HARDCORE: Storm MC

by Zoey Parker

  “The dealer set us up,” Keith said. “Four guys jumped Cain as he was leavin’ the motel room. From the look of him, fuck, I dunno, Hunter, I don't think he's gonna make it...”

  “Don't say that,” Hunter snapped. “We'll be right there.”

  Keith heard Hunter lower the phone and say, “Bones, get the van. The rest of you, get on your fuckin' bikes. Cain's been hurt.”

  There was a murmur of confused and angry Eagles stirring in the background, and Hunter raised the phone again. “We need to know who was behind this. Please tell me you grabbed the dealer.”

  “I'm tryin’,” Keith said, looking around the bathroom and wondering what he'd missed. Nostril couldn't have just gathered up his shit, snapped his dirty fingers, and vanished in a puff of smoke.

  “Well, fucking try harder,” Hunter spat. Keith heard the van door slam shut and the engine start. “We're on our way.” The call ended.

  Just as he was about to give up and head back outside to stay with Cain, Keith noticed a light dusting of paint chips resting on the lid of the toilet. He looked up and saw that just above the toilet, there was a small, narrow window which had clearly been painted over numerous times. It had been slid open.

  “Oh, no you don't, you skinny little fuckrat,” Keith hissed, hopping up on the toilet lid and peering out the window.

  Nostril was running across the weedy, trash-strewn lot behind the motel, his arms full of baggies. He'd only gotten less than a hundred feet away, and based on the long scrapes on his arms and legs, squeezing through the window had slowed his escape.

  Keith knew that there was no way he could force his own 280-pound frame through the tiny window.

  But Keith also knew he had six friends along with him, all of whom could run a hell of a lot faster than Nostril.

  He stuck his arm through the window, aiming his .357 carefully. Nostril's legs were galloping too fast for Keith to reliably shoot one out from under him. His lower back made a perfect target, though, and his white undershirt made it especially visible in the moonlight.

  Keith took a deep breath, exhaled, and pulled the trigger. The massive gun recoiled in his calloused hands, the sound exploding off the tiles around him like a dynamite blast in a mine shaft.

  A large red hole appeared at the base of Nostril's spine and he screamed. His arms flailed upward, sending the bags of meth and 'shrooms in every direction. Nostril fell forward and started rolling around on the ground, shrieking and leaving wide, wing-shaped swathes of blood around his body like a child making a snow angel. As Nostril curled up on his side, Keith saw that the bullet had exited through Nostril's belly, leaving a huge, ragged-looking wound.

  Missed the spine, Keith thought. Good. We might need him to have some feeling below the waist later if he won't cooperate under questioning.

  More than anything, Keith wanted to head back to the motel parking lot and stay with Cain until the others got there. Keith and Cain had joined the Eagles around the same time, and Cain had always been like a brother to him. But Keith knew that if he turned his back on Nostril, the scumbag might somehow find a way to drag his sorry ass away before reinforcements turned up, and they might never learn who made this move against them.

  So instead, Keith darted out the door of the motel room, sneaking a quick glance at Cain to make sure he was still alive before going to collect Nostril.

  At least no one staying in this motel is eager to be a witness, Keith thought. Most of them are probably into some shady shit themselves and won't call the cops. But the motel's manager certainly will, so we'd better haul ass before this gets more complicated than it needs to be.

  Keith charged around the corner and ran across the lot behind the motel. Nostril was still yowling like a scalded cat and flopping around on the ground. “You've killed me!” he screeched when he saw Keith coming toward him. “You killed me, oh fuck, Jesus, fuck, you've fuckin' killed me!”

  “Well, if you're already dead, then I guess you won't mind if I do this,” Keith said, grabbing Nostril's mohawk and dragging him back to the parking lot. Nostril howled and spasmed the entire way.

  When they reached the parking lot and Nostril saw the condition Cain was in, he wriggled even harder, dragging his heels against the ground stubbornly like a child being dragged from a toy store. “No! No, no, no, this wasn't me! I didn't do this! I paid you, I was in the room, I had nothin' to do with this, let me go!”

  Keith smashed Nostril's face into the ground, then dragged it back up so it was inches from his own. “Lie to me one more fuckin' time,” he snarled, “and I'll rip your ballsack off your fuckin' body right here in this parking lot.”

  “Ohhh, fuck, I'm gonna die,” Nostril moaned, starting to sob. “I don't wanna die, I don't wanna...”

  “You'll die when we're ready for you to die, shitstain,” Keith said. “How much pain you get to feel first is gonna be up to you. Remember that.”

  There was a rumble of motorcycles up the street, and a moment later, the three men were lit by the glare of headlights. Keith saw the Blood Eagles' black van, followed by a long procession of MC members on their bikes. It looked like at least half of their members had rode out with Hunter tonight. Even though the beating seemed to be over for the moment, Keith was relieved by their show of strength.

  The van screeched to a halt in front of Cain and the side door rolled open immediately. Hunter hopped out, crouching over Cain nervously. Bones stepped down from the driver's seat, and another Eagle named Tinny emerged from the passenger's side.

  “Jesus,” Hunter said. “Cain, can you hear me?”

  Cain nodded slowly, letting out a pained groan. His entire head looked like a mass of blood, and his arm was laying at an odd angle.

  “Okay, everything's gonna be fine,” Hunter continued. “I know it hurts like a motherfucker but I need you to just hang on for me. Just for a little while longer, all right? We're gonna get you all fixed up, I promise. But first we're gonna have to move you, and it's gonna feel fuckin' awful but you gotta let us do it so we can help you. Understand?”

  Cain nodded weakly again.

  “Good,” Hunter said. He carefully slid his arms around Cain's body and lifted him off the ground.

  Cain grunted, gritting his teeth as Hunter's arms pressed against his kicked-in ribs. “I know, buddy,” Hunter whispered. “I know. Hang in there. We’re almost there.” Hunter brought Cain over to the van and gently lifted him onto the back seat.

  “See? He's fine, he's gonna be okay,” Nostril blubbered. “I dunno who jumped him, it's fucked up, I can help you find out who it was if you want, just lemme go, please...”

  “Oh, you're gonna help us, asswipe,” Hunter said, gesturing to Bones.

  The tall, cadaverous Sergeant-At-Arms of the MC seized Nostril and shoved a gun in his mouth. “Hop in,” he rasped, his eyes burning coldly in their sunken sockets. “We're going for a ride.” He pulled Nostril into the back of the van, slamming the door shut behind them.

  Keith mounted his bike as Hunter got behind the wheel of the van. Sirens were approaching slowly, and Hunter silently thanked the Micanaw cops for being a pack of corrupt, lazy slobs.

  “Tinny, you take Cain's bike,” Hunter commanded. “Let's get the fuck out of here fast.”

  The outlaws revved their engines and sped off into the night, leaving only bloodstains and burned streaks of rubber behind them.

  Chapter 5

  Missy

  Missy heard the Eagles' bikes roaring into the parking lot, but she still jumped when Hunter and Tinny burst through the door of the Lost Knife, carrying Cain's limp and bloodied body.

  Even though it had only been thirty minutes since Hunter got the call from Keith and rushed out with the other Eagles, it felt to Missy like she'd been waiting for hours. Her nerves were frayed.

  Based on what she'd heard of the phone call from Hunter's end, it had sounded like Cain and Keith had walked into some kind of trap, and she was worried that the setup might include an ambush when
the other members of the MC showed up.

  She thought about her talk with Hunter a few hours before and felt a stab of anger and impatience. He didn't want her to take any risks because he'd be too worried about what would happen to her, but he certainly had no problem running off into a potential firefight and leaving her behind to wonder whether she'd ever see him alive again. It was a rotten double-standard to be held to, and she resented it.

  Hunter, Tinny, and Cain were followed by Bones, who was pressing the barrel of his gun against the temple of a skinny man with a gruesome-looking stomach wound. The rest of the Blood Eagles filed in behind them, and the last one locked the door.

  “Missy, go into the office and stay there for a bit, okay?” Hunter said as he and Tinny laid Cain out on a table. “We're gonna need some space in here, and there's probably some cash that needs counting.”

  Under normal circumstances, Missy might have made a sarcastic remark about being dismissed like this, but one look in Hunter's eyes told her how serious this situation was and how much he was trying to conceal his own fear. From the state Cain was in, she wasn't surprised. He looked like he'd been run over by five trucks.

  So Missy nodded briskly and headed to the office, listening as Hunter continued to bark orders.

  “Bones, take that fuckin' cumstain to the supply room an' tie him up good an' tight. Then grab some rags from the bar an' see what you can do about plugging up the hole in his belly. We don't want him bleedin' out too fast.”

  “Please just kill me if you're gonna,” the skinny man whined. “Just do it, come on, if that's what you're gonna do anyway then just get it over with, don't hurt me, don't do nothin' to meeeeee...” His quavering voice rose into a high-pitched wail at the end.

  Bones ignored this as he snatched some towels from the bar and dragged the man into the supply room, slamming the door behind him.

  Missy entered the office and closed the door most of the way, leaving just enough of a crack for her to peer through. She may have gone along with being banished, but she had no intention of counting out crinkled bills and pretending nothing was going on in the next room.

  She had never interacted much with Cain, but she knew how much Hunter valued him as a friend and VP. She was worried about how Hunter would take it if Cain didn't pull through.

  When Eagles had been hurt by others in the past, Hunter had flown into nuclear rages, coming at their enemies straight away and spraying bullets indiscriminately until no one was left alive. He'd been lucky with these scorched-earth retaliation tactics before, and they were part of the reason why the Eagles regarded him as such a strong leader.

  But Missy worried that eventually, Hunter's blind fury would make him lead such a charge against a gang that was big enough, armed enough, or organized enough to respond by completely annihilating the Eagles, down to the last man.

  And right now, she was looking at the state Cain was in and how Hunter was taking it, and wondering whether she was watching the first domino fall.

  Missy watched as Tinny ran a couple of towels under cold water and brought them over to Cain, gently wiping the blood from his face. A potbellied ginger with close-cropped hair and a round baby face, Tinny had served in Afghanistan as an Army medic, and he'd proved himself useful when Eagles got in crashes or needed bullets dug out of their flesh. But whether he could treat someone this badly beaten remained to be seen, and judging from the look in Tinny's eyes, he wasn't so sure himself.

  Under all the blood, though, Cain's face didn't look quite as badly damaged as Missy had expected, and she even heard a couple of Eagles let out sighs of relief.

  “Well, Cain, you won't be moonlighting as a runway model anytime soon,” Tinny said, “but you've still got two eyes, two ears, and an intact jaw from the look of it, so that's something, at least. It doesn't even seem like your skull or cheekbones got any fractures, which is a miracle given the beating you took. You've got some deep lacerations, but nothing a few dozen stitches won't take care of.”

  “Good,” Cain nodded. He licked his swollen lips, wincing with pain. His eyes still looked surprisingly alert considering the head trauma he'd suffered. “Can you splint the arm?” he asked.

  “Sure, I can,” Tinny replied. “It looks like a pretty clean break. But the arm isn't the problem. It's those ribs.”

  “Tape 'em, then,” Cain said.

  Tinny let out a sardonic chuckle. “Well, shit,” he said, “here I've been patching guys up for the club for what, six years? And it turns out you were a damn doctor the whole time. Your ribs aren't just broken, Cain. Some of them look like they may have splintered inward. If I start tightening bandages around them, it could drive them further into your body and end up skewering vital organs. And besides, you might already have internal bleeding, which I'm not equipped to detect or treat from here. You need a hospital.”

  “I'll be fine,” Cain insisted. “Now that I've had a chance to get my shit together, I feel a lot better already. So just do what you need to do with the arm and the head and the ribs, and I'll rest up for a day before going to dish out a little fucking payback.”

  Tinny leaned over Cain, shining a small flashlight in his eyes. “Follow the light with your eyes, please,” Tinny said, moving it back and forth. “So, you're sure you'll be okay?”

  “Absolutely,” Cain answered.

  “Just a couple stitches, a splint, and some tape for the ribs, and you'll be all set?”

  “Fuck yeah,” Cain agreed. “Maybe an aspirin or two.”

  Tinny shrugged. “Okay, if you're sure. Go ahead and sit up so I can start on that arm.” Several of the Eagles moved forward to help Cain up, but Tinny put up a hand to stop them.

  Cain put the palm of his good arm against the table and slowly propped himself into a sitting position. Once he had, the color drained from his face and he abruptly leaned forward, vomiting blood onto the floor. A few of the Eagles moaned with disgust.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Cain,” Hunter muttered worriedly.

  Missy watched, trying to keep from retching herself. She considered herself pretty tough, but she was a sympathetic vomiter, and seeing the thick and nauseatingly vivid red torrent was almost too much for her.

  Tinny raised his eyebrows at Cain. “Still think a couple stitches and a Nuprin will make everything better, tough guy? Or are you ready to leave the diagnosing to the professionals?”

  “Fuck off, it's just a little puke,” Cain said shakily. “I'll be...”

  “Cain, knock it off, okay?” Hunter said quietly. “You don't need to prove anything to anyone here. We all know you're a badass. But you need a goddamn hospital.”

  “If I go to the hospital, they'll have to report my injuries to the cops,” Cain said. “Fuck that.”

  “Let me worry about that,” Hunter insisted. “Come on, let's get you to the ER. Can you stand up?”

  Cain dragged himself to his feet, swaying slightly. “Sure.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Hunter said. “Keith, help him take the cut off. If the doctors see he's an Eagle, they'll be a lot more likely to call it in.” As he said this, Hunter walked toward the office.

  Missy didn't bother pretending she hadn't been watching everything. She and Hunter knew each other too well for that. “So, did you enjoy the show?” Hunter asked her.

  “Who did that to him?” she asked.

  “We don't know yet, but we're gonna find out pretty fuckin' fast,” Hunter said. “Meanwhile, I need you to drive him to the hospital.”

  “Sure,” Missy said, “but why me?”

  “You're not an Eagle or a known outlaw,” Hunter replied, “so if you bring him in and say he had an accident, they'll be more inclined to believe you,”

  “An accident?” Missy repeated incredulously. “What do you want me to tell them? That he fell down a flight of stairs and then got hit by a train?”

  “I don't care if you tell ‘em that a pegasus descended from the sky, snatched him up, an’ dropped him from three thousand feet
,” Hunter said irritably, “as long as whatever you tell them doesn't involve any crimes they'd need to report.”

  “This plan seems kind of shaky, Hunter,” Missy protested. “Wouldn't it be better if he were, y'know, escorted by Keith and some of the other guys in case whoever it was tries to attack him again?”

  “That's a risk we'll have to take so we can stay off the cops' radar long enough to find out who did it an’ handle our business. You said you wanted to do more for the club, right?” Hunter snapped impatiently. “You said you were up to it? That you could handle yourself as well as one of the guys? Well, now's your fuckin’ chance to prove it, so either do it or go back to weighin’ out dime bags. Just quit bitchin’ about it, because while you're standin’ here sassin’ me, Cain's in a real bad way and needs medical attention.”