by Evelyn Glass
Speaking of Dirk, Camilla watched as he took charge of the situation. The way he gave his commands, soft and yet firm and unescapable, made him appear even more formidable in Camilla’s eyes. She hated this feeling. She hated the slow and yet unstoppable realization that she was falling for this man. It was ridiculous. It was dangerous. It was madness. And yet she couldn’t help it. Over the past few days, she had come to realize that she had fallen under Dirk Coleman’s spell the minute their paths had crossed.
Camilla groaned and buried her head in her hands, elbows resting on top of the kitchen’s table. The situation was fucked up, and she was way past the point where she could have done something about it. She had not been able to resist Dirk at the beginning; there was no way in hell she could resist him now.
“No distractions.”
Dirk’s rule came back to her, and she thought about it. In hindsight, it sounded like a smart rule to live by, particularly given the circumstances. Maybe she should have tried harder to follow it, too. But she hadn’t, and Dirk hadn’t been able to follow it either. Not for the first time, she wondered if he was as hopelessly drawn to her as she was drawn to him. If their numerous heated exchanges—including the raw session they had just shared—were anything to go by, he probably was. Camilla wondered what they should do about it. She wondered if there was even something to be done. Perhaps they were just destined to long for each other from now on, their desires unfulfilled.
She scowled fiercely. She didn’t like that notion in the least. And yet, letting go of each other was probably the only possible epilogue for this crazy story they had shared.
Chapter 32
The Mojave Desert had never looked more hostile to Camilla. She couldn’t shake a feeling of foreboding as she rode on the back of Dirk’s bike, her arms wrapped firmly around his waist. The hot and yet tender moment they had shared back at the headquarters did little to reassure her; it had felt like a goodbye more than anything else, even though neither Dirk nor she had said anything about farewells.
Now she wished she had said something. She wished she had thanked him for all that he had done for her. She wished she had told him he was the most incredible, remarkable man she had ever met—and that was saying a lot, considering her career; an investigative reporter met remarkable people all the time. But no one was like Dirk Coleman. She wished she had offered some reassurance. She wished she had let him know that even if she made it out alive, she would never use the Minutemen’s story for TIME magazine—or any other media, for that matter. She wished she had told him he was the best sex she’d ever had—although he had probably figured that one out.
There were many things she wished she had said, but she hadn’t said any of them. So now Camilla clung to Dirk, and she hoped for the best. Perhaps she was just being paranoid. They weren’t riding out to war yet, after all; Dirk and the club wouldn’t expose her like that. They were just “moving houses” so to speak. She had done it two days before, when Dirk’s men had come to take her from his house to the MC’s headquarters. Nothing had gone wrong then, so why should anything go wrong now?
Camilla felt Dirk stiffen in her embrace all of a sudden. She heard him curse loudly, and her stomach tightened.
“MONGOLS!” she heard someone shout, and her blood ran cold in her veins.
Camilla turned her head, and sure enough, two waves of riders on bikes came over the sandy hills of the Mojave Desert, from both sides.
Shots were fired almost instantly. Camilla made herself as small as possible on Dirk’s Harley. They were all open targets, but so were the Mongols, and the Minutemen were fast to respond to the attack. Still, the element of surprise was not in their favor, and it soon became clear that the advantage was not theirs.
“SPLIT UP!” Stephan’s order came from ahead of them.
Camilla froze. “Split up”? It didn’t sound like a good idea. But the Mongols were coming from both sides, and they were going to break their pattern no matter what they decided to do. On second thought, splitting up was their only option.
“Hold on!” Dirk shouted, and it took Camilla a moment to realize he was shouting at her.
She barely had the time to tighten her hold around his waist before the bike lurched sideways. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling suddenly queasy as Dirk fired loud gunshots and the Harley sped along the desert soil.
“We’re never gonna make it.”
The thought entered Camilla’s mind unbidden, but once there, it simply refused to leave. The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself that there was just no way that she could survive this. The odds were too much against them. She didn’t know how many Tar Mongols were hot on their heels, but she felt pretty sure there were more than enough. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Dirk’s survival skills; it was that she didn’t trust her own. And she didn’t trust fate, who had played some pretty cruel tricks on her recently.
Camilla’s eyes flew open when they hit a bump so violently that she jumped on the bike’s seat.
“Hold on tight!” Dirk shouted again.
“I’m trying!” Camilla shouted back. She didn’t think her hold around his waist could possibly get any tighter, but she tried anyway.
Dirk was driving at breakneck speed, and Camilla found the experience both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time—which she thought spoke volumes about her levels of insanity…or lack thereof. What was it about Dirk that always made her feel like she was living her life to the fullest, even while she was imprisoned within a MC’s headquarters or rushing through the desert running from ruthless bikers?
Camilla’s head was spinning. Her heart was beating so violently within her chest that for a moment she feared it might just explode through her ribcage. If anything, the gunshots had faded away in the distance, and soon she realized she couldn’t hear them anymore. Dirk was no longer shooting, and no one was shooting at them.
She didn’t know how long they ran. All she knew was that it felt like an eternity, and she didn’t notice time passing any more than she would have noticed a hot air balloon flying overheard. Camilla didn’t know much about the Mojave Desert, but she had learned that out here, time and space ceased to matter—perhaps even to exist.
The sun had set when Dirk finally put a stop to the Harley’s mad dash. The temperature had dropped considerably, but Camilla wasn’t sure whether she was shivering from the desert cold or from the rush of adrenaline and emotions coursing through her.
Dirk helped her down and caught her when she stumbled, her limbs stiff and unresponsive.
“Sit down,” he said, as he led her a few feet away from the now still bike.
Camilla looked around, her eyes wide. She told herself it was because she was trying to see through the advancing darkness, and not because she felt like she had just lost ten years of her life. Dirk had gotten them to the top of a massive series of rocks and dunes, and they were sheltered by large jutted rocks that stood guard against any prying eyes. As hiding spots went, it was as good as it could get out there. To her dismay, Camilla realized that it was only the two of them and they were completely isolated from the rest of the club.
“Where are the others?” she asked, although she was afraid of the answer.
“We did what Stephan said, we split up,” Dirk said, rummaging in his saddlebag for a flashlight that he pulled out with a triumphant little cry. “We got separated as we ran.”
Camilla bit down on her bottom lip nervously. “Do you think they’re all right?”
Dirk’s face darkened. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I hope so.”
“What about cellphones?” Camilla asked after a moment’s reflection.
“Out here?” Dirk snorted. “Good luck getting a signal.”
Camilla clamped her mouth shut, feeling foolish.
“I’m gonna go find something to start a fire with,” Dirk said. “You take this, and shoot anything that moves.” He tossed her a .45 that Camilla caught remarkably easily. “Yo
u can shoot, can’t you?” he asked when she looked at him blankly.
Camilla’s eyes flashed. “Of course I can shoot,” she snapped. And she really could. But that didn’t mean she liked holding a gun in her hand. “It’s just that I don’t like this,” she clarified.
Dirk grimaced. “I know. Believe me, I don’t like it either.” He double checked his own gun and squared his massive shoulders. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll give you a whistle before I let myself be heard, so you’ll know it’s me. Anything else moves or comes close, you shoot first and question later. I mean it.”
Camilla nodded. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t trust her voice any longer. The whole situation had rendered speechless. She watched as Dirk headed down the rocky slopes, and for the first time she half-wished the black Harley were a real horse; she would have felt less lonely if that were the case. Instead, here she was, stuck on the top of a hill in the Mojave Desert. Alone. It was certainly a less than ideal predicament. Not for the first time since that crazy desert adventure had begun, she found herself wondering how she ended up here.
***
It wasn’t a long wait. About twenty minutes later, Camilla heard whistling in the night, and Dirk appeared, carrying a load of dead desert bushes. Camilla helped him prepare the fire, and even though he didn’t say anything, she could see he was impressed that she knew how to do that. But one doesn’t become a successful investigative reporter without picking up a few skills. Soon enough, they were sitting in front of a small but effective fire.
“Won’t they spot us?” Camilla asked. The afterthought made her blood run colder than what the desert night had done up until now.
“Nah,” Dirk said. “These rocks are tall from down there, and this is a small fire. Even if they ride in the vicinity, they won’t catch the glow.”
Camilla wanted to ask if he was sure, but she refrained; if anyone would know about this sort of thing, it was Dirk Coleman.
She shivered and huddled closer to the flames. Dirk stood up, rummaged some more in his saddlebag—which just so happened to also contain Camilla’s sparse belongings—and handed her the hooded sweatshirt she had packed. She nodded gratefully and put it on, zipping it all the way up.
“Not used to the desert night, are you?” Dirk asked. He was only wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt, and Camilla wondered how he was not freezing to death.
“I’m not used to most of this,” she admitted, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.
Next thing she knew, Dirk’s arm was wrapped tightly and securely around her shoulders.
“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the way it was supposed to go.”
Camilla smiled bitterly. “Story of my life over the past few weeks.”
Dirk chuckled. “Touché.”
Camilla leaned into him and lay her head on his strong shoulder. “So what now?” she asked after a few moments of companionable silence.
“Now we wait the night out,” Dirk said. “And then, at dawn, I’ll ride out and see if I can find out what happened to the others.”
Camilla lifted her head to look at him. “What about me?”
“You’ll wait for me here.”
She scowled. “No, thank you. I’m coming, too.”
“Camilla—”
“No. God forbid something happens to you, am I supposed to just be stuck here, waiting for you while you may be out there, hurt? We’d both be out of commission.”
Dirk thought it over. It was clear that he didn’t like it, but she knew she got him the minute his eyes darkened with the same notion. “Fine. You’ll come, too.”
Camilla smiled, pleased. “Good.”
They stared silently at the flames for what felt like forever. Eventually, they found themselves lying down on a blanket Dirk had spread over the rocky terrain, Dirk’s arms wrapped firmly around Camilla, who was nestled against him.
“This would be wonderful if we weren’t in such a crappy situation,” she remarked. She heard his chuckle in the rumbling of his chest against her ear.
“It does suck,” he agreed. “But don’t worry, we’ll make it.”
Camilla frowned. She wanted to ask him how he knew, but she didn’t; she was too scared of the answer. Besides, their predicament was dire enough without her bringing both of them down. She closed her eyes and tried to force her busy mind to just shut up and go to sleep, knowing that every bit of rest could make the difference tomorrow between life and death; she couldn’t outrun the Tar Mongols if she was sluggish.
Once again, she wondered about the other members of the club. She wondered about Stephan Walker. The man seemed invincible, but so did the Tar Mongols. Was he even still alive? Were any of them?
Chapter 33
Camilla woke up to the sound of nothingness. You’d think nature would take it upon itself to call you back from the land of dreams and nightmares, but in the Mojave Desert there were no birds to sing you awake.
Dirk’s arms were still wrapped firmly around her, so much so that she wondered if he had moved at all. Probably not. In fact, chances were he had been just as cold as Camilla was during the desert night. It was the kind of cold that wrapped you up tight in its icy embrace and just wouldn’t let you go. It got ahold of you, a strong enough hold that your body simply refused to make even the smallest of movements, so as not to disperse precious heat and energy.
Dirk stirred when she did, and they reluctantly disentangled themselves from each other’s embrace. He stretched languidly and stood, stomping his feet and working his limbs to restore circulation. After a moment’s hesitation, Camilla did the same. It felt good to feel the blood start flowing again, warm in her veins. She hoped that once her blood was moving it would warm up the rest of her half-frozen body.
“How do you want to play this?” she asked when she could finally trust her teeth to stop chattering long enough to get her voice out clearly. “What do we do now?”
“I told you,” Dirk said. “I’ll have a look around, and you—”
“And I told you, I’m not staying here,” Camilla snapped. She was in no mood for arguments first thing in the morning, particularly when they were arguments they’d already had.
Dirk huffed in annoyance. “Fine,” he finally relented.
He cast a look towards the horizon. The sky had just begun to turn pinkish, and they could both feel the desert heat creeping up on the land. They welcomed it after the freezing night, but they knew they would be cursing it soon.
“Where do you think the others could be?” Camilla asked. She hesitated. “Provided that they’re okay…” She let the words hang in the hair. She didn’t like to bring up that possibility, but she also couldn’t ignore the reality of what had happened yesterday.
“Oh, they’re okay,” Dirk snapped. His blue eyes burned in the rising sun. “Trust me, it’s gonna take a lot more than an ambush to finish us off.”
Camilla shivered at the choice of words. She hoped and prayed no one would be “finishing off” anyone anytime soon. She wanted this madness to be over, and she wanted it over with as little bloodshed as possible.
She watched as Dirk walked over to the bike and took a couple of water bottles out of the saddlebags, along with two Snickers bars. She arched an eyebrow as he handed her share over to her.
“Breakfast of champions?”
Dirk shrugged and smirked. “Hey, at least it’s food.”
“That’s debatable.”
Camilla sat down next to the charred remains of the previous night’s fire. Dirk sat across from her on the other side of the pile of ashes. She watched him intently, unable to look away. The war had begun, and she had never seen him look more beautiful or confident. He was completely within his depth; war was clearly Dirk Coleman’s element. She wasn’t sure she liked that notion, but there was no denying it.
Dirk looked up, noticing her scrutiny, probably feeling her gaze on him. “What?”
“Nothing,
” Camilla said quickly.
Dirk frowned. “Seriously. What?”
She hesitated. “I was just thinking that you look…uh…really at ease, considering the situation.”
Dirk shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. Besides, this is kinda what I do. Fighting,” he elaborated when Camilla looked at him blankly.
“Oh.” Camilla looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Does that bother you?”
She considered lying. And then she decided that they were past the point of lies. “A little,” she admitted.
“I’m not sure I can do anything about it.”
