by Celia Loren
“Hurry!” she shouted. “They’re getting closer!” She felt Cutler’s back muscles tense through his jacket.
Addison looked ahead to the road in front of them, and saw three cars traveling close together on the two-lane highway. Kyle and Salem crouched low over the bike, and Cutler followed suit, so Addison matched him. Sticking close together, they squeezed in between two of the cars. Addison looked to her right and saw the man driving the van they were passing look confused at first, then he began swearing at them. When they cleared the cars, she turned to see how the town car would react.
It had almost reached the cars when she saw it turn to the right until its wheels were straddling the shoulder and the gravel next to it. Dust and small rocks flew into the air as the town car kept coming, barely losing any speed.
Kyle and Cutler were driving as fast as they could now, and the road was empty of cars in front of them. Addison watched in horror as the car still gained on them, pulling up until it was just a couple car lengths behind. She saw the window on the passenger side of the car open, and a long black cylinder pop out. What was she looking at?
“Gun!” She screamed, realizing. She saw a white man lean out of the car window and take aim at her and Cutler. At the last second, Cutler decelerated, and she heard a shot ring out. She felt him reach down to his right foot as he kept the bike steady and pulled toward the driver’s side of the car. The man shot again, but wasn’t able to get a good shot off because of the angle Cutler had created.
Addison watched as he refocused on Kyle and Salem, who were still ahead of them. Oh, god, she thought. He can’t tell which one I am because Salem and I are both wearing helmets.
She saw Cutler bring his arm out to the side in a straight line and realized he must have pulled a handgun out of a leg holster. Aiming at the front tire on the driver’s side, he fired off a shot. Addison saw the tire puncture and collapse. The town car swerved but the driver managed to maintain a mostly straight line and keep going. Cutler dropped back further and took aim at the rear tire.
Addison watched Kyle and Salem over Cutler’s shoulder. They were swerving back and forth, trying to create a difficult moving target. She heard another shot ring out from the other side of the car and saw Salem slump over.
“No!” She screamed. She watched as Kyle tried to reach an arm around Salem to keep her on the bike, but then she heard another shot. Kyle collapsed onto Salem, and together they toppled off the bike and rolled onto the highway.
Cutler fired another two rounds into the rear tire, and it popped. The driver swerved again, and Salem watched in horror as the car rode over Salem and Kyle’s bodies. The town car swerved dangerously close to them, and Cutler pulled away from it. She could feel his body register what had happened to Kyle and Salem. He began firing and firing into the driver’s side window, and the glass of the window shattered.
Out of control, the car veered off the side of the road and into the sand. Hitting a small rocky outcropping, it flipped over spectacularly and landed on its top. Addison watched over her shoulder as a small fire broke out, and then with a pop and a roar, the car exploded in a fireball.
Cutler slowed slightly, still glancing behind them to make sure no one else was following them. The road looked clear except for the wreckage. Addison watched as Kyle and Salem’s bodies got smaller and smaller and finally disappeared from view. She turned back to Cutler and allowed herself to collapse against him.
She didn’t think she could have felt anymore empty than she had last night, but here she was. Because of her, Salem and Kyle were dead. The only people she knew to turn to in her crisis, and who had been so open and generous in extending a hand to her. Her eyes glazed over, and she fell into a trance. She didn’t know how much time had passed when she felt Cutler slowing and turning onto an off-ramp. They exited the highway, and she saw they were in an industrial neighborhood. She looked around at the old, abandoned factories, and wondered where they were going, though she didn’t have the heart to care.
They made a few turns, and Cutler pulled up next to an abandoned building. He turned off the bike and Addison sat up. Without a word, he knocked down his kick stand, and Addison let her legs fall to the street for support. She watched him wordlessly disappear into the building, and then heard what sounded like demolition, as though someone were trying to break down the building from inside. Suddenly, she heard screaming.
“FUCK!” Cutler yelled. “Fuck!” Addison pulled off her helmet and walked to the door of the building. She saw him inside swinging a wooden beam wildly against a metal support, his helmet on the ground next to him. He kept swinging until the beam began to splinter in his hands. His yelling became wordless screams of pain, until the beam was mere tinder in his hands. He dropped what remained of it and sunk to his knees, his screams becoming silent. He knelt over himself and placed his fists on the ground in front of him.
Addison stood frozen in the doorway, her heart torn. Should she comfort this man, still a stranger to her? Would she be an intruder in his grief? And what had happened was her fault anyway. She was probably the last person he wanted around.
The tense muscles in Cutler's jaw, neck, and arms slowly began to ease as he picked himself off the ground. Addison quickly returned to the bike, so he wouldn’t know she’d been watching him. After a moment he came out of the building, his eyes cast to the side, not making eye contact with her.
“I’m sorry. I know this was my fault.” she tried. Cutler still would not meet her eyes.
“We have to warn the rest of the Devil’s Reapers. They’ll come after all of us now,” he said.
“But how will they know it was you? Won’t they still just be after me?” Addison asked. Cutler turned and pointed at the skull with horns emblazoned in white on the back of his jacket.
“That’s the Reaper’s colors. Before they died, they would have let the rest of their crew know they found you, and who you were with. And since I killed those men, the rest of the Devil’s Reapers MC will be considered responsible. They’re all in danger.”
Addison could only stare at him. She had no words left.
“Get on,” he said, nodding toward the bike. “We have to go to the clubhouse and warn everyone to get out of there and go underground.” He got on the bike, and Addison sat behind him again. She felt guilty sliding her hands around his torso. She was a sickness, and she had infected him too.
Cutler gunned the bike and pulled away. Addison closed her eyes, feeling the hum of the motorcycle beneath her. She felt the vibration from the road course through her body, and wished it could purge her of everything she was feeling right now.
After what seemed like a short time, Cutler slowed again, and Addison opened her eyes. It looked like they were still in the same part of town, and they were pulling up to a building with a dozen motorcycles parked out front. Cutler pulled in to the end of the row of bikes and cut the engine. Standing, he pulled off his helmet and strode quickly inside. Addison hesitated, then followed him.
The interior of the Devil’s Reapers clubhouse was dark and smoky. A couch and some tables and chairs were spread across the room, and an old TV was on. Across the room, Addison could see a pool table and a bar. A hallway at the back led to some more rooms, and stairs. Men ranging from their twenties to sixties lounged around, talking, drinking, and playing cards. Their heads jerked up as Cutler banged open the door.
He paused for a moment. An older biker, with a salt and pepper beard stood up. Reading Cutler’s expression, he knew something was terribly wrong.
“Where’s Kyle?”
Cutler shook his head. “Gone. And Salem too.” Addison watched from behind Cutler as shock spread across the faces of the men. “We were followed from the airport by the men chasing her.” He gestured to Addison, and she shrank back as a dozen pairs of eyes turned on her. She wished she could evaporate into the air. “I killed them. At least two. We all need to get out of here. They’ll be coming for us next.”
“You hear
d him.” The older biker said. “Get to a safe place. No phones—“
“Wait.” Addison interrupted, stepping out from behind Cutler. Everyone turned to her in surprise. “You don’t have to do this.” There was silence as they waited for her to continue. “This is all my fault. I’m the only one who should have to deal with it. I already got my cousin and Kyle killed…” her throat began closing around a sob, but she swallowed it. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. I’ll…I’ll turn myself in. I’ll just go back to him. To Owen. It doesn’t matter what happens to me anymore.”
There was silence as the gang considered her words. A biker with long brown hair and a scraggly beard stood up.
“We should do what she said, Greyson,” he said, addressing the older biker. “None of us wants any more violence.” Several of the other bikers nodded in agreement. Cutler stepped forward.
“None of us wanted this, Dallas, but we’re in it now. You think they’ll be content to believe this girl shot a car off the road and murdered two men? That’s not how Devlin and Viktor Malitzka operates.”
The men shifted uncomfortably. Viktor who? Addison wondered. And why was Cutler sticking up for her?
“Cutler’s right, Dallas,” Greyson said. “We’re involved, whether we like it or not. Get to a safe place, and I’ll send word about our next step. And hurry. They won’t be far behind.”
The men began moving with grim purpose as they gathered their stuff and headed out to their bikes. Addison moved outside to the edge of the building. She watched as Greyson approached Cutler and gripped his shoulder with his hand. They spoke quietly for a moment, and she saw Cutler nodding. He headed outside, toward his bike.
“Get on,” he commanded. Addison mounted the bike behind him, and with a roar, each Devil’s Reaper peeled away from the clubhouse. Addison watched Greyson padlock the door as they drove away.
CHAPTER FOUR
Viktor Malitzka sat in an armchair watching Owen sleep. He admired how at peace he looked, smiling in his dreams. He wondered what he was dreaming about. The girl next to him in bed snored quietly. Probably they’d been wasted the night before, and more, judging by the cocaine Viktor had noticed spread all over the coffee table in the living room.
The very wealthy always seemed to sleep peacefully, Viktor thought. No matter what happened to them, they were always protected, living in the little universe they had created with their money.
He had seen the heights and depths of the world. He had starved as a young boy in Russia. His father had moved to New York after hearing from his cousin about new opportunities for men willing to get their hands dirty. He'd quickly risen up the ranks of the Russian mob and had ended up as Marcus Devlin’s right hand man. When he died in a heroin deal gone wrong, Viktor had taken his place.
Viktor had a reputation for ruthlessness, but he had always considered himself merely practical. Someone gets in the way of business, you had to get rid of them. That was the way the world worked. He had waited in bread lines as a boy, and had no intention of returning to that life.
He checked his watch. Almost noon. He stood, and grabbing the edge of the white sheets covering Owen and the girl, he pulled them off in one clean jerk. Owen and the girl woke with a start, grabbing to cover their suddenly exposed naked bodies.
“Morning, beautiful,” Viktor said smiling. Letting his eyes travel over the naked girl’s body, he nodded. “Nice. Now get out.”
“Fuck, Viktor!” Owen yelled.
“Who do you think you are? You can’t talk to me like that!” the girl said.
“Don’t make me repeat myself. It’s so inefficient.” Viktor replied calmly.
“Who the fuck is this guy, Owen?” The girl asked, turning to Owen.
“Leave.” Owen replied.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. There’s some cash on the coffee table for a cab.”
The girl stared at him, mouth agape, then realizing he was serious, furiously gathered her clothes from the floor and stormed out. Viktor and Owen waited until they heard the elevator doors shut behind her.
“I don’t understand why you don’t just deal with pros,” Viktor said, sitting back down in the chair.
“I like the challenge,” Owen replied, finding a pair of boxers on the floor next to the bed and pulling them on. “Not that she was much of one,” he added, smirking. “How’d you get in?”
“I have keys, of course.”
“Bullshit.”
“Daddy pays for the apartment, Daddy gets keys. That’s the deal.”
“Careful, Viktor. I’m still your boss.” Owen said, leaning back against the headboard with his arms tucked behind his head. Viktor stared back at him, his eyes unreadable.
“I’m here with a message from your father. Marcus is unhappy with you, Owen. He specifically told you no more messes but here we are again.”
“Look, I tried to take care of it myself, but the bitch was stronger than I thought, OK?” Owen spat back at him. “Did you check the Vegas airport like I said?”
“Yes, and you were right about that. I got word that they picked up her trail there this morning.”
“See? Everything’s fine. Fuck. You and my father freak out about the littlest things. I knew she’d be there.” Owen smiled smugly. He’d remembered Addison had invited him to some white trash wedding a couple years ago. She’d said her cousin was getting married, and she wanted Owen to meet her. Owen had made up some excuse about a project for school. No way Owen Devlin would be seen at a poor person’s shit wedding. But he remembered the weekend, because he’d just been able to get some slut he’d hooked up with out of the apartment in time before Addison came home.
“Owen, it’s not just this girl. The reason our…operation is so successful is that the Devlin name is beyond reproach. But if people start hearing that the younger Devlin is a cokehead who likes to beat up on women, you draw attention to every aspect of our business.”
“Great, thanks for the talk, Viktor. Anything else? I’ve got some work to do.”
Viktor’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Holding his hand up to Owen, he walked into the hallway to answer it, shutting the bedroom door behind him. Owen’s mask of calmness dropped, and his face turned into a sneer.
He hated Viktor Malitzka. He hated how his father chose to communicate with him, his own son, through this Russian thug. Growing up, Marcus was always telling him how Viktor was calmer, methodical, got things done quietly—almost like Viktor was his real son. When he took over the family business, Viktor would be out. He’d choose men who’d be loyal to only him.
Viktor opened the door and walked back into the bedroom.
“You didn’t mention that your little fiancé had friends.”
“What are you talking about?” Owen asked, frowning.
“The Devil’s Reapers. A biker gang. She hooked up with them at the airport, and when my men tried to take her out, one of them killed both my men. We got a couple of the bikers, but not her.”
“She’s still alive?! What the fuck, Viktor, I thought you were supposed to be a professional! What fucking good are you if you can’t even kill a fucking little girl!”
“You didn’t seem to find it so easy, either. We’re tracking the gang now. She’s probably still with them. Your father has asked me to fly out now to supervise.”
“You talked to him?”
Viktor nodded.
“I’m going too.” Owen said.
“You don’t have any experience handling this kind of situation.” Viktor replied.
“My father needs to know I can take care of this myself. Not to mention how good it will feel to finally kill that bitch myself.
Viktor paused. It wasn’t a good idea to disagree with Owen when he was like this. He’d once tried to set fire to the house when Marcus hadn’t given him the car he’d wanted when he turned sixteen. Only a few years older than Owen, Viktor had pulled out an extinguisher and put out the flames himself.
“We’re
going out on the jet today. Pack your bags.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Addison opened her eyes as Cutler slowed in front of what looked like an abandoned ranch house. To her surprise, he pushed a button on the front of his bike and the garage door slowly opened. He guided the bike slowly into the darkness of the garage and cut the engine. He hit the button again, and the metal door began lowering behind them. Addison pulled off her helmet as the sunlight narrowed to a slit.
“Where are we?”
“Just a sort of studio I have.”
“Is it safe? Will they be able to find us here?”
“No one knows about it. Not even the Reapers.” Cutler walked to the door leading out of the garage into the rest of the house. Addison followed him, and was surprised by the interior she found.
The house looked like a shithole from the outside, but inside it was well kept and bright, even though Cutler had boarded up the bottom half of the windows so no one walking by could casually see in. Cutler walked to the fridge and pulled out a couple beers. Popping the caps off on the counter, he offered one to Addison. She accepted it and thirstily drank almost half of it on her first sip.
She sat at on a stool that was pulled up to the kitchen’s bar. Cutler leaned on the counter on the other side of it. They fell into silence, each sipping at their beer. She examined him out of the corner of her eye.
Addison had never been good at judging men’s heights, but Cutler must have been at least 6’3’’. The beer bottle looked small in his hands, and she noticed the scars crisscrossing his knuckles. There was a long scar crossing the right side of his face too, coming dangerously close to his eye. She wondered how he’d gotten it. Who was this man? Could she trust him?
“How…how did you meet Kyle?” Addison asked, gingerly, not wanting to upset him.
“Kyle’s the one who got me into the Reapers.” Cutler responded curtly.
“Salem is… was… my cousin on my father’s side. She came over to England every summer from when she was a kid. Up until she'd graduated high school.”
