I welcome it.
13
FAY-LEE
I’m sitting in a lawn chair on Rab’s gross bony-old-man lap. His leathery arm is a steel band around my waist, and his hard dick is poking the small of my back. He smells like cheap beer and mothballs. I want to puke.
He stirs the campfire with a long stick and embers go flying. A few greasy, younger guys are squatting nearby, eyeing me like dogs under the dinner table.
I’m in deep trouble.
Everything was fine on the ride up to Anvil. I’ve heard of Spank the Devil. Everyone has. The biggest biker rally on the East Coast. Four days of motorcycles, music, and mayhem. A hundred opportunities to lose Brick, five-finger some cash, and make a friend who’ll give me a ride when the thing’s over.
And the morning was fine, a two-hour road trip on a mild fall day. Brick is a cautious driver, and his touring bike has big, comfy seats. Before we left first thing in the morning, Dawn gave me an old quilted jacket of her daughter’s. She’d hidden ten bucks in the pocket.
As soon as we hit the Anvil town limits, bikers swarmed us, a dozen men in cuts with the Rebel Raider’s red-and-white patches. The man from the bar—Rab—pulled into the lead. When I first met him, he’d struck me as a grizzly old head. Weathered and harmless. The kind of guy you find sitting for hours at a lunch diner counter.
I was wrong. He’s sharp. Nasty. And these men follow him without question.
All chance of bailing disappeared in an instant.
When we got to this campsite, situated among dozens of others demarked by lines of bikes, tents, and trucks with the tailgates down for kegs and coolers, Brick gave me a weak smile.
He said, “It’ll be fine, girly.” Then he hustled off toward the stage and vendors, and I haven’t seen him since.
My hand reaches for my phone on instinct, but I don’t have it anymore. Dober, a bald guy with a thick neck and a VP patch, took it. He took my knife, too. A dude with a prospect rocker pinned my arms behind my back, and Dober searched me, mauled my tits and grabbed my pussy, took my shit, and laughed. The prospect pocketed my ten bucks.
I’m so screwed.
“What are you going to do with me?” I ask.
Rab jiggles his knee, jostling me against his hard-on, and slides his arm up so he’s holding me right under the boobs. He gives my left tit a rough squeeze. “Be patient.”
He laughs and stirs the fire. He’s close-mouthed. The others aren’t.
Nearby, Dober is running his mouth to a guy named Scratch.
“I still don’t get it.” Scratch digs his nails into his crusty neck. Dude comes by his name honestly.
“It’s fuckin’ simple,” Dober explains. “Dizzy gets the blueprints Chaos was goin’ after. We trade the blueprints for the girl.”
“Why the fuck couldn’t Jed just get the blueprints, like, months ago?”
“’Cause if Jed gets busted like Chaos did, we don’t have an inside guy, no more.”
“And Dizzy’s gonna do his club dirty for this skinny bitch?”
“That’s what Jed says. He swears the guy’s fuckin’ stupid over her. Gone.”
He did? I can’t help but lean forward, and Rab’s arm digs into my ribs.
“So we’re just waitin’ for Dizzy now?”
“He ain’t answered the texts yet.”
“You sure you got the right number?”
Dober slaps the back of Scratch’s dirty neck. “We got the right number. Dumbass.”
“You called that gash for weeks about Chaos. She never answered.” Scratch jerks his chin towards me. I’m the gash. Fuck him. And fuck any man who sees women that way.
I stiffen without thinking, and Rab cackles. “Don’t make me jizz my pants, now, girlie.”
I want to unzip my skin and run like hell. But even if I manage to get free of Rab—bite him, maybe, although yuck, gross, ugh—I’d have to get past all the others. Some are drunk or high, but it’s early in the day. Most aren’t too impaired yet. I wouldn’t get five feet.
“Why do we want blueprints?” Scratch asks. “I seen Dizzy’s ride. Sweet mod. He’s got cash. If he’s gone for her like Jed says, he’d pay for her.”
“Knocker wants blueprints.”
“Fuck Knocker. He’s in Supermax. He ain’t gettin’ out anytime soon.” Scratch talks big, but he lowers his voice when he says Knocker’s name. Rab’s gaze flicks to him, and his eyes narrow.
Dober casts a nervous glance this way. Underneath me, Rab shifts. I think Scratch might be talkin’ himself into a hole.
Dober spits. “Fuck you. You wanna give up your cut? Feel free to black out your ink anytime.”
“Cut of what? Knocker’s insane, man. Fuckin’ conspiracy theories. ‘Destroy Steel Bones. Revenge our fathers. Split the spoils.’ Dude sounds like the bad guy in a comic book.” Scratch is muttering under his breath, but he seriously misgauges his volume.
“You got a better plan?” Rab asks. Scratch’s face pales, but he screws up his courage and pulls back his shoulders.
“What I always say. Move more weight. It’s bullshit that we don’t deal in Petty’s Mill. Those country tweakers drive all the way to Shady Gap for our shit. If we weren’t so fuckin’ afraid of Heavy Ruth, we’d be making bank.”
Rab raises his eyebrows. “You got a big mouth for a man smokin’ his own profits.”
Scratch dials it down, shoving his shaky hands in his pockets. “All I’m sayin’ is we could be knee deep in pussy and hard rock right now—and rakin’ in cash—but we’re over here grillin’ hot dogs with the weekend warriors, our dicks in our hands, babysitting that skinny bitch.”
When I get out of this, I’m knockin’ that guy’s last three teeth out.
My heart sinks.
Am I gonna get out of this?
What do they do to me if Dizzy doesn’t come through with the blueprints? And he won’t. Of course, he won’t. He’s not going to betray his club. Especially not when he thinks I’m involved with the enemy.
I need to focus. Look for a window to escape, a weakness. Dizzy’s not riding to my rescue. You can’t rely on anyone but yourself.
In that shed, I wasted hours, thinkin’ someone was coming for me. It was only a matter of time, right? I sat in the corner. Picked off my nail polish.
By the time I realized I was on my own, I was weak. Hungry. Thirsty. But I didn’t give up. I dug at the seams of the metal walls. I pried at the bottom. I banged with my fists, lay on my back and kicked at the door, and screamed.
I didn’t give up until my body did.
Goddamn, how did I not learn my lesson?
Dizzy is not comin’. I need to come up with a plan.
My brain won’t cooperate. I try to catch the eyes of the people milling in the distance, drinking from red plastic cups, chatting around their own fires. To a man, they avoid my gaze. Everyone’s hangin’ out, but they steer clear of this campsite like there’s a fence around it. No one’s gonna challenge these guys. Eventually, I quit trying, and my eyes are drawn to the fire.
There’s so much noise. Competing radios blasting, and a few acres away, the dull roar of the metal band on the main stage.
People shout. Laugh. Engines rev and roar. Panic rises, flailing in my chest.
No one’s coming.
I’m on my own, and I’m as trapped as I was in that shed.
I drop my head and close my eyes.
And then the roar of an engine splits the air.
It’s a Raider, barreling into camp, tearing up the frozen ground. His beady eyes are shining.
“They’re here. He didn’t come alone.”
What? Dizzy?
The men come alive, rising to their feet, patting the obvious gun bulges under their shirts. Guys who’d wandered off to talk to neighboring groups trot back. There are more than a dozen men surrounding me now.
Rab is still sitting. His dick is still hard. “Chill out. We’re in the middle of a thousand people. They ain’t comin’ in guns blazing.”
“Three Gs ain’t nothin’ to the patched-in brothers of the Steel Bones MC anymore.” Rab chuckles, bitter. “They’re big time, now. Billionaire developers and big-time politicians. Drug lords and mafia kingpins. Greed ain’t gonna turn ‘em. Except our friend Jed. He was lookin’ for a reason, though. He’s got the heart of a rat.” Rab spits.
A few of the other men follow suit.
“Why’d you offer Dizzy the cash, then?” Scratch asks. He’s fixated. The other guys are shuffling closer. Cracking their necks.
Somethin’s about to go down.
Butterflies go wild in my stomach.
Is Dizzy here for me?
“Common negotiation tactic. Open with a low-ball bid. When they don’t bite, lower it. This gash’s life is our low-ball bid. Now he knows it’s worth less to us than a used beater. I figured it would’ve put some fire under his ass. Jed fails again, though. He said Dizzy would do anything for this bitch. Apparently not.”
Rab finally stands, setting me at his side.
“We gonna kill her here?” Scratch asks. My heart slams against my ribs.
“You really are a dumb fuck, ain’t you?” Rab sneers. “Nobody’s killin’ anyone in this crowd of witnesses. You got her?”
Dober’s hand clamps around my wrist. He nods.
“I suppose we’re movin’ to a new phase of negotiations,” Rab sighs. “Guess we ain’t gettin’ those blueprints.”
The sound of engines grows louder, echoing. A dust cloud blooms behind us where a line of port-a-pots form a boundary of the festival.
The beady-eyed guy is on the phone. “They’re headed this way.”
He’s gesturing away from the port-a-pots, down an incline, toward the main gathering area. You can see it now. People parting like the red sea, crowding under the vendor’s tents. Another cloud of dust rises in the air.
The death metal band is still raging, but the radios have been shut off. Everyone’s craning to see what’s going on.
“There’s ten of ‘em. No eleven.”
“Relax. We outnumber them. This is just gonna be a conversation.”
“Heavy Ruth and Dizzy Jones are riding lead.”
He’s coming.
My body sags. Dober jerks my arm. “Try anything, bitch, I’ll shank you in the back.” He takes my knife from his pocket, flicks it open, and presses it flat between my shoulder blades so my hair hides his hand.
Oh, fuck.
Dizzy’s coming, and I’m gonna die in front of him. My eyes burn.
I can see them now. Oh, my gosh. It’s like a movie.
The terrain’s too uneven for full speed—and there are too many people—but they’re coming steady. Dizzy’s hair and beard are wild in the wind, and his face is terrifying. My belly clenches and my heartbeat breaks into a gallop.
Heavy rides beside him, glowering and fierce, and seeing them side-by-side like this, there can be no doubt. They share blood. And they are intent on the same purpose.
Dizzy’s dark eyes meet mine. A shiver courses down my spine.
He’s coming for me.
He is righteous fury personified, and he is comin’ for what’s his. He thinks I’m working for the enemy, and he doesn’t care.
He loves me. Holy shit. He loves me.
All of a sudden, voices rise, and there’s a charge in the atmosphere.
“Fuck. Is that a pump-action shotgun?”
“They ain’t gonna open fire in the middle of Spank the Devil,” Dober says, but he doesn’t seem so sure.
The Raiders firm their stance and free their pieces. A few of the less sober guys look wildly for an exit, but the camps are pitched too close. We’re hemmed in by a line of bikes, a city of tents, and a bonfire.
Rab grabs my arm and drags me in front of him. There’s no knife at my back anymore, but I’m staring down a mob of armed bikers. Shotguns. Pistols.
I hope they know what they’re doing.
Or what if they don’t care if I’m collateral damage? Wouldn’t that be just what Heavy wants? If I get caught in the crossfire, I can’t tell anyone about Chaos.
My gaze darts back to Dizzy. His mouth is cast in a grim line, but his eyes speak. My panic ebbs. He’s not gonna let anything happen to me. I know it.
“They ain’t stoppin’,” a prospect squeaks. “Fuck this.” He vaults over a bike and races off.
“Stand your ground, men,” Rab urges. “They ain’t gonna shoot in front of all these people.”
Dizzy’s focus has turned to Rab. He’s still yards away, but I can read his face like a book. He’s gonna destroy this man who dares to touch me.
He’s come for me. My heart soars.
Everything slides into place as he skids to a stop about an acre away, resting his shotgun on his forearm, aiming it straight at my head.
“Trust me,” he shouts.
“I do.” It’s a whisper. He can’t possibly hear me over the roar of men and engines, but he smiles, keeping his eyes glued on mine.
It’s so clear. What he said that day at the stream, he meant. I belong to him. He’ll always come for me.
And he’ll take these motherfuckers out, one way or another.
“He’s gonna shoot!” Dober shouts.
“Run!” Rab bellows. Someone digs his hands into my shoulders. “Leave her, you dumbass! They’re behind us! Scatter!”
“Drop!” Dizzy roars.
I fall to the ground. Before I hit the dirt, I catch a glimpse as he raises the shotgun, pumps it, and fires a shot into the air with a firm and steady hand, his leather jacket flapping open in the wind, every inch a cowboy on a steel horse.
I curl up and cover my head, squeezing my eyes closed, and a thunderous crack echoes in the mountains.
“He’s crazy! He’s racking another round! He’s aiming. Go! Go!” a man shouts, and there’s pandemonium as everyone left in the vicinity scatters.
Feet pound by my head, and I huddle as small as I can. There’s scuffling, grunts, but no other gunshots. I peek up.
Shouts and screams ring out in the crisp air. The wail of sirens swells in the distance. The music plays on, and the crowd chants the lyrics, oblivious.
It’s anarchy. Tents have toppled. One fell and caught fire. Flames shoot up, along with a column of pitch-black smoke. Fights have broken out. Bikes are roaring through the confusion as people flee, and others rush over to save their shit.
A few dudes, high as hell, are whooping as they pitch burning logs into the tents that are still standing.
It’s mayhem.
Miraculously, no one seems to have been hurt.
I find my feet. There’s so much shit going on, my brain can’t sort through it all.
Where is Dizzy?
There.
Still forty yards away. The anarchy has spawned a chain of brawls, and another club is riding through off to the side—slow as shit and very careful—trying to escape the chaos.
Dizzy sprints for me, bulldozing men out of his way. Heavy, Charge, and Wall are behind him.
“Wait there. I’m comin’!” he shouts, pointing at me, and by some miracle, I hear.
A drug-addled dude stumbles into his path. Dizzy picks him up with his one free hand, pitching him out of the way like a ragdoll. Right into one of the bikers trying to ride out.
The man’s bike wobbles. Topples. The druggie scampers off.
The rider roars, untangling himself from the machine and bolting for Dizzy. The guy is not that tall, but he’s wide, solid, and really fuckin’ pissed. His rocker reads Los Insurrectos.
All his brothers lower their kickstands, and now it’s a melee.
Wall plows through dudes like a mad bull. Heavy’s knocking men over with single blows. And Dizzy’s a rabid dog, ripping and tearing through anyone in his path, heading straight toward me, eyes burning, his gaze never wavering, not for a second.
I’m so struck that I don
’t notice Dober.
Not until his fingers dig into my upper arm and the cold tip of my knife dents the tender skin under my chin.
“Don’t move.” His breath is hot on my ear.
It’s like someone hit pause.
Everyone around the campfire freezes mid-motion. Around us, it’s pandemonium, but within this circle, time has stopped. From the corner of my eye, I see Nickel and Bullet creeping closer.
Steel Bones are behind us. Dizzy and the others are facing us, guns raised.
All the other Raiders are gone. Dober’s alone.
Fear grips my chest and squeezes. He’s trapped. Desperate. I’m fucked.
“Back up!” He raises his elbow until the knife is perpendicular to my jugular. I shallow my breaths, stay as still as I possibly can, but I’m shaking.
Heavy is the first to drop his weapon. He takes a small step forward and lays it carefully on the ground. The knife pricks my skin.
Heavy freezes, squatting, holding up his palms. “I see we’re at an impasse.”
“What the fuck is that?” Dober spits.
“A stalemate.”
“Speak English, motherfucker.”
“Let her go,” Dizzy orders. I’ve never heard him sound like this. His voice is a rumble, as deep and resonant as Heavy’s. Everyone’s gaze flies to him. Among all these armed outlaws, it’s crystal clear. In this moment, he’s the most dangerous. “Let her go now, and you live.”
“You ain’t gonna let me walk out of here.” Dober’s losing it. The knife is nicking me, and I don’t think he means it to, but a trickle of warm blood drips down my neck. Dizzy’s sees. His jaw tics every time the knife touches me, and he readjusts his grip on his shotgun.
“You can ride out of here. You have my word,” Heavy says. “But if you don’t lower that knife, my brother here is going to blow your brains out. You have my word on that, too.”
“As soon as I let her go, you’re gonna shoot me.”
“In front of all these witnesses?” Heavy scoffs. “That would be crazy.”
Dober snorts.
Dizzy clears his throat, and when he has Dober’s attention, he slowly squats next to Heavy, lowering his shotgun to the ground.
“See? Everything’s cool. It’s gonna be fine.” He smiles gently. It’s meant for me. “Don’t move,” he says, low and calm. “I love you. I’ve never felt this way before in my life. You’re it for me.”
Dizzy: A Steel Bones Motorcycle Club Prequel Page 22
