Deathtrap

by L. M. Somerton

  Hatchet appeared at Rogue’s shoulder. “We thought it’d be easier for us to help watch him if he was in here.”

  “He’s not doing so good, Hatch. It was a fucking big snake and he doesn’t have much bodyweight. Shelton should do what he can but then we’ll need to get him transferred to the clinic.” Rogue kept his voice low.

  “Well, the truck’s all ready like you asked, but we might have a problem.” Hatch guided Rogue farther away from the others. “There are bikes massing on the junction at the top of the access track. Twenty or so riders last time Shelton took a look at the satellite feed. We ain’t going nowhere without a fight and them numbers don’t look good.”

  “What the fuck!” Rogue paced, taking worried glances to where Shelton worked on Orlando. “Could this day get any fucking worse? I’ll think about it in a minute. Let’s get Orlando sorted first.” He walked across and sat on the edge of one of the battered couches.

  “The Western diamondback rattlesnake, or Crotalus atrox to give it its Latin name, is a heavy-bodied snake with a triangular-shaped head. There are two dark diagonal lines on each side of its face running from the eyes to its jaws, and it has dark diamond-shaped patterns along its back. The tail has black-and-white bands just above the rattles. Is that what the snake that got you looked like?” Shelton asked Orlando.

  Orlando sniffled. “Don’t know. Wasn’t trying to take a selfie with it.”

  “The one I saw nearby was like that,” Rogue said. “I think we can assume it was the same one. It was unusually big—about seven feet I’d say.”

  “Well, the diamondback is a generalist, which means that it isn’t too picky about its habitat. It likes deserts and rocky hillsides. It ranges throughout the southwest, so Arizona—”

  “Shelton, we don’t need a fucking natural history lesson. Get on with it!” Rogue’s frustration got the better of him.

  “Just saying that Orlando probably invaded its territory.”

  Shelton administered a shot of anti-venom. “There are two clear puncture marks so I think Orlando got a pretty big hit. The symptoms are pain and swelling in the area of the bite. He has the pain but there’s not much swelling yet. The other symptoms are rapid pulse and labored breathing, progressive general weakness, vision problems, nausea and vomiting, seizures, drowsiness or unconsciousness. They don’t all necessarily appear but I’d be much more comfortable of we could get him to the clinic in Phoenix. I can’t give him anything for the pain and he really ought to be on a monitor.”

  Shelton’s speech got faster, betraying his fear. “Anti-venom should really be administered slowly through a drip. I have some atropine and adrenaline in case he has an allergic reaction, but I’m not equipped to deal with anything major. I’m taking a chance as it is, but on balance I think it’s better to get anti-venom inside him rather than wait any longer.”

  Crow pulled on his jacket. “I’ll take a turn up the track and see what’s going on.” He yanked open the door and stepped outside. “Uh, Rogue…” He turned back.

  “What?” Rogue went to join him.

  “We have visitors.”

  Twenty yards away, two riders sat astride their bikes, engines rumbling. A white bandana was tied to the handlebars of each machine.

  “Seems like they want to talk,” Crow said.

  “Yeah, I’m sure milk and cookies is exactly what they’re after.” Rogue stepped forward, Crow at his shoulder. “They picked the wrong fucking time to come calling. They have two minutes, then I’m gonna shoot ’em.”

  Chapter Four

  “Longhorns,” Rogue muttered, eyeing the patches on the two men’s scruffy denim jackets. “What the fuck are they doing out of Texas?”

  He examined the two riders, trying to spot weapons. One of the two dismounted and strode toward him and Crow, an arrogant smirk pasted on his face.

  “Acne sure did a number on him as a kid,” Crow commented.

  Rogue choked back a snort of laughter. The guy’s face was more pitted than the track he’d just ridden down.

  “Bet he’s never been laid. No woman would go near that without a blindfold,” Crow muttered.

  This time Rogue couldn’t help himself. He laughed and tried to hide it behind his hand. The situation was ridiculous. He needed to run off these uninvited guests and get Orlando some help.

  Crow didn’t let up. “I’ve seen roadkill more attractive than this guy.”

  The man in question was in easy hearing distance. He could not have failed to catch Crow’s comment. It was a deliberate tactic to rile the guy and it was working. The snarl twisting his lips did nothing to improve his appearance. Rogue took a closer look at the patches. The Longhorns’ club badge was a set of horns tipped in blood. There were rockers above and below it, signifying that the club was part of the one-percenter group. On the man’s sleeve there was a pair of green wings and a skull and crossbones. Rogue had no time for men who advertised their willingness to kill. The Wyverns kept their jackets plain on the front and sported the dragon emblem on the back. Their reputation was enough, they didn’t need fancy patches or hollow boasts.

  “What the hell are the green wings for?” Rogue muttered to Crow.

  “Means he’s had sex with some diseased slag.”

  “Fuck. He wants to advertise that?”

  “Probably the only female who’d get near him.”

  “Desperate even then.”

  “Agreed.”

  “If you two fags would stop flapping your mouths for three seconds…”

  Rogue peered at the biker’s name badge. “Spike. Good to know.”

  He nodded at Crow, who took a step forward. He kneed Spike in the balls. Spike went down with an anguished howl. His compatriot leaped from his bike and sprinted forwards.

  “What the fuck did you do to him?” He hauled the writhing man to his feet.

  “Gonna fucking kill you.” The threat would have had more impact if Spike’s voice hadn’t risen an octave or two.

  “Spike here needed an attitude adjustment. He didn’t mind his manners.” Rogue scowled. “Now what the fuck do you jokers want?”

  “You are hereby issued with a territory challenge. Jackson Wayne makes claim and offers single combat resolution.”

  “Congratulations. Memorizing that mouthful probably took you a week. Who the hell is Jackson Wayne?” Rogue knew exactly who the man was.

  In the MC world, Wayne, the leader of the Longhorns, had a reputation for brutality. He’d spent several years inside for aggravated assault and the experience had not done anything to reform him. Instead, he’d picked up a few equally antisocial buddies and taken over the Longhorns after a prolonged and bloody gun battle on the streets of Odessa, Texas.

  “What rock have you been living under, Hellaby? You know damn well who he is.” Spike’s colleague spat a gob of something disgusting into the dirt at Rogue’s feet.

  “I don’t have time for this shit. Tell Wayne to go fuck himself.”

  “Your choice, but think about how long your crew can last out here without supplies. We can cut you off nice and easy. Lay siege to this place like the fucking Alamo. We’ll take you sooner or later. Why not get it over with and make it sooner?”

  Rogue growled and pulled Crow to one side, out of earshot. “These idiots don’t know shit, but I don’t want this hanging round our necks for weeks. We need to send these fuckers back to Texas.”

  “We don’t have to. We have enough secret routes in and out of this place to avoid them for months. They can sit in the desert and get their skin burned off.”

  “I know we could, but we’re not going to. They don’t get to dictate how we live. If they’re around there’s always the chance that someone could get picked off by a stray shot. What if they grabbed Shelton or Orlando and used them as collateral? No… I’ll accept the challenge and put that mangy cur Wayne in the ground.” He turned back to Spike and his companion.

  “When and where?”

  “Dawn. Mozzy’s Gas Statio
n outside Red Rock. Bring a second to carry your carcass away. Oh…and we’ll be hanging around to make sure you don’t try and do a runner in the night.”

  “You’ve got two minutes to fuck off back to the road before I start cutting pieces off your scrawny body,” Crow said. He pulled out a serrated hunting knife and began cleaning his nails out with the tip.

  Rogue pivoted on his heel and strolled inside without a backward glance, passing Hatchet, who leaned casually in the doorway. He went straight to the seating area where Shelton had a cloth laid on Orlando’s forehead.

  “He’s getting worse. I think the venom’s affecting his vision now, Rogue. We have to move him and fast.”

  Rogue knelt at Orlando’s side and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. “You feel cold. Don’t worry, I’m going to make sure you get the treatment you need.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Orlando’s hand, which was clammy with sweat despite his chill.

  “’Kay,” Orlando whispered. “Don’t feel so good.”

  Rogue moved over to where Hatchet, Teddy and Crow stood in a huddle. As he approached, their conversation stopped.

  “Subtle. Before you even try to suggest it, none of you are replacing me for the challenge.” Rogue met their eyes in turn. “Hatchet will come with me in the morning. In the meantime, we need to get Orlando out of here.”

  Hatchet shrugged. “Told you he wouldn’t go for it. I’ll pack the Band-Aids.”

  “Your faith in me is reassuring,” Rogue snarked.

  “A challenge means knives. Crow’s better than you. Teddy’s not, but he loves fighting, it gives him an edge.” Hatchet rubbed the shiny dome of his head. “But you’re a stubborn asshole with homicidally heroic tendencies. I’ll stop talking now.”

  A weak giggle sounded from the direction of the couch.

  Rogue growled. “Can we focus, please? Orlando is the priority.”

  “Okay. How the fuck are we going to get him out of here with Longhorns littered all over the road?” Crow asked.

  Rogue grinned. “Call the cops.”

  He was met with three blank stares.

  “Call the…? What the fuck are you on, Rogue?” Crow gave him the kind of scowl that was usually followed by a punch.

  “Genius!” Shelton shouted from across the room. “Proud of you, Rogue.”

  “I’m lost,” Teddy moaned. “What’s going on?”

  “We are going to call the cops and request an escort for a snakebite victim. The Longhorns won’t get in the way of a black-and-white. Crow and Shelton will go in the truck and meet the cops at the main road. Hatch and I will ride up to the junction and then come back here—which will satisfy the Longhorns that we are not backing out. We pay our taxes… Okay, we don’t, but the thought is there, so… Call the cops.” Rogue raised an eyebrow. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”

  “I’ll call Sheriff Hayder.” Teddy pulled out his cell and punched in a number.

  “He has the county sheriff’s number memorized. Should I be worried?” Rogue asked nobody in particular.

  Hatchet grinned. “He likes a man in uniform does Teddy. Have you never wondered why he spends so much time in the county lock-up?”

  “I thought that was because he can’t hold his drink and gets into fights in every bar within a fifty mile radius,” Rogue said.

  “Well, there is that, but he also wants in Sheriff Hayder’s pants, and I have to admit the man is quite a stud with a very tempting ass.”

  “Keep your big paws off, Hatchet, the pretty sheriff is mine,” Teddy rumbled. “He’s on his way.”

  “Right, let’s get Orlando out to the truck.”

  Between them, Teddy and Hatchet lifted Orlando on his makeshift bed as if he weighed nothing. They maneuvered their cargo into the back of the truck and Shelton climbed in next to Orlando. He grabbed hold of his hand. Orlando attempted a smile but he appeared exhausted, his face pale and drawn in pain.

  “I’m sorry I’ve caused so much trouble,” he whispered.

  “Just concentrate on getting better,” Rogue replied. “I’m sorry I can’t come along for the ride, but Shelton will take care of you.”

  “I know what you’re doing, Rogue…for me,” Orlando said. “Don’t get dead… I wouldn’t be impressed.”

  Rogue choked back a laugh. “I don’t think much impresses you, Orlando, but believe me, I’ll be making an impression on your ass as soon as you’re repaired. Get better quickly. I’ll keep my palm nice and warm for you.”

  “Mmm.” Orlando’s eyelids flickered shut. “Sounds yummy.”

  A stomach tied in knots was becoming a familiar feeling for Rogue—that was the effect Orlando had on him. He sat astride his bike and let the rumble of the engine soothe him as he, Teddy and Hatchet escorted the truck up the long lane to the road. The sheriff, leaning against the hood of his car, stood upright when the truck approached. Rogue noted that he had one hand on his holster. Teddy pulled up next to him and, after a short conversation, the sheriff got into his car and set the lights flashing. He sped away with the truck close behind and Teddy following on. Rogue stayed and watched until the taillights faded away. He could see the blink of bike headlights forming an arc about fifty yards distant.

  “They’re out there keeping an eye on us. It worked, though.”

  “We should call on the law more often,” Hatchet said.

  Rogue nodded to Hatch and the two of them turned their bikes around and returned to base.

  * * * *

  Rogue took a shower and scrutinized the water around his feet as it changed from gray to clear. Dirt and dust sluiced from his body. Getting Orlando out of his head proved impossible. Ink-black hair and crystal-blue eyes haunted him. He toweled dry then dressed in his heaviest leather pants and a plain black tee. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and ran his hands through his hair.

  “Fuck. I love him.” He observed his own eyes widen and his cheekbones flush pink. “Oh, this is not good. This can’t be. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” He didn’t look any different. Still blond and blue-eyed. Chin still covered in golden stubble. “I don’t believe this… I’ve fallen in love with the little brat. He must have put something in my fucking coffee.” He wandered through to the common room in a daze.

  Hatchet was seated on one of the couches, feet up on the table, watching an old action movie. Two mugs of coffee sat waiting. Rogue picked his up and sniffed it suspiciously. He sat next to Hatch.

  “Something wrong with the coffee?” Hatchet asked.

  Rogue took a sip. “Nope. Tastes fine.”

  “So… What’s up?”

  “I think I’ve been drugged, Hatch. Orlando’s been putting something in my drinks.”

  “Huh? What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “Why else would I be in love with him?”

  Hatchet sprayed coffee all over his lap and coughed convulsively. “Fuck me!”

  “Not in this life.”

  “Love? That’s serious shit, Rogue.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “Hey, whatever, man. The brat suits you and I actually like him, even if he is a mouthy little shit most of the time.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  “So you need to keep your ass alive tomorrow.” He glanced at his watch. “Today, actually—it’s after midnight. You should try and get some rest.”

  The door banged open, and Rogue jumped to his feet, reaching for the knife he kept stashed beneath the couch cushions. Artie and Bull tumbled through the door. Rogue groaned and collapsed back onto the seat.

  “We half expected to find a pile of corpses in here. Do none of you guys own a working phone?” Artie complained.

  “We’ve been busy.” Hatchet snorted. “Grab some beers and I’ll catch you up.”

  “Not for me.” Rogue stood and stretched. “I’m gonna give Crow a call and find out what’s happening at the clinic, then I’m gonna try and get a couple of hours shut
-eye. Mozzy’s is less than an hour’s ride, so wake me at five if I’m not already up, Hatch.”

  Artie and Bull looked from Rogue to Hatchet then back. “What’s going on?” they said simultaneously.

  “Hatch’ll fill you in.”

  Rogue went to his room, pulled the door shut then laid out on the bed. He rang Crow and waited for the call to connect.

  “Rogue? Everything okay?”

  “Yeah. Hatchet and I are set for the morning. How is he?”

  “Good. Doc stuffed him full of painkillers. He’s on an antibiotic drip and the puncture site has been flushed. There’s a risk of infection but he’s sleeping now. Snoring like a hibernating grizzly, too.”

  Relief loosened the tension in Rogue’s limbs. “Good. Can you stay with him?”

  “Not supposed to but we’re here anyway. Shelton used his charm on the night nurse and she turned a blind eye to us camping out on the other bed in the room. Teddy’s in the waiting room with the sheriff. He’ll be heading back your way once they’ve finished pretending they can’t stand each other.”

  “Artie and Bull made it here a few minutes ago. Hatchet’s bringing them up to speed. He and I will keep our date with the Longhorns at dawn and we should be home in time for breakfast. Then we can get to thinking about how to deal with Arno Bellazi and the Jackals.”

  “Go kick some Texan ass.”

  “Call me if anything changes with Orlando.”

  “Sure, but he’ll be out cold for a while.”

  Rogue ended the call and tossed his phone to one side. He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He had no expectations of sleep, but some quiet time to process his inner emotional turmoil would help. He couldn’t afford to be distracted in the morning if he was going to face Jackson Wayne holding a big-assed knife.