TAKE ME, OUTLAW: A Dark Bad Boy Baby Romance

by Zoey Parker

  “Okay,” I said to Jewel, “I need to stay out here and keep an eye out for anyone who might be after us. So I'll need you to go inside and buy a burner phone I can use. Can you do that?”

  Jewel nodded shakily.

  “Good,” I said. “Get in and out as fast as possible, and remember to keep your cool. Don't freak out or draw any attention. The last thing we need is more people getting involved with this shit show. If I see anything weird, I'll give the horn a loud blast so you can come running and we can blow out of here in a hurry.”

  I watched Jewel go to the store's entrance. Even with everything going on, I couldn't help but admire the way her full, curvy hips moved from side to side when she walked.

  I was feeling restless and fidgety. I suddenly realized I hadn't had a cigarette since right before the shit with Angelo went down in the alley. I hadn't had time to pick up a pack of my own since then.

  Just as I was debating whether I was desperate enough to start looking on the ground for a butt that could be re-lit, I saw a large man a few cars away, walking toward me. He had broad shoulders and a scar over his eye, and he wore a brown leather bomber jacket. It looked like his dark, intense eyes were focused on me.

  Goddamn it, I thought. How did they send someone else after us so fast?

  I reached over and rested a hand on my bike's horn, preparing to push on it. It occurred to me that I'd never even used the horn that came with Rosie before. Bikers aren't big on honking horns. When we almost get hit by assholes in cars, we're usually too busy grabbing the front brakes, pulling the clutch in, and swerving away. Hell, I didn't even know what the horn sounded like, or whether it'd be loud enough to get Jewel's attention in the store. I should have tested it before she went in.

  Too late now, though.

  The man reached into his bomber jacket and I reached behind me, wrapping my other hand around my pistol. Before he could take his hand out of his jacket, I leaned on the horn. It sounded oddly high-pitched and muted, like a whining teenager. I highly doubted Jewel would hear that and I told myself if I got out of this alive, I'd have to upgrade it to something more useful.

  The man paused for a moment, looking confused. Then he nodded toward me, taking his hand out of his jacket to reveal a pack of cigarettes.

  I took my hand off the horn.

  “Hey, pal,” the man said, “got a light?”

  I took my other hand off the gun.

  Christ, I thought. That was a close call.

  “Sure,” I said, “if you've got a smoke you can spare.”

  “Oh, hell yes,” the man replied with a shaky sigh of relief. He shook out a cigarette, handing it to me. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Sorry about the horn. Just realized I'd never tested it before, and I figured, hey, now's as good a time as any.”

  “Yeah, I figured it was something like that,” he said, putting the cigarette between his lips. “You're a fucking lifesaver. The only times I can sneak a puff are when she's in there looking at shoes, and I was looking forward to it all day and then I got here and realized I forgot my lighter like some kind of putz.”

  I laughed, leaning over to light his cigarette before doing the same to mine. “Yeah, I feel you. I just got out of a seven-year...” I paused, then continued, “relationship with no cigarettes. Man, they sure do get their hooks into you, huh?”

  “Fuck, tell me about it,” he agreed, taking a drag. “I used to be addicted to coke, you know? Kicked that when we had our first kid. It wasn't that hard. I mean, I still get the odd craving, but overall, it was a lot easier than I'd have thought.” He took another deep drag, relishing it. “But these, man. Jesus. I've tried to quit six fucking times. For her, for the baby. Six times, and I've come running back to it every time. Can you believe that?”

  I nodded, thinking about all the different ways convicts had tried to smuggle cigarettes into Potawatomi because of the smoking ban. They'd been a more precious commodity than drugs or weapons. I'd seen guys do violent things, humiliating things, just for a single hit off a mostly-smoked butt.

  It brought back the memory of the snitch and the syrup packets. People will do bloody and crazy things just to feel something normal and familiar for a few seconds. I wondered if I'd ever be able to forget the things I'd done that had made me feel so much less than human while I'd been inside.

  Mostly, I wondered if I was even supposed to forget.

  I glanced at the store entrance and saw Jewel walking back to the bike with a shopping bag. I waved at her. She looked in my direction, and her face went pale and slack with fright.

  Oh, hell.

  I whipped back around just in time to see the man pulling a gun from his jacket pocket. I instinctively knew I wouldn't have time to draw my own gun, so I swung my fist down at his hand, knocking the gun loose. It fell to the ground and the man snarled with rage.

  I wrapped both hands around the man's throat and kicked him hard in the left shin, causing his leg to go out from under him. He sagged to the pavement, beating at my arms with his hands and trying to pry my fingers away from his neck.

  I squeezed tighter, feeling his windpipe buckle under my thumbs. His face was turning purple and his eyes were bulging. He was thrashing, and it took all of my weight on his chest to keep him from getting free.

  I heard Jewel's heavy breathing behind me and continued to throttle the man until he went limp, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

  I stood up, brushed the dirt off the knees of my jeans, and rummaged in the inner pocket of the man's jacket until I found his wallet and his pack of cigarettes. I pocketed them along with the gun he'd been carrying, then kicked the body under the nearest car and turned to Jewel. She was trembling.

  “We'd better go,” I said, handing her the helmet.

  Jewel put it on and buckled it under her chin. We both hopped on my bike and I gunned the engine, riding us out of the parking lot and hitting the highway.

  I'd wanted to get to Milwaukee as soon as possible, which meant sticking to the main roads. But since it looked like Jester's people were being methodical in searching the highway stops from Chicago to Wisconsin, I figured we'd better take our chances on the back roads for a while. The first chance I got, I took an exit and veered onto a country road, with nothing but farms and fields on both sides for miles and miles.

  Even then, though, I knew we'd have giant targets on our backs as long as we were so easy to identify. Jester and the Mancusos wouldn't even have to put eyes on us directly. They could just ask people if they'd seen a biker and a woman in a skirt riding a red and black bike with a rose pattern on it. That'd be the kind of thing most folks would probably remember.

  I felt Jewel's shaking body pressed against my back, and I had an idea. I snuck a peek behind me, looking at her outfit. “Hey, quick question,” I asked. “Do you shop at outlet malls?”

  “What?” Jewel asked incredulously. “Are you kidding me? Why would you ask me that right now? Jesus, you just killed a man with your bare hands right in front of me, and now you want to know where I buy my clothes?”

  “Yes,” I said, “and if you want to help me so I don't have to kill anyone else today, please just answer the fucking question, okay? So, outlet malls: Do you shop in them? Yes or no?”

  There was a long pause. When she answered, it was in a small, scared voice. “Yes.”

  “So do you know where one is around here?” I pressed.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. I almost couldn't hear her over the wind in my ears.

  “Good. Tell me how to get there.”

  “Go back on the highway at the next on-ramp,” she replied. “Go about six miles, then take the Zion exit. There's an outlet there.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  We rode in silence for a long time before I realized why she was acting so terrified. “Hey, when I said I needed your help or I might have to kill someone else today, I didn't mean you,” I said, trying to sound gentle. I hadn't realized she might tak
e it that way. “I'm not gonna hurt you. I hope you know that.”

  “I know,” Jewel answered.

  “And I'm doing everything I can to keep you safe and make sure you get to go home,” I continued.

  “I know,” she said again.

  This time, she sounded a little less sure.

  Chapter 17

  Jewel

  I didn't think anything could shake me up inside more than the bullets that had been flying in my direction, but standing by as Rafe choked the life out of someone gave me a sick, ugly, squirming feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Watching someone get killed slowly just a few feet away from me and seeing the life leave their eyes planted a seed of dread deep inside of me. Even though I knew the man had been sent to kill us both, I couldn't help but wonder how it would feel to be strangled to death, gasping and flapping around like a fish that's been pulled out of water. Would they decide to kill me that way, if they caught up with us? Would they shoot me? Stab me? Would they torture me first?

  It all felt like a bad dream again, the kind where I'm being chased by faceless murderers and no matter how fast or far I run, they're always just ahead of me, waiting to catch up. I was starting to believe we'd never be safe no matter where we went or how many people Rafe killed. Part of me was so exhausted that I wanted to give up and let them kill me, just so the fear would end and I wouldn't have to run anymore.

  But then I thought of my parents. I was their only child. I couldn't let them outlive me. And besides, I had Rafe to protect me.

  Even though he scared me, too.

  I didn't know why Rafe had asked me about the outlet mall. At first, I thought he was just asking me random questions to keep my mind off the fact that he'd just killed someone. But when we pulled into the parking lot of the mall, he explained.

  “We're too easy to identify,” Rafe said. “We need some different clothes.” He opened the dead man's wallet and fished out a bunch of twenty-dollar bills, handing them to me. “Go grab some new stuff for us to wear. I'm a large in pretty much everything. Remember, nothing too colorful or eye-catching. We want to blend in. We'll need some hair dye and some scissors, too.”

  “Okay,” I said. “But what about the bike? Won't they still spot us if we're riding it?”

  “Leave that to me,” Rafe answered. “Meet me at the west entrance in twenty minutes.”

  “Should we have a signal in case you get into trouble, like last time?” I offered.

  Rafe gave me a grim smile. “Sure,” he said. “If you hear gunshots, that means I'm in trouble and you should probably run in the other direction.”

  As I nervously flipped through the clothes on hangers in the clothing store, I kept listening for shots in the parking lot.

  By the time I got to the beauty store and the clerk was ringing me up for the hair dye, I still hadn't heard any. But my mind couldn't stop thinking of knives and poisoned rags and a hundred other things that can kill without making a sound.

  Chapter 18

  Rafe

  When Jewel went inside the mall, I took out the burner and called the Nest. One of the younger Reapers answered, and I asked for Boomer. He got on a moment later.

  “Hey Rafe,” Boomer said. “You stayin' alive out there?”

  “Barely,” I answered, lighting a cigarette. As I talked on the phone, I walked up and down the rows of cars in the parking lot, looking them over. I saw a wire hanger laying on the ground and picked it up, whipping it around aimlessly. “How are things over there?”

  “Same as it ever was,” Boomer said. “Bard was disappointed that you decided to go after Jester, but he wasn't surprised and he ain't angry. Everyone here's wishing they could help you, but...”

  “Hey, I understand,” I replied, thinking of Growler. For all I knew, I could be pulling up a wheelchair next to him if this thing with Jester went the wrong way. Hell, that was probably a best-case scenario. “Listen, have you heard anything about the Mancusos making any moves lately?”

  “Yeah, I figured you'd be calling to ask, so I kept my ear to the ground,” Boomer answered. “They sent a couple of guys up to Milwaukee, to a place called The Flytrap. No idea why, though.”

  “I have an idea about that,” I said. “Do you know who they sent?”

  “Uh-huh,” Boomer said. From his voice, it sounded like he wished he didn't. “You ever hear of the Chayner brothers?”

  “Nope,” I said. “Must have been after my time.” I spotted a nondescript maroon Saab from the early '90s. That could work, I thought.

  “Well, they're bad news,” Boomer continued. “Ever since Jester got promoted and stopped killing people himself, the Chayner brothers have become the Mancusos' star assassins. Between them, they've got a bodycount that's close to the triple digits. Before they hooked up with the Mancuso family, they rode with the Bloody Rippers.”

  “Fuck,” I hissed. The Bloody Rippers had been legendary among MCs for their insane love of carnage and their willingness to terrorize innocent people for fun. Even other outlaws had feared them and stayed out of their way. Most of them had been shot to death when they refused to surrender during an FBI raid back in the early 2000s. If these Chayners were really ex-Rippers, I'd rather have gone up against Darth Vader, the Terminator, and a pack of radioactive motherfucking polar bears with missile launchers mounted on their backs than take my chances against those psychos.

  “Yeah, fuck,” Boomer agreed. “They're big-time boogeymen. They have their bikes an' helmets painted to look like monsters or something. Sure you don't wanna come back, sew your new patch on, an' forget the whole damn thing?”

  “Too late for that,” I said, thinking of Jewel. “Shit got complicated. There's a girl they're trying to whack.”

  “So?” Boomer replied. “What's that got to do with the price of gas?”

  “Nah, I need her,” I said, untwisting the wire hanger. “She might have info that could lead me to Jester.”

  “Well, just be careful out there,” Boomer said. “Girls can slow you down, and believe me, you do not want to be slow with the Chayners on your tail.”

  “Thanks,” I answered. “I hate to ask, but I need another favor.”

  “Sure,” Boomer said. “Anything.”

  “I'm at the outlet mall near the Zion exit,” I continued. “You know the place?”

  “Oh sure,” Boomer said, laughing. “I buy all my fuckin' khakis there.”

  “Fuckin' wise-ass,” I chuckled, sliding the hanger down the window-slot of the Saab and jimmying the lock. “Anyway, we're switching rides, and I need to leave Rosie in the parking lot. Can you come pick her up?”

  “Sure,” Boomer said. “I'll take one of the prospects.”

  “Thank you,” I replied. The Saab door popped open and I got behind the wheel. I took out my Swiss Army knife, pulled out the chisel tool, and used it to pry off one of the panels near the ignition keyhole. “Oh, one more thing. You remember Angelo, right? He used to hang around Jester all the time.”

  “Yeah, I remember that dickweed,” Boomer answered. “Rolled dice with him once. He cheated like a motherfucker.”

  “Do you know if he ever carried around a golden gun?”

  Boomer laughed again. “What, like the fuckin' James Bond movie?”

  I rolled my eyes as I used the tools in my knife to strip a couple of wires in the dashboard down to their copper roots. “If that helps you, sure.”

  “No, he never had no golden gun,” Boomer said. “He'd have looked pretty stupid with one, and he didn't need the help.”

  “Okay, cool,” I said. I gave him the number for the burner, in case he needed to get in touch with me. “Thanks again, Boomer.”

  “Any time, Rafe,” he answered, hanging up.

  I dialed Snoops' number again and he picked up on the first ring. “Hey, it's Rafe,” I said. “I got a burner, so you can use this number to call me if you need to. See anything so far?”

  “Nah, all quiet up here,” Snoops said. “No gan
gsters. Hardly any customers, either, for that matter. How this place even stays open, I have no idea.”

  “Well, stay sharp up there,” I said. “Keep your eyes open and your guns loaded.” I didn't know whether Snoops had ever heard of the Chayner brothers, but I figured it was better not to mention them by name in case it scared Snoops off.

  “Hey, no need to worry, Rafe,” Snoops insisted. “This ain't our first rodeo, after all!” He laughed and hung up.

  Yeah, this may not be your first rodeo, I thought, but that's because you're used to busting bulls and broncos. What we're dealing with here is more like trying to stay on the back of a fucking fire-breathing dragon.