Outlaw's Obsession

by Nicole Snow

  Rabid hesitated. He couldn't pull his gun away from Rip's temple and risk the Prez getting out. My turn.

  I threw myself at Marrow and plunged the switchblade right into his guts. He stopped, dead in his tracks, his lone eye wide with disbelief. He sputtered in my face one time and then hit the ground. His weight nearly pulled me over with him. I had to pull on the blade with both hands to keep it from sticking in him.

  Growling, the others circled us. I matched Rabid's steps, keeping my bloody dagger aimed at them, ready to lash out like a cornered beast.

  Marrow was still alive, groaning on the ground, holding the bleeding hole I'd torn in his stomach.

  “Anybody else? Just try me! There's two of us you've got to deal with.” A big man with a wiry mustache looked like he was about to try it. I jabbed the blade toward his face a couple times and bared my teeth. “Don't. Next time, I'm going for an eye. Go on. Get back. Bring your man inside if you want him to live.”

  “Baby, we've got to go,” Rabid said, stabbing his handgun tighter to the man's head. “You're gonna tell 'em to give us the keys to that old LTD over there, and you're gonna tell us what the fuck's out there. You got more men surrounding this place? Trying to block us from getting out?”

  “What're you talking –“

  Rabid smashed him in the head with his free hand. “Shut up, motherfucker! You know damned well what I'm saying. Whose fucking bikes are out there? Sounds like the end of the world.”

  It really did. The growl was getting louder, and men were yelling somewhere behind the big brick wall built around the clubhouse. Rip sniffed, choking back the blood Rabid struck from his nose. I never thought I'd live to see the big evil bastard so defeated. It caused me to smile, even through all this.

  “Okay, asshole. Let's do it the hard way. We're going for a walk to see what we're dealing with, and you're coming too.”

  “No, no!” Rip started to struggle, kick and scream when we'd crossed half the long strip of pavement leading to the gate. “It's got to be the Mexicans. They know I fucked up. Turn back – turn the fuck back! I'd rather die with your bullet in my brain than what they do to kill a man. Stop, stop, fucking stop!”

  My heart was pounding so hard I thought I'd pass out. The Klamath President was terrified, and that scared me. I almost put my hand on Rabid's shoulder and begged him to turn around. But he was so confident, so determined to keep going, to see what was waiting behind the wall.

  Nothing ever tested my faith in him like this. But I realized just then the love and trust I had for this man was unconditional. If the men with the mystery bikes were going to kill us, we'd die together.

  I held my tongue, forced myself forward step by concrete step, and prayed it would be enough.

  VIII: The Longest Night (Rabid)

  My heart chugged like a jet engine in my chest. I stopped being scared for myself the minute those motherfuckers took me and started beating on me. My thoughts began and ended with her, sweet Christa, my old lady now and forever.

  Flash forward. I had to make sure our forever didn't end here. The jackass in my headlock couldn't stop shaking like a fucking leaf every time I jabbed the gun into his brain stem.

  For once, he had good reason to puss out. If the cartel was really waiting outside the clubhouse, they'd give us all the most agonizing deaths we could imagine, worse than the sick, fucked up shit I wanted to do to Rip and Red for putting my girl here.

  “Rabid, Rabid, please don't do this shit. We can talk. We can figure this shit out. We're both on the same side now – I never wanted to work with those bastards anyway –“

  Jesus Christ. It didn't matter how much I fed my fists – every word this piece of shit said just made them hungrier. I wanted to throw him to the ground and pistol whip him 'til his fucking skull broke.

  Instead, I settled for constricting his throat, choking off his pathetic whimpers.

  “I'm only gonna say it one more time – shut your fucking mouth. We're going out there. You should've thought about becoming a goddamned baby before you turned rat and started working with the cartel, asshole.”

  Christa and I shared a look. Her eyes were huge, ready to pop out. It tugged at my heart, making the stone cold mask I was wearing that much harder to keep on. I felt like hell for putting her here, letting us get captured and dragged into this shit.

  Something out there was seriously fucked. There were too many motorcycles, and the Mexicans never used them in those numbers. Not unless they'd decided to trade their humvees and pickups for Harleys.

  I motioned to Christa with my head, told her to stay behind the wall. We were parallel with the gate now, and I took several steps toward it, stopping just short of putting myself in front of the bars.

  “Who the fuck's out there!” I growled. “Show yourselves! I've got this fucking pussy Prez and I'll put a bullet right through his brain if you don't –“

  “You'll do no such thing. Not yet.” A familiar voice. Blackjack stepped in front of the gate with Asphalt and Roman at his side.

  Holy fucking shit.

  My hand shook so hard I nearly put that bullet in Rip's head anyway. Blackjack kept coming 'til we were face to face. He looked me up and down. The boys next to him had their rifles trained at the fuckheads behind us, an extra sight for sore eyes.

  “Glad to see you're still in one piece, son. Tell them to open the fucking gate, or we'll do it ourselves.” His eyes fell to the asshole bleeding and crying in my arms. “Jesus. Have some respect for yourself, Rip. I'll make it quicker and cleaner than the cartel.”

  I shoved the gun into his temple 'til he squealed. Shit, if this kept up, I'd work my way through his skull long before a bullet reached there. “You heard the man,” I snarled. “Tell your fucks to open sesame.”

  “Open the – ow! – open the goddamned gate!” Rip barked.

  The men behind us hesitated. A large guy with a mustache nodded, and then walked back into the garage. About five seconds later, there was a whirring noise, and the gate started to slide open.

  Fuck, my brothers were a sight for sore eyes. Brass flashed me a salute on his way in. I didn't dare let up the death grip I had on the Klamath Prez, but I looked at Christa, watching the relief flood her eyes.

  We'd survived. We were gonna be all right. If any of these jackasses were gonna try anything, they'd do it right –

  A gunshot rang out. I spun, my finger one little tap from pulling the trigger and putting the fuck in my grip outta his misery.

  “Rabid!” Christa called my name.

  I held up a palm. “Stay the fuck back, babe. Stay with the club while we sort this shit.”

  Beam and Stryker nodded and motioned to her, letting me know she was in good hands. Wise decision. Those boys were gonna earn their patches sooner than they thought.

  I dragged his fat ass back to where my brothers were grouped.

  The nasty looking one-eyed wonder lay dead in the garage, a new and fatal hole in his chest next to the one my girl had given him. Amazing that Marrow tried to do something stupid with his guts torn up. Growling, Roman pointed the rifle at the small gaggle of Klamath boys, his lips peeled back.

  “Anybody else wanna try to rush our Prez? You'll get some of this.”

  There was a soft, feminine murmur. Red staggered through the doorway, her hand still over her busted mouth, looking at the dead man on the floor.

  Fuck. She was next on the list as soon as Blackjack gave the word about Rip's fate. No fucking way would that bitch walk outta here alive for what she'd done.

  I never liked killing women – much less one I'd fucked – but I'd do it to protect my club and my old lady. The cunt's jealousy put us here, and soon it would put her into a shallow grave.

  “Prez?” I looked at Blackjack.

  Everybody was quiet. He stepped forward, marching right up to the big Klamath boy with the mustache. He flinched when the Prez was close, one hand poised over the weapon he had in his pocket.

  “Keep that th
ing in your pants, and you're in charge now, boy.” Blackjack's cold eyes watched as the man's mustache twitched. Slowly, he lowered his hand away from his pocket. “What's your name?”

  “Blow.”

  Several guys snorted. Blackjack just shook his head.

  “You fucks sure do know how to pick 'em. All right, Blow, let's play truth or dare. Tell me the truth, and I'll give your Prez a nice, clean shot to the head. You guys get to walk away alive if there's no evidence you followed your leader off the cliff, working with the Mexicans. You'll keep your patches long as you behave yourselves, and some help from the Portland crew will make sure you do.”

  Blackjack reached by his belt and pulled out his switchblade, brandishing it in one hand. “You dare me by doing anything stupid – any of you – and I'll have Roman gun you all down when I give the signal for my boy Rabid to finish this shit.”

  Blow shrugged. “You're the boss.”

  “You fucking rat!” Rip spat. My signal to squeeze his throat for the hundredth time.

  Christ. How many times was I gonna choke and pistol whip this fucker before the Prez let me shoot him? Red took the opportunity to scamper back inside, away from the pow-wow going on out here. Didn't fucking matter. I'd be coming for her skank ass soon enough.

  “We heard it all behind the gate. Is it true? Your asshole Prez been working with the cartel? I already know, but I need to hear it from the horse's mouth.” Blackjack was judge, jury, and executioner right then.

  “Yeah. None of us liked it.” Blow looked at his dead brother, Marrow, on the ground. “Uh, none of us who are still breathing, anyway. It was Rip's idea. He couldn't handle the way you started doing shit after Fang died. And when Ed didn't come home, it set him off. He told the Mexicans they could operate, kill, and deal in our territory as long as they left us alone.”

  “Shit. You sure we can't waste all these fucking pricks, Prez?” Roman growled, pumping the gun in his hands.

  “Not as long as these boys are cooperating. I'll be the judge of that.” Blackjack nodded, walked toward Blow, close enough to make him step back. Our Prez looked over all the whacked out looking Klamath men. “You've all got a chance to start over clean. This man here told me the truth without blowing smoke up my ass. I expect everybody standing here to do the same. We'll hang around long enough to do some background checks, some interviews, just to make sure everybody's story checks out. But as far as I'm concerned, I've heard all I need to today.”

  My hand tightened on the gun. Blackjack looked at me. “Rabid. It's time.”

  “No, no, fuck, no!” I kneed Rip in the ass and pushed him to the floor, my gun to the back of his head. “This is fucking crazy, Blackjack, a big mistake. Just let me –“

  I pulled the trigger. No use in letting that fuck take up any more precious air breathing. Blow and several Klamath guys winced as the Prez fell, dead by his own gun.

  Well, mine now. I'd be keeping it as a trophy, one more kill for the club, one more payment for laying down justice over chaos.

  Blow looked relieved. Nobody wearing our patch would dare turn our backs on any of these fuckers, but maybe in time they could be trusted after all.

  “Back against the wall. Everybody!” Roman barked, herding them into the corner.

  Blackjack nodded at me, satisfied. “Make sure the body gets burned. Take his patches before you do. We'll pull off what's ours for the club. Hope to hell this is one of the last guys we'll be killing with the bear on his back.”

  Nodding, I tucked the gun into my empty holster. I was ready to take off and hug my girl for the first time since they'd taken us. There was just one thing left.

  “Prez, wait. What about the bitch inside?”

  Blackjack turned. I let him see all the fury and death swirling in my eyes, everything I wanted to unleash on that cunt for what she'd done to Christa and the club.

  “She's all yours.” He looked behind me. “Brass, help your brother make sure she gets out of the clubhouse, wrapped up tight. Last thing we need today are more crazy bitches running around. Don't let her out of your sights alive.”

  I nodded, looking past him to Christa. She was hanging with the prospects and sipping a bottle of water. Fuck, it was good to see her safe. Prez made the right call. He always did, and so did I.

  “How the fuck did you find us?” I asked Brass, heading into their clubhouse.

  He grinned. “Had a couple prospects add your hotel to their patrol. I know it's easy to overlook shit when you're drunk on love. I did the same when I was claiming Missy. You're damned lucky they caught those fuckers leaving the lot, right after we got off the phone. Not so lucky they were too outnumbered to stop 'em.”

  “Yeah, well, luck's shaping up on our side after all. Maybe this shit's for the best. Close fucking call, though. I thought we were fucked before you guys pulled up.”

  “Later than I liked, yeah.” He ripped open a cabinet behind the bar. Empty. “Fuck, where is that bitch? Never expected one of our own sluts would turn rat.”

  “Me neither.” I tore through someone's room, ripping open the closet and coughing when a bunch of stale weed came tumbling out.

  Shit. I was getting pissed, desperate to drag that bitch outta her nest.

  Brass hung back, going through shit in the main living area while I hit the back. I walked past the room where they'd been holding us. Little drops of our blood stained the floor beneath the dull light.

  If it wasn't for the half-open door, I would've missed her. When I caught the small flash of red, too high off the ground to be blood, I wheeled around and kicked the door open.

  She was on the ground like a dog. Red looked at me with wide eyes and a torn lip. Jesus. Putting her outta her misery was doing her a favor. She'd never kiss a man in any way he'd enjoy with the way my girl shredded her lips.

  “Rabid, please –“

  I ripped her up by the hair, jerking her on her feet and shoving her out the door. “Don't you ever fucking 'Rabid' me again. You know what's coming.”

  She started to cry, harder when I marched her down the hall and she ran into Brass. The VP gave her the same death stare I did, only his was all business. Mine was seriously personal.

  The girl was too fucked up to sob. Goddamn, it was hard to hear that shit, but what she'd done was burned into my brain. I'd destroy her not-so-pretty face with my bare hands before I let her pathetic sobs get under my skin.

  “How do you wanna do this?” Brass asked, walking next to me as I nudged her toward the door.

  “Let's take the bitch to some abandoned ranch. There's plenty just past the Oregon border.”

  “No, brother, I mean –“

  I looked at him, and his eyes widened when he saw the rage in my face. “Slow. Clean across the throat. I've already wasted enough time dealing with this fucking cunt. I can't believe I ever saw anything except pure evil.”

  I stopped, shook my head, listening to her whimper. “We'll throw her in a ditch and toss dirt over it before she quits breathing. Better than what she really deserves. Come on, I just want to get this shit over with.”

  He nodded. We were outside now, heading past Roman, Asphalt, and the rest. Blackjack hung back, a smoke hanging out of his mouth. He looked at the weeping whore, then saw us, and gave a cold nod.

  Death sentence. Quick and easy – too fucking easy after what she'd done.

  Whatever – at least the cunt would feel a shred of my old lady's fear and pain before we finished her off.

  We headed for the van parked next to the bikes, just inside the clubhouse gates. I motioned to the prospects to get the door open. I was about to hurl the bitch inside when Christa came running up.

  Fuck, what bad timing. Not that I could blame her for wanting to look into the eyes of the woman who'd tried to kill us one last time.

  “Hold up!” she yelled, running toward. “Rabid, wait. You don't have to do it this way.”

  God damn. Maybe she wasn't here to look at the defeated slut one last time bef
ore she headed off to slaughter. I gritted my teeth, ready to let her down as gently as I could.

  I had to remember she wasn't totally in my world. Not yet. And even when she was, the old ladies weren't killers who took care of business like us. They had good hearts, and sometimes they went soft.

  I held up my free hand, feeling the bitch wriggling in my other one.

  “Yeah, baby, actually we do. You can't talk me outta this. Don't tell me you want this treacherous bitch to walk. You know damned well what she did!”

  Christa looked at me, her eyes big and pleading. “Yeah, I do.”

  Brass stood behind her. He shot me an understanding look. My brother understood how it was with these women, and he was ready to help me separate her if he had to so we could finish this dirty business.

  “Come on, baby girl. It'll be all right.” I tried to soothe her over one last time. “Just let us do our thing. We'll take a little trip and be back here to go home real –“

  I stopped talking when I saw her become a blur. She hurled herself forward with a guttural, earsplitting scream like nothing I'd ever heard. She shocked the shit outta me so much the whore went tumbling out of my hands. By the time my fucking ears stopped ringing, they were both on the ground, and my girl was stabbing her in the chest, over and over.

  “Piece of shit! You'll never touch my man again in this lifetime!”

  My eyes went to Brass. His mouth was hanging open, same as mine.

  Red squawked a couple times, making that gurgling sound I'd heard plenty of fuckers make before the reaper drags them down to hell. I put a hand on my girl's shoulder, instinctively ready to pull her away.

  Then again, why the fuck should I?

  I let her work the switchblade 'til the whore went silent. Her blood streamed out around us, a murderous river, one last stain to bleach away in this miserable place.

  When Red wasn't moving anymore, I put both hands on my girl's shoulders. Pulling her up, I reached into her hands, grabbed the bloody knife, and threw it on the ground.

  She was shaking in my arms, covered in the dead whore's blood. I gave her a squeeze so tight she felt it in her bones.