by April Lust
Yeah, lucky. Who even got described as that anyway?
Getting ready was misery, but it was a routine she was more than used to. The same could be said for the twenty-minute drive she had to take just to get to work. The commute was awful for such low pay and for such rundown working conditions, but what could a girl do?
The radio wasn’t nearly as distracting as it usually was for her on her way into work, though, and she found it hard to even try to bob her head along to her favorite station. The lines on the streets blurred together as she drove past them, and sometimes she feared that she was starting to drive so poorly that she was drifting between lanes.
She slapped her cheek in an attempt to wake herself up. Eventually it worked, but she still didn’t feel like her old self. Her usual self. Her head was a fog of emotion, and she struggled to identify everything she was feeling. As she pulled into the parking lot of Lanterns, she tried to think of ways she could keep herself up and active for her shift. Someone else must be coming in at the end of it, if she wasn’t getting fired. Her shift ended at 2 in the morning today, if she remembered correctly.
Not that bad, she thought. She could get through it.
The bullets hitting the doors on the other side of her car kept those thoughts from her. She tried to swerve out of the way of whatever she’d run into, but that did nothing. It was following her, it was after her. The bullets weren’t ricocheting off her car, they were imbedding themselves in the doors because they had been intended for her.
“Shit!” she screamed. Maybe swearing wouldn’t help her much in this situation, but she didn’t give a crap. Someone was trying to kill her. That’s what it had to be; unless someone was throwing firecrackers in the shape of circles at her passengers’ doors, she was definitely being shot at.
So she did the only thing she could do. Going into that small, confined back parking lot with people aiming and firing guns at her screamed bad idea, so she stopped right in the lot, her wheels shrieking as she parked unevenly. And then she jumped under the dash.
The bullets kept going. They sprayed for a long time; Victoria wasn’t familiar with guns, much as she’d heard the bar’s patrons brag about them. She didn’t know how long this could go on before whoever was shooting ran out of bullets. It sounded like the bullets were coming from the other side of the street, from the buildings that were set too high when they were first made. Of course! Victoria was no weapons master, but she bet those would be perfect to shoot from.
A bullet hit her window, and the glass shattered, raining down around her. Dammit, dammit. She was going to die. Was this because of what she’d said last night? It must be. That was the only thing that could put her in a predicament like this. Why did she have to keep talking? All she had to do was swallow her words, but she didn’t. And now she was curled up tightly under the dashboard of her car, just waiting for death from unknown shooters.
Except they weren’t unknown, were they? And to think she thought he was hot! Now he was trying to kill her. Not surprising. The cute ones were always a little bit crazy.
That’s when it caught her eye: the piece of paper folded over so many times. She’d thrown it on the floor of the passenger’s seat this morning, but her erratic driving had sent the piece of paper flying towards her. Now it sat on the floor just an inch away from her. She glared at it. The paper itself wasn’t what was ruining – perhaps even ending – her life, but the man who had written on it was surely responsible.
She eyed it for a second more before grabbing it. If she was going to die, she might as well die continuing to give this bastard a piece of her mind.
She reached for her phone. It had fallen, too, and she had to stretch her arm a little to reach under the driver’s seat and grab it there. Of course it was off, and she struggled to turn on the power button while she shook. Victoria didn’t think of herself as the type of woman who was afraid of most things. She didn’t think she was afraid of most anything, actually, but it looked like the list of things she was afraid of did include being shot at from close range, with the intent to kill her.
That was all a guess, though. She had no idea what was actually going on in the minds of the people shooting at her, if they knew who their target was or if it was just random, why they were trying to kill her, or if they actually wanted to kill her, or just wanted to injure her grievously. It was with this last thought in mind that her anger grew as she listened to the phone ring. Darren, of course, wasn’t picking up, and this jerk would probably have to listen to her bleed to death via his voicemail later in the evening. That is, if he ever checked it. He didn’t seem like the type to.
Maybe she should text him. Yeah, that would do the trick.
SullivanHe answered on the third ring. “Who is this?”
Was he pretending not to know who she was?
Oh.
No.
He didn’t have her number. He’d given her his yesterday, and this was the first time she’d tried to make any contact whatsoever with the man. So he didn’t have her number yet, and she hadn’t tried to speak. Why, then, was she so upset that he didn’t recognize who she was?
Oh, yeah. Because she was probably in the middle of dying. She hadn’t been shot yet and she wasn’t bleeding, but it was only a matter of time before both of those things changed.
“Hi, yeah, this is Victoria.”
Darren sounded far more pleased at hearing this than he did when he first answered the phone. Who even called this guy anyway for him to sound so upset at someone dialing him? Maybe it was just a persona he wore, as the leader of the Bloody Saints. Their name seemed like it was just for show; ignoring the violence of their drunken fights, the men never did anything, and it seemed borderline impossible that any of the people in that club had managed to kill someone. They probably had, though; after all, they were trying to kill her now! Darren was definitely a murderer.
“Change your mind, doll?” She could almost hear him stretch his body out on the other end of the line. So had he orchestrated her murder just after kissing her neck, holding her, and giving her his phone number? Did he want her dead so badly that he wanted her to call him while she was dying? Well, it looked like he was getting what he wanted. She bit her lip.
“Cut the pleasantries,” she said. “And wipe that smile off your face. Are you happy now that you’re trying to kill me? Is that it?”
“What?” His voice dropped. He sounded more shocked now, and she could hear him rise as he stood from whatever cozy position he’d been lying in. About time. There were more important things at hand, like the fact that she was about to bleed to death from a gunshot wound before she even turned 30. “What did you just say?”
“I asked why you were trying to get me killed,” she repeated.
“None of my boys would do that.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding concerned now. “You were being a bitch and all, but no one should want you dead. And if they do, well…” His voice cut out, but the insinuation was clear. If it was his people, they would be dealt with. Still, though, he didn’t think it was anyone from the Bloody Saints MC. Even though he ran a group of bikers, they still had morals. Enough of them, anyway. “Where are you?”
“Work.”
“The parking lot?” It sounded like he was getting his shoes on as he spoke to her. There was a lot of movement from the other end of the phone, and Victoria strained to hear it from her awkward position beneath the dashboard. Her body was starting to hurt from the way she was positioned, but there was no way she was going to move.
She’d rather be uncomfortable now than stretch out, only to be shot by a stray bullet later.
“Yeah.”
“Hold on.”
“Are you coming? Hello?” She added another question into the call after a few moments of him saying nothing. Maybe only 20 seconds had passed, but that was more than long enough for him to reply if he had anything to say, right? And he always had something to say. Or at
least, that’s what it seemed like.
It took a minute for Victoria to recognize that the beep of the phone meant he had hung up. How dare he? He claimed not to be responsible for it, but he hung up as soon as she asked for any kind of help? She wasn’t expecting much from him, but she was still shocked that he would just leave a woman to die in a shady bar parking lot. Sure, she hadn’t actually been hit, but she could’ve been, and she had no way of ruling out that the shooter wasn’t still outside waiting to get her.
Sullivan
Chapter Five
Victoria
It took way too long for Darren to get there. Victoria wasn’t sure why she was even fathoming waiting for him to come save her. Was that what was going on? Was this supposed to be some kind of rescue situation? She didn’t get rescued. She also usually didn’t get shot while she was driving her car to work, though, so there were first times for everything. Except for Darren coming within a reasonable timeframe, of course. He hadn’t said he was coming at all, though; she’d just assumed he would. But maybe he wouldn’t.
He probably wouldn’t.
She didn’t move out of her spot. Her body was starting to ache from being twisted up, and she’d dropped her phone a long time ago. It was beneath the driver’s seat. When had she put it there? She didn’t remember, but it had happened, apparently. The screen went bright for a second, and she thought that there was maybe a text for her.
She stretched her arm out to grab it again, but couldn’t. Her arm had gotten stuck in this position, and the bones in it cracked painfully as she moved. Her eyes were close enough to the screen to skim over it regardless of that; there was nothing there. No text (or missed call) from Darren, anyway. It was probably some email promotion for some stupid newsletter she’d signed up for a while back in exchange for a coupon.
It was hard not to beat her head against something in frustration. Why was she so focused on this guy? She should probably call 911 or something instead. There didn’t seem to be a point of that, though. She was in the parking lot of a bar frequented by a bikers’ club, and emergency vehicles didn’t really like going out there anyway.
Dammit.
# # #
Darren
Darren was coming. Victoria just didn’t know it yet.
He didn’t see the point of telling her his intentions, since that seemed like it should be pretty obvious. Besides, why call if she wasn’t expecting help? She was probably in her car waiting for him to get there right now.
Or she was dead.
Fuck’s sake.
There was no reason why this should be bothering him so much. She was just some bar chick. Not only did he barely know her, she was a complete bitch to him. Well, that wasn’t the word he’d use to describe her. He might with other people, but there was something about the way that Victoria wasn’t afraid of him that sent almost nervous energy coursing through his veins.
And now he was worried about her.
There was no way she could ever know this. He’d thought she was taking him up on his offer for a booty call when she’d first called, but now he knew the truth and he felt horrible. The way his stomach lurched at the thought of her being hurt shocked him. It wasn’t that he liked hurting people, or imagining them hurt; quite the opposite, actually, but he was usually neutral to it by now. He had to be.
Darren Saylor grew up in as dysfunctional a family as any, and jumping from job to job as a teenager before finally dropping out of high school and getting in with a club hadn’t made his life any better. Maybe Victoria would. Some part of him was imagining that they might have some kind of life together. That didn’t make any sense either; their only interaction with each other had been a fight. Although, could it even be called a fight when the chick was just yelling at him while he smirked at her? He felt bad about that now. He hadn’t then, and why should he? Well, their interactions had been that and a kiss in the parking lot.
That kiss…
Fuck.
Now she was being shot at.
His foot found the gas pedal in his car. Fuck, he was stressed. He couldn’t be stressed. He was never stressed. He had to keep his cool. He revved his way out of the parking lot outside his gated apartment.
# # #
Victoria
The sound of tires peeling into the parking lot made Victoria jump. She couldn’t hold on to her conviction to not move at all from her position, and she had ventured a little bit out from under the dashboard. Now she was on her knees, peeking out from beneath the steering wheel with her hands on the edge of the driver’s seat. Her eyes looked around nervously, trying to peek through the surrounding parking lot without making her position known; the shooter or shooters had probably left, but the way that car entered the lot couldn’t be a sign of anything good to come.
She ran her fingers along the inside edge of the door. Of course she couldn’t tell what the damage was from here, but the door seemed normal enough from where she was. And the bullets had sounded like they were coming from the opposite direction, like they were trying to make their way through the passenger’s side doors and get to her. She was sure the doors were riddled with bullets. If someone shot at her again, those probably wouldn’t hold up too long, if at all. Victoria didn’t know much about cars, but getting shot at probably did some damage to doors, like it did to pretty much anything.
She looked at her hands, her eyes running over her skin to investigate the lack of damage. Damn. She was lucky she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t shaking, though. Where there had been fear earlier, and where there would still be fear for the more average person, there was just anger.
It sounded like the car had parked, or was parking. Its wheels shrieked as the vehicle found its purchase on the asphalt. It didn’t sound like there was any parking space carefully picked out; Victoria could pick up the sound of the concrete screaming in protest as the car’s rubber rubbed up against it. And then Victoria heard the sound of a car door slamming, and footsteps running towards her. Or somewhere close to her. Probably right up next to her car, to make sure she was dead.
She fell back into her spot beneath the dashboard, her limbs screaming at her to just risk being murdered so she could be a little bit more comfortable. Hell no.
The feet were much closer now. Victoria wondered if her pepper spray would do her any good against an assassin, and one of her hands went back to her jean pocket. Of course! She’d forgotten to put the weapon in there when she was hurrying out of the house. That was okay, though. Pepper spray probably wouldn’t do her much good against an armed assailant. And if someone was trying to kill her, she had her nails and her teeth to use anyway.
A thud came from to her right as someone ran their hand over the door. She screamed. And sure, it was cliché, but her life flashed before her eyes. What had she done? All she’d manage to do for herself in her twenty-something years was work in a bunch of run-down bars, trash talk some perverted guys, and sleep a whole lot. She had ambition, but no means to follow it, and she’d never gone after any of her dreams. She still hadn’t gone to college. She didn’t really want to go to college for anything in particular, but the idea that she wouldn’t be able to change her mind about that bothered her.
And now she was dying.
Great. She looked to the sky, wrapping her hands together. She wasn’t really religious, but maybe a quick prayer before her slaughter would make the powers that be kinder to her.
“Fuck,” came the mutter. A male voice.
She heard his voice – it was definitely him – before she saw his face. “Victoria!”
Darren Saylor.
So he had come, after all. She wondered if it was just a blind hope she’d had, or if there was a reason for her thinking he’d come to rescue her. It looked like she’d been right, after all; she wasn’t sure if she should be pleased about that, or if she should take this whole situation out on him. He was definitely no Prince Charming, and it was 100% a fact that this asshole was the reason she’d just been shot at
. He had to be. Hell, why else would someone want to kill her? Most everything she did with her life had to do with this shoddy bar, and a murder attempt right after shouting at a king pin of the Bloody Saints couldn’t be a coincidence.
“Here,” she muttered, rising out of her seat. Dealing with this guy couldn’t be in her best interest, but it wasn’t like something worse could happen either. She looked around the car for some wood to knock on at that thought, but there was nothing. She settled on opening the center console and smacking the paper of an envelope in there a few times. It wasn’t wood, but it was close enough, and it would have to do.
She reached for the door. God damn it, moving sucked. Her back hurt from hiding for so long. It felt like hours, even though there was no way that much time had passed. She crawled out fully from beneath the dash, using the driver’s seat as leverage to pull her way up. Then her hand found the lock on her door and she pushed that free, opening it with a scowl on her face.
