“Our boss put me in charge as well, so you work for me.”
I grit my teeth as I reply, “Yeah. I know how it works, Viper.”
“Great, Bishop.” He sneers. “Then you’ll get the fuck out of here and leave my girl and me alone while we sort out our issues.”
I put my hands up in the air in defense, scooting back towards the hallway. I hate to leave a girl alone with a ticking time bomb like him, but she’s his property, and I’ve got no claim on her. She had to have known what she was getting into when she submitted to him—they all do. And if this is her life now, this is her life. Who the hell am I to immerse myself in it? She’s a big girl; she can handle it.
Still, I don’t stray too far, only out of sight and within earshot. No bone in my body trusts a guy like him, and I’ve got good reason not to. The couple go back and forth, her trying to explain why she came and him calling her just about every name in the damn book for doing it.
“You’re gonna get in the fucking way. I can’t be looking out for you and my boys. They come first.”
“We’ve been together for over a year now, Viper. I thought you would want me here. I thought that was my job.”
“Your job? Your job!” He laughs so loud that I think the floorboards are rocking under our feet. “Your fucking job, Rivet, is to pour my men our beers, stick out your tits, and ride my cock when I ask you to.”
“Ask for it?” she grumbles. I suddenly get the urge to pull away. Some things can’t be unheard, and I’m not one to want to collect personal details like this. As I walk towards the group of my boys unsaddling from their ride, I hear her defiantly say, “You don’t even give me that job to do, Viper!”
I can’t help but smirk. There’s the little spitfire I know. She’s still in there; still kicking and screaming to get out. I never imagined I would see her in a place like this, in a situation like this. But life does that to people. It smacks you upside the head until you’re all turned around, and you don’t know where you began or will end. In my head, she was this beacon of hope, someone that got out of the shit. It’s not that I am disappointed to see her with dirt and scum like us, but it does make me rethink what I had thought of her all those years ago.
“They’re here!” someone shouts, and the room goes quiet. Even Viper and his fat, puckered lips shut down for the moment as we all listen to the sound of gravel crunching under tires and boots. Lights flicker; headlights glowing through the soaked and streaked window panes.
“Carnivores!” I turn to see our leader up on one of the benches. He’s holding an old AK in his hand. “We fight! We don’t surrender! Hold our territory! Hold our ground! Blood and brotherhood!”
“Blood and brotherhood!” we shout back, over the bangs. Our club motto echoes through the building and towards the danger ahead. I grab hold of a knife lying on a table. Who it belongs to—I couldn’t care. Shit’s about to go down, and I am not about to be caught without something to arm myself with.
I follow the crowd towards the chained up metal doors. Over the heads of some of the taller guys, I see the weight of it bend and bust as the Desert Snakes attempt to force their way through. With each pound, our group inches further until we’re pressed shoulder to shoulder, a few feet from the entrance.
“Get ready!” Viper’s voice rises above the rest. His bastard friend Dig stands by his side while there’s no sign of Rivet anywhere. I scan the open metal stairwell for signs of her, finally finding her huddled with a group of girls at the top of the second-floor landing. Almost impossibly, her eyes find mine, hooking on. I watch her word something to me, but I can’t make it out. The clanging sound of the chain and locks breaking jolts me right back to the battle. I feel down my side for the knife.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Mad Dog?” Viper screams.
“Here to claim what’s mine!” the man I can barely see over the crowd shouts, his arms outstretched.
“A good beating is what’s owed to you, you shitshow!”
“Watch your tongue or it’ll end up on the floor, boy,” Mad Dog cries out. The crowd erupts, and I feel the push. We move straight in towards the group of Snakes lined up by the entrance. The line in front of me breaks away, charging at the others. It’s chaos and blood and grime. There’s screaming and shouting, and nothing makes sense. I barely recognize my guys from the Snakes—only the patches on their jackets give away who is on my team and who I need to slam into. Before I can come to my senses, something smacks into me hard and cold. I turn just in time to see the glint of a metal bat zoom past my head.
I manage to duck while the man takes another wide swing towards my body, but I’m too fast, too skilled. I sweep his legs with mine and he topples over like a giant in a cartoon. He careens to the ground in slow motion, and I pull myself on top of him. His bat falls out of his hands, and I go to work pummeling my fist straight into his already deformed head. The bones of his nose crack under the weight. His jaw goes limp and his eyes roll back until the eyelids shut. I pull back, taking a deep breath.
The bulk of the fight has made its way outdoors now, and I can see the riders head off towards their bikes, the Snakes careening towards them, on their heels. I get up on my feet and spin towards the crawlspace door. I’m not about to let my men go off without me, leaving me here for the slaughter. I’m seconds away from sprinting when, out the corner of my eye, I see a hulk of a man barreling towards me, his arms stretched wide to grab hold of me. I’ve got nowhere to run, nowhere to go. Every instinct in me wants to scream and close my eyes, but I crouch down, ready to take him on.
I see the whites of his eyes, smell his breath on me, hear the sound of his throaty tribal yell—but before his fingertips can touch me, he falls to the ground, face-first. Blood pools around his neck and splatters down the back of his jean jacket. I look towards where he stopped to see two bare, lanky legs nearly shaking in her spot. Rivet holds tight to the bat, ready to take another swing.
I want to thank her, but there’s zero time. All I can think to shout is, “Get the fuck out of here!” before I see the charge of another group of Snakes rushing towards us. I reach out to take her hand, hers reaches to mine, but she’s pulled away. Viper takes hold of her and thrusts her toward the door.
“You… Bishop!” he yells. “Get your fucking bike and follow us. Don’t let them get close. Do your damn job!”
I take off in the opposite direction, jumping over bodies of our men; some dead, most injured. I toss open the cellar doors and race through the darkness. Outside, it’s still pouring. The beat of the water on the metal plays like war drums calling me on. My bike is there, untouched and unnoticed. Through the darkness, I guide it off towards the parking lot where I know Viper keeps his Harley locked up.
He’s not hard to spot with her clenched onto him. The idiot’s actually going to let her ride. The Snakes are practically foaming at the mouth as they pull off towards his direction. He smartly heads towards the highway. It’s a bold move, especially in this weather, but the cops on normal lookout will slow the Snakes down and keep them out of trouble until they are out of Carnivores’ land.
The guy needs a plan, and fast, or he’s riding into his own coffin. And damn do I hope he’s got one because, like it or not, I’ve got no choice but to track him down and keep those two safe.
Chapter Three Rivet
My heart pounds—no, scratch that, it races— with the rapid thumping of a back tire smacking against the ground. I am willing myself not to look over my shoulder. That’s what they tell you that when you first start to ride on the bitch seat—not to look back, not ever. Looking back is dizzying and will cause you basically to freak the fuck out and lose your balance or your hold (or possibly both). It can even send you careening onto the gravel of the road or into a ditch off to the side, and even if you manage to hang on, you can potentially throw off your driver’s concentration. Point is, looking back is a really fucking awful idea, and I heard that lesson loud and clear. But tonight, I’ve got a bet
ter reason for not looking back: if I do, the only thing I will see behind me is death.
I know what a goddamn fool I’ve been. Viper was absolutely right when he said I should have stayed behind at the bar. This isn’t a place or position where I feel comfortable—this war zone that feels like some kind of chase scene out of a 70s action movie. No, I shouldn’t be here. I should be back there, finishing off my shift. I should be psyching myself out by taking another pregnancy test, or curling up on the couch watching some lame romance movie and polishing off a huge bucket of popcorn as I sob to myself and contemplate how in the living fuck I’m going to break the news to Viper that I not only cheated on him but got myself knocked up in the process.
Fucking hell, this ain’t gonna be easy.
But I could go further. If I’m really honest—if I really think about where I ought to be right now—I know exactly what I’d be doing: I’d be sitting in a dorm room putting off studying so I can go to another party with girls my own age. Or, fuck it, maybe I’d actually be studying—if I’m fantasizing, I might as well go the whole nine yards. So, yeah, I should be studying some big, thick textbook in a musty-smelling library, a cheap, dim lamp shining over my head while I make notes in a college-ruled notebook. While across the table I catch the eye of the cute guy with curly black hair and a preppy flannel shirt sitting kitty-corner from me.
The thing is, I am supposed to be thinking about my future and my major and my graduation date. I’m supposed to be considering if Journalism or Economics or whatever the fuck subject is really what I want to do with my life. But, no. Instead, Bishop’s presence serves as a stinging reminder of just how far down the totem pole I have fallen. No longer am I the sweet, cheery-faced girl that had bucketloads of potential and firmly believed she could get herself out of that trailer park. Instead, I’ve become what I always told myself I wouldn’t be: the pregnant biker whore riding bitch on the bike of some guy she doesn’t love and who is probably going to beat the shit out of her when he finds out the truth.
Viper reaches one arm behind his waist and pulls back. I know he’s yelling something, but with the wind whipping around my head and the roar of the motor flooding my ears, it’s impossible to hear anything coming out of his mouth. He points to something, but that’s no help, either; my view is obscured by an insistent, irritating rain that flickers and sparkles like stardust against the bike’s headlight as it paves its way along the deep, black roadway. It’s hard to believe that it’s only eight o’clock right now. The entire road is deserted as if everybody has been raptured or something. I suppose the storm has kept everyone away from the roads, even the truckers.
No doubt that’s also why those Snake motherfuckers picked tonight of all nights to attack like this. They were always the better riders, and putting a driver like Viper, who is all speed and no skill, out on the roadway is just asking for trouble. They have to know that.
They definitely know that.
The depth of the dark makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end against the wind. It’s like something out of a horror movie where the pregnant girl gets snatched off the bike by the axe murderer and ends up with a gash in her skull. I shudder as my spine pricks against my soaked wet bar shirt, forcing me to tighten my arms around Viper’s waist.
Suddenly, my eye catches a light flickering somewhere off in the distance in his rearview mirror. It startles me—more than it does him, in fact—and I take a deep breath in against the cold, punishing wind whistling in my face, willing myself not to look back to see how close they really are. I feel my chest heave in worry and anticipation as I feel the light behind me come up like an oncoming train. Until I can practically feel its heat on the skin of my back and neck.
No , I think to myself, no, no no. It can’t happen this way. I can’t die—not tonight. I feel faint, and my mind goes blank as I shut out everything around me. My breathing slows; my eyes close. I sit there, almost the picture of complete Zen-like calm, and count to ten, presuming that before I get there, I will feel the sharp explosion of a bullet in my brain.
One… two… three...
I can’t feel the rain anymore—neither its wetness nor its cold, hard sting. The rapping of raindrops also disappears, as does the roar of the engine in my ears.
Four… five…
Everything around me vanishes. The only thing I’m vaguely aware of is the feel of the road underneath me, rushing past me but slowing, almost as if I’m willing the entire scene to stretch out towards eternity.
Six… seven… eight…
I take another deep breath. I know what’s coming next. I exhale and wait for the inevitable as I count down my final seconds in my head, knowing they’ll be my last.
Nine… ten…
Eleven…
Twelve…
Thir—What the hell?
I cautiously open one eye, then the other. I feel the bike slowing down—for real this time—and wait to feel Viper’s stomach or arms clench up. Neither does—he’s not panicking at all. In fact, just the opposite: I feel him ease up under my tight grip. I turn my head towards the other lane to see Bishop’s face, his lips pulled into a slight but noticeable grin. He uses his hands to communicate something to Viper, then he revs his engine and speeds off ahead of us.
“What the fuck?” I say aloud, but the rain is still pounding down, and between that and the engine, which has slowed but is still rolling, my words are drowned out, and Viper doesn’t hear me.
I shake my head and look off into the distance to where Bishop’s tail lights are speeding off. That’s when I notice more lights in Viper’s mirrors. Before I can process what has just happened, Viper lurches the bike forward off towards Bishop. The tires spin wildly as they try to keep up with him. Viper takes a hand off the handlebars for a moment and reaches out to one of mine. He squeezes it quickly and then puts it down, as if to say that it will be okay. It’s so out of character for him—the guy who never knows a risk or a ride that he wouldn’t take. I dig my head into his back and begin to pray.
Dear God , I begin reverently, not really sure if I’m doing it right, I know that I never do this, and I know I’m out of practice and all… and yeah, it’s probably hypocritical of me to come to you now that I need you the most, but I have to ask you to keep me safe. I’ve been cursing you for this baby thing, and that’s not fair. I take it back. I do. I just want us, the baby and me, to live through the night. Please, please watch over us. Help us out here. We could use th—
A shot rings through the night, and milliseconds slow down to what feels like hours. The bullet swims through the rain and towards our bike. Viper swerves, but it’s too late. He can’t move quick enough. I don’t know where it hits, but I know it hits him. A splatter of blood streams out crimson through his leather jacket. Even over the noise of his bike, I hear him scream in agony. I have never ever heard him make the sound before, and his shoulder drops as if pinpointing exactly where he was hit.
Panic sets in before I can make sense of it all. They can’t see me here. The Snakes don’t give a fuck about who they are shooting at. All they know is that the bike is the enemy and it needs to be taken down. If they hit him once, they’ll come again and again and again until my back is an after-shot of target practice. I’m half tempted to reach behind me and wave them off, to show them that I’m an innocent bystander here, but I know better. All I can do is crouch down and hold on for dear life as Viper tries to regain control of the bike.
Under his arm, up ahead, I see Bishop’s bike as well. He must not have been hit because he’s riding like an expert general in a battle scene. His hand raises up to guide the way through to a smaller turnoff, an exit for the farm hands and tractors that ride the highways during the day. It’s barely noticeable in the dark, but Viper is quick to go for it. Without slowing, he throws the bike towards the left and the tires squeal horribly.
I don’t hear the second shot. I don’t feel it either. I don’t see Viper get hit or hear Bishop scream out for us
as he pulls his bike to a frantic stop. What I do hear is the ringing in my ear, and I feel the pavement first. My body smacks into it like a bulldozer ramming through a brick wall. My hands miraculously wrap around my stomach as if to protect the life inside me, no bigger than a sunflower seed but more precious to me now than anything in this insane world. I feel my skin peel away from my shoulder and back as I skid against the cement. The tiny rocks burn the raw flesh, but I can’t make myself cry. I hold my breath and wait for myself to stop against the cool, soaked grass on the other side of the median.
“Shit! Dammit! Jane! Jane! Jane!” Bishop screams out as I watch him crawl low to the ground, over towards me. He passes by Viper’s bike, which is still revving. The small headlights flicker on and off. That bike was everything to Viper, the only thing in this world that he truly cared about. And now it sits in broken pieces next to him. I can only see his legs dangling under the seat, crushed by the weight. He didn’t make it. I don’t need to see the other side of him to know that.
“Can you get up? Please, get up Jane!” Bishop’s strong, gloved hands are on my shoulders, yanking me up, but I’m like a rag doll. Nothing in me wants to move from this soft spot of earth. I could die here. I know that.
HITMAN’S SURPRISE BABY: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance Page 36
