by Adair Rymer
Skids grimaced, but understood.
“Move!” I grabbed Maya's arm when the van took off, using it as a cover on our way to my bike until it quickly outpaced us and crashed through the gate. We were about halfway there standing out in the open surrounded and outnumbered.
It was the whores that saved us.
What was left of the strippers, mamas and WB support network- hangarounds, prospects and the like, ran out into the parking lot, fleeing the firefight inside the club. We'd have been dead if there weren't dozens of scared and confused distractions now running around.
With all the hammered, angry armed men trying to line up shots... It was a hard reprieve to swallow because I knew how this was going to play out. There wasn't enough time to make it to my bike before everything went tits up. We needed to find cover fast.
It was a Coffin Eater that shot first as he fumbled his way atop his bike. The shot sailed right past the Wild Boy he was aiming at and caught a fleeing girl between the shoulder blades. The girl's continuous scream at what she'd seen inside cut off into a deathly quiet when the round caught her. It was as if someone had flicked her voice box off. She hadn't even hit the ground before the parking lot erupted into chaos.
Dangerous armed men, from both clubs, half crazed from betrayal and drugs firing at anything that moved.
It was the second bloodbath tonight.
I dragged Maya by the arm and had to throw us both behind a parked car as a Wild Boy, in pursuit of Skids, sprayed bullets at us on his way by. Maya screamed, but I had her by the shoulders and laid us down on the pavement on the far side of the bullet riddled sedan so we'd be a harder target.
I saw a Wild Boy behind cover of his own, clip one of our guys that was riding out. They put a round into his chest, the side of his head and blew out his front tire. Brain-matter and blood burst out of the back of the man's skull like wet confetti. He collapsed forward over the bike, jackknifing it. The whole gruesome mess flipped headlong into a row of lined up bikes, both ours and theirs, right by the front gate. Several gas tanks ruptured, dumping glossy fuel all over the blacktop.
“Shit! Nikki!” I saw my bike's handle bar bent, jutting out of the jagged metal scrap pile of the collision. I was devastated. I just got her back yesterday! Nikki was a passion project for me, handed down from my old man. It was in rough shape when he gave her to me, but after several long months, I had her purring.
Now I was really pissed.
Maya had a few surface cuts from hitting the ground, but was otherwise physically fine. Amid all the gunshots, screaming and crashes, she managed to get her breathing back under control. The girl was terrified, but I could tell right then that she was strong enough to make it through this. That was admirable.
That's also when I noticed her clutching a nine-millimeter pistol. I wanted to ask her where the hell she'd got that, but this wasn't the time nor the place. I had to keep my promise to Skids and get Maya out of here safe.
Using this car as a shelter was apparently a popular idea as one of the Wild Boys decided to follow suit. When he rounded the car I reached for my gun, but it wasn't there. The impact of throwing us to the ground must have popped it out of my waistband. The Wild Boy saw my cut and immediately recognized that I was CE, then he brought his shotgun around and fired on us.
I rolled over on top of Maya, attempting to shield her. I waited for the end, praying my body would have enough stopping power to prevent Maya from getting killed too. If the biker was using a double-ought buck or slug ammo in his shotgun it wouldn't matter. The round would punch through both of us like paper targets.
Click. “Goddammit!” I heard the man cry out in frustration. His gun either jammed or was empty. Our luck was so thick I could carve a piece off and eat it.
Maya's almond eyes became saucers as she pointed her gun at the man and screamed. She was trying to muster the courage to shoot him, but after her initial hesitation, all three of us knew that she couldn't do it. The biker wasted no time in breaking his shotgun in half to clear the jam and reload.
Maya was on the verge of tears. She closed her eyes, her gun arm still locked and rigidly shook as she realized that we were both about to die.
I couldn't let that happen. It was time to take the kid gloves off and if nothing else, this motherfucker would pay for what happened to my bike.
I didn't have time to wrestle the gun away from her fear-induced iron grip, being that he'd almost finished reloading. She didn't cry out or protest when I wrapped my hand around her's and the gun, which I pointed clumsily at the man's center mass. In the end, we were just a little too quick for him.
Together, we fired several shots into him.
I stood up as the biker's corpse hit the ground and surveyed the carnage. Coffin Eaters escaped in ones and twos or not at all. There were so many bodies on the ground that some of the fleeing men were undone just by riding over them and getting thrown off their bikes.
The part of me that felt guilty wasn't because I was the catalyst for all this; it was going to happen anyway because it was a shitty plan. The guilt was that I didn't catch it sooner. I didn't see that the Wild Boys were setting us up until it was too late.
I was so caught up in Maya that I was blind to what was all around me. More people died tonight because I wasn't paying enough attention at what was important. A mistake I could not make again. That was if we made it out alive at all.
Most of the C.E. that could leave were already gone. Without a ride, we were trapped. Without distractions, we were dead. It was only a matter of time before someone spotted us. The light of a downed motorcycle's headlight skipped off the spreading, shimmery river of gasoline that had spanned most of the lot. It gave me an insane idea.
I thumbed out a shitty plastic lighter from my pocket, flicked it on, locked it in an open flame position and hurled it at the glistening gasoline pool that led to the heap of bikes.
The lighter hit one of the tanks and shattered into a glowing ripple of blue flame as the gas vapor went up. The fire rapidly spread across the parking lot in an expanding circle. There were screams and curses as people ran, throwing themselves out of the way, expecting some massive explosion.
There wouldn't be one, at least not right away. It gave us some breathing room for me to come up with the next part of the plan. The fire and smoke opened the path out for us by putting a lull in the gunfire. Now I just had to convince one of our hosts to let me borrow their bike.
I scanned our sedan shelter and quickly found my gun on the ground by the car's back tire. The shotgun biker's corpse had almost landed on it when the bullets and gravity took him. I looked up and spotted a Wild Boy who'd just fired up his bike. He was headed after Skids and the van full of drugs.
“Stay here and keep your head down,” I told Maya.
“Where are you going?” Maya frantically grabbed my arm and pleaded. She was terrified of me abandoning her.
“Valet's here with our ride.” I peeled her hand off me.
I snatched up my pistol and dove for the passing Wild Boy, spearing him off his bike. The bike tipped over and skidded out with no major damage because it wasn't going that fast to begin with. We hit the ground like a sack filled with leather-wrapped rocks. The Wild Boy wheezed, the pavement stole his breath in the impact, making it easy for me to get on top of him.
I grabbed his collar and shot point blank through his forehead.
I was lying to myself about all the “new leaf” crap and about playing it straight to stay out of jail. There might have been a time and a place for that, but here in this parking lot hell there was no room for the passive, the weak, or the restrained.
It was a place for only the killers and the dead.
And I was a killer.
“Maya!” I straightened his bike up, hopped on then motioned for her to follow.
Heads started popping up and guns resumed popping off after the explosion looked like it was just going to be an intense motorcycle fire instead. With all our guys
dead or gone, we were now the only target.
Once she was close enough, I jerked her over my lap and the gas tank like a naughty girl about to get her ass paddled, and took off. Bullets zeroed in on us from every angle, every shot getting that much closer. There was no time to let her get on the bike correctly.
A bullet took my mirror clean off as I weaved the bike around bodies and other downed bikes. The pileup wreckage I'd lit earlier coughed up pillars of black smoke that choked the night air. Orange rivers of flaming gasoline coalesced with oily runoff from other wrecks to extend out over the blacktop like deadly fingers. The largest of which crossed our only exit creating a fiery barrier between us and freedom.
If any gasoline had splashed on us, those deadly fingers would crush us in its flaming fist and we'd have gone up like a roman candle. If the gas tank had been punctured the vapor would catch and we'd be riding an active Harley-shaped grenade.
There was no time to think or pray or even change my mind. There was only out or dead.
“Hold your breath and cover your face!” I screamed to Maya just before we plunged through the yellow wall of death.
A raging wall of heat crashed into us as fire licked up the smooth, metal sides of the bike and across every fold of our clothing. It searched for purchase, for anything flammable that would allow it to consume us. An angry, searing hitchhiker, desperately grasping to hang on as we pushed through.
A twist of the throttle and both the fire and the Wild Boys clubhouse were behind us. The only thing brave enough to chase us was the blind, sporadic, hail of bullets.
I drove us a hundred yards down nearly deserted streets looking for a quiet alley so I could make sure neither of us were burned too badly. With all this adrenaline, I could be missing an arm and have no idea.
Behind us, from the clubhouse, there were a rapid series of loud clicking noises. It was the metal gas tanks becoming superheated, straining against the fire's heat and pressure. I checked my remaining mirror and caught a flash of light followed immediately by the boom. The motorcycle pile finally exploded.
All I heard after that, as I pulled into a side street, was the clatter of raining shrapnel... and screaming.
There wasn't much time to hang out here. We were still way too close. Once the cops arrived, everything on two wheels would be stopped and questioned.
“Maya?” I looked her over for pooling blood or burns.
“I'm OK, I think.” Maya was shaking and breathing rapidly as she slid off the bike and reached out for something to stabilize her. Her soft, pale form was darkened with soot and blood, her hair tinged by the fire. “Oh god... I'm not OK.” Her eyes rolled up at the same rate that the blood drained from her face. She stumbled, lost her footing and started to tumble.
“Hey! Hey! Stay with me!” I had to lunge off the bike to catch her before her head slapped off the brick alley wall.
She collapsed in my arms. I kicked away some broken glass and unidentifiable brown filth and brought her softly to the cracked ground up against the wall. I looked her over to make sure she wasn't wounded. Aside from a few scratches and bruises, she was physically fine.
I slid my arm around her back and propped her up. I carefully brushed the dark hair from her face, then gently palmed the side of her head so that I could thumb open her eyelids. Her reddish-brown eyes were watery, but still stunningly beautiful.
Confusion set in, and she had trouble focusing on anything. I touched the back of my hand to her forehead, her creamy skin was clammy. She was definitely in shock. I had to get her to a safe place soon or it would only get worse.
I eased my hand away from her face, letting her eyes lull and close. As my shadow receded, the street light caught her fully and for the first time all night I saw her plainly, without distraction. She was plain, with slight and simple features. I was so used to hooking up with worn-out whores and druggies that Maya, being so far out of my realm of experience, might as well have been a Disney princess.
My sleeping beauty.
I brushed her cheek, not because there was anything to remove, but just so I could feel her softness across the rough crags of my skin. It was infuriating how often she was on my mind. Thoughts of her had burrowed into my brain and poisoned my focus for everything else. It felt like I was endlessly talking myself out of being near her, but every time I turned around, there she was. I just couldn't stop myself from wanting her.
I understood the lust. I wore that as easily as my cut. It was all the other emotions that came with it this time like longing and yearning that had me worried. Maya was the catchy hook of a song that I didn't know the lyrics to and was afraid to sing along with.
Flashing lights and sirens blurred past us, robbing us of the kiss that would wake her. Or however the fuck that worked. She'd have to settle for a hard ride at eighty miles an hour instead and maybe some coffee.
“C'mon, darlin', it's time to go,” I said to her, picking her up off the wall.
Even keeping the speed down, there was no way she'd be able to hold on behind me. How the hell was I going to get her out of here?
It came to me as her near limp body collapsed against mine. Neither of us were going to enjoy what came next.
I mounted up and picked her up, putting her on my lap, I had her facing me in a hug. It was probably the most difficult and uncomfortable way to ride, both for me and her. But with my arms on either side of her, holding onto the handlebars, I at least knew that I could keep her from falling off.
“Oh god... Hendrix?” Maya mumbled. Through her disorientation, I could tell she was scared. Surviving something like an assassination attempt tended to unravel people.
“That's the first time outside of sex that I've heard that combination of words in the same sentence.” I stupidly tried to lighten the mood in the hopes that she'd find it comforting. Getting no real reaction, I tried sincerity. “We made it, Maya. You're alright now. Don't worry.”
We made it somehow, just like I promised. The “how” was so fast and visceral that I'd never be able to explain it to Skids if he asked. Shit, Skids... I hoped he got away. I stopped one of his tails, but he had at least two more on him before I set the world on fire.
I shouldn't have survived that massacre. Neither of us should have. Part of me knew that if I didn't have a good reason to, I probably wouldn't have. Keeping Maya safe gave me back this lost sense of purpose that I thought was truly gone.
She let me rest her head on my shoulder as I got us moving. As uncomfortable as it was, I couldn't deny how nice it was to have Maya so close. Through the cocktail of sweat, smoke and copper blood, there were hints of lilacs in her stained, silky skin. The remnants of shampoo or lotion, maybe? That didn't matter.
I knew, until my last moment on earth, whether that be in a week or a lifetime, whenever I smelled lilacs I would be brought back to this moment. With her.
It was an oddly comforting feeling.
This girl was something else. A balm for my ugly, burnt soul.
I'd kept us slow initially, twenty-five MPH. I told myself it was so I could adjust and account for the additional awkward weight, but I knew that the real reason was just to hold onto that moment, the scent of her invading my senses, for as long as possible.
I chuckled to myself. I was going soft after all. Still, it was a warm thought. Something I'd be sure to cherish on those long, lonely nights back in prison, when the cops eventually carted my daydreaming ass back there.
Once we hit the highway, I had to bring us up to cruising speeds. The wind cruelly stole away my lilacs as I knew it would. The bright cone beaming off my headlight burned the darkness off the rolling blacktop before me, melting it into the inky pools of night that made up the treeline to either side.
With no highway lights, the evening darkness robbed me of the landscape. There was only the vanishing stretch of road in front of me now. A road that, under the blanket of darkness, looked like countless others I'd traveled on errands for the club.
I si
ghed.
It filled me with all the ramifications and consequences of what went down tonight and it reminded me of who I was. First and foremost, I was a biker, a criminal, and above all, at least until I got out, a Coffin Eater.
Thoughts of Maya and flowers finally faded from my mind.
Chapter 5
Maya
I startled awake, gasping for air. I was drowning in a writhing sea of blood and bones and bullets... an intense and horrible night terror.
It wasn't real, I repeated to myself, over and over. Just a dream.
Was it though? Had I woken up yet or was this still that same dream?
I blinked, waking up slowly from the initial shock but I still couldn't see anything at all. Oh god, had I gone blind? My heart started racing again. My chest tightened. Air seemed to flee the room, making it harder to breathe. I felt sick.
No, I wasn't blind. The room was pitch black but there was a little glow under a door on the far side of... wherever the hell I was.
I was on a bed. I quickly ran my hands down my sides. I was wearing all my clothes except for my shoes. Where the fuck were my shoes? Irrational anxiety began to sky rocket. I couldn't remember anything about what had happened, why I was here or even where “here” was and I lose my shit over my shoes? Get a grip, Maya. Be glad you weren't raped or shot!
“Calm down.” I had to hear the sound of my own voice, even though I only dared to whisper it. I took in short, quick shallow breaths at first, gradually easing out of hyperventilation.
I let myself think for a second and rationalize my surroundings. I was on top of a large, tightly made bed with far too many pillows. This had to be a hotel room. There were no other sounds in the room. No snoring, shuffling or breathing. From what I could tell there was no one else here.
I smelled terrible, like smoke and sweat and death but there was another scent in the air. It was definitely food. Eggs and meat?
