by Cerys du Lys
Boomer nodded and I crouched down near his legs, ready to lean over the corner.
“On three,” I whispered.
“One…two…three!”
We whipped around the corner. For a moment, I only saw darkness in the corner and then I saw two men standing near the fire escape, heavily armed. I blasted the one on the left and Boomer took out the one on the right. The snipers on the rooftop might have heard the loud blasts if it weren’t for the constant rat-a-tat of gunfire. We streamed into the alley, kicking over the bodies to make sure they were dead. The man I shot had a giant hole in his chest and his young lips were tinged with blood. He was much younger than I was. No more than a teenager. His eyes still stared with a mild expression of shock.
He probably still lives with his parents.
Lived.
I gritted my teeth and grabbed the first rung. “Stay behind and keep a lookout.”
“Okay.”
It was hard to climb with a shotgun in my hand, but I managed somehow. Screams sliced through the night air like a knife, urging me onward.
Tigers must be stretched thin if they have men guarding every exit.
I was halfway up. Suddenly, a man leaned over the side and looked directly at me.
Fuck.
I reached for my sidearm and swung it at him. Pop. Pop. The first two rounds sunk into the building. He recoiled backwards and screamed. A third shot zipped through his head and his body fell out of sight. I ran up the remaining flights of stairs. The snipers would be alerted.
Run. Just get there and start shooting.
Pain exploded into my shoulder, nearly making me flip over the railing as I peeked over the edge. I’m going to die.
My instincts took over completely. Aim. Shoot. One man stupidly decided to stand over the edge and shoot, I sank two bullets in his stomach and he hurtled over the building. My head ducked behind the wall as fragments of brick exploded around me.
Shit.
My left shoulder throbbed, but I shoved it out of my mind. I swung myself over again. Shooting the men hiding behind the vents. Their cries of pain filled my ears as each bullet struck home. I leapt over the top, sprinting to a door, which led down the building. Horribly exposed, I rounded the corner and saw two more men. The muzzles of their guns flashed in the night.
Something punched my leg and I dropped to the ground. Both of them went down and finally the rooftop was silenced, or perhaps the rush of blood in my brain drowned out the noise. I tried to step forward, to investigate the roof, but I fell over as if my feet didn’t work. Oxygen and energy poured out of me. I glanced down and saw dark blood gushing from the wound.
No, I can’t. I have to get back to her.
I somehow dragged myself back to the fire escape and crawled down the stairs. Boomer screamed something but I couldn’t make it out. I just focused on the sound of my ragged breaths.
Stay alive. Keep breathing.
I crawled on my stomach. My shoulder burned and my leg—I couldn’t think about it. My hand looked like a red glove when I uncovered it. Another flight. Just one more. Finally, I dropped from the fire escape and slammed into the ground.
“Spike! Holy shit!”
Boomer’s wide face hovered over me as I struggled to draw breath.
This is it, then.
“No! I have to—let me up.”
BANG.
Suddenly, Boomer’s face crumpled in pain and he fell to the side. River stood several feet away, his face twisted. His gun smoked. I didn’t hesitate. I raised my good arm as bullets sprayed the ground around me.
A roar like an engine filled my ears and River had barely enough time to scream before a red convertible slammed into his body. He careened over the hood and flew into the air before crumpling to a heap on the ground. The car smashed into the building, and a dazed Julia fell out of the driver’s seat.
Julia.
Struggling to my feet, I limped forward as she turned around and emptied her clip into River’s body.
“Spike!”
I planted another foot forward. Perhaps I was dead and she would show me the way to paradise. My legs gave out and I crashed into blackness.
JULIA
He fell face first into the ground with a sickening thud before I could catch him.
Oh my God.
I sank down beside him and grunted as I heaved his shoulders and flipped him over. My heart seized when I saw how pale his face was. Blood pulsed from his leg as his heartbeat thrummed. His shoulder was hit, too. Fuck.
The moment I heard gunshots, I turned on the engine and raced towards the sound, unable to waste another second sitting in the dark. I saw a man in Dragon colors aiming into the alley where I knew Spike was. I floored it and slammed into River’s body, his back cracking the front windshield. His body flew ten feet in the air and landed on the street like a bag of meat. It was the first time I ever ran someone over and my nerves were still on fire.
“Stay alive, Spike.”
There was no time to think about what if. Spike walked into an ambush and River was going to finish him off.
Cain planned this.
A spasm of fear shook my body. What could possess him to murder his most promising member unless it stemmed from jealous rage? Boomer was dead and I allowed myself a small sob for the man who died only because he helped Spike. I grabbed Spike’s leather cut and pulled, dragging his heavy body to my car. I pulled him upright against my car and flung open the door. He offered no resistance. It was as if he was already—
No, he’s not dead.
With a herculean effort, I managed to shove him into the passenger seat. Then I raced around the car and backed out of the alley, wiping away tears as I drove the fuck out of there. I peeled away from the madness and floored the car. His head lolled from side to side.
“Spike, dammit, stay with me!”
I clutched his clammy arm and careened down the streets, heading for his apartment. We couldn’t go to a fucking hospital—not with gunshot wounds. I slammed my palm against the horn as I blazed through red lights. I just wanted to keep going. To drive all the way out of this fucked up place.
He wanted to leave, but I said no. This is all my fault.
My car almost slammed into the garage as I pulled in his place and shut the engine. Spike looked paler than ever, but his lips moved soundlessly. His face contorted painfully as I flung his arm over my shoulder. We walked slowly towards the door and I remembered when Spike got beaten in the pool hall. No matter what I did, someone always got hurt.
Where should I put him?
Bathroom. Plenty of water and easy to clean.
“C’mon Spike.”
With my hand around his waist, I walked forward. Spike’s knees buckled twice, he seemed to be floating in and out of consciousness. His leg was drenched with blood and the more he walked, the more blood gushed out. Finally, I sat him on the edge of the bathtub and carefully lowered him into the tub.
I ran outside to gather, tape, gauze, scissors, and towels—anything that would help me.
“You’re okay Spike,” I said more to reassure myself as I slipped a pillow behind his limp head.
Using the scissors, I slashed through his jeans and cut them off his body, exposing the wound. Pouring water over it made him hiss with pain, and when I bound the gauze around him, he groaned.
I hesitated before I slipped the scissors around his jacket and cut that, too, discarding the ruined leather on the floor before I cut through his soaked t-shirt. Both wounds were free of gunshot fragments. He was fucking lucky. I wrapped his shoulder up and watched him as if I expected him to magically get better.
But he didn’t. He was way too pale.
A crushing feeling robbed my lungs of air as I watched his still face, which was completely devoid of life. I smoothed the curls from his face and a sob shook from my throat as I kissed his clammy skin and lips.
“I’m so sorry.” I held his hand and pressed my lips against his knuckles. “Please d
on’t leave me. Please. I won’t be able to go on without you.”
He didn’t respond and my eyes welled with fresh tears. My fingers pressed into his neck and found a weak pulse. His body was so still and his skin was waxen.
My eyes burned as I dissolved into tears, clutching his face. His bandages were already soaked with blood and I cried even harder when I wrapped more around him.
I draped another towel over his body, which was freezing to the touch. I tucked the corners around him.
“Ridge.”
My neck snapped so quickly that I pulled a muscle. “What? Did you say something?”
His lips moved. “Fridge.”
Fridge? What the hell did it mean? I stood up and ran to the kitchen. Was he hungry? I wrenched the yellow refrigerator door and saw packets of blood sitting on top. A strange feeling swept through my stomach. Spike expected that he would be hurt—he prepared for it.
I lunged forward and grabbed two of them. Tubing and needles for the blood sat on the kitchen counter and I took those as well. My hands shook as I slid Spike’s arm over the tub and prepared for the transfusion. I knew how to find a vein because of my reckless teenage years, snorting blow and shooting up heroin.
I never thought I would be grateful for my drug abuse until now.
Spike offered no resistance as I slid the needle into his vein and taped it down. I lifted the blood onto the sink and the dark red liquid spiraled down into his arm. He shivered slightly as it went inside him.
His cheek was ice-cold. I pushed him forward so that I could climb in the bathtub behind him because he was freezing and the porcelain was cold. I let his body slump against mine. My cheek pressed against his freezing face as I tried to warm him. I rubbed his arms.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Please be okay. I won’t be able to live with myself if you never wake up.
I tightened my arms around him, my body suddenly weary with everything that happened. It must have been three or four in the morning. What if Cain stopped by?
Leaning over, I slid the gun from Spike’s waistband and kept it propped on the bathtub.
Who am I kidding? If Cain wants us dead—I won’t be able to stop him.
Maybe I could lie. Cain never instructed me not to help Spike.
The hardness of the bathtub kept me awake, for which I was grateful. I wondered what the hell was happening at the raid. My phone remained balanced on the sink, completely still and silent. Spike’s chest pulsed up and down, his skin gradually returning to a normal color as the blood coursed through his veins, but he still wasn’t awake. I sat there for a long time, listening to Spike’s shallow breaths and the ticking of the clock in the kitchen.
I gently pushed him upright as I got out of the tub to change his blood bag, which was almost empty. I unhooked the tube and twisted it into the fresh one. Then I turned around and Spike’s eyes had opened. There was so trust in his gaze.
A fresh wave of tears burst through as I bent down and kissed his open mouth. His lips moved against mine, kissing me back. Wild happiness and relief made my chest shake with sobs.
“Hey,” he said, giving me a crooked grin. His eyes were wet with the pain of his wounds.
I couldn’t wait any longer to tell him. “Spike, I love you, too. I should have said it before, but I was an idiot. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
He closed his eyes for a few moments and when he opened them again, his face cracked into the biggest smile I’d ever seen.
Spike sat up and the towel fell from his chest as he took my hands in his. “When this is over, I’ll make you the happiest old lady the world’s ever seen.”
“I should have never been with him. I always wanted you, Spike.”
With surprising strength, he yanked me forward and caught the back of my head, his fingers curling in my hair as his lips took mine possessively. His tongue slipped inside my mouth and his moist hand groped down my neck, quickly finding the side of my breast. His cupping hand let me know that he was, in fact, feeling much better.
His thumb brushed over the thin fabric of my camisole and circled my nipple. I felt weak in Spike’s arms, the places where he stroked me tingling.
When he pulled back, there was a feral glint in his eyes. “You’re mine now. You’re not going back to that bastard.”
His voice booked no argument, and I had no desire to go against his wishes. My face flushed with pleasure.
You’re mine. Coming from Spike, those words meant so much more than possession. He would always protect me. He would always cherish me in the way I deserved to be.
That was all well and good, but Cain was still very much alive and he would be gunning for us both very soon.
“What about Cain?”
An ugly look twisted Spike’s face. “He’s a dead man.”
* * *
I helped Spike to his living room and he spent the rest of the morning calling other chapters for help. His face was ashen from the stress of two gunshot wounds and barely getting any sleep. I sat next to him as he made the phone calls, content just to hear his voice and feel the warmth of his body next to mine.
“What?” he said in a sharp voice, snapping me out of drifting off. His eyebrows knitted even further. “He called a week ago?”
Shit. I listened to Spike’s voice in alarm and when he hung up, I was desperate for his explanation.
“Cain called them. All the chapters nearby. He told them that I tried a mutiny and failed. He told them that I’m at large and not to trust anything I say.”
His flattened voice scared me. “Well, he’s lying! Tank and Max could back you up.”
“Yeah, wherever the hell they are. They might be dead already. I think Cain might’ve planned hits on all of them.”
“Have you tried calling?”
He blew air from his nose. “They won’t pick up.”
We looked at each other, each of us thinking the same thing. Are they dead?
As if to answer our question, a knock at the door startled us both. Spike struggled to sit up as I shot upright, adrenaline coursing through my blood.
“Is it him?”
He frowned. “I doubt he would come knocking. More than likely he’d kick down the door.”
The fist hammered at the door as Spike grabbed his sidearm and aimed it at the door.
“Spike! It’s Tank! Open the fuck up.”
Tank’s voice boomed through the door and Spike visibly sighed with relief. Thinking that I could hardly take any more suspense, I yanked open the door.
His wild head and beard shook as he glanced at Spike on the couch and back at me.
“It’s okay, Tank. I’m not with Cain anymore.”
He nodded and stepped inside, not speaking until I closed the door. “Max is dead,” he said suddenly. “He was shot by one of those snipes at the north entrance we were supposed to protect. He died pretty quick.”
My hand almost slipped from the glass I took from the cupboard. I raised my hands to my lips, thinking of the old man who counted money in the back. He was always polite to me, unlike most of the others. I grabbed a bottle of vodka and poured three shot glasses. Their contents spilled slightly as I brought one to Tank. Spike took his shot, staring down at the glass as if it held answers for him.
“To Max.”
We repeated it clumsily as we downed our shots. The burning liquid slipped down my throat and I sunk into the couch.
“Cain’s gone completely nuts. This raid was botched from the beginning, and still he wouldn’t let us retreat.”
“Well, there’s hope. Maybe he got killed,” he said in a nasty voice that wasn’t at all like him. “One of his goons, River, tried to finish me off. I’m guessing that he put all of us in the most compromising positions in the hopes that we would be killed and the last of his opposition would be dead.”
I poured Tank another glass, who downed it almost immediately. “Jesus—Jesus Christ.”
“
Yeah. It gets worse.”
“How?” he asked curiously, his face pale. “How can it get any worse?”
“He’s made calling other chapters for help impossible. Already called them a week ago, after Crash was murdered.”
“You have Tank here to back you up! Get them on the phone, now!”
“Even if we call ‘em, we might be dead before they get here.”
The doom in his words made me angry. “So I guess we should just stay here and wait for him to kill us.”
Spike’s smile had no humor in it. “No, what I’m saying is we need to think of something. We need to attack him now, while he thinks that we’re fucked.”
I stared at his leg pointedly. “We are fucked. You can’t get up on that leg.”
His grin widened. “No, but I can ride.”
What the fuck is he thinking? I looked around at Tank for help, but he looked determined to do something. “Spike, your bike could be anywhere. What the fuck are you planning to do? Ride your bike into the clubhouse with bombs strapped to your chest?”
“Maybe.”
“I could find him,” I said in a voice that didn’t sound like my own. “I could lure him to you both. I make good bait.”
“No fucking way you’re going back to that psycho.”
Tank gazed at me shrewdly. “That might be our only shot.”
Spike struggled to get up, looking furious. “Julia! You’re not going back to him!”
“Believe me, it’s the last thing I want to do, but if I don’t you won’t stand a chance. Besides, I was born a hustler.”
The older man spoke before Spike’s red face could scream anything else. “Maybe there’s a way we can go with her.”
“Not a chance. I’m not risking her life.”
An idea formed in my head like a half-forgotten dream. There was no way we could kill him surrounded by his supporters. Spike had a bad leg and Tank’s reflexes weren’t what they were. I had to lure him to a vulnerable spot, but where? What would I say to get him to leave the clubhouse?
“What if I call him and I say that you’re injured and that you need help?”
They considered it. “He’s probably really busy dealing with the shipment, assuming it went according to plan. He might send someone else to kill Spike.”
