Boomer

by K. L. Savage

  “I care, okay? I don’t want you guys down here. Be glad it’s me who comes down and not one of the other assholes.”

  “Why do you care?” I ask, sniffling, and the other girls do the same. Their distress, while contained, is loud to me.

  “Because hurting people, hurting women, isn’t something I do. I don’t like it. I can’t get out of the club or they’ll hurt Rayleen. I won’t let that happen. I’d rather be damned for life, if it means she’ll have a good life.”

  “And you’re okay with damning us too?” I say in a low whisper, playing with the bottle cap on the floor. I definitely feel damned. I feel chained by the hands of the devil, waiting to drag me to hell.

  “No, I’m not. I’m doing what I can. I’m thinking. I can’t let them on to it. Just I’m trying, okay?”

  Abigale wheezes, barely able to catch a breath.

  “Listen, she’s sick. She needs a doctor or medicine. Can’t you get something? What if it spreads to us? I’m sure your boss or whoever it is won’t like that.”

  His eyes flash knowingly, because I’m right. “I can get something.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “Don’t ever thank me. I don’t deserve it. When they come back from their run, they’re going to take one of you, and I’m going to have to watch them do whatever it is they want to do. I’m going to be sick about it. I’ll want to pull out my gun and kill them, but I’d die and then my sister won’t have anyone, and neither will you all. Just don’t ever fucking thank me.”

  He gives me his back and goes to Abigale, touching her forehead with the back of his hand. Her face glistens with sweat, and she’s pale, clammy. “If they see her like this, they’ll get rid of her.”

  “What if you did?” I say with realization.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, peeking over his shoulder, his gold nose ring gleaming in the light.

  “What if you get rid of her because she’s really sick. You say you killed her, but you take her somewhere. Right? You can do that. You know … you had to do it to protect the club or something.” Hope. The thing that Abigale warned me about blooms in my chest like a flower. This is it. This is the chance we need to let someone know we’re here.

  He turns around, the sole of his shoe still on the floor, and his brows pinch together. He’s deep in thought. Wolf looks back at Abigale and shakes his head. “I don’t know how it will work. They won’t believe me.”

  “Shoot her. In the shoulder. They’ll see the blood; they’ll have proof,” I say, hating that I just tossed Abigale under the bus like that, but if she gets out, she can save us all, and she can heal.

  “Do it,” Abigale says. “Whatever I have, it’s killing me. I need a doctor anyway,” she wheezes. “It’s pneumonia, I think.” She takes another breath, and her effort just to get air is shaky. “Get rid of me. You only have a few hours, Wolf.”

  “Abigale…” His voice breaks as he cups her face, as if he truly cares about her. “I can’t. I can’t shoot you.”

  He’s grown attached to her.

  “You,” she wheezes, “have to.”

  “I can’t do that with the rest of you. They won’t believe me.”

  “I know,” I reply, getting to my raw, aching knees. I stumble over when the collar jerks me back. “I know, but anything will help. If you care at all, this is the way to our freedom. She’s sick, and she’s going to die if you don’t get her help. They know she’s sick, right? It’s why they haven’t been down here.”

  He nods, smoothing his hand over his face in a stressful gesture. Wolf stands and starts to pace, caging his head in with his arms by lacing his hands behind his neck. “Fuck, I’ll be in trouble if I do this and get caught.”

  “You won’t,” Abigale wheezes and reaches out for his hand. “I wouldn’t ever do anything to put you in jeopardy, Wolf. You’ve made my time here bearable.”

  He falls to his knees and lays his head against hers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I couldn’t help you more. When you get out of here, you’re going to do good in life, okay? Promise me.”

  “Wolf—”

  I glance away from their private moment. I’m not too sure how Abigale can love one of them, even if he does seem better than the rest. I understand he’s in a tough spot, and maybe he hasn’t had the chance to get rid of one of us until now, or he hasn’t thought of this idea. Whatever the reason, it isn’t enough for me. Nothing will be enough for me to ever like any man who wears a cut, who rides a damn bike, who wears boots. I’m fucking done with men if I make it out of this.

  How Abigale can even look at Wolf, I will truly be forever baffled.

  “It’s going to hurt,” Wolf says. He reaches into his cut, the one with the skull wearing a crown on the back and pulls out a large gun. The barrel is long, silver, and the handle is ivory, I think, since it has a shine to it. “It’s going to burn, you’re going to bleed, and you’re going to cry. It’s like fire spreading through your entire body. The pain only ever ends if you bleed out enough or you get help. That’s it.” Wolf points the gun at her shoulder and cocks the hammer.

  The bullet entering the chambering makes me hold my breath. There isn’t a sound like it, the glide of metal against metal as the promise of pain or death rings through the air. Abigale stares at Wolf, wheezing, tears falling to her cheeks. “I love you,” she says. “You’re the only thing about this place I love.”

  “Don’t say that to me.” He points the gun away. “You can’t say shit like that to me. I don’t fucking deserve it. I don’t deserve your love.”

  He doesn’t, but Abigale gave it anyway.

  She wraps her hand around the barrel and takes the gun from him. “You do. You deserve more than this place. You’re more than this place, Wolf.” She coughs and turns the gun on herself, pointing it at her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. It wasn’t fair.”

  “I can do it. I’ll do it,” Wolf says. “If you want me to.”

  She cries, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I can pull the trigger.”

  Wolf wraps his hands around hers, laying his finger on the trigger. “We’ll do it together, okay?”

  “Okay. Okay.” She coughs and spits up blood. “That’s not good. If we’re gonna do this, we need to do it now.”

  Wolf leans down and says something in her ear, and by the slight smile on her face, I’m assuming he declared his love. He stays there, hunched over to be close to her. And barely, just barely, I hear him count down.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  The gunshot is as loud as Abigale’s screams. My ears ring. I can’t hear anything. I watch as Wolf swings her up into his arms. Blood trickles down her arms, spreading across her chest as the red liquid leaks from the hole in her body.

  Wolf runs up the steps, and we’re left in silence.

  I just got a woman shot.

  Holy shit, what have I done? It will be worth it, right? I had to do what I had to do to live. Abigale was on board; she said so.

  I hear Wolf’s countdown in my head, repeating. One, two, three, one, two, three. I can’t help but think I signed Abigale’s death warrant. And that feeling of not caring what happens to me starts to sink in.

  One, two, three, one, two, three.

  5

  Boomer

  “Alright, old man. Spill. What’s going on with those bikers?”

  “Who you calling old? I could still beat your ass,” Homer grunts.

  I pull into the parking lot of the motel and turn, one arm stretched out behind the passenger seat and the other on the wheel. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Homer. What’s with those bikers?” I need to know everything about them. They spoke about women as if they have captives—selling them into sex trafficking, and it isn’t right. They’re up to no good. Ruthless Kings Vegas toe the line of the law, but it’s completely against club bylaws to commit crimes against women or children. That shit is punishable to the highest offense by the
club, and Reaper sure as shit didn’t get his road name because he’s a flowery fucker either. It’s trouble. If I have to, I’ll call Reaper and hope like hell he believes me. It’s punishable to accuse another chapter of a crime, but since I’m not even a prospect anymore, hopefully I’d be in the clear. I just need proof.

  “We don’t talk about the Ruthless Kings. Not here.” He looks to the left toward the beach and sighs, shoulders sagging. “This place, it used to be the place to come to. Tourists from all around the world would come here. My motel would be booked with college kids. They didn’t care what the place looked like when they crashed. They needed to save money but enjoy spring break.”

  “What happened? Was it the Kings?” I ask again, trying to get some sort of information out of Homer.

  “We don’t talk about them, kid.” He opens the door to get out, but I grab his arm, pulling him back in.

  “I’m talking about them, Homer. Tell me what I need to know. Maybe I can help.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. His glasses fall to the tip of his nose, and the back of his hair sticks up from rubbing against the headrest. “What can you do against a bunch of bikers?”

  If he only knew how fucked in the head I am. My reach goes farther than he thinks. “Just humor me, would you?” I say, slightly annoyed that I have to keep asking. How scary are these bikers? I’ve seen my fair share of fucked up shit, so if Homer is scared and if the town is scared, the bikers aren’t doing what they need to do. They are supposed to protect the city, keep it safe, love it, not fill it with fear.

  I squeeze the steering wheel with both hands and take a deep breath in through my nose and out through my mouth.

  Homer leans forward and looks out the windshield, staring at the old motel that used to be something. “I remember when this place was amazing. The day it stopped being amazing was when the Ruthless Kings came to town. They wanted money from me and my Betsy. They wanted in on all the hotels in Atlantic City. Hell, we weren’t but in our thirties. We told them we didn’t make much, but they didn’t care. They threatened us if we didn’t pay, threatened my Betsy.”

  I don’t want him to continue because I have a bad feeling I know where this is going.

  “I don’t have the money to repair the inn because the Ruthless Kings take the majority of it. Hell, I can’t even afford a home. I live here. They drain me. And the one time I missed a payment because we made no money, they killed my Betsey right in front of me. She was pregnant, you know. We never thought we would have kids. It was a miracle, especially at her age. She was thirty−seven, so it wasn’t impossible, but we had been together twelve years and tried every single day. Damn, I was a dog. I don’t know how she put up with me.” Homer laughs and it quickly turns into a sniffle. “She was finally pregnant,” he says. “And they took her from me. So I haven’t missed a payment since, not that I have anything to live for, but what am I going to do? It’s all I have left of what Betsy and I built together.” Homer turns to me, his wrinkled face aging so much more in this moment than all the others I’ve known him for. “They are bad men, kid. They are no good. You’re good,” he hit my chest with his fist. “Don’t get involved with them. They will ruin you.”

  It isn’t fair that these men are taking advantage of so many people. Homer should be retired, living the good life, and maybe getting some old pussy to live out the remainder of his years as a king. “I don’t want this lift for you, Homer. You deserve better. The people of this city deserve better.”

  “It’s life,” he says. “It’s how it is. You’ll see when you’re older.”

  I’ve seen enough and I’m only twenty. I want to tell him the truth about me, but it will only make him fear me. I don’t want that. He is warming up to me and I can protect him from this. I can fix this. Maybe I can go to the clubhouse here and tell them to back the fuck off.

  “Homer, they were talking about women. Where I am from, we don’t hurt women. Do you know anything about that?”

  He shakes his head. “No, they are loud, reckless, bunch of drunks, but they keep business to themselves. I don’t know anything about them except they are trouble. Why are you so interested?” His eyes narrow at me, assessing me.

  “I’m just curious, is all. I want to know the kind of city I’m moving into.” The entire point of this move was to start over, and I’m fucking lying.

  “You moved to a city ran by biker thugs. That’s about all I can tell you.”

  Oh, I want to laugh so much right now, but it is not the right moment.

  “Homer?” I gain his attention before he tries to get out of the car again.

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m sorry about your wife and your child. No man should have to go through that.” I mean that. If the love of my life was ever taken from me like that, I think I’d probably kill myself. Homer is more of a man than I’ll ever be. Living a life without love, hell it scares me enough, but to live a life, and to have loved only for it to be stolen from you?

  That fucking terrifies me.

  His hand pats my shoulder, and that’s when I notice his wedding ring. It’s old and dull. He probably hasn’t taken it off since he put it on for the first time all those years ago. “Thanks, kid. I appreciate it. I hope you never have to deal with that in your life. You’re young. You still have so much beauty to see. There is more to life than the hateful crimes of some gang.”

  “You going to tell me about her?” I ask as I open the driver’s side door and hop out. My boots hit against the gravel, and when I look down, I see my father’s boots, the ones that rode with his club for so many years. I know he would be disappointed in me right now, but I hope he understands if he is looking down on me.

  I run around the front of the Bronco and open the door a bit wider to get to Homer. I lift him up and place him on the ground like I did before. He huffs and brushes his cardigan off. “Not a chance in hell. I don’t know you well enough to tell you about my Betsy.”

  “Damn, I bet she was hot,” I say, jabbing him a bit.

  He shuffles his feet through the gravel, his back hunched over and curved. He almost looks like he needs a cane. “Hell yeah she was. She was the prettiest woman on the entire East Coast!”

  “Just the East? I bet she’d be in shock you’d say such a thing,” I tease, and in three strides I’m at his side, handing him the keys to his Bronco.

  “Ah, hootenanny!” He brushes me off. “You sound just like she did. The East Coast can’t be good enough? She needed all the damn directions. Woman bugged me until I admitted she was the prettiest in the world, and she was. She really was.”

  Hearing the forlornness in his voice stabs my heart. It isn’t fair that a guy like Homer has had to live alone for so long, just as he started his life when she was taken from him. My goal is to make his life a little better, and in return, I hope my life gets better too.

  We take a left around the corner, and my bike sits in the same spot as it did yesterday. The yellow gleams in the light, and the shining black reminds me of midnight. Homer stops and takes a look, whistling as he circles her.

  That’s right, her. A bike is all fine lines and curves, a sweet engine that purrs when you hit the throttle just right, which gives the bike the rightful title of her. Nothing better than a beautiful woman, and there is nothing better than a beautiful bike.

  “That’s a pretty piece of metal you got there, kid.”

  “Thanks. She was my dad’s.” I run my finger over the matte black handlebars, nostalgia taking over me when the sudden knowledge hits me that my dad used to grab onto these same handles.

  “Sorry to hear that.” He offers me his condolences, not because the bike is mine, but the reason I have the bike in the first place.

  “Thanks, Homer.”

  “Let’s go inside and make a cup of coffee. All this heavy shit we keep talking about is giving me a headache. We can talk about what kind of repairs you want to do. I’ve been meaning to install some a/c—”

  “No, Ho
mer. You don’t want that right now. It’s nearly fall, and the weather is about to turn cold. Plus, the beach breeze is amazing. I think you should paint the outside first, clean it up.”

  We take a left into the dark tunnel that leads to his office, and Homer nods as he gets the key ring out that’s attached to his belt.

  “Help me.”

  “What did you say, Homer?” I ask him, looking around to see where the voice is coming from.

  “I thought you said something,” he says.

  “Please,” a small feminine voice, weak and raspy, calls out further into the tunnel.

  “Stay here, Homer.” I charge down the tunnel and even though the sun is out, with the location of the hallway, the light doesn’t shine too far, and it leaves the majority of it in the dark.

  “I’ll be damn. Someone is hurt and needs help. I’m coming—” he grumps, and the sound of his feet sliding against the concrete make my lips tilt in the smallest grin. I think I’m starting to like the sound.

  “Hello?” I call out.

  “Help,” she says again.

  I take out my phone when I see a figure sitting by the utility closet and turn on the flashlight to see a woman sitting there against the door, bleeding profusely out of her shoulder. She’s pale, sweaty, and looks like she hasn’t had a shower in a few months. “Holy shit.” I drop to my knees next to her, and she immediately starts to cry. “It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe here.”

  “Oh my god. I’m going to go call an ambulance,” Homer says.

  “No!” she shouts as loud as she can. “Please, no ambulances. No, they will find me if you do that. Please, help me. Please!” She grips my hand as tight as she can, staring at me through big blue eyes that are darkened with exhaustion. “I’ll do anything,” she begs. “Just don’t make me have sex—”

  “Woah, hey, hey.” I cup her face gently, showing her some kindness. “We aren’t those kind of men. You’re safe.” I slide my arms under her and lift, holding her small body against my chest. “I’m taking her to my room. Can you get some clean clothes or something, Homer? A first-aid kit?” I lean in closer and listen to her shaky breathing. “She might need some antibiotics too with how her breathing sounds. Lady, you need a doctor.”