I Hear Voices

by Gail Koger

Looking around for any sign of Pirate John, my eyes bugged in disbelief. Holy cow! It looked like a scene from an apocalyptic disaster movie. Dozens of smashed vehicles littered the smoke filled freeway. Panicked people abandoned their cars and fled down the exit ramps.

  Knowing Derek, he’d probably blame me for this mess. Okay, it kinda was my fault.

  “You fucking bitch!” Peg Leg Pete backhanded me, rocking my head back. The freeway danced around me, my vision misted over and I hit the hot asphalt.

  “You’re one dead bitch. I’m gonna gut shoot you. When you’re screamin’ real pretty, and beggin’ me to kill ya, then I’m gonna fuck ya.”

  His pecker was history. Pushing myself into a sitting position, I motioned at the traffic cameras and the multitude of helicopters hovering

  overhead. “You might want to rethink that decision. Cuz it’s not a real smart thing to do in front of all these cameras.”

  Peg Leg looked up and jaw dropped. “Fuck.”

  “Don’t you get it? We’re breaking news and the entire world is watching. And don’t forget all the people with cell phones who are downloading this to YouTube. Hey, it might even go viral.”

  “I ain’t goin’ back to jail,” Peg Leg screamed and immediately shot the crap out of the traffic cameras. He reloaded and emptied an entire clip at the news helicopters.

  Okay, he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack.

  Not only were the helicopters way out of range, they had telephoto lenses. Wiping at the blood dripping down my chin, I snarled, “Granny, freeze his nuts off.”

  “With great pleasure.” Granny Annabel grabbed his

  balls

  and

  the

  temperature

  dropped

  dramatically. Ice began to form on the roadway.

  Peg Leg Pete screamed and did this funky chicken dance, while frantically trying to reload.

  “I’m gonna kill ya! I’m gonna fucking kill ya!”

  “Drop the gun or I’ll do the world a favor and have Granny neuter you.”

  A Black Hawk helicopter suddenly swooped down and skimmed just above the wrecked vehicles. Derek’s commanding voice rang out, “Drop the gun!”

  I glared up at the helicopter. “I’ve got it under control.”

  Pirate John popped up from behind a black Escalade and unleashed a barrage of lead at the helicopter.

  Okay, maybe not.

  Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! The Black Hawk’s machine gun turned the Escalade into scrap metal.

  I hit the deck and covered my aching head.

  What kind of idiot shoots at a fully armed military helicopter?

  The gunfire stopped.

  I popped my head up for a quick look. A dead idiot. I didn’t have to worry about Pirate John anymore. Nope. He was saying howdy to the devil about now.

  Derek, heavily armed and dressed in a black tactical uniform, rappelled from Black Hawk and landed lightly on the roof of a smoldering semi-truck. Every inch of him screamed predator.

  His merciless gaze locked on Peg Leg Pete’s bow-legged run for the exit ramp. Sloan pulled his pistol and fired one shot.

  Peg Leg screamed and crumpled to the asphalt.

  Damn, he had shot him in the good leg. Me? I’d turned his wooden leg into scrap lumber.

  “Drop the gun,” Derek shouted.

  “Fuck you,” the moron shrieked, firing wildly.

  Bullets zinged over my head. The way this day was going, I’d be dead by midnight.

  Unfazed by the barrage of lead, Sloan ducked behind a Buick and waited until Peg Leg ran out of

  ammo. He yelled, “Last chance. Drop the fucking gun or you’re a dead man.”

  “Save your breath,” I mumbled. “Numb Nuts isn’t gonna listen.”

  Numb Nuts rammed another clip in.

  Derek stood and fired.

  Peg Leg’s head snapped back and he toppled over with a nice bullet hole between his eyes.

  “I told you, your man would protect you,”

  Granny crowed.

  “You did.” Derek was downright lethal and determined to get that gold. He needed me to find it, and he would protect me until we found the mother lode. After that, I wasn’t quite sure what he would do. Probably dump me in the middle of the road and drive off.

  The roar of a motorcycle engine brought my head around. A red Harley shot of the smoke and skidded to a stop next to me.

  One look at the rider had me on my feet and backing away.

  The guy was huge with bulging biceps and a shitload of tattoos covering his massive chest. His black vest had Hells Angels’ death head patches on it.

  I had seen those tattoos before but where? My brain had done gone on holiday and damned if I could remember. I didn’t think he was one of Pirate John’s men but I couldn’t see Mister Muscles’ face through the tinted faceplate on his motorcycle helmet.

  “Get on,” he growled.

  Did he think I was stupid? “Look, if you don’t want to get shot by that big guy over there, you’ll leave. Right now. Shoo, go away.”

  “Shoo? Give me a fucking break.”

  The next thing I knew he had grabbed a fistful of my shirt and yanked me across his lap. “Hey! Let go of me.” I wriggled frantically against his iron grip.

  “Hang on,” he said and gunned it, expertly weaving his Harley around the abandoned vehicles.

  “Zelda,” Derek shouted.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him running towards me.

  “Help me,” I shrieked as my head missed the bumper of a Mercedes by a scant inch. “He’s gonna kill me!”

  The Black Hawk fired off a warning.

  The burst of bullets chewed up the pavement in front of us.

  Cursing, my kidnapper did a , shot behind a gasoline tanker and used the roiling smoke for cover as he sped away.

  Faster and faster cars whizzed by inches from my face. I clung to the bastard’s leg and screamed bloody murder.

  Granny appeared on the back of the motorcycle. “Don’t you know who he is?”

  “Haven’t a clue.” I cried and bit his leg. Hard.

  “Goddamnit Zelda, stop biting me,” Mister Muscles roared, zooming down the exit ramp.

  “It’s Dixon Deeter.”

  Oh shit! I had just bitten the leader of the Dirty Dozen. One of the most feared biker gangs in the known universe.

  My stomach roiled and my head felt like it was going to explode. I pinched Dixon’s leg and yelled over the roaring motor, “If you don’t want me hurling all over your boot, Dixon, you’ll let me up.

  Now!”

  Dixon skidded to a stop by a city park and jerked me upright.

  Too late. I hurled all over him and his motorcycle.

  He pulled off his helmet and threw it on the ground. “I don’t fucking believe it.”

  “I’ve got a head injury,” I wailed and promptly puked on his boots and the helmet.

  Deeter inquired in an extremely polite tone, “Done yet?”

  “Think so.”

  He grabbed me and yanked my t-shirt right off.

  “Hey! Give it back.”

  “When I’m finished.”

  I gaped in horror as he used my shirt to clean off his bike, his crotch and his boots.

  “Here ya go,” Dixon said, holding out my puke encrusted shirt.

  I backed away. “Ewww. You can keep it. All I want to know is why you’re doing this?”

  He rubbed a hand over his shaved head and shrugged. “You’re my property. I protect what’s mine.”

  I rolled my eyes. God, he kinda sounded like Derek. “About that… I know you made me an honorary member of the Dirty Dozen when I saved your daughter from that murderous pedophile but this is nuts. I’m not your property. You don’t owe me anything. Just leave me here. You have no idea what’s going on or what kind of trouble I’m in.”

  “You took a gold medallion from the Phoenix Art Museum. You’re hoping it will lead you to Montezuma’s gold.
Sloan also wants the gold and knows he needs your psychic woo-woo shit to find it. That about sum it up?”

  I stared at him in opened mouth astonishment.

  “Yeah, but… How in hell do you know that?”

  His gray eyes surveyed me with a distinct lack of favor. “Sloan and I have butted heads before.

  When he showed up in Phoenix, I wanted to know why.”

  Wasn’t that just hunky dory? Two alpha males fighting over little ole’ me.

  A news helicopter dropped down to hover just above the trees.

  Omigod! The entire world was being treated to an up close and personal view of my flab. I should have let Peg Leg shoot me. Darting under the trees, I eyed the nearby women’s restroom. Could I make it before…

  “Don’t make me chase you,” Dixon, the mind reader, growled. He wheeled his motorcycle in front of me. “Get on.”

  “That’s a really bad idea. Just leave me here.

  You’ll never out run them.”

  “Get.”

  “On.”

  “The.”

  “Fucking bike.”

  “Yes, sir.” I crawled on behind him and hung on for dear life as he roared off.

  Chapter Seven

  Those damned news helicopters just kept on following us like a bunch of vultures. The thought of millions and millions of people gawking at my so—

  not-ready-for-prime-time-body gave

  me

  the

  heebie-jeebies.

  Granny Annabel floated effortlessly alongside the motorcycle. “Your man is a fearless hero and he will find a way to rescue you.”

  I snorted. “Right. Derek’s faster than a speeding bullet and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Oh wait. He’s not Superman, he’s a giant pain-in-my ass.”

  Dixon eyed me warily in the side mirror. “How hard did you hit your head?”

  “Gee, let me think. Did I get my brains scrambled when the helicopter crashed and burned real pretty? Or did it happen when I crashed Derek’s Hummer and the airbags deployed too late?

  Or maybe it was when Peg Leg smacked me in the face? Or could it have been when I was kidnapped by a maniac on a motorcycle that dangled me over his lap like a sack of potatoes?”

  “Watch your tone,” Dixon snarled.

  “Or what? You’ll toss me off the motorcycle and shoot me?”

  “No, I’ll give you to Buzzard. He likes women with curves.”

  “Be still my heart. Wait a minute. Buzzard!?

  Isn’t he the dude with all those funky Marlon Brando tattoos?”

  “Yes.”

  Wasn’t I the luckiest girl in the world? The scary guy with the serial killer eyes liked me and my curves. “Does he really think he’s Marlon Brando reincarnated?”

  Dixon nodded. “He’s a good man to have in a knife fight.”

  Color me happy, a serial killer with a knife fetish. I hissed at Granny, “Where the hell is Derek?”

  “Look behind you,” Granny responded.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Holy Jesus! Lights flashing, sirens screaming a parade of police cars were hot on our heels. My brains really were scrambled not to have noticed that three ring circus.

  “I don’t see Derek.”

  Granny pointed.

  I squinted trying to ignore those funny black spots that kept popping in and out of my vision.

  Sure enough here came Derek, doing Mach one on Peg Leg’s Harley. He blew by the patrol cars like they were standing still.

  One look at Sloan’s deadly expression and I groaned. When he caught up to us, I was going to

  catch holy hell for stealing and wrecking his car.

  Dixon would be lucky not to end up dead.

  Wearily, I leaned my aching head against Dixon’s back and prayed for a miracle.

  A police officer jumped out and threw a spiked stop strip.

  Yelping, I grabbed a hold of Dixon’s belt as he abruptly swerved around the stick, barreled up on the sidewalk and missed the pissed off cop by inches.

  For a long moment, I stared at the butt of a handgun protruding from the waistband of Dixon’s jeans. I’ll be damned. There was my miracle.

  Yanking the gun out, I pressed it to the back of his skull and yelled, “Pull over.”

  The jerk just laughed. “The safety’s on sweetheart.”

  I flipped it off. “Not any longer. Stop the fucking bike.”

  “You won’t shoot me.”

  “Wanna bet?”

  He laughed harder. “No bullets.”

  Shit! I checked and sure enough, the clip was missing.

  “Derek’s gonna have his hands full with you.”

  Huh?

  Without warning, Dixon zoomed into a parking garage and skidded to a stop next to our doubles on a matching red Harley.

  I gaped at my clone. Damn, she really looked like me. How sad was that?

  “Give me your t-shirt,” Dixon ordered.

  My clone peeled it off and dropped it on the pavement.

  Yikes! Not only was she braless, but she had screaming skulls tattooed on what had to be double E breasts. Gotta be a biker thing. Cuz sexy, it wasn’t.

  “Go,” Dixon said and they squealed out of the parking garage.

  “You really think it’s gonna work?”

  He backed us into the shadows. “Watch.”

  Derek screamed past in hot pursuit with the cop cars right on his tail.

  Cocking my head, I listened as the helicopters took the bait, too.

  Animosity glittering in his eyes, Dixon held his hand out. “Give me my fucking gun.”

  I quickly handed it to him and watched as he shoved the clip in.

  “You point a gun at a man you’d better be prepared to use it.”

  “I was.”

  Dixon shot me a derisive look and shoved the gun in his waistband. “You’re not a killer, sweetheart.”

  I bared my teeth in a snarl. “A few more days like this one and I will be.”

  An unholy smile pulled at Dixon’s mouth. “Has he fucked you yet?”

  “What?”

  “It’s a simple question. Have you slept with Sloan?”

  “It’s none of your damned business.”

  “Oh but it is.”

  This was getting way out of hand. Clutching my stomach, I groaned and slid off the motorcycle. “I don’t feel so good.”

  Dixon quickly backed away. “You puke on me again and so help me God, I’ll…”

  A gun cocked and Derek inquired blandly, “You’ll do what? Smack her around?”

  “No.” Dixon raised his hands and turned to face Derek. “But I’d be happy to smack you around.”

  “Lose the gun.”

  Using two fingers, Dixon carefully removed it and set it on the ground.

  “Get over here, Angel.”

  Before I could move, Dixon stepped in front of me. “She’s my property and you’re not taking her anywhere.”

  “How much do you want for her?”

  The ass actually thought he could buy me?

  “One hundred thousand and ten percent of any gold you find,” Dixon answered.

  “No! No and no! This is the United Fucking States and it’s against the law to sell people.” The urge to sock Dixon was getting stronger by the second.

  Derek cocked a mocking eyebrow. “Is it?”

  “Biker’s law gives me the right to sell any female I own,” Dixon added.

  With a growl of rage, I scooped the gun off the floor and pointed it at Dixon. “I’m not for sale.”

  Frowning, Derek took a step towards me. “Be careful, Angel.”

  Dixon whipped his head around. His gray eyes burned with the promise of retaliation. “A little quality time with Buzzard should cure your rebellious streak.”

  My lack of chocolate was making me a tad bit homicidal and a whole lot stupid. I fired off a round, missing his boot by an inch. “Move away from the bike.”

  “Zelda, put the gun down before y
ou get hurt,”

  Derek snapped, moving towards me.

  “Stop!” I aimed the pistol at him. “After all the crap you’ve put me through, don’t think I won’t shoot you, too.”

  Exasperation flashed in Derek’s eyes. “I saved your ass today and a little gratitude would be nice.”

  “Gratitude!?” I winced, that had come out a bit shrill. “Okay, you did keep that Apache warrior from killing me.”

  “You’re damned right I did.”

  Dixon chortled, “Seriously, an Apache warrior?”

  “Yes,” we both snapped in unison.

  I waved the gun around. “And I saved you and your men from the Thunder God, twice.”

  “I kept those two bikers from shooting you.”

  “They wouldn’t have been shooting at me if you hadn’t broadcast my name all over the known universe.”

  “She does have a point,” Dixon added.

  Derek snarled, “Butt out. This doesn’t concern you.”

  A low, aggressive growl broke from Dixon.

  “Doesn’t it? She’s a member of the Dirty Dozen.”

  A muscle in Derek’s jaw twitched. “Fifty thousand and one percent of the gold.”

  “Here’s a thought, we split the gold,” I spat at Derek.

  “Works for me,” Dixon commented.

  The Tomb Raider snorted. “I’ll pay you twenty percent to help me find the gold, Angel, and not a dime more.”

  “Fifty-Fifty or I rescind the offer.”

  Derek countered, “Fifteen percent and I don’t throw your ass in jail.”

  “Go to hell.” My finger tightened on the trigger and bam the gun fired.

  The bullet zinged past Derek’s shoulder and hit a Prius, shattering a passenger side window. The car alarm shrieked and wailed.

  “Whoops.”

  Fury radiating from him, Derek roared, “Whoops?”

  “What’s the big deal? You’re wearing body armor.”

  “I’m gonna put you over my knee and you won’t be able to sit down for a week,” Derek growled, stalking towards me.

  “Take another step and we’ll see how well your body armor works.”

  “Go ahead,” Dixon prompted with a smile, “I’m curious myself.”

  I backed towards the Harley. “I’m taking the motorcycle and if either of you try to stop me, I will shoot you.”

  “You’re in no shape to drive,” Dixon snapped.

  Like that was going to stop me.