Burn

by Amy Isan

  . . .

  Logan and I hit the highway. Before we start down the path toward the Ruin Outlaws bar, I jab him on the shoulder and ask if I could go see Sara.

  "Why?"

  "I haven't seen her since you barged in and killed a man. I want to make sure she's okay."

  "What about the police? Don't you think she'll be all swept up with them?"

  "I don't know..." I admit. Logan dips between a set of two cars that are tailgating, and one of them honks. "But she's my friend, and I really fucked things up. I at least want to try and fix things if I can."

  "Okay, but..." Logan says, "we're not going to your apartment. That's too dangerous. You'll need to contact her. And I gave our only phone to Zero, remember?"

  I was worried she had talked to the police when I called her from Mexico, but she's probably already done everything they wanted.

  "I'm sure the house isn't being watched anymore," I say.

  "Sure it is. The FBI get invested in motorcycle clubs, you know. Who else do you think calls them gangs?"

  "I should have told her what I wanted to say when I called from Mexico," I say. "'Sara, I just wanted to call and tell you I'm sorry for lying to you. For getting you hung up in all this shit. I'm sure you've told the police everything and never want to see me again, and that's fine. Stay safe.'"

  Logan smacks his lips and shrugs. "You'll get your chance, but not yet."

  "I hope so."

  He grunts and shifts into another lane, switching gears and cruising onto the offramp near the Ruin Outlaws club. I'm even starting to recognize parts of the town I'd never seen before. Was I really that sheltered my whole life? I had a car for fucks sake.

  Logan faces forward again and nods. I don't know how he's going to persuade all his men to join him over Surge, but he's always got an ace up his sleeve.

  That's probably why they never play poker together.

  . . .

  We park in front of the bar and find it strangely empty. Most of the bikes are missing except for one, and I recognize the dirt on it as either Tank's or Surge's. Logan doesn't bother examining the bike any closer, and I don't bother asking. We'll find out soon enough.

  He kicks his stand down and steps off the bike, and immediately heads for the door to the bar. I have to run to catch the door in time from slapping me in the face. The air is cold and refreshing inside, but just like the curbside parking, mostly empty. Only Tank and Driver remain, which shouldn't be surprising since we took Driver's bike.

  I'm even remembering their names. It's funny.

  "Bomb," Driver says, approaching us. Logan hands him the key to Driver's bike and shakes his head.

  "Thanks for the loaner, brother."

  Tank's arms are folded across his expansive chest and he's resting against the supporting beam that's in front of the kitchen area. He looks as stone-faced as ever, but I'm not convinced. I walk up to him as Driver and Logan keep talking and I prod him in the arm. He flinches like a fly just landed on him, and his eyes focus on me. "What is it?"

  "What are you doing here?"

  "Protecting the place."

  Logan comes up next to me, a grin on his face, and he slaps Tank's shoulder and gives him a rigorous shake. "Protecting it from what, the Skeletons?"

  "From you two, is what I was told," Tank says. He has no anger in his face or voice, and I can tell he doesn't intend to do anything. "Surge took the rest of the men to teach them all a lesson about deserters."

  "You mean to Rifle's place?"

  "He didn't say so, but that's what I figured. He was still furious after you left. He ain't thinking straight."

  "No shit. Did you tell him that? Or did you just let him corral up my men and head off like a hit squad? We need Rifle more than ever right now."

  "Surge thinks otherwise," Tank says. He still has his arms folded, and he looks to Driver. "He says he has to kill him to prove to the Skeletons that they can't scab our members."

  "Fucking christ," Logan curses. "I just talked to the Skeletons. I got them on our side in case Gustavo sends his men up here to take care of business."

  Tank's eyes go wide, and Driver grabs Logan's shoulder. "You did what? What's wrong with you?"

  Logan pushes Driver's hand off him and glares. "I'm not listening to Surge anymore. I've done that for years and it's never gotten me anything but in trouble. He set up my last club for failure when people stopped listening to him then, and he's doing it right now. If he shows up at Rifle's place and does something stupid, then we're all fucked when the remaining Martinez brother shows up to take care of business."

  Driver's silent, and I don't even know what to say. I grab one of the empty stools, pull it out from the under the pool table, and sit down. I cross my legs and rest my elbow on my knee, then dig my chin into my hand. My wound throbs a bit, not letting me forget what happened. "When did they leave?"

  All the men turn to me. I repeat my question like their ears are full of cotton. "When did Surge and the others leave?"

  "About ten minutes ago," Tank says. "I'm surprised you didn't see them."

  "We were coming from the Skeletons' hideout. Zero and the rest of them will only work with us if I can get Surge out of power and wrangle up my men."

  "I think you already have two on your side, Logan," I say to him. He stares at me for a second, then looks at Driver and Tank. They both nod and hold out their open palms, revealing their scars. I pull down the ridiculous looking bandage from my hand and look at my wound. Driver glances over at me and when I feel his eyes on me, I show him my palm.

  "Her too, huh? Driver says. "She's part of our club?""

  "It was an accident. Really," I say.

  Tank laughs and loses his cool composure. He unfolds his arms and leans on the beam to stop himself from tumbling back. Driver joins in, and his laugh is really infectious. Logan's fighting his own urge to laugh, and he clenches his jaw and balls a fist with his right hand.

  "She's right though, this shit all did start with an accident," Logan says. The two men calm down and look to him, with smiles on their faces.

  "We have to stop Surge from doing something stupid. Are you two going to come with me?"

  "Was there ever any doubt?" Driver says. "I was always on your side, Bomb. Surge coming back only made me realize how different it was with you leading us. You actually made us feel something for each other."

  "Surge just tries to pretend that he can," Tank says. "I've seen it before in other clubs, but he doesn't care for the men like you do." Tank shakes his head. "I have a feeling he only likes having people around who'll look up to him."

  "Yeah," Logan says, clenching his fists and groaning. "I keep hearing that, too."

  I stare at him. I really want him to look at me, to tell me what he's thinking. He looks past Tank and Driver, into the bar area, and goes silent. Not now, I guess. Maybe later I can drag something out of him. I have an idea of what he's feeling, but my family and parents were never wrapped up in crime and blood.

  It's different for him. I'm sure of it.

  "Let's go," Logan says. He waves for the men to follow him, but they don't move. He stops halfway out the door and looks back inside. "What're you waiting for?"

  "We only have two bikes," Driver says.

  "Who cares? You can ride with Tank and Cassie will ride with me."

  Driver looks at me, giving me a good look up and down. Judging me. "Is she even fit to come with us? Won't she get in the way?"

  Logan approaches Driver and shakes his head. "Don't you dare question my judgment on this," Logan says, his voice suddenly hard-edged and thick. "I've seen her do shit that would probably make half the men in this club shed tears and curl into balls."

  Driver stares at Logan and then looks at me again, as if he's seeing me in some new light. Logan continues, "She killed a man in Mexico, literally blew him away. This was after she got kidnapped by him and was being shot at. This is why she'll ride with me, and you'll ride with Tank – Rank."

&
nbsp; "Jesus christ," Driver says. Respect has creeped into his voice, and he gives me a nod. The same kind of nod he gave Logan when asked if he was still on his team. I blush a little, but why? Logan is playing up my murder as a good thing, as a positive action, and I'm blushing? What's happened to me? I used to wash dogs. Now I carry a revolver and hang around bikers?

  If someone had told me this is where my life would have gone, I would have laughed for days. But it's not funny anymore.

  Not at all.

  It's business. I look at Logan and grab his arm. "Let's go," I repeat what he said. The men follow the two of us to the curb and we all climb on our bikes. I'm starting to get more comfortable in the seat, even though I still don't know how to drive my own bike. The Arizona sun beats down on us, and as the two men drive away from the curb, the passing air licks the heat from our skin. All I'm missing is a leather vest and a crew name, huh?

  "Logan, who chooses their crew names in a club?"

  "Usually the members themselves, sometimes the crew will have nick names for some members though, and those will stick instead."

  "Do I get to have a crew name?"

  A sideways smile from Logan. "How about, pain in the butt?"

  I ignore him and poke his shoulder. "How about... Scorch?"

  "Scorch," Logan repeats. "I like it."

  I blush and he looks back toward the road, following behind Tank and Driver. I dig my head against his back and squeeze him tightly, giving him a hug. "Thanks..."

  He chuckles and his hand drops from a handlebar to my thigh. He gropes my leg suggestively, and I feel heat build up between my legs. I push my hips tighter against his ass and breath into his ear. He groans a little, then releases my thigh.

  "I can't wait to fuck you again, Scorch," Logan says. "It's been too long."

  My face burns and I can't stop smiling. No man has ever talked to me like that, but then again, no man is Logan. He's something entirely different. I feel that way, even though he did drag me into this whole motorcycle business.

  I wish I could see my old boss now. So she could see what I've become. She'd probably piss herself, like the stupid dogs she has to wash without me there.

  CHAPTER 5 — LOGAN

  God dammit. I can't believe that Surge is being such an idiot. Over what? Me trying to take the reins for once and do something for our crew? At least Tank and Driver were easy enough to sway, but I can't take very long getting the rest of the men. If Surge convinces them to kill Rifle, then what good will my pact with the Skeletons be? What kind of loyalty could they have to my word if I get the only split-member murdered over some trivial shit? Fucking Surge. It's the same as the Los Devils, but worse this time. He isn't even in the shadows, but coming right out with a huge flood light to try and drive everyone out.

  His own son. How could he be so callous? Tank said he probably just likes the attention, and this is one helluva way to get it. Rifle was always a pain the ass, but I never knew who he really was. What kind of shit did he probably put up with his entire life under Surge? Was he even around in California? Or was Rifle abandoned here, and he only saw his father again when Surge deserted the Los Devils?

  It doesn't matter. I refuse to believe he'd kill his own son, but that doesn't mean he couldn't convince someone hot-headed to do the job for him. Petrol, Sword? Six-Shooter? Are they really that easily manipulated? Petrol was the one saying Rifle was still a brother, but he followed Surge. At least we have some time. I imagine Zero is on his way to pick up the cash out in the desert right now.

  Tank only stayed behind to protect the bar from Cassie and me, and Driver. Because he didn't want to ride bitch, I guess. They knew I'd come back for them. They knew I'd have to come back.

  We hit the highway again and maneuver using the same guarding techniques that Rifle and I used earlier. It's just as effective, if not more, by the time we hit the offramp for Rifle's part of town. I just hope we're not too late.

  Ten minutes earlier? God, they could have already finished the job if he's at home and doesn't put up a fight. He's probably still wound up from dealing with me earlier that day, so I hope that doesn't mean his resolve has faded to the point of giving in easily.

  I pull up alongside Tank and nod to him, giving him a signal that I'm going to lead now. I rush past him as he taps his brakes a little, and pull in front of his bike. I lean into the turn for Rifle's neighborhood and squint to see any motorcycles parked anywhere at the entrance, maybe out of sight of Rifle's house.

  It looks clear for now. We take another turn toward Rifle's house, and more than a dozen motorcycles are piled up outside the place, two or three of them are thrown on the ground, mirrors shattered. The garage door is half open, and there are way more bikes than there should be. The Skeletons and the Ruin Outlaws?

  This isn't fucking good. This isn't fucking good at all.

  . . .

  Tank and I pull our bikes up and park them near the others. I can hear fighting inside, the sounds of boots scuffing and punches being thrown. Yelling is reverberating through the garage and out the windows. Parts of the blinds are torn off the inside of the windows, and I'm worried the police are going to get called at any minute. You don't see nearly a dozen bikes piled up in front of someone's house and not call the police.

  I scan the streets and sidewalks for anyone listening to the brawl. No one is out walking their dog and there are no kids playing soccer. Tank, Driver, Cassie and I all climb off the bikes and I lead the pack up the driveway, sidestepping fallen and standing bikes alike.

  We reach the front door and I pull out my pistol and cock it. I hear Tank and the others follow suit, including Cassie with her revolver. I glance over my shoulder and see that fire in her eyes again, that determination that'd make my skin crawl if it was directed toward me in any way.

  I flick the screen open and kick the door open. Inside, almost everyone from the Ruin Outlaws and Skeletons are in the living room, half of them are punching each other and one has a gun trained on the others. A man is down on the ground, but I can't tell if he's dead, it's all too much to take in. I hold up my gun and raise my voice above the noise.

  "What the fuck is going on!" I shout. The men keep fighting, and only two or three look my direction. I don't see Rifle anywhere, or Surge for that matter. What the fuck happened?

  Cassie's gun goes off, a loud bang nearly stunning me. The gunshot stops everyone in their tracks, freezing them mid-punches and kicks, even with their hands still balled into fists or latched onto clothing and vests. I look at Cassie and she pulls her gun back down from above her head and points it into the crowd. Can she even discern who's in what club? The purple colors of the Skeletons are obvious to me, but has she been that observant?

  Probably.

  "What are you doing here Bomb?" Petrol asks, pushing off one of the Skeletons' members who was about to throw a punch at him. All the men are still tense and breathing heavy, but none are willing to start the fray again with a gun in the mix. I extend my hand to Sword who was wielding another gun earlier, but was too wracked with fear to do anything. "Give me that," I say. He hands it to me and I hand it off to Tank, who easily handles the shotgun like it's a toy in his large hands.

  "I'm here to settle things. What the fuck is going on?"

  Sword speaks up. His eye is bruised and bloodied, but he doesn't look too fucked up. "Surge told us we had to teach Rifle a lesson."

  "Where is Rifle? Where's Surge?"

  "The garage," one of the Skeletons members say. I can't read his patch from here and I don't care to. He adds, "Zero took Anchor and they went to pick up the cash. Then he sent us here to keep Rifle safe and... well..."

  "Fucking animals," I say. I spit on the ground without thinking about it and move toward the garage. "Just like dogs, you'll do whatever you're told, won't you?" A couple of men bite their tongues, but some of them clench their fists. I don't care. I need to get to Rifle before Surge fucking kills him. "Cassie, come with me, I'll need you. You're pretty good
at the whole, 'get everyones' attention' thing. Tank, Driver, keep an eye on these guys. They look frenzied still."

  "Okay, Bomb," Driver says, shifting his grip on his pistol. Was he not actually ready earlier? Cassie follows me down the hallway and to the garage door. I can hear two people on the other side, their voices loud and abrasive. The sound of bone crunching and flesh hitting flesh comes through the garage door. I grab the knob and step inside with Cassie's breath right on my neck.

  Surge has Rifle tied up to a chair and is laying punches on him. It's a fucked up sight, but even more since Rifle is his son. I step forward and they both seem oblivious to Cassie and I.

  "You think this shit is okay? You can do whatever you want?" Surge says, his face red with bulging veins. His eyes look hollow and distant. He lays another punch into Rifle, nearly knocking him from the chair. I raise my gun up and lock it on Surge.

  "Surge! Stop it!" I shout. He glances up from Rifle and looks at me, not even recognizing me for a couple of seconds. His hand is still balled in a fist and raised above his head, ready to lay another blow on Rifle. Rifle spits up a bit of blood on the concrete floor and he tries to look over his shoulder.

  "Logan, what are you doing here?"

  "Taking care of my crew," I say. I keep my gun trained on Surge. "Cassie, get Rifle away from him. He won't make a move."

  Surge lowers his hand slowly and keeps his eyes locked on me. I have him right in my sights, but my guts are in turmoil. I feel like my stomach is spilling acid on my heart, and that my chest is one huge knot. I'm trying to keep my breathing under control, but just having a gun pointed at Surge is fucking me up in all kinds of ways I never anticipated. Surge just keeps staring at me.

  Cassie grabs the back of Rifle's chair and drags it away from Surge, pulling Rifle toward the back of the garage. She starts working on his bindings, but I can't get a good look anymore. I won't take my eyes off Surge, since I'm sure he has a gun on him and... he won't hesitate to use it on me.

  Even if he does think I'm family.

  "What you're doing is wrong, Logan," Surge asks. "I don't know why you thought you could go underneath me like you did. Talking to the Skeletons, giving away my money. You make me even more disappointed than that sad sack over there does," He points at Rifle, but I don't move. I won't fall for it. I stay silent. "Don't you get it?" Surge says, his voice still bellowing and ragged. "This was for you. I needed you back in Arizona. How could I leave California without the best club member? You just refused to leave though, so I had to set it up. I had to make them all fall."