Burnout

by Stacia Leigh

  Man, he’d felt more than stupid. Not only the pointing and snickering bummed him out that night. It was all the energy he’d invested in getting to the ledge, gearing up to take the plunge into Relationship Land, and throwing caution to the wind by saying, I like you! out loud to Miki and the universe…only to have her lie to everyone and laugh in his face. It was a horror show.

  “Afterwards, you threw your bikini in my face, all flirty again…” Will sighed and listened to the silence.

  Where was the night life?

  It seemed too quiet.

  “Yeah, I don’t get you. I mean, I feel like you’re only messing with my head, playing games. But if you really think we’ve got something…why don’t you tell me, straight up? You could show me a sign, you know, something small like flexing your elbow.” Will waited. There was nothing. “Miki? Can you hear me?”

  The night was ominous with no rustling leaves and no answers. Hopefully, the stillness meant the nocturnal animals were busy elsewhere and not crouching in the shrubs. His pocket knife might stop a small raccoon, but it wouldn’t do much against a hungry mountain lion.

  “What’s with Leo?” Will whispered next to Miki’s ear. “What kind of dad leaves his daughter with a bunch of roofie-packing drunks who apparently carry baseball bats to a rally? Jesus, Miki, they’re all crazy, so I don’t get why you want to be a part of it.”

  On the surface, he still wanted to blame Miki for her mixed-up signals, if only to keep things simple. He could hold a massive grudge, but while he’d been busy doing that, she’d become more fearless and more…spunky. Sure, it was kind of a grandma word—

  Will, this is your mother speaking. FYI, your grandmother would never say spunky. Spirit is a better choice. It shows flare and independence. Miki’s a girl who makes things happen.

  Spirit. Definitely. Miki had it in spades.

  And she’s rocking the blue hair, Will. She looks good, as in REAL good—

  Yes she does. Wait…what?

  His mom would never say that. So whose voice was it? His own? Was this part of the big thaw? Part of moving on? Oh, God, he was losing her. He squeezed his eyes shut and searched for the singsong voice she used when she wanted help with something.

  Will, my love. Where are you? My computer screen turned blue again.

  There she was. Mom, can you hear me? I love you.

  He listened intently, but nothing more came. After a while, he drifted off. When he awoke some time later, it wasn’t to complimentary coffee and doughnuts.

  CHAPTER 13: Friends

  “Help me. I’m going to puke.”

  The soft voice pulled Will out of a dead sleep. He couldn’t see anything, but he kicked and paddled harder to get to the surface. Blub, blub, blub. Here I come! His eyelids peeled open to a dusky sky and to Miki on her belly, crawling off the tarp into the wet grass. She whimpered like a whipped pup.

  “Shh. It’s okay, Miki.” He crawled to her and patted her back as she retched up last night’s chili dog. Sick. He snapped off a broad leaf from a skunk cabbage and covered the chunky mess. “How ya doing? Feeling okay?”

  “I can’t move my legs.” She gulped, then wiped her mouth weakly and lifted her head to glance around. “Where are we?”

  “Remember the beer last night? You drank it and passed out cold. I think you got roofied.”

  “Roofied? What does that mean? Like the date-rape drug? Oh my G—I don’t remember anything!” She cried and rolled over clumsily to examine her clothes.

  “Don’t worry, okay.” He patted down the air in front of him. “Nothing happened. We spent the night out here, so we could meet up with Pinecone. What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “The bike ride. Being in the hotel lobby. The crazy-haired guy behind the desk.” Miki’s eyes were watery, and she sniffed, then frowned. “The beer was drugged?”

  “It must’ve been. There’s no other explanation. You drank almost half, and within ten minutes, you fell on your face. You don’t remember anything else?”

  She shook her head and rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers.

  He tried not to blow out a relieved breath, but thank God. Forget being a mechanic, she should be the counselor the way he’d downloaded last night. Pitiful. What if she’d heard him rambling on about his feelings and remembered it?

  Deny or die, plain and simple.

  Miki covered her face, and her shoulders trembled as a sob escaped.

  “I feel funny, like I’m scared, but I don’t know why.” She unzipped her coat, and pulled the hem of her shirt up to wipe her nose.

  “Hey, it’s probably the drug wearing off, which is good. But you know, it’s still early. Let’s chill out for a bit and wake up slow. Come here.” He helped her scoot across the tarp and put his arm down for her to use as a pillow. “We can small talk, and this time I’ll start. Like tell me…do you like to bake? You know…cookies, pies?” Her blue hair fanned over his shoulder, and instead of answering, she hugged him.

  “If one of us had to drink Mook’s spiked beer, I’m glad it was you and not me, so I could be here for you, you know?” He wrapped his arm around her waist and squeezed. “The knight in shining armor stuff. While you were busy napping, I had to fend off the wild animals. If it were the other way around, my cool-card might’ve taken a hit.”

  “You’re pretty lame,” she murmured, and the strength in her voice made his heart calm. She sounded okay. Maybe in another hour, she’d be back to her normal, annoying self. He pulled her in close and kissed the side of her head.

  “I don’t want to sound like some kind of macho dude—you know what? Never mind. But what if we’d both drunk it, you know? God…makes me want to kill those guys.”

  “I think you should stop talking now,” she whispered, her eyes wide and staring up into the branches. The dogwood leaves rustled, and Will jerked as an upside down face with bushy brown hair came into focus.

  “Why, hello there,” a tenor voice said from above and chuckled.

  Who the…? Will’s heart gunned as he scrambled to disentangle himself from Miki.

  “Found ‘em!” The guy turned his whiskered jaw to holler over his shoulder while tucking his gun into a holster belted to his pants. It was the guy from the Powerhouse Inn. The one behind the desk. Now he was wearing a worn leather jacket, and he pulled at the front zipper to cover the gun’s grip. “Heard all that moaning and thought it might be a cougar but nope. Only horny teenagers hiding in the woods.” He cocked his head to the murmuring voices echoing behind the trees. “Over here, guys!”

  Will stood, keeping his back toward the shrubby dogwood and scanned the faces emerging from the foliage. In total, there were three, all adorned in some form of black leather, worn denim, whiskers, and ink. Will’s guts roiled. Were these guys Pulver Skulls? If so, he and Miki were screwed.

  Will stepped over Miki’s slack legs and off the edge of the tarp. He squared his shoulders as he perched his hands on his hips, but his cast made it awkward, so instead, he held it out in front of him and rubbed it as if he were polishing a club. The pre-dawn air chilled his face, but adrenaline flushed his body with heat.

  “Who are you guys?” Will looked down at the short one, the wolverine from the hotel with the high voice. He had green eyes the color of snap peas and resembled an overgrown elf with those teased-out sideburns and little black boots.

  “Don’t worry.” The elf-guy flashed his palms. “We’re friends, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah? How so?” asked Will, glancing at one face, then the other.

  “You’re friends with Smiley. You said so yourself, and any friend of his is a friend of mine. We keep things close. So…” The elf rubbed his hands together. “I know who you are, Will Sullivan, but who’s your girl?”

  “You better step back.” Will straightened, easing his arms down to his sides to flex his fingers. He was a lot taller than the elf. But this was a biker scene, and Will was no biker. What would Liam do? His brother was always prepare
d, as in Boy Scout material. Whenever he left the house, he shoved mint gum and a love glove in one pocket and cash, plastic, and a knife in the other. Will swallowed hard, forcing his anxiety down. Okay, he was ready. No problem. He had a knife, too.

  “I need water….bad,” Miki croaked, then groaned behind him like her stomach was agitating again.

  “So, what’s with your poor girl, here? What’s her name?” Elf gazed at Miki with interest.

  “What does it matter?” Will squinted.

  “I like to know who my friends are. Besides, do we leave her in the woods for a big cat to gnaw on, or does she come with us?” Elf shrugged.

  “Us?” Will widened his stance and casually shoved his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie. His fingers traced the scratching stick, then the pocket knife. It wasn’t much, but there was no way in hell they were touching Miki or taking her anywhere.

  “You’re kind of a tall one. How old are you anyway? No, no. Let me guess.” Elf rubbed the scruff on his jaw, and his eyes roved over Will’s forehead and chin. “Baby face…”

  What the hell was this guy talking about? Will looked at the grubby gang again. He knew elf-guy hid a gun under his coat and seemed a little off his rocker. The old, greasy-haired one to the left kept sneaking glances over his shoulder—edgy—while the biggun on the right looked bored out of his mind. Will gripped the pocket knife a little tighter. What’d they want with him? What’d he do to draw the Pulver Skulls’ attention? Nothing! He went to school, hung out at bonfires with his buddies, and slept on his beloved couch.

  “So I’m guessing fourteen.” Elf nodded like he had it all figured out.

  “Hardly.” Will scoffed.

  Miki groaned again, and Will really hoped she was faking it because he could use her help here. With the row of rings on her fingers, she could take the elf down with a good wallop, no doubt. Knock him right into the holiday season.

  “Hmm. Not too scrawny, either. Probably not a day over seventeen, then. Am I right?” He nodded to the old dude, the one with long, limp hair. The guy’s lower lip was packed full with dipping tobacco. “What do you think, Greer?” Elf asked him.

  “Who gives a rat’s corn-hole?” Greer said in a gravelly voice and spat in the dirt. “Shut your clap trap and grab the girl. She’s luggage until we figure this out. Pitty…” He motioned to the giant. “Pack up the camp. I want no evidence these two were here. Too close to home for my liking.”

  Greer’s jacket blared some vintage rock, a little “Iron Man” by Black Sabbath. He jerked his phone out and held it to his ear like a conch shell. “Yep? Uh-huh, uh-huh. No, we got him right here. Uh-huh. What…you got two? You sure?” Greer’s beady black eyes frowned and pinned Will in his place. “Well, hell. How many William Sullivans are there?”

  Will’s heart thudded heavily in his chest. Was Greer talking about his William Sullivans? Or somebody else’s? There had to be two hundred or so in the phone book for Washington alone, not including Oregon. Dad and Liam were still alive, right? Nope, don’t even question it. Of course they were.

  Greer ran his fingers through the stringy length of his hair and turned away. The dude wore an ugly biker patch on his back. He walked to the tree line, nodding—“Uh-huh, uh-huh”—like he was taking orders, and spat off to the side.

  This was not good.

  “Pulver Skulls gang, huh?” Will tipped his head back, trying for the savvy-chill-and-bored look. He could take the elf, mano a mano. Maybe even Greer. Although there would definitely be pain and a lot of blood involved. But no way in hell could he get the giant Pitty down…and all three at once? Not even a contest. His hands were still in his hoodie pocket around his knife. He worked it back and forth with slow movements in between his skin and his cast, being careful while maintaining eye contact with elf-man and Pitty. Everything’s casual—nothing to see here.

  “We’re not a gang. We’re a brotherhood,” Elf said, smiling like a lunatic.

  “It’s a club,” Pitty chanted tiredly, as if on autopilot. He crossed his beefy biceps over his denim jacket. Yeah, he had no mind for this. Pitty was either a disenchanted prospect, a lazy hang-around, or someone’s cousin who owed a favor. The guy might be phoning it in, but he was a big dude, like a Scottish caber tosser. He even wore a man bun. What self-respecting biker wears a man bun? A barbarian with ham hands and a pit bull jawbone, that’s who.

  “Oh, right. A club where everyone carries guns and kidnaps people,” Will muttered. He’d ride his bike and love every minute of it, but he’d never live the thug’s life. He’d never be a brother.

  He quickly glanced behind him to check on Miki. Their eyes met briefly before he turned away. She was tough. He could tell her cogs were working overtime like his. They’d get out of this. They would.

  “Where’s the respect? No one’s getting kidnapped, right, Pit?” Elf didn’t look at his comrade but waited for the grunt of acknowledgement. “We’re just hanging out with friends.”

  The older dude, Greer, crammed his phone in his jacket and walked back to join the fray. He held his hands out like a preacher.

  “What’d I tell you, Pitty?” he asked in a begging tone. “I said to pick up the tarp and leave no evidence. What’re you standing around doing nothin’ for? Let’s move! We need to get out of here before we’re surrounded by a cow herd, ya damn idiots.”

  Pitty rolled his eyes and stomped to Will’s backpack in a huff. He picked up the granola bar wrappers and kicked the beer bottle into the shrubs while Greer pulled out a zip tie.

  “Turn around, boy, and let’s make this easy. I hate beating on kids. Hands behind your back. Okay, that’s not gonna work with your cast.” Greer sighed like he was seriously put out. Will slowly turned back around, and Greer scratched his dirty head.

  “Cut it off, why don’t ya?” Pitty said, jerking the blanket off Miki while Elf leered down at her.

  He nudged her leg with his little boot. “Why don’t you get up?” he asked in a soft voice.

  “I…I can’t stand. My legs are like gummy worms,” she said and threw a worried glance at Will as if to say, Now they know. Or…Now what? Or…We’re up shit creek with a hole in our boat.

  Will’s gut said to keep her close. These guys wouldn’t leave her behind, not when she was a witness. How many more P-Skulls were hiding in the woods? Will’s mind scrambled for a directive…stay calm, say something.

  “How about you guys leave her alone? She took a bad hit and now—uh, you know, you can’t tie my wrists, so I could just carry her out. No funny business.” Will held out his cast and his open palm. See how I’m injured and can’t do any harm? He cleared his throat to keep his voice steady. “Sound good?”

  “A bad hit? You guys packing dust or something?” Greer asked. He nodded his chin to Pitty. “Check his bag.”

  Pitty tugged at the zipper, then rifled through Will’s backpack. “Beer. Underwear. What’s this?” He pulled out a Tupperware container and Will’s heartbeat revved. His slice.

  “Dude, it’s just apple pie.”

  “My favorite,” Elf murmured and patted his stomach. His green eyes widened when Pitty pulled out the double zip-locked bag of ashes. It had been secured with clear packaging tape for travel. “Holy shit. Is that…what is that, two kilos?”

  Will touched his chest and could feel his heart hammering against his ribs. He was two seconds shy of a heart attack. Should he correct them, let the guys know they were holding the remains of his mother and not a hefty bag of powder? Jesus. Or should he keep his mouth shut and let them think—

  “I don’t know what it is but shove it back in his bag, and let’s hustle outta here. We’ll check it out later. You got a bullet in the chamber?” Greer asked, not taking his eyes off Will.

  “I sure do,” Elf said in a perky voice.

  “Empty your pockets, boy, then pick up Hot Stuff over there. Anything goes wrong…” Greer narrowed his eyes. “It’ll get ugly fast. You don’t want to see ugly, do ya?”

 
; Okay, okay. Calm down, and don’t rock the boat in shit creek. Go with it. Will tossed his Mini Mag-Lite on the ground, then pulled out his scratching stick. He stopped and stared at it. Trip had spent hours honing this thing to perfection, because he knew the hell of wearing a cast. Trip was a good guy; he was like—okay, so there was one biker who was like family. Will gripped it tighter as his arm tingled, getting its big itch on.

  “Dude, I need this thing for scratching.” Will knocked the carved stick against his cast and pasted on an urgent look. “I gotta keep this.”

  Pitty blinked as if surprised by the size of Will’s cojones for making such a demand. His jaw clenched into a solid square, and he leaned forward to ever-so-gently pluck the scratcher from Will’s hand. With a woebegone expression etched on his face, Pitty squeezed his fist.

  Snap!

  Will sucked in a breath and held it as Pitty opened his fingers, letting the two pieces fall into the grass. It’s okay. Stay calm. Will turned away and blew his bangs out of his face, then knelt next to the tarp. He leaned over to whisper next to her ear. “Watch the elf. He’s the one—”

  Pitty’s monster boot swung out and kicked Will in the calf. Pain zapped his leg, and Will hissed. When he looked up, the giant pulled an imaginary zipper across his mouth. “Shut it.”

  “Right, gotcha. Miki, it has to be piggy back, okay? Can you get up on your knees at least?”

  She rolled around with a lot of grunts and struggles before Pitty swore under his breath and picked her up like a cat, attaching her to Will’s back. The others waited while Will fumbled around, getting her legs hooked over his good arm and cast. She was small, so it didn’t matter how flabby and out of shape he was or how he had a broken arm and bruised guts…no. He had height and weight on his side; he could totally do this. Will straightened and nodded. He was good to go.