by Jackson Kane
I stared down at him and reveled in his torment. He stared back at me, his eyes brimming with agonized disbelief as I watched Ricky-Tick bleed out, squirming through his death throes, and allowed all my fear and anguish to die with him.
I stood up and slid my pants back on.
The man with the shotgun in the Wild Boys parking lot came to mind—more specifically, how I felt not being able to kill that man who was trying to kill me. Having watched Ricky-Tick die, I didn’t feel upset or scared anymore, but now I was more conflicted.
I’d spent my entire childhood surrounded by one side of the law and my adulthood surrounded by the other. I had been unable to kill, and I had now killed. Part of me felt horrible for having to do what I did, but another part of me realized that it was the only way... and that I could do it again if I needed to.
What kind of person was I now?
The kind of person that survives, a spidery voice from a dark corner in my head whispered—a voice I maybe should have listened to earlier… sooner.
Distant gunshots reinforced my resolve. I ducked low, expecting someone to rush in and see what I had done. When no one came, I scrambled for Ricky-Tick and searched for his gun. Where the hell was it? How could he not have one? I thought that was standard issue for all outlaw bikers like a hammer was for a carpenter. Dammit! He probably didn’t want to risk me stealing it and using it against him.
That anger at who he was remained just below the surface but then boiled over with frustrated suddenness. I kicked Ricky-Tick’s corpse again and again as I struggled to get my breathing under control. I was so angry! I finally understood crimes of passion and how they could force people beyond what they thought they were capable of. “Fuck you! Fuck you, you fucking bastard! How did that work out for you... you, miserable, asshole prick!”
More gunfire. What the hell was going on out there? I decided that whatever it was, I needed to use the distraction to get the hell out of here. I sneaked out onto the assembly line floor, carefully observing a few of the overhead lights that were now shattered and hung awkwardly by one chain, all swinging limply.
Rapid footfalls around a nearby corner forced me to throw myself behind a raised wall of curved casket panels. I lay down and held my breath. Beneath the barrier, I saw two sets of leather boots run passed me, possibly toward the doors we came in.
I realized that this was the first time since meeting the Coffin Eaters that I was fully alone. No Hendrix to save me. No Robbie to look after me. I was completely on my own. The weight of that burden finally sank into my addled brain.
Rock Springs, Wyoming? Where the fuck was that? The last fifteen minutes of the ride here was virtually barren. I’d need to find a ride to a police station. Jesus, what did I even tell the police? Did I reveal everything? No, I couldn’t go there. What if they were on the Steel Veins payroll?
Where then?
I could feel the sick slime of a full-blown panic attack tantalize my psyche.
“Focus!” I angrily whispered to myself. “One step at a time! Get. Out. First. Find a back door and worry about all that other stuff later.” I sharply exhaled and edged my way along the perimeter of the building, darting passed large, organized piles of materials that were palletized on near ceiling-high shelving units.
“How many shooters?” Pause. “Well, where the fuck is he!” A biker’s voice came booming up one of the aisles of standing pine coffins near me, but there was no way I knew which one exactly, so I cut over a few rows, hoping to magically turn invisible via wishful thinking. “No. No! Slick’ll be here any minute! I’m going to check Ricky-Tick.” Pause. “Slick doesn’t care if she’s alive or dead as long as she’s in there when he comes back.”
The man on the phone passed by so closely and my heart was beating so loudly that I thought he’d actually be able to hear it and spot me. Alive or dead? My whole body trembled. I only barely stifled both my hyperventilation and an audible sigh when he hadn’t noticed me.
I forced myself to unfreeze and find a safer means of escape when there was renewed shouting from the biker with the phone, and I knew he had found Ricky-Tick’s corpse. I backed away as quickly and quietly as possible, scanning for any illuminated exit signs. I spied motion at the back door, so I disregarded that option, but there had to be a side door or emergency exit around here somewhere. Where the hell were the building inspectors when this place was built, dammit!
“Hey!” a man screamed as he caught sight of me scurrying between rows of coffins. I thought I recognized his voice belonging to Lump, one of my father’s men. “She’s over here!”
“Oh God, oh God, oh God...,” I mumbled, dashing blindly in the opposite direction. I cut a diagonal path through the standing pine boxes to get out of eyesight of the man. Too stressed to see where I was heading, I collided face-first into one of the standing coffins, which might as well have been a wall on wheels.
My head swam, but I wasn’t feeling any pain, at least not yet. Via the massive concussion, my vision became a series of still images. I watched the wooden casket I hit rock precariously and threaten to crush me. Then, while surprisingly still conscious, my brain cut out all motor control from my waist down, so my legs became a pool of noodles.
Fortunately the casket toppled away from me, instigating a chain reaction as one hit another, toppling at least three or four down the row like gigantic, pine-smelling dominoes. The noise was apocalyptic. My stunned brain registered shouting and more shooting, but the only thing that distinctly pierced my haze was the shattering of wood as the death boxes tumbled.
Semiautomatic rifles spilt out of the destroyed coffins like deadly candy from corpse-sized piñatas. So that’s why we were here. This business was owned by the Steel Veins, and it was just a front for moving massive amounts of weapons under the guise of newly constructed caskets.
Suddenly, I felt my body being dragged to my feet by multiple hands, and my escape attempt was now officially over. Thus began the inevitable end.
With two punches from one of the Steel Veins who caught me, I dropped to the ground. My eyes swam with so many tears that I could hardly make out my surroundings, and I could move even less. As my senses slowly returned, so came the pain… so much more pain than I had ever felt at one time in my entire life. The iron taste of blood flooded into my mouth, and for a moment, I thought I was drowning in it. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and immediately felt the sharp, stabbing throb in my nose as I brushed against it. It was undeniable.
He broke my fucking nose!
Disjointed voices hovering over me finally sank into my foggy brain. I couldn’t make out everything, but I got the gist of it. The two men were discussing whether to kill me or to wait for my father.
“...happens now! There’s a goddamn shooter in here. Slick said if any complications…”
I recognized the Steel Vein who had initially groped me when I first came in here, but this time he was pointing a gun down at me. Damn, it was so hard to think right then. I just knew that I had to go, had to get away, had to do something because I absolutely refused to just die. I squirmed, attempting to feebly crawl away, but I didn’t make it far before a kick to the ribs sent me reeling and rolling. Pain spiderwebbed throughout my midsection, and I collapsed onto my back, gasping for air.
“...a shame. At least Ricky got a taste, eh?” the fat Steel Vein joked as he jabbed the cold, metal muzzle against my head.
I couldn’t watch this happen, so I closed my eyes and thought about Anna… and Hendrix....
Blam!
I was sprayed with hot wetness. Wha… huh? I wasn’t dead! My eyes shot open. Something was wrong with the handsy, fat Steel Veins biker. How could his mouth be gaping at me stupidly when the front of his face had been blown out? Suddenly realizing I was staring back at a very dead man, I screamed as I tried to shift out of the way, but I wasn’t quick enough to avoid the corpse as it fell right on top of me, his head smashing against the concrete floor to my left. Gray and red lumps oo
zed out of his shattered, through-and-through hole like a thick Play-Doh soup.
I couldn’t stop screaming at the horror pinning me down at an awkward angle with my arms tight against my sides. Even the fright and adrenaline weren’t enough to get the fat bastard off me.
“Drop it, Lump. I’ve just killed three men, and I’d rather not end the night putting down one of my own.” Was that Hendrix? I must’ve been delirious from a concussion, but I heard a pistol hit the floor. “Now get that fat fuck off her!”
The familiar rumble of motorcycles faintly grew in the distance.
“You fucked up, bro. That’s the rest of the Steel Veins. They’re almost here. There’s gonna be hell to pay for this!”
I scuttled out from under the lifted heap, dragged myself to my knees, then finally to my feet, nearly fainting for standing up so quickly as the blood rushed from my head downward. God, did I have the worst migraine in the history of migraines.
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here.” My unreliable ears were still ringing so loudly that I barely heard all the words. I dared not dream at whose voice that might be because all I saw was this fuzzy form slowly coming into focus. “Maya, are you all right?
“Hendrix...?” I smiled and laughed and gasped his name in disbelief all at the same time. I was a ball of exhausted, jumbled-up nerves, but I was also indescribably relieved. I hugged him as tightly as I could, never wanting to let him go. I couldn’t believe it was really him. I couldn’t believe he actually came back for me.
“Ah, that’s broken.” Hendrix examined my nose, then my eyes then continued to scan the rest of me, making sure I was in one piece. “I leave you alone for a few hours, and all this happens....” He shook his head yet smiled.
“How? How did you...?” I was beyond elated but was flooded with too many questions.
“Plenty of time for that later. I think we’ve outworn out our welcome.” He was right about that. The motor noise was growing louder. We had to leave before the Veins got here.
“Miles!” exclaimed Lump. “This was all Hendrix, man. Shoot the goddamn motherfucker!”
Hendrix wrenched me with him as he whirled to face the C.E. president who was behind us and already had his gun out, easily beating Hendrix and forcing him to lower his own firearm.
I detached myself and slid out from behind Hendrix. He raised an arm to stop me, but I pushed it away. I wanted to expose myself to Miles, let him see that I wasn’t afraid of him. That I had faith in him.
I had seen it—that look of defeated resignation in Miles’s eyes and the way he kept trying to help me while I had been here. Miles wasn’t a bad man; he was just incredibly conflicted. He was doing what he thought was right to protect his family, but I was doing the same. Why the hell was I even here in the first place?
“You don’t have to do this,” I pleaded with the lone gunman. “Come with us instead. Robbie loved you like a brother.”
“You’re not seriously listening to this bitch, are you?” Lump protested hotly.
“Don’t bother, Maya.” Hendrix ignored Lump. “This isn’t the same Miles I started the club with. I don’t know who the fuck we’re even talking to.”
“When you were on the inside, Stacy left me,” Miles unexpectedly revealed, the only indicator of his personal misery being a slight, defeated slump of his shoulders. “It was while I was on a ride to Omaha with the club. All she took was the kids. She never came after me for money or nothing. She just needed to get our kids away from the lifestyle, away from me.” Miles may have been addressing Hendrix, but his reflective tone made it apparent that this was some sort of confession to a higher power. “There was always so much fucking damage control I had to do that I lost sight of the things that really mattered. It took me a long time to wrap my head around her leaving me, but she was right. I was a shitty father and an even shittier husband. And now I’m a shitty brother too.” Miles lowered his head and exhaled remorsefully.
“Remember the bigger picture, bro! A full patch over, protection, influence, everything we wanted is about to happen! The Veins are here, man!” Lump couldn’t contain his exasperation. “Think about the club! This is the only way the Coffin Eaters survive!”
“I’m tired of thinking about the bigger picture!” Miles’s previously demoralized eyes raked Lump’s visage, the sorrow in his gaze had been rapidly replaced with tempered steel. “The Coffin Eaters are dead.” With that, Miles shot the startled man twice in the chest, and Lump died instantly.
The demoralized man lowered his gun and tossed his bike’s keys to Hendrix. “Police’ll be looking for that pickup truck you pulled up in.”
“Ah, fuck.” Hendrix neatly caught the keys and tried to appeal to his friend. “No, Miles. Not like this, man!”
“What?” My bell was still a little rung from plowing my nose into that coffin that I was a little hazy on what was actually going on here. Was Miles planning on staying behind? With me gone and nothing to offer the Steel Veins, wouldn’t that be akin to suicide?
“Go,” Miles pleaded quietly.
“There’s no fucking way that I’m letting you do this,” Hendrix defiantly declared.
The C.E. president cut him off. “It’s gotta be me. Getting pushed out as prez, letting the club turn its back on you, and all that we stood for... Robbie getting killed then following through with Tex’s plan... all of that is on me. I got a lot to atone for.”
Miles always struck me as world worn, tired, and defeated. A good, but beaten man desperately riding the coattails of a greater version of himself. Despite the fact he was around my uncle’s age, he appeared to be so much older at that moment.
Hendrix couldn’t accept what his MC brother was attempting to do. “That doesn’t mean that you—”
“It’s not just the club!” Miles angrily interrupted him. “This is for Stacy and my kids. Please! I need this!”
“Miles....” Just his name slipped from my lips. I wanted to convince him to come with us, but I didn’t know what else to say. How could dying in this filthy warehouse possibly help his family in any way?
The thunderous rumbling had stopped. From the noise, I could tell that at least a dozen of the Steel Veins had parked just outside the main door and were on their way in.
“Go, goddammit!” Miles hollered impatiently.
He was right. If we had any hope of leaving, it had to be now. Hendrix knew it too, and his face twisted with impotent rage at not being able to help his friend. Without another word, he grabbed my arm, and we raced to the back door.
I rapidly counted fifteen Steel Veins entering the opposite side of the warehouse, and, as I had expected, we were immediately spotted. Several of them scrambled pell-mell toward us. If that wasn’t enough, the thick metal door that was to be our escape route was locked. Hendrix threw his shoulder into it, but it must’ve been dead-bolted as the door rattled but otherwise barely budged. We were stuck. Even worse, we were at an exit, so by law, it had to be well-lit and clear of any obstructions, which meant that we had no cover whatsoever. No place to hide. If we didn’t get through this door right then, we were as good as dead.
I shrieked as a bullet smacked into the wall a foot or so to the side of me. I glanced back at the shooter reflexively. Although I couldn’t see the short man’s face clearly from that range, the familiar hunch of bad posture and the way he moved was unmistakable. It was my father, and he was lining up his next shot. He was quite the marksman and rarely ever missed twice.
I should’ve been more upset that it was him pulling the trigger, but I really couldn’t think of any other way it would have gone. Tex had made the deal with Slick when he found out who I really was.
I thought of Anna and the cryptic words Tex said about Slick getting his second daughter back. She was safe, I made sure of that. I needed to worry about myself now.
The risk I posed to my father and his club if I discovered and used any evidence against them was more than enough to justify killing his own disavowed daughter. I ha
d learned the very painful but valuable lesson early on in life that the only bond my father and I shared was strictly a biological one.
Even male polar bears occasionally ate their young.
Hendrix growled at our only exit, the veins popped throughout his corded muscles. He refused to be denied as he struck the door with the enraged percussion of a hostile, coiled snake. The entire locking mechanism wrenched free from the wall with the force of the mighty blow, his boot heel impacting so hard that one of the hinges whined and snapped as the door flung open.
Hendrix was strength incarnate, the embodiment of power. Beneath the charm and devil-may-care attitude was a fierceness and determination that I didn’t think was possible in any man. He was perfect.
The last thing I saw before Hendrix’s strong arms carried me outside and away from the line of fire was Miles. Gun raised, he alone turned to face the charging bikers. The air exploded with the rapid succession of gunfire inside the building.
Then I heard nothing.
My stomach churned painfully because I knew right then that he was dead.
We quickly found Miles’s bike and sped away before the Veins eventually streamed out of the building after us. Hendrix caught sight of them in his rearview mirror and yelled for me to hold on. I squeezed him tightly just below his chest as he leaned forward and gunned the throttle. Bullets whizzed past us, peppering metal signs, empty vehicles, and pavement all around us.
When the gunfire safely faded into the distance, I allowed myself to breathe again. The adrenalin slowly faded, taking with it the intense percussion of blood pumping in my ears. I knew we’d need to stop soon to make sure neither of us had been shot.
When Hendrix pulled us over a few miles away, I convinced him to let me leave an anonymous tip with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Explosives. I had briefly worked with them a few times through my law firm, and I knew they would be interested in finding a hidden gun smuggling operation. Being that they were the Feds, they would be much less likely to have been bought off by the Veins. Unfortunately, they would never have enough evidence to incriminate my father, not this time. He was far too wily to remain in the warehouse for long, but the shitstorm the ATF would kick up would certainly inconvenience him. It might even buy us the time we needed to reach California.
