Elias

by Love, Amy

  "Thanks for coming," John said once they were seated.

  "Wouldn't miss it," Elias told him. It sounded like a joke, but no one was smiling.

  "Chelsea, you look a lot better than the last time I saw you. How are you feeling?" John asked.

  "Much better thank you. I saw Doc today. She says I'll be even better with her help," she told him nervously.

  "Doc is a good woman and she's a great healer. She helped me a few years back when I lost my son," he told her.

  "I didn't know that. How did he die?"

  "Iraq," John told her.

  "I'm so sorry," she said.

  He shrugged a little. "Thank you. Doc got me through it, but it was hard. I imagine that your trail is going to be even a little harder than that, but you have the best helping you ride it."

  "Thanks," she said, not knowing what else to say.

  "Chelsea, I'm your friend, but I'm also the president of the club. It's my job to see that the club is taken care of, and to make sure that we are doing what we should be doing and when," John explained. "Bill and Steve help me make those decisions, but the final decision is mine. I wanted you here, so that you would know it was me saying this, rather than you hearing it second hand."

  "Alright," she said, feeling even more nervous now, but not sure why.

  "The thing we have been discussing is how far to help you with this Tomas character. He's turned out to be a bigger problem than Elias expected at first. It's my understanding that he originally believe you were running from an abusive boyfriend, who was also a cop. As it turns out, you are running from what I feel is a real monster, and I'm very happy that you found a way to get out of there while you still could. I like you, Chelsea, and most of the club, the ones that have met you, like you as well."

  "I like you too," she told him.

  "That's good to hear, it really is," John said, and there was a hint of a smile on his lips when he said it, as if he was sneaking it to her. "Anyway, we've talked about this as much as it can be talked about, and I've come to a decision. That decision is that we are backing you all the way." John turned to Elias. "You're the lead on this."

  Elias was quite for a long time. "How do you feel about just ending this, man?"

  "No, Elias, that's not the way of this. War isn't fought by committee. You make the calls, we back you. That's how this is going to play out. You've been good to us, and good for us, for a very long time. I've never had to doubt your ability or your loyalty in all the time I've known you, and that's, what—fifteen years now? Eighteen? Something like that. Before you went to Afghanistan. So, you tell me, how do you feel about just ending this, man?"

  Elias sat back a little. "I'm going to give it some serious thought."

  "Let me know what you come up with. As far as I'm concerned, we're at war with this man and his resources. If he pulls in his PD friends, well, that means we'll be at war with the PD. So be it. But enough is enough. Chelsea came to our doorstep, and whether that’s by design or divine intervention doesn't matter now. You, one of my best men, took her in, and now you two are riding together, and you’re even in love if my eyes still work. So, she's one of us now. And I don't let monsters fuck with one of my own."

  War? Chelsea screamed in her head. No!

  She looked to Elias and found that he seemed very pleased with this decision of John's. Not over me, she thought. Not because of me! But she couldn't get the words to come out of her mouth. She trembled inside, and tried to see a way out of this. The men weren't paying much attention to her any longer. They were discussing the raids that had been made against Tomas' stash houses, and what had been recovered. These monies, weapons, and drugs were what Elias could consider his war chest until this matter was settled.

  People die in wars!

  The men talked for almost twenty more minutes and Chelsea had basically vibrated into pieces with fear and horror. She didn't want any of the Wolves dying because of her. Not a single one of them, even the ones she hadn't met yet. This couldn't be happening.

  Then Elias was taking her hand and leading her back out of the office. She turned and looked back at John, who gave her a warm John the Friend smile, and then they were out in the hallway and the Guards were falling into step behind them. On the way out, Elias whispered in a few ears, and she could feel the news spreading through the energy of the place, passing from lip to ear, and radiating out of eyes.

  No, this is all wrong!

  Her brain was on fire and spinning, ripping through information and ideas of how to stop this before someone was hurt because of her.

  Once they were in the truck, she knew what she was going to do. "Elias?"

  "Yes lover?" he asked.

  "Can we take the Sporty back to Duffy's tonight? The guys are with us, and I don't think I'll be needing it anymore."

  "What about this weekend? Don't you want to ride?"

  "Do you think that will be wise? Wives and kids go on those runs as well."

  He looked over at her, and then said, "You're probably right about that. I'm sorry. I know how much you like the runs."

  "I do, but, well, it doesn't seem like a good idea right now. Besides, it will give me motivation to decide on which bike to buy," she said, and tried a smile which felt like it was made of clay.

  He searched her eyes, and she thought for sure he was going to see what she was planning, but then he said, "Alright, let's drop it off. I'll follow you over in the truck."

  "Okay," she said, sending silent prayers of thanks to her guardian god.

  She picked up the bike at the house and rode it over to Duffy's, which was only six blocks from Elias' house. She parked it in front, and then walked to the door and opened the mail slot, acting like she was dropping the keys inside, but palming them back into her jacket. She made a show of checking the slot, to insure the keys fell through, and then she hopped into the truck. The guys took off and Elias followed them home with the two others following behind.

  She didn't like this. It made her sick to her stomach to lie to Elias, but she couldn't let this happen.

  ***

  When Chelsea got the Sportster out on highway 10 west, she pulled back the throttle and let the bike have its wind. Mile markers and road signs flew by her, and the white lines looked like dots. The warm summer night wind was fresh on her face, and wiped the tears away as fast as she could shed them.

  She prayed that Elias would understand. She couldn't let the Wolves go to war with the PD over her. She wasn't even real, and according to Doc, she wouldn't be real for a long time. Elias could be dead by that time, and what would be the point of being real then?

  No, she had to run, she had to fly. She had to save them and save Elias. With her gone, the Wolves were nothing to Tomas. She had saddle bags stuffed with money, and a change of clothes. She could make it to California before Tomas even knew she was out of town, and if he did find her, well… That was alright. At least it would be just her taking the bullet, and that's the way it should have been from the start.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

  Elias surveyed the men and women in his living room. Every one of them had deep concern in their eyes.

  "She has a dad in Boston," Doc offered, brushing her long, dark hair back from her face and behind her ear. "She could be heading there."

  Elias shook his head. "That doesn't feel right to me. She could have headed there before, and she told me she wouldn't go there. She wouldn't bring this kind of trouble to her old man's doorstep."

  "San Diego is my bet," Larry said from the couch. "Remember when I was telling her about that job with Duffy? She said she had always wanted to go there, to see the ocean."

  "That's a lot of miles on a hunch," John said. "Half a continent, in fact. If you're wrong you'll never get turned around in time."

  Dave stood up. "I agree with Larry though, so I'm riding. I got my own cash. I'll scout that direction. If she calls, I'll be close. You got my number, boss."

  "I'm heading to Boston," Billy sai
d. "She may not go that way, but she might. Who can say, but it's my fault—my watch she left on. So I'm riding."

  They watched Dave and Billy leave the house, Elias praying that one of their instincts was dead on.

  "You think she'll call?" Larry asked as the front door closed behind them.

  "Yes," Doc answered for the group in general.

  "What makes you think so?" Larry pressed.

  "Because it's the only way I can see it. One of two things is going to happen here. Either she'll melt down and call, or she'll melt down and won't," Doc told them.

  "But you're sure she's going to melt down again," Larry continued.

  "I don't think you fellas really get what she's been through. People die from that kind of treatment; people die from far less. They just sit down and die. Nothing wrong with them, they just die. She's been through more than I've ever heard of before. I'm amazed by her. Absolutely stunned that she's as good as she is.

  "Melting down and recovering like she did is a great sign for her. A miraculous sign. The fact that she doesn't scream herself into hysteria when Elias touches her is another miracle, one that I'm deeply grateful she has on her side. But she's still only human, people. She didn't take her meds with her, and those might have helped, but she's on a timer. I assure you." Then she looked over at John. "And just for the record, you don't tell a woman with acute PTSD that you are going to war for her."

  John looked down at his hands, and then met her eyes again. "Duly noted."

  "She'll call," Elias said, and walked toward the kitchen for a beer. Even with all of the people here, the house never felt so empty. Without Chelsea skipping through in her sun dress, or dancing to the music as she cleaned, or sitting on his lap in the office making it impossible to do his day-trading, this place felt like a morgue.

  "Until she does, I'm in your house," Jeff told him.

  "That goes for me as well," Eric said.

  "I'm in," Rick said. "I don't know her well, working the night shift, but she seemed nice. Always woke up to bring us coffee and give us smiles. But boss, you were there when my kid was getting it rough, and she and I owe you, so I'm in."

  Elias nodded to the offers. "Only got one couch and one guest room."

  "One of us should be awake anyway," Eric's voice rumbled.

  Elias nodded again.

  "I'm going to jump on the phone and start calling hotels and gas stations along the route to San Diego," Larry said. "I've got a budget. More than I need for a reward fund for information."

  "Good idea," John piped in. "Make it ten grand for a verified sighting. With Dave heading that way, verification shouldn't be too hard."

  "What are you going to do when you find her?" Wild Bill asked. "You can't force her to come back."

  "If she won't come back, then I'll run with her," Elias told him flatly. "She's not going to go through this alone. Not while I got breath."

  Wild Bill nodded. "Figured you had it that bad."

  "Oh, I got it worse, but it wouldn't take an eighth of what I have to see this through with her," Elias told him.

  "At least Tomas is down until Sunday," Doc said.

  "Tomorrow," Larry corrected.

  "What?" John asked.

  "He's got time served. It's really only a few hours, but his lawyer pulled some shit and got him down to three days instead of five. Which, in the confusing time stream of county jail language, kicks him loose tomorrow morning."

  "Shit," Elias breathed, echoing everyone's thoughts.

  Duffy came through the front door then, looking wildly around, his bristly beard looking even more bristled than normal. "Any word?"

  "No," Larry told him. "I didn't know you knew."

  "She has my bike!" Duffy said, aghast.

  "She left you with nineteen grand for a five grand bike, Duffy," Steve-O pointed out.

  "So?" Duffy said, shocked that Steve-O would consider something as base as money to be fair value. "Until she's found, I'm sticking to Elias."

  "You have the floor then," Elias told him with a growl.

  "Fine by me. Can't just steal a man's bike," Duffy huffed. "I assure you, I will get that bike back one way or another."

  "Not going to report it stolen, are you?" Larry asked with surprise.

  "Fuck no. Think I'm an idiot?" Duffy said with shock. "They might lock her up."

  "Glad you care about Chelsea a little at least," Larry said.

  "Not her—my bike!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN

  Tomas was kicked out at six in the morning, and as soon as he had his cell phone and was out the door, he started calling spotters. When he called Juan, standing on Elias Neal's house, Juan told him, "She was here, but she's gone now."

  "What?"

  "I said I'm sure she's gone. And I don't think these bike tramps know where she is, either. I think she ran."

  "Shit. Tell me what you know."

  "Well, there are five of them in the house right now, but it's the same five all day long from the bikes outside. Not like before. No shifts of men. Just the same five. I think they are all waiting for news."

  Tomas thought about it a moment and decided the young Mex was probably right. "Then stick with it, and let me know if they take off as a pack. Extra grand in it for you when that happens."

  "Got it. No worries. Their scouts never spotted me. I'm still clean," Juan told him.

  So the little bitch rabbited. Kind of strange that she would do that while I was in jail though. Wonder what set her off? Tomas thought as he flagged down a taxi, got into the back, and then gave the driver his home address. At least that fuck-head of a lawyer finally came through with something.

  He thought over what Internal Affairs Detective Nelson and his captain had to say on Tuesday. He was at least free to move around as he pleased for thirty days, but it might be time to kick loose from the department.

  He had enough money to do that, and had enough solid contacts in the department to continue getting good information on dealers and buyers. He didn't actually need to have a badge of his own any longer. With Internal Affairs on the case, Mike Wilson, his partner, was bound to catch scent of something, and he would be a real hassle if he turned his attention in his direction. Might have to end that old man before he got his dandruff up.

  He was old, and he believed, but the bottom line was that Mink Wilson wasn't a legend because of his stamp collection. The man was a hound who could hunt, and as dangerous a hunter as they come. It wouldn't take him long to start putting things together once he was able to catch a string and start pulling.

  "Yep, might be time to retire ol' Mr. Wilson," Tomas mused as he got out of the cab and began walking up to his door.

  His phone rang as he closed his door behind him.

  "Hey," he said, noticing it was James Stewart calling—his real partner. "What's up?"

  "Glad you are out. We've been hit. Hard."

  "What? And you are just telling me this now?"

  "You wanted me to tell you in the county block? Let them record it for you in case you needed notes later on?" Stewart shot back.

  Tomas took a breath. "You're right. So, how bad?"

  "Fred, Barney, Wilma, and Betty are all hit and cleaned out. I checked on Scooby this morning, and Bugs. They are still intact. I'm on my way to Daffy now."

  "Holy fuck! That's over two million gone, my friend, just in cash. Not to mention coke and guns."

  "I know. You don't think I know that? I said hit hard, right?" Stewart yelled back.

  "Even with those three we will only have, what, fifty, a hundred?"

  "Seventy-five, and six kilos," Stewart reported blandly.

  "Well fuck me," Tomas complained. "Who did this? Any idea?"

  "No. I mean, who could know?"

  "Chelsea," Tomas said after a pause.

  Stewart laughed. "Eight men? Eight good men? That little piece of ass is sweet but it isn't that sweet."

  "Not if she had help," Tomas told him.

  "Help?"
<
br />   "She's been hanging with a biker club. The White Wolves up in Northside," Tomas explained.

  "White Wolves? I know them. They aren't outlaw. Just a bunch of riders who have a club house." Stewart told him. "Bunch of nine-to-five doctors and lawyer types playing weekend-warrior."

  "Not all of them," Tomas said. "Not by a long shot."