by Harper Riley
“Yeah,” I lie. “How much more time I got until I have to ride down there?”
“Probably about twenty minutes, maybe more.”
“Anyone at the club spot her yet? Sunday, I mean. I’m not going down there unless she’s there. I don’t trust that fucking snake to keep his word about this.”
Since meeting up with Sunday at her doctor’s, I’ve been having my boys keep an eye out for her, making sure Cobra doesn’t pull anything on her. I wouldn’t put it past him to try to off her minutes before the fight just to spite me. He was a sick fuck like that—never had any boundaries. And if that kid weren’t his, if he knew that Sunday was mine all along, he wouldn’t have anything to hold him back from taking matters into his own hands.
“No. No sightings of her. I checked in with Paulo and Rider. They’re checking the girls in now. There are some that are sitting up in that overpass. It’s where most of the Filth and Butcher girls go to watch the matches. She’s probably up there.”
“Yeah. She best be. The last time we saw a hair of her was when Ace got a glimpse of her through a bedroom window at Cobra’s place. And even then, who the hell knows if it was her.”
That alone scared the shit out of me. My girl and my baby were being held hostage by some sadistic motherfucker who couldn’t give a rat’s ass whether they lived or died. I could have white knighted it and gone and rescued her before this match even began, but I know the rules in these parts. Breaking into club territory, killing an innocent (even though there was nothing truly innocent about Cobra), and stealing club property would have resulted in World War III. As much as it kills me not to have done it, I don’t want more blood on my hands. I instead channeled all that energy into my workouts and spars until my hands ached and my muscles groaned and pulsed.
“Keep checking. I’m not leaving until she’s there, and I can talk to her.”
“Talk to her?” Jake asks. “You really think that Killer and Cobra are going to let you do that?”
“I don’t give a shit what they will let me do. This fight isn’t going to happen unless I can talk to her and make sure they didn’t do something to her over the last few days. If they have a problem with it, tell them it’s like flashing the cash prize. I’m not walking in that ring until I know it’s real and there.”
“They’ll do it.” Vance suddenly appears. He looks a little worse for wear with his baggy cargo pants and his messed up gray hair flying in every direction. Even his beard looks disheveled. He reaches out his hand to me, enveloping me in one of our club handshakes. “You feeling okay?” he asks when he pulls back.
“Yeah,” I try to say confidently. “I’m feeling fine. It’s the Filth and Butcher that have to worry about what’s about to go down.”
I watch as he chews the corner of his lip, shaking his head in cool agreement, before saying, “The girl’s gonna be there. And then we’ve got a plan to get the two of you out in case shit starts. We’re working with a few clubs on this, people Killer and Cobra have made mad over the last few weeks. If they go back on their deal, they’ll get what’s coming to them.”
“And Sunday? What about her? Can you convince the guys to let me see her before the fight?”
His already rough voice strains slightly. “If that’s what you need. You’ll get it.” He walks out the door and moments later, out front of the headquarters, I hear his bike race off, probably towards the meeting spot, and the room returns to this still, mind numbing silence from before. Only Jake’s rhythmic paces can be heard.
I go back to sparring in the ring. I’m going through routine after routine. Everything I’ve ever learned courses through me. Patterns and figures, combinations and plays... each one I nail in rhythm with my feet. My knife jabs and darts through the air as I picture that beady-eyed fucker standing before me with that cocky grin on his shit face. And in the imaginary crowd, just behind his boxy shoulder, is Sunday. She’s glowing and starry-eyed. Her smile lights up the damn sky with that hair that cascades down her shoulders. She smiles as I nail imaginary Cobra in the imaginary arm and then slice through his imaginary bare chest. He tumbles over, and I dart towards the side, missing his imaginary knockout fall. In my ears, I hear her calling my name, crying out for me... “Bear... Bear... Bear...”
“BEAR?” Jake calls to me from outside the ring. “It’s Vance. She’s there. He wants you to get over there. You ready?”
“She okay?” I ask, my breath still catching up in my throat.
He pauses as he waits for Vance to respond. “He says she’s there. That’s all he knows. They’ll let you talk to her if you get there on time.”
Fucking hell. I jump off the makeshift ring and out towards the parking lot. Jake takes over locking up the place and grabbing my gear. But all I really need is my knife and the Wilderkind T-shirt on my back. The drive is only fifteen minutes, but I’m stopped at every damn stop light and seem to have every copper tailing my ass from HQ to the turn off. They barely phase me today as I set my sights on the bridge and the line of bikes parked along the hedges. No doubt the cops were paid off already and told there was going to be a rumble. They won’t bat an eye if there’s money to be had from it.
The closer I get, the louder the sound of the crowd gets. The excitement is bubbling over like a pot on the stove. I know that just about every eye is on me as I pull into the nearest spot to the ring. They gawk at me as I get off the saddle and stride towards Vance. He waits for me with his arms clasped tightly around his chest. He gives my fighting clothes the once over, and I can’t tell if he’s amused or relieved I’ve come to play like the professional I am.
“You’re late.”
“I’m not,” I correct him. “I’m here before the match is supposed to start.”
“By about three minutes.”
“That’s all I need. Where is she?”
“That’s the problem, Bear.”
He gestures behind my shoulder, and I spin on my toes to see Cobra and Killer inches from my face. Cobra is in his full riding gear—dark, tight jeans, leather jacket, bandana in Filthy Bastard’s colors. He laughs as he smacks Killer on the back. “Ha! You think we’re gonna let you see her? She’s with her own.”
“I want to see and talk to her,” I demand. “If you fucking assholes can’t let me make sure she’s okay and you didn’t pull some sick shit on her the last few days, then this deal is off. I’m out of here, and I’m taking her with me.”
Cobra steps up to me, pressing his burly chest into mine. “I’d like to see you fucking try.”
“Watch me.” I push through him, causing him to stumble backward into Killer. I charge up towards the hill where I remember Jake mentioning they were. That’s where I first saw her almost a year ago now—her blonde hair shining like a beacon among all the other girls in their black and white dresses. But scanning the group, I don’t see her. There’s no one like her there.
I turn back to the men, my face red with fury. “What the fuck did you do to her?” I shout.
“We did nothing to her,” Killer calmly explains. “She’s watching from one of the cars, so we know you’re not going to try anything funny.”
“Show me,” I insist. “Show me where she is. Let me talk to her.”
“Sure—if you win,” Killer answers. “You can take her. That’s the deal.”
“He’s not taking broken goods, Killer.” Vance steps in. I’ve been waiting for him to grow some balls and defend his fighter. “We don’t get to check on her, then there’s no fight. I’ll call it off right now and let the men decide who to blame.”
Cobra stands there with his freakish grin while Killer mulls it over. He whispers something over to his right-hand-man and then replies, “Five minutes. That’s it. Our guys will be outside the car.”
“Ours will too,” Vance retorts before turning to our VP and the head enforcer. They call out to a few of our boys who look to be the soberest and willing. Cobra walks back to his crowd while Killer leads the way over to a line of parke
d cars nearest the ring. I spot the van with the three bikers guarding it. It’s all too obvious they’re on alert. They stiffen in their boots when they see Killer, Vance, and I approach.
“Open the doors. He’s got five minutes in there with her. Then get him out of there.”
“Make it quick,” Vance whispers in my ear. “Don’t pull anything stupid. Save it for the ring.”
I hold my breath as the back opens. The van’s cargo light is turned on, but I can barely make out Sunday from the outside. Her head hangs low, and her hands sit folded in her lap. She’s dressed in a heather green and black dress—Filthy Bastard’s colors, and I wonder if she did that on purpose or if she was forced into that. She looks impossibly bigger than when I saw her last. Her growing belly overwhelms her small frame.
“Bear?” she whispers as she turns towards the opening. She doesn’t stand but waits for me to join her inside. Once I’ve scooted myself onto the bucket seats, the doors close and we’re locked in.
“What are you doing here?” she asks in complete shock. “I didn’t think I would see you again.”
“You really don’t think I can fucking beat that pussy?”
“No, it’s not that... it’s just that...”
“We don’t need to talk about the fight,” I offer. “We can talk about other things.”
“Like what?”
“Like what we’re going to do when we get the hell out of here.”
She smiles slightly, her lip lifting at the corners. “Start over?”
“Damn, I hope so. My club wants that baby. We’ll take care of it.”
“And me?” she asks under her breath.
“And you what? You think I don’t want you to?”
“It’s just that... I...” She stumbles to get the words out before confessing, “I didn’t know if you would want me after everything we’ve been through—after I told you I didn’t want you twice.”
“Do you?”
“Do I what?”
“Want me?” I reply.
Her eyes glitter in the small amount of light as her face beams and reddens at the same time. “You’re all I can think about. Since we... that night at the motel... I should’ve stayed with you.”
“I should’ve forced you to stay,” I answer. “You were mine right then and there. I should’ve realized that, Sunday. No other girl could make me feel like you did. No other girl could take over my mind like you have.”
“Oh, God. Bear!” She collapses into my arms. I hold her tightly to my chest as she cries. “I needed to hear you say that. These last few days...”
“What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. I mean, he hit me. Kitka too, but I’m okay. We’re okay. I just spent this time thinking about you—about what he was going to do to you. I can’t lose you again. I won’t.” My blood boils hearing her say this. I knew that fucker would sink that low. I knew it the moment I saw him with her. I bottle the rage and focus on my girl. She needs me more than my anger needs to punch through this van’s walls.
“You won’t. I’m not going down today, Sunday. You, our baby, our life outside this shit... it’s worth it. No matter what happens, you need to know that you’re worth this. And there’s only God himself that could stop me from winning you back.”
She wipes her tears with her forefingers, her mascara making trails on her cheeks. “Promise me,” she instructs me.
“Promise you what?”
“Promise that you’ll win that fucking fight and come back and get me.”
“I promise you that I’ll win. I swear to you that I’ll win. For you, for the baby, for us.”
She places her small, trembling hands on my cheeks as if memorizing me. Her voice whispers, “Bear,” before leaning in and kissing me. The rest of my five minutes pass and they end up having to pull me away from her.
Chapter 15 - Sunday
“You can’t do this! Cobra! Killer! Come on!” I scream until my vocal cords are raw and my throat is achingly dry. But no matter how much I protest, how much I yell and holler at them, it makes absolutely no difference. The van doors shut slowly, and I’m left with nothing but Bear’s taste on my lips and the smell of him in my memories. I place my hand on the seat where he sat—still warm. It’s near impossible to imagine that he was real and that the boys would let him spend time like this with me, but he was there, staring at me, making promises there’s no way he could be sure he could keep.
“For you, for the baby, for us.” His stern, steady voice repeats in my head. There wasn’t any sign of nervousness or regret—none of the stuff that I would expect before a fight. But Bear is a pro. He makes men like Cobra bleed for a living. There is a reason why he has a reputation, so maybe I should trust him and let his skills do the talking. Of course, that’s easier said than done when you’re trapped in a locked, overheated van with no chance in hell of breaking out of here.
Not that I haven’t tried. After a few days of being Cobra’s prisoner, I had hoped he would let me go watch the fight with Kitka and the rest of the girls as planned. I had done my best to be a good, obedient little girl for him. I kept my mouth shut, speaking only to Kitka when he allowed. I didn’t even ask for food. It had been three days since I’d eaten a halfway decent meal. The only food I’d managed to get into my system were some candy bars and a couple of bottles of water I’d managed to squirrel away in my room when I wasn’t locked away. It sure as hell was testing my reserve.
But the van was a complete surprise. I had gotten ready that night with Kitka at my side. She helped me put on my heels and zipped me up into this A-line dress she had found in Larissa’s closet from one of the few times when she wasn’t freaking out about her weight. It fit perfectly, even though I knew I’d stick out like a sore thumb with my belly jutting a mile out in front of me for all the club world to gawk at.
Still, I walked tall that afternoon. Earlier that night, I had overheard Cobra talking about his game plan to a visitor. He was drunk as a skunk and cussing up a storm, but he mentioned how he hadn’t trained—hadn’t cared about if he won. He just wanted to make Bear bleed out for catching him in the parking lot in front of Killer. He didn’t sound motivated at all and certainly didn’t seem to care about me in this equation. With him being so nonchalant about it, there was so much more for Bear to fight for. After that fight with our guy, where he left him in the hospital for months, it was clear Bear would have an edge.
But after Kitka had gotten me made up and left to join the others, I waited as patiently as I could in the living room for permission to leave. It was Killer who greeted me. He smiled as he looked at me. It was that kind of tired, apologetic version that should send shivers up anyone’s spine.
“You’re looking great, Sunday,” his nasal voice intoned. I remembered the rumor about him wanting me and wondered if it had changed—given the circumstances and him now bedding up with Kitka. He certainly didn’t show much outward want towards me, but there was no denying he was kind compared to the terror that waited in the hallway.
“Get into the van,” Cobra growled in between long drinks out of a brown, unmarked bottle. “You hear me? Get in! I ain’t waiting on you no longer.”
I looked over towards Killer who seemed totally unfazed by this. He shrugged his shoulders as he placed a hand on my back and led me out to the waiting white van—the van the girls joked was the kidnapping van. In reality, the club used it for transporting dead cycles to and from races. Sometimes, when necessary, it was a gun runner carrying ammo and backup weapons when the club traveled to conventions and events. The girls rode inside when they didn’t have a rider claim them. My heart sank at that moment remembering being jostled around with no heat, no windows, and little light.
But I survived without a complaint, and frankly, it was worth it for just a handful of minutes alone with Bear. But now he’s gone, and all I can do is lean my ear against the van’s door and listen for any signs that the fight has begun. I can hear the men guarding the van—their muffled
voices, the sounds of gravel and shoes squishing on the ground, and some indistinguishable shouts. I place myself even closer to the cold wall of the van until I hear a loud pound against my cheek.
I have seconds to jump out of the way before the door flies back open. I fall to the floor as I cry out in surprise. Kitka stands out in the yellowish-red overhead lighting. “What the hell are you doing down there? Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
“What? What are you talking about?” Behind her, a few girls I don’t recognize lean against the door. “Why are they here?”
“Come on, sweetie, we’ve gotta go,” one of the older ones gestures to me. She leans in the van and offers me her arm. My roundness and weight make it difficult to prop myself back up, so much so that I practically roll out the back and onto the ground. The same woman catches me in her arms. “Due soon, huh? No doubt it’s our Bear’s!”
“Our Bear’s? Are you with...”
“They’re helping get you the hell out of here,” Kitka jumps in with a crazed half-smile. “They’re gonna drive you to a Wilderkind safe house that Vance, the president, has picked out. They and he will be the only ones who know where you are. I don’t even know. Once you’ve had the kid, and the dust has died down from you running, you’ll go back to the Wilderkind.”
“What? But the fight? Bear? He told me he was going to win fair and square. I’m not going to put him in more risk because I’m running away!” I cry out as I realize how desperate this situation is. Over the line of cars and cycles, I can see the fight beginning. The men are on their feet, too distracted by the ref introducing Cobra and Bear to notice what is happening back here. The Filth and Butcher guards are nowhere to be seen, probably off drinking or putting in last minute bets when Killer and Cobra are too distracted to care.
“Why you wasting time, girl?” one of the other women whispers. “Let’s get the hell out of here!” She grabs me by the arm and tries to lead me away from the fight, but I can’t let her do this. I can’t leave Bear when he needs me the most.
