand clear of the trunk lid before bringing it down. “We got her, don’t we? If she ain’t knocked up, he’s got one less thing to bitch about.”
The men walked around to the front of the car and got in. As he turned the key, the one with the injured hand punched a number into his phone. “Tell Spike we’re on our way.”
Chapter Seventeen
Chopper
He didn’t hear anything from anyone for over nine hours. The whole time, he sat in the waiting room with his hand on his phone, watching the ER traffic ebb and flow. In the early afternoon, a young man came in with bullet holes riddling his chest, blood soaking the front of his shirt. Chopper looked surreptitiously for a sign that he might be an Outlaw or a Mongol, but he found none. The kid’s face was all but covered by an oxygen mask, and if he had a jacket, it had been stripped away. He went back for emergency surgery, and three hours later, the surgeon emerged to tell the family that their son, brother, nephew had died on the operating table. Chopper tried not to watch as the woman he assumed to be the boy’s mother collapsed in despair. He tried not to listen to her wailing cries. Eventually, they too went back, and then they filed out into another part of the building in a solemn, tearful procession.
He still hadn’t heard from his boys.
It was not uncommon, especially back in the day, for some missions to go unreported until completion. Chopper used to send his men out with instructions in the morning, and often he wouldn’t hear back from them until they returned to the compound at night. This was due to a lot of things, mostly ease of communication during things like fights or negotiations. But as time and technology advanced, he had become accustomed to hearing status updates via text or call throughout the day, no matter what was going on. His men knew that he liked to be kept abreast of all situations, even peaceful ones, and they were generally very good about indulging that preference.
But today, when his best were out on the most important and potentially deadly excursion they’d ever had, they gave him nothing. Chopper told himself that they were busier than usual, that raiding the Mongol compound took a thousand times more concentration than, say, intercepting a shipment of drugs. He knew, however, that if things were going well, someone would have found a second to let him know. Either Red or Hoss would have shot him a text, or a photo, or something. Total radio silence wasn’t their style. If Chopper was honest with himself, he was worried, enough that Kelsey wasn’t the only thing on his brain. At least he knew where she was, and that she was safe. If she hated him, he could find a way to deal with it. He could talk her down, or spoil her with gifts — whatever it would take, he’d do it. But if he lost everything he’d built with the Outlaws, where would that leave him? He didn’t want to think about it.
Days ago, he’d seriously contemplated the idea of leaving the Outlaws behind, in Red or Hoss’s capable hands. He and Kelsey and the baby would move back into his house and have a real, normal life without violence and drugs and danger. Even at the time, it seemed a bit farfetched, and he had laughed at himself for having such domestic dreams. None of that mattered anymore. It was all gone. The baby, Kelsey’s love — gone. Chopper was shocked at the intensity of the pain he felt, as if that theoretical future was already real. As if he’d lost tangible things instead of just fantasies. He couldn’t bear to imagine it any longer, so he let his thoughts fill with the Savage Outlaws. Not better, but manageable. He had faith. He could always have faith in them.
A woman with a broken leg came into the ER. Chopper checked his phone again. Still nothing. He thought briefly about trying to get in touch himself, but there were too many scenarios in which an ill-timed call or even text could cost an Outlaw his life. Even though he was the boss, Chopper knew there were times when it was definitely better just to wait. So, he folded his hands and leaned his forehead on his knuckles, closing his eyes. He hadn’t slept well in what felt like days; was it days? His head hurt, and so did his joints, from sitting in that shitty chair.
Damn, Slater, you’re getting old, he told himself, in an attempt to lighten his own mood. It didn’t work. Finally, he just gave up and spread himself awkwardly out across the row. As uncomfortable as he was, the exhaustion won.
Chopper opened his eyes to hard fluorescent lighting and the constant scent of medicine. He groaned and pulled himself upright, feeling his back and shoulders pop in protest. His tongue and teeth tasted awful; he was willing to bet he didn’t smell that great either. Outs
ide the window, the sky was dark. Chopper looked around for a clock. Half past eight. He’d passed out for five hours. If he didn’t still feel like shit, he’d be impressed.
His cell phone showed three missed calls, all from Red’s number. The sight of the contact triggered Chopper’s short term memory, and all of a sudden, he remembered everything leading up to him sitting in the emergency room. He got to his feet and strode quickly out into the nearest hall. A placard on the wall pointed him toward the food court. He went, and on the way, he called Red.
“Hello?” The voice on the other line wasn’t one he immediately recognized.
Chopper paused before he replied. “It’s Chop,” he said. “Sorry I missed those calls. It’s been a tough day.”
There was a long inhale. “It’s about to get rougher,” said the voice.
“Who is this?” Chopper sat down at a table in the corner, across from the burger place in the opposite wall. “Why do you have Red’s phone?” A burst of sick apprehension gnawed at his stomach. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what was coming next.
“It’s Dean, Chopper. Red’s dead.”
Chopper was silent. He remembered Dean, a fresh-faced kid who’d come into the Outlaws under Red’s wing. Chopper had long suspected that the two men were somehow related, but he had never gotten the chance to ask Red either way. Nor had he ever seen Dean without Red, not even once. Yet, Dean had just told him that Red was dead.
“What do you mean?” he said finally, startling himself with the intensity of his own words. “They were weak. He said they pulled back. We should have had the upper hand.”
Dean spoke carefully, measuring out his emotions. “They knew we were coming. It was an ambush. The whole front line just …” He swallowed. “They never had a chance.”
None of it felt real to Chopper. He ran his hand through his hair, staring blankly at the tabletop. “But Hoss—”
“Hoss is dead too. Everyone who was leading got wiped as soon as we hit their territory. They were ready.”
“Are you sure?” Chopper whispered. He wanted desperately to find a way to get Dean to say another answer, to tell him that there was a colossal mistake. If he was telling the truth, then the whole upper echelon of the Savage Outlaws had just been taken out. Chopper was the only one left.
“I’m positive, Chop. I saw it. I saw everyone.” Dean paused. “I tried to call you right after, but I couldn’t get through. The whole place was booby-trapped.”
“Shit.” Chopper put the phone on the table and held his head in his hands for a moment. Then he pulled himself together. There would be time for all his grief and anger later. There would also be time for revenge.
“All right,” he said quietly. “What do you think? You’re the man in charge now.”
“Me?” Dean seemed surprised, but he didn’t protest, something for which Chopper was thankful. Dean took a minute or two to think. “You know,” he said slowly, “now that I think about it, I’m not sure there was really anyone there.”
“How do you mean?” Chopper asked. It seemed ludicrous that Spike would leave his compound unmanned, but these were uncharted waters. There hadn’t been a beef this big in years. Who knew what Spike would do?
“We fought some of them, but the thing that caught us was the traps,” said Dean. “You know, like real primitive, homemade kinds of shit. Tripwires with bombs. Stuff like that. And I remember wondering why the hell Spike would do that. He’s always been a hand-to-hand kind of guy, right? He’d rather see you die himself.”
“Sure.” That was something Chopper understood very well about Spike Lawler.
“So why would he even set traps, unless he wasn’t going to be there? We thought they were all just waiting for us to try to break into the compound, but maybe …” He trailed off and picked up the thought again. “Maybe he just left a squad to slow us down and packed up shop.” A frown colored his next words. “I doubt Spike’s above sacrificing his own men, the son of a bitch.”
“He’s not.” Chopper found himself impressed. So, this was why Red liked Dean so much — the kid was smart as a whip, and a quick thinker. “What does this mean, then? You think the compound’s empty?”
“Now? Just about. The ones who came to fight us after the traps went off are dead, and I’m thinkin’ they might’ve been the only ones left.” Dean paused. “But there’s no way to be sure unless we go back and check.”
“What happens if we don’t?”
“If we don’t, then we’ve just lost a lot of real good men for nothing, Chopper. I know you don’t want that, and neither do I. If there’s even a chance that we can get Lawler back for this, it’s worth the risk to me. Red was like my older brother, I can’t let him die like this.” The emotion ran high in Dean’s voice, and he stopped to push it back.
“I won’t do anything without your blessing, Chop. The first thing Red ever taught me was to respect you no matter what, and I swear I’ll do that. But this … we can’t let this slide.”
Chopper sighed. He felt for the kid, and he agreed with him. But the thought of making any more decisions like that made him feel as though his brain was going to start leaking out of his ears. “How many you got left?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” Dean said. “It’s enough. We can make it work.”
“Do me a favor, and at least do a head count before you roll out, okay? You don’t even have to tell me the number. In fact, I’m gonna say I don’t want to know. But you need to know exactly what you’re getting into here, at least on your end.”
“I’ll count,” Dean said. “We have to go soon if we want to make the most of this. You want me to call with the plan?” He hesitated. “I’ll use my own phone.”
“You know what?” Chopper said. He wanted to put his head on the table and sleep for the next hundred years. “No. You don’t have to call me. I’m gonna trust you like I always trusted Red and Hoss and all the others who died today. I’m gonna trust you to do the right thing, and I’m gonna trust you to succeed. That all right with you?”
As he said it, he knew it was probably a mistake, but for once in his life, Chopper felt like he couldn’t take anymore. And this poor kid was the one who had stepped up to shoulder the burden.
“It’s fine, sir.” Dean said. “And it’s an honor, too.”
“You’re good, Dean. Red is proud of you.”
Chopper ended the call right then, before Dean had a chance to reply. He was talked out, and he still hadn’t fully processed the new situation. Somehow, after decades of service without anything more than some bruises and maybe a few broken bones here and there, his two best men had been taken from him — by what? Some viciously simple mechanism hidden somewhere they couldn’t see? All the Outlaws knew that Spike Lawler was notoriously cruel and blunt. They had no reason to think he would turn suddenly to subterfuge. And they had paid dearly for it, just like he had.
The burger place was still open, staffed by a host of kids no older than twenty. Chopper wondered what he looked like to them, dark circles under his eyes, hair messed up and unwashed, clothes wrinkled from two nights in the waiting room chairs. The fatigue weighed heavy on him, like a physical object. He paid for the food, mumbled a thank you to the cashier, and brought it back to his table. The burger disappeared, bite by bite, but he couldn’t taste anything. The whole world seemed like a dream — or a nightmare. How could he have gone from the top of the world to a desolate pit of pain and loss? It didn’t make sense. Chopper thought he’d be prepared if a day like this ever came to the Savage Outlaws. Too late, he realized he had no idea.
And to some extent, his grief and the grief of his men wasn’t the worst of it. Whenever he returned to his duties at the compound, he would have to locate Red’s and Hoss’s next of kin. He’d have to deal with their last wills and testaments, if there were any. Maybe he’d have to track down Hoss’s ex-wife, whom he now knew had already lost a child. The enormous responsibility threatened to crush him under its weight, to say noth
ing of the other club members who’d been lost.
Chopper still believed that Dean and the remnants of his Outlaw army could bring Spike Lawler’s compound down. Once that happened, the road would be considerably smoother; they’d have resources, money, new territories, anything they could want. At the moment, though, all Chopper could do was eat his food court hamburger and wait. Wait for news of his boys at Spike’s compound, wait for news of Kelsey. Who knew when he would be getting either?
Chopper stayed at the table with his head resting on his arms for a while longer, falling in and out of an uncomfortable sleep. His neck and back were starting to hurt, but at that hour, it was quieter in the mostly deserted seating area, and no worse than the plastic chair. At ten-thirty, according to his phone, he got up and threw out his trash before taking a trip to the men’s room. The man in the mirror above the sink had sallow skin roughed by two days of stubble. Chopper ran his hand over it, staring at himself. If Kelsey were there, she’d say he looked like a hot mess. He splashed some water on his face. God, he missed her.
