by Kara Parker
I had been hanging out in a park on a hot Tuesday night with some friends when I had first met Paul. He had been older than me, a mature twenty-one to my barely legal eighteen. I was wearing too much make-up and a tight leopard print skirt. He had swept me off my feet. He was my first everything and when school ended I moved out of the foster house and in with him. I had loved him so much. I had been so sure he was the one.
Right then, as Julian punched Paul’s face over and over again, all of those memories came rushing back: the first time Paul had taken me on a motorcycle ride up to a hidden lake he knew about, the first time we ever made love, the necklace he bought me that I always used to wear, the way he would hold me in the morning as we lay in bed, not quite ready to get up. We had broken up, but I still cared for him and some part of me always would. I didn’t want him to die.
I couldn't let Julian kill him. I couldn’t live with myself if he died because of me. Paul had gone out on so many limbs for me. He had convinced The Bandits I was trustworthy enough to go on rides with him. He was the one who gave me full credit when I took over driving on that long trip to Mexico when we had been attacked. I wouldn’t be where I was if it weren’t for Paul.
“Stop,” I cried, as I struggled to get over to where Paul and Julian were. But there was a heap of rubble in my way and gunfire all around me and I was trapped. “Stop!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
I don’t know if Julian heard me, but he finally dropped Paul’s lifeless body from his hands and turned and ran back to where I was. But my eyes were on Paul, on his prone form splayed out on the gravel. He wasn’t moving. I couldn’t tell if he was breathing; he was too far away. I needed to get to him. I needed to see if I could save him.
Julian was coming straight for me, but I ignored him. He was fine and alive it was Paul who was passed out or even worse in the hot sun. But there was more, something in the distance. Through the hazy view of the road a line of bikers came into view, but were they Bandits or Desperados?
“Get up,” Julian said grabbing me roughly by the arm and hauling me to my feet.
“Get off me,” I yelled jerking my arm away from him. But it didn’t make any difference; he was so much stronger than me than I don’t even think he felt it. I looked past Julian and screamed out Paul’s name, but he still didn’t move. “You killed him!” I screamed at Julian. “You can’t just leave him out there like that.”
“Come on,” Julian said and he pulled me away from the giant hole in the wall. I turned to look back desperate to see if Paul was moving, but the dust and the rubble hid his body and I had no chance. Julian was hugging the wall as he pulled me towards the stairwell that led to his apartment.
“No,” I said, jerking my arm hard against him. But he just gripped my arm tighter and kept pulling me. Nothing I did worked; nothing I did mattered. I was trapped between two gangs being pulled by both sides and I was starting to worry that I was going to snap. Paul himself had come to save me. After all the fights we had, he had still gone on an attack on enemy headquarters for me and I left him alone in the dust.
Julian was pulling me to the door to his apartment and as long as we stayed by the wall we were out of the range of The Bandits’ gunfire. I could see where Los Desperados had set up a temporary command post. Marco was hunkered down behind an overturned table hollering out orders and firing with his Glock where The Bandits were taking cover.
“You got her, good. Put her away somewhere,” Marco said, glancing at me for only a moment before turning back to the firefight. “Reinforcements are almost here. This will be over soon.” He was calm and unfazed at the chaos around him. Half of his clubhouse had been destroyed, but his expression had barely changed. He was different than Big Mike, the leader of The Bandits.
If Big Mike were here he would be raging and screaming at Los Desperados and his own men. He would rant and rave and overturn tables and scream curse words and threats. He would scream at his own twice as often as he would scream at the enemy. I had always thought it was annoying and distracting, but that was how I thought all gang leaders acted. But, clearly, Marco was different. He was calm, cool, and collected. A gun in one hand, I saw the way his eyes swept the room and took everything in. Marco didn’t need to scream or shout to be effective.
Julian’s hand tightened on my arm and I knew there would be bruises above my elbow tomorrow. I struggled against him; I didn’t like being held like this. There was a fight going on and I had been pushed to the sidelines. His strength over me was infuriating; I felt like a car battling with a bear. I had no chance. Still I tried to free myself, but he only held me tighter.
“Come on,” he huffed at me, pulling me behind the lines of the Los Desperados who were solely focused on fighting The Bandits. There were men with guns and women behind them with fresh rounds that they handed to their men on command. Some of the old ladies were using binoculars to cut through the haze, acting as sites and guiding the guns. Through the hole in the wall I could see the line of reinforcement Los Desperados bikers as they drove down the road. The Bandits would have to leave soon or they would be trapped here.
I wanted them to run and just leave me. I had been threatening their arrival since the moment Julian captured me, but now I just wanted them to go home. I wanted them to leave me here with Los Desperados. It wasn’t worth all of this. Los Desperados hadn’t been cruel to me nor had they hurt me. Julian had been more than kind and gentle and if I left with The Bandits today I could never come back. But then there was Paul, hurt somewhere. He had done all of this for me. Could I really just leave him for this man I had met only a few days ago?
Julian continued to pull me farther away from The Bandits. I was half fighting him, but my efforts were weak. I knew I was trapped and I knew that if I tried to run to The Bandits it would only cause more bloodshed and violence. I needed The Bandits to go and check on Paul and make sure he was safe. If I gave myself up to Los Desperados, if The Bandits thought there was no way they could get me, then they would turn tail and head back home. They wouldn’t have me, but I also knew they wouldn’t leave Paul lying in the dirt. Alive or dead, they would bring him home.
We reached the stairwell to the apartment and Julian tore it open and threw me inside. He quickly followed and slammed the door behind him, muffling the gunfire and the roar of the motorcycle engines outside. It was dark in the stairwell and I couldn't see Julian. I could only hear him as he huffed for breath.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Are you all right?” Julian asked me as he flipped the lights and came towards me. He brought his hand up to my cheek and turned me to the right and left and looked at my ears. “I thought I saw blood. I thought it was worse.” His voice was low almost a whisper. The gunfire outside was going strong and hard and the only reason I could hear him was because he was so close to me.
As he brought himself even closer I jerked away, finally managing to pry my arms from his grip. I ripped myself away from him, backing up into the opposite wall. He looked at me in confusion and his brow creased as trouble shaded his eyes. He didn’t look mad and I wanted him to be mad. I was furious and the confusion and sadness in his eyes just made me angrier. I couldn’t stand this. No matter what I did, someone ended up hurt. Either The Bandits or Los Desperados, Paul or Julian. But it wasn’t my fault. It was Julian’s; this was his entire fault. Everything that had happened was because he kidnapped me and wouldn’t let me go. People had died and been hurt because of Julian. Paul might be dead, all because of Julian.
I pushed him away from me and made a move for the door, but he blocked me easily. One small step and he was a tall brick wall that I could never hope to move. Suddenly all my anger came bubbling to the surface. I didn’t care that he was taller than me, or stronger, or better armed, I wanted to hurt him. I pushed him hard, but he barely even swayed. I hit him in the chest, pounding my fists against him, trying to get him to move at all, but he just looked down at me.
“What’s wrong with you?” he de
manded as he grabbed my hands by the wrist in an effort to stop me from hitting him.
I gasped in pain as his hands dug into my still-bruised and chafed wrists.
He instantly let me go and drew back at my cry and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
I didn’t want him to apologize; I wanted him to get out of my way. “Let me out,” I said pushing him again, shoving both of my hands into his hard chest. But there was still no movement from him and I threw my hands up in frustration.
“No,” he said. “You’re staying here. I thought you wanted to stay.”
“I never said that,” I spit at him. “You wouldn’t let me leave. That’s different than wanting to stay.”
“And what about yesterday?” He said. “Was that nothing?” He was close to me, and I could see him resisting the urge to touch me; he kept bringing his hands up as if he were going to embrace me, but then he would change his mind and put them back down. Over and over he repeated this gesture and each time he brought his hands up I didn’t know if I wanted him to touch me or not. I wanted him, but I knew that I shouldn’t, that I couldn’t.
“Did you kill him?” I said and I couldn’t hold back the sob that escaped me.
Julian looked at me and confusion that turned into anger and this face became a blank mask. He was hiding his emotions from me, and I didn’t know what he was thinking. “Who?” he asked. His voice was emotionless and flat and somehow even more terrifying for it. “Are you worried about the man who grabbed you? Why, what was he to you?”
“Is he alive?” I asked again, my voice rough and raw as I tried to keep myself under control. I was crying now. I didn’t want to be and wiped the tears away angry and embarrassed.
“I didn’t kill him,” Julian said and then he pulled his Glock out of its holster and I took a terrified step back. But he didn’t aim it at me. He gave me one last unreadable look and spun around opening the door and leading his way back into the melee with his gun.
I raced to the door, but I was too slow and it slammed close before I could grab it. I heard the deadbolt as it was slipped into place on the other side. I needed a key to open it. I pulled and tugged at the door, but it wouldn’t give.
There was still a firefight going on outside. There were sporadic bursts of gunfire and I pressed my ear against the door trying to make out what was going on. But everything was muffled and I couldn't discern one voice from another. I couldn’t tell who was winning, but I had the feeling it was Los Desperados and I prayed The Bandits were getting out while they still could. I hoped someone had seen me dragged back here and realized they weren’t getting me today. I hoped they weren’t too proud to run.
They had no idea that Marco had called a meeting and the clubhouse had been packed. They must have found out I was being held here. Then they would have waited for a time when the clubhouse should have been empty. Biker clubs are normally dead in the morning; The Bandits should have been able to come in and get me out with any problem. But they had picked the one morning when Marco had called a meeting and the place had been packed.
I didn’t kill him. What did that mean? Did it mean that Paul was alive or dead? Did it mean that Paul had been alive and was now dead had someone else gone out with a gun to finish the job? Or was he alive and fine. The uncertainty was driving me mad. I couldn’t stand being locked in this stairwell when there was a real fight going out just on the other side of this door. I was a princess locked in a tower.
The sound of engines roaring overpowered the sound of bullets and I realized that the reinforcements for Los Desperados had arrived. Run, you idiots, run! I thought as the engines got even louder. Please just take Paul and go get him help. I’m lost; you’re never gonna get me. The Bandits needed to let me go. Los Desperados was better armed and organized than anyone guessed and these attempts to rescue me would just reduce The Bandits’ numbers.
I slammed my hands against the door uselessly. It was killing me being back here. I didn’t sit out fights. All the action was out there and I was trapped in here. I had no idea what was going on or who was winning. I didn’t know if Paul or Julian were dead or alive. I didn’t know anything and couldn’t do anything and I wanted to rip my hair out in frustration.
What about yesterday? What did that mean? His questions echoed in my ears. An hour ago my answer would have been different. I would have said that yesterday had meant everything. His touch, his mouth, the care he had taken with me, it was the reason I had come down for breakfast in the first place. Yesterday had meant everything to me. But then The Bandits had declared all out war over me. They had come to enemy territory and struck all to get me back. Paul had pulled me out of the rubble. How could I just toss that aside and act like it meant nothing? I couldn’t let my feelings for Julian get in the way of my loyalties. I had only known Julian for a few days, but I had been with The Bandits and Paul for over seven years. They were my friends, my family, and my home. How could I just throw all that away?
My emotions were shifting from day to day and hour to hour. I knew that I needed to pick a side, but I couldn’t do it. The truth was, it was tempting to stay here with Julian. Part of me desperately wanted to. I could see myself joining Los Desperados and working for them. I had a feeling I could do very well with them. But what about my loyalty to The Bandits? Who would I be without the oaths and promises I had taken? What would my word even mean after something like that. Who would I be?
I could hear the bullets outside slowing down. I started counting the seconds between gunfire. At first it was five seconds, then ten, then a full minute. Whatever the fight was, it was over now. I could hear men shouting and cheering and the sound of tables being turned over and pushed aside. Los Desperados had won, but what had happened to The Bandits?
I was leaning against the door, listening for anything I could hear. But when I heard someone turn the key in the lock I jumped back and away. I brought my hands up ready to defend myself. Not that it would matter; whoever was coming through that door was better armed than me. I knew it had to be Julian, but what would he say, what would he do? What would the rest of Los Desperados want to do? I readied myself as best I could for whatever might happen as the door opened and Julian stepped through.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
He took two steps and was in the room and he looked at me as he closed the door behind him. I didn’t know what to say or do. I was frozen in place. I wanted to run to him and hug him and hit him all at the same time. I was a mess of emotions: happiness, anger, frustration, and I kept jumping from emotion to emotion with no control. He was unarmed; both of his guns were gone. I wondered if he had done that to make me feel safer. But I did feel safe with him, even when he was armed to the teeth. I couldn’t help but check him for injuries, but other than a blood-stained bandage roughly wrapped around his right bicep, he looked unhurt. But he was covered in grit and sweat and blood. He looked like some prehistoric warrior fresh from battle and I couldn’t help but feel small in comparison. But still I felt drawn to him. I wanted to go to him and I had to stop myself from walking towards him and wrapping my arms around him.
“We won,” he said, his voice was clipped and short and his eyes were boring into mine.
I wished I could read his mind and know what he was thinking. His expression was unreadable. I wanted to ask him a million questions, but I didn’t know where to start. I still didn’t know what side I was on; I still couldn’t force myself to make that decision.
“I didn’t kill him,” Julian repeated, his voice low and my heart skipped a beat as I stared into his dark eyes. “I knocked him out, but he was still breathing when I came to get you.” There was a hint of anger in his voice and I wanted him to be angry. He was calm and emotionless and I wanted to cry and scream and kiss him all at the same time. But what was he feeling, what did he want? I had no idea. What was I to him? Was I a project, a hook-up, a potential employee, or was I something more?
“You should have let me go!” I screame
d at him. “Look what happened, how many Bandits died today because of you!” I could easily see all those bodies from the fight. What would happen to them? Had they already been moved, had the funeral home been called? I realized I wouldn’t be able to go to their funeral or their wake. They were my brothers and I wouldn’t be there to ride in their honor guard. They had died in a rescue attempt for someone who might not have wanted to be rescued; I owed them a debt I could never hope to repay.
“And what about my people?” Julian demanded, taking a step towards me. “How many Los Desperados have died because of The Bandits. You’ve been killing us for years and now that we’re getting ours, you can’t stand it and you're attacking us. You’re threatened by us.”
“You stole from us,” I said, refusing to back down. “You stole from us for years. You were raiding our rides and now you’re surprised they attacked you. They weren’t going to take that lying down forever. You kidnapped me, chained me to your radiator, and trapped me here and now you’re paying the price. What did you think would happen? How many times did I warn you that they would come for me? Did you think I was bluffing?”
