by Sandy Kline
By Sandy Kline
Copyright © 2014 Sandy Kline
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Dedication
Special thanks to my kids Ethan and Diego and my good friend Dan Mustaro
Edited By
Deborah Anne Larkin
BROKEN
Death Crusaders MC
Book One
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter One – My Past Collides With My Present
Chapter Two - Stampede
Chapter Three - Fate
Chapter Four - Stampede
Chapter Five - Sunday
Chapter Six – Home Invasion?
Chapter Seven – Death Ride
Chapter Eight – The Traffic Stop
Chapter Nine – The Aftermath
Chapter Ten – Breaking and Entering
Chapter Eleven – The Talk
Chapter Twelve - Again
Chapter Thirteen – Hell to Pay
Chapter Fourteen – Midnight Run
Chapter Fifteen – Get Away
Epilogue – On The Run
Prologue
The first time I saw them ride through town I was barely ten and still chaffing under the iron fist of my latest stepdad Larry. When I say stepdad I don’t mean that seriously. He was just another man in the long line of men my alcoholic mother, Linda Scott shacks up with and marries after only knowing the guy for three months. At least she didn’t marry Larry, but he was fiancée number seven. She actually only tied the knot four previous times as two turned up dead and one in prison with life without parole so my mom dropped him like a hot potato.
With the exception of my real father, every one of those men, husbands or fiancée’s treated me with a heavy hand and I would go to school regularly with some new bruise or aches and pains that my mother did her best to conceal with makeup or cough syrup. Later on she would take one of her pain pills for her fake back injury, break it up into fourths and give me one before school in the morning. I guess she figured that if I couldn’t feel the pain that I wouldn’t call the cops on her latest man and sadly she was right. I counted myself lucky that none of her fiancée’s or husbands had any sexual proclivities towards young girls so at least I didn’t have to worry about that and I could actually sleep at night.
So mom and I had gone into town to buy me a new top and a frozen yogurt. Her way of apologizing for last night’s drunken rampage by Larry fuelled not only by too much whiskey but my mom’s in-your-face confrontational behavior. She just doesn’t know when to quit. Monkey (Larry) had mistakenly passed out on my bed and I couldn’t get him to wake up. I used to call him monkey because he both looks like a monkey and acts like one when he’s drunk. Side benefit; mother hated it when I called him that.
So finally out of unbelievable frustration and extreme fatigue I went into the kitchen and got a big Tupperware bowl and filled it with ice and cold water. Then I went back into my room and began pouring it on Larry’s face and into his open mouth. That woke him up. I had to admit, it was damn funny watching him sputtering, coughing and fuming. He knew it was me right away because I still had the plastic container in my hands. I really didn’t care that he knew I did it. I just wanted him out of my bed. Of course I didn’t think it through. Sure I had him out of my bed but I couldn’t sleep in it either. There was just so much water that it soaked into the mattress making it impossible to lie down in. I spent the next four days sleeping on the couch in the living room.
And the real reason for mom’s apologetic spending spree? For the first time Monkey actually hit me somewhere that you couldn’t cover with clothes; in my left eye. I don’t think he did that intentionally but he was pissed - choking on ice cubes and water, he just swung out wildly at anyone within striking distance; me.
Mom did her best to conceal my growing black eye but there’s only so much you can do with makeup if you’re not a professional make-up artist. In the end I got to stay home from school for ten days due to a ‘bad strain’ of the flu. She even got a doctor to sign an excuse for me so it didn’t raise any questions about me being gone so long. Not only did I get to skip out on school but I got two tops and three pairs of skinny jeans out of it. Not a bad price to pay for new clothes and time off from school.
It was during my mysterious case of the flu that I just happened to be in town the day the Death Crusaders MC came rolling through town. Larry began the morning with a hangover and a nasty temper. It had been two days since the ice water incident and we got into a fight immediately when he demanded I make him toast and a Bloody Marry. The other sad thing about this whole situation is that I actually knew what a Bloody Marry was along with a Manhattan, Mint Julep, Sex on the Beach, White Russian, and a half a dozen others – I’ve made them all. It’s just blind luck that I hadn’t started my own dizzying drop into alcoholism myself despite my tender age.
So, my mom and I were just about to cross the street and head back to the parking lot when an ear splitting roar just tore through the generally quiet downtown area. At first I thought it was some explosion or some kind of tornado or other freak storm. I had no idea what forty odd Harley Davidson motorcycles sounded like. Looking around for the source of the noise I could see that everyone else on the street were just as bewildered as I was. The only person who didn’t seem to share everyone’s confusion was my mother. She seemed to know what was bearing down on us and just stood her ground gripping my hand painfully. Since she obviously knew what was going on I chose to look in the same direction as her and not a half minute later an unbroken line of nearly four dozen bikers pulled out onto our Main Street heading right toward us. People all around were quaking in fear and whispering amongst themselves and pointing at the spectacle that was the Death Crusaders Motorcycle Club! They were big, brutish, and scary and more than anything in the world right then, I just wanted to climb up behind of one of them on those huge powerful bikes and just ride out of town and out of my sad little life. As they rode by my mother and me, my bones actually rattled inside and the ground beneath my sandaled feet vibrated almost painfully so.
As the bikers drew even with my mother and me one of them turned and looked right at me. He wasn’t wearing one of those full face helmets so I could easily see just how handsome he was. Even at my tender age I was immediately infatuated with him. He had this perfectly symmetrical face, longish blond hair and this cute little dusting of a beard that framed his square jaw and dark mouth that went from a sneer to an amazing smile when our eyes met. Now why couldn’t my mom get with a guy like that? I had no idea what had prompted this sudden show of force but I secretly hoped this wouldn’t be the last time I saw them.
Over the next fifteen years different motorcycle clubs would become a major part of my life. I even became the old lady to two different club members but no single biker or club had exactly what I was looking for. In short, I was spending my precious twenties looking for that elusive club the Death Crusaders and that blonde biker I locked eyes with so many years ago. No matter what club I became involved with and which biker I took up with they just all seemed to fall short and I just couldn’t fill that vacuum in my soul left by the man in the Death Crusaders MC. It didn’t matter that I was ten at the time and he was at least twenty-five. He just became the symbol for my ideal man and everyone since has fallen short.
Then one day just shy of my twenty-eighth birthday that all changed one afternoon when the Death Crusaders moved back into town.
Chapter One
My Past Collides with My Present
I’m sitting at Starbucks drinking an ice coffee and pondering my latest failed relationship. After years of dating bad boys, moving in and moving out, promising to marry,
and then promising to file a restraining order, I have finally given up on bikers. I have dated, been engaged with, and lived with bikers from several different clubs and finally I am done with the lot of them. I finally decided to try romance on the right side of the law and date a patrol cop named Officer Mark Brown. Problem was, he happened to be on the wrong side of the law himself and would bend the rules (law) whenever it suited his purposes. That probably wouldn’t have been an issue eight months ago but now that the new me is trying the straight and narrow it was just another blow to my frail confidence and I just couldn’t take it. It was a nasty breakup which came with months of stalking to the point I had to get a restraining order which was one hell of an uphill battle trying to convince any judge to even entertain the thought much less issue one. When I finally managed to record damning evidence one night of Officer Brown breaking and entering my residence then attempting to force himself on me, the judge, sour face and all, was forced to give me the much needed piece of paper. So far he has abided by it but not his buddies on the force. So now I am constantly harassed on the road and all hours of the night but there is just no way I’m gonna get a restraining order against half the police force; not in this small town.
I’m sitting here about to pick up my cup of coffee when the cup and saucer begins to rattle like in an earthquake and that’s exactly what I’m thinking for a split second before I came to my senses and realize what’s happening. I look up, along with just about everyone else in town, and a group of bikers come roaring down Main Street and right through the red light on the intersection. Fortunately cross traffic stops, giving them the right of way. But as some three dozen bikers blow through, one turns and looks right at me. My heart literally stops beating. It is him! It’s the guy who locked eyes with me on this very same street. The Starbucks wasn’t here then but it was the same general area. Oh my god though, he has improved with age! For what seems like forever he holds my gaze and I can literally see the gears turning in his head. Then before looking away he lifts two fingers to his brow and salutes me.
Suddenly it hits me. This can’t be the same guy. In that brief second or two I know it’s not him. This guy is probably my own age and he’s a handsome devil. He’s got that same sandy blond hair sticking out from his small cap of a helmet. In fact it sits on the baseball cap he has on backwards. He’s got a fine goatee that frames his beautiful mouth. His whole look is kind of a boyish look but don’t let that fool ya. He’s wearing a black hoodie, blue jeans and white tennis shoes. As he passes by I catch the back of the cut he’s wearing and it’s almost too unbelievable to be true. It’s the same club and on his back is that same cut. The top rocker has the word Death Crusaders and the bottom rocker says Whispering Pines, CA. That’s going to cause some trouble. There’s already a dominant club here who calls Whispering pines home. The middle patch of the three piece unit is that of what can only be described as a corpse riding a chopper.
If that handsome man I saw fifteen or so years ago had a kid this would be him! Well maybe not. He’s probably too old¸ but he’s a spitting image of the other man of my dreams from my youth. As they pass from my view I immediately feel this deep ache down in my soul return with a vengeance and I realize something. I’ve had this same ache inside since I was a little girl and saw the Death Crusaders the first time and for the two seconds that I locked eyes with the young man today that ache was completely gone!
I have to find this man if only to relieve myself of the pain in my soul. Ever since I locked eyes on that man seventeen years ago I have been either looking for him or him in the bodies of all the men I have been with since. I couldn’t live with myself if I let him escape this time. I grab my coffee and dash out, tossing my cup in the nearest sidewalk trashcan. My car is parked just up the street and I reach it in seconds and dive into the front seat, throwing my purse into the seat next to me. Then I realize my keys are not in my hands. I pound my steering wheel with my fist and cast around for wherever they could have fallen. I locate them between my car seat and the center console but I’ve lost valuable seconds. I insert my key and with a twist my Mustang roars to life. I barely look before pulling out into traffic and I receive an angry beep in protest.
I have looked for this club for years and for whatever reason they literally fell off the grid and what’s even more of a mystery is why they have popped up again? No way in hell am I going to let them disappear again without at least making contact with that guy I saw riding by me. I know it’s crazy but I swear that for those seconds, those two seconds, we connected on deep level. I don’t want to presume, but I feel like we connected on a spiritual level and I just can’t let that pass me by…not this time. I hit the gas. They can’t have gotten too far ahead of me. I go about a mile and a half before I come to a crossroads. Main splits up and you either go right down a one way street over to Columbus or head left down a two way street that eventually becomes Commondale. Both eventually lead to bars; a likely place for any outlaw biker club to spend their afternoon. Trouble is, I don’t know which one would appeal to bikers more so I’m just going to have to go to both and hope they actually stopped. Then an unbidden thought hits me. The road to the right, the one that leads to Columbus eventually empties into Highway One and once they get on the freeway there’ll be no chasing them down. So I go right. When I’m within sight of the Blue Oyster Bar and Grill I can tell immediately that the club did not stop there. That means they went to the Black Bear Eatery or they’re on Highway One and already out of my reach.
I keep my eyes peeled for cops. A stop from a patrol car now would be disaster and sadly any cop that spots me is going to stop me. I’m on Columbus now and about two miles from the Highway One onramp. I look in my rearview mirror. The coast looks clear so I hit the gas.
When the initial impact of bullets explodes my driver’s side front window sending tiny cube like shards of glass into the side of my face and scalp I don’t realize what has happened at first. My brain screams accident and that I must have pulled out in front of a car or truck. I can feel the burn of glass on the side of my face and scalp and the warm rivulets of blood running down the left side of my face.
The next two rounds strike my front windshield and it just disintegrates in front of me taking what little composure I have remaining. For some lame reason I hit the brakes instead of trying to drive out of the field of fire. Now I’m just sitting here frozen in terror unable to make a single decision that could save my life. The noise is just incredible! It appears that I am being shot at from all sides and I can feel my little car rock from side to side from the constant impact of bullets. My brain screams for me to open my eyes and drive out of here but I can’t even make myself open my eyes. They’re screwed shut so tight it’ll take two men and a jackhammer to separate my two lids.
As if things can’t get any weirder my door opens!
“Lady,” commands a gruff voice. “Move the fuck over!”
This time I open my eyes and get another shock. Leaning in my car is none other than the hot biker I saw just a few minutes ago. His face is streaked with sweat and he’s wearing a grim expression. In his right hand he’s holding some kind of automatic rifle. I can actually see steam or smoke trickling off the barrel.
“Move your ass!” He barks.
That, for some reason wakes me up. “Move my ass?” I ask, nearly shrieking. “You barge in my car and you’d better be saying mor-”
“Shut up lady!” He shouts, then gives me the old heave ho and I wind up dumped unceremoniously in the passenger’s seat.
To my continued amazement he puts the car in gear and hits the accelerator. I watch through squinted eyes in terror as we fly across the intersection seemingly in a crash course for this truck that is blocking the road. Just before we collide my ‘chauffer’ jerks the wheel left and we jump the curb, shoot across the sidewalk and into a neighbor's manicured lawn. I can see grass and dirt being kicked up by our back tires as we fishtail across the now destroyed lawn and to an empty
driveway. I hang on for dear life as my car does a hard right and shoots out into the roadway again and behind the truck we nearly hit head on a second ago.
Hot biker stops the car and gets out. But before departing he leans his head back in and gives me some last second instructions.
“Get the hell out of here while you still can.”
Without another word he disappears. I glance in my rearview mirror and see him running up towards a grouping of several bikers who seem to be shooting across the intersection and the place where my car first started taking hits. Somehow without even looking I had driven right into the middle of some kind of biker war. My car is all but destroyed, but at least I’m alive.
The return of the burning on the side of my face and head reminds me that I haven’t completely escaped the ordeal unhurt. The side of my head looks like it got attacked by a swarm of angry bees or fire ants. I count a half dozen spots where glass has struck my face and side of my head. I can feel several more buried in my hairline. This is gonna get infected unless I do something.
A loud boom behind me reminds me there’s still a battle going on and I should get my ass out of here while I still can. I restart the car and take off, putting some distance between me and the battle when it spits and sputters and finally just dies out. I turn the key to the off position and sit for a minute before giving it another try. The car jerks forwards then splutters and dies again. This time I get out and walk around my car. It’s just as I thought. There’s three bullet holes that are where I imagine the gas tank is located. Glancing underneath tells me everything I need to know. There’s a growing puddle of gas that appears to be mixing with…oil I guess. If I take this to some shop they’ll probably call the cops just to let them know what they have in their shop. There’s probably some kind of law about that and I really don’t want to deal with the law given my issues with one of their decorated cops (Mark).
