Fire Meets Fire: Wretched Soulz MC

Chapter 7

Harold hasn’t spoken to me for a couple of days, but I preferred his silence to all the shouting he’d done after the bikers had left. I couldn’t refute that it was all my fault that I’d brought the wrath of the Wretched Soulz down on both our heads. I had no reasonable explanation to give him, not without admitting what a charity case I really was. How could I tell him I’d not even the few dollars needed to pay for second-hand parts? I’d thought I’d found a good alternative option, but apparently outlaw bikers are far better at inventory than I’d expected. Who would have thought?

Now Harold’s out by five hundred dollars and I’ve no way to repay him. While I’d be willing to try my hand at anything, without any form of transport, it is going to be hard to get a job. I can’t access my funds as any use of a bank card would send out a glaring signal to show exactly where I am.

But Chaz had offered a way for me to earn the money back.

Yeah. Stupid I’m not. Test their security? They just want to take me captive again, and I doubt that a second time I’d get away so easily.

Harold’s made it clear his view is I should never go back there, and while that’s the sensible option, it’s the challenge that I can’t get out of my head. I’d never be able to live a normal life with a nine-to-five job. I crave excitement and danger. My brain survives on calculating odds and deciding on courses of action.

Do I trust them to give me the money should I find another way onto their premises? Like fuck I don’t. They’re outlaws.

Harold might not be talking to me, but I often catch him looking my way, unable to hide his suspicion. I’m sure it’s to prevent me succumbing to temptation and returning to their lair. I have reassured him that the lack of parts isn’t holding up the rebuild. Currently that’s true. I’m spending time smoothing dents out of the tank and fender.

Of course both of us expected another visit from the MC, but as the days go by, quickly adding up to a week, there’s been no sign of them. Up to now, I’ve been sleeping with one eye open, but while not completely letting my guard down, I’ve started to relax. Maybe the extortionate price Harold had paid had satisfied them. What I’d taken in total couldn’t have added up to more than fifty, maybe at a push, one hundred dollars.

Of course the guilt that he had to pay anything hangs heavy on me. Harold asks nothing from me other than I restore his son’s bike, feeding and housing me for free. It was never my intention to cause him extra expense. Somehow, sometime, I vow to repay him. But as to where or when, well, that’s all in the air for now. While it’s in my nature to fight, I can’t do anything until I’ve identified my enemy, nor without any tools, and especially not with an affliction that can cause me to lose consciousness at the drop of a hat. For now, all I can do is regroup.

But staying still is boring. I’m a risk taker. I’ve had to be. There is many a special forces officer who owes his life to my skills in putting my helicopter into places it shouldn’t really go, skimming the mountain sides with barely an inch of clearance, making my team draw in a collective breath as though by doing so the rotor span would be narrower. You don’t get to fly as a Night Stalker without being prepared to put your life on the line. Every flight behind enemy lines has the chance of ending in disaster. I live for the adrenaline buzz. And while I might no longer be able to fly, I need to find that somewhere else. If not, what have I got left?

That’s partly why I don’t bemoan the situation that keeps me away from my home and on the road. Keeping my head down and off the grid is a challenge in and of itself, making sure I stay one step ahead—and alive.

Here, working for Harold, sometimes feels too safe, and my desire to pit my wits against the Devil, combined with the sense of injustice that Harold got ripped off, makes my mind toy with the idea of getting back into the MC’s yard, and thinking of ways to beat their presumably by now upgraded security.

If I fail and I’m caught, they can preen and congratulate themselves. Whatever they do to me, someone else has already done worse. If I succeed, well, as long as they live up to the bargain they made, Harold won’t be out of pocket.

I’m bored. I’m not used to long spells of inactivity, so it’s not really surprising how I keep thinking of what I would have done were I the MC and wanted to keep out people like me. Then, I put my mind to wondering what loopholes there might still be.

The Devil may well find work for idle hands, and that might be what’s driving me. But the very next night, I’m not surprised to find myself jogging that five-mile stretch of road that leads back to the Wretched Soulz.

When I get close, I get off the road, making my way across the rough ground to the rear. The light from the moon is enough to show me where the new cameras have been set up. Where I got in before has indeed been closed off with higher fencing, more razor wire, and, looking closer, a pressure point sensor to see if anyone gets too close to the pole. These boys are clever and not to be underestimated, but not as smart as myself.

For one thing, checking the angles of the cameras, they’ve left me an option to explore, which, obviously, I take advantage of. It’s actually child’s play to get in.

Once inside, I use my previous knowledge to turn off the alarms. This time I’m not going for discreet. It’s a case of go big or go home. This time, I’ve decided to make a lasting impression. A fucking great calling card that tells them Helo was here. I haven’t quite decided what yet, but the ideas will come.

Picking locks is nothing new to me, I can do them in my sleep. Within a minute, I’m in the shop itself and choosing my target. Allowing the beam of my flashlight to rest on each of the bikes that are in the process of customisation, I finally settle on one that looks almost finished. It’s a glorious Road King which has obviously come in for a custom paint job, and wow, I’ll take off my hat to the artist. The work’s about as good as any I’ve ever seen.

This is the one.

Quickly finding the right key hanging up on the board, and after disabling the bike’s alarm and lock, I carefully kick up the stand, then wheel it outside into their front parking lot. Now that’s going to make an impression.

My hands twitch to turn the key in the ignition and take off down the road. The only thing that comes close to flying a helicopter is riding a motorcycle. You’re at one with the elements with only your skill keeping you alive. Though I may be impulsive, and a rule breaker at times, I’m not stupid, so that key stays unturned. I do swallow hard at the reminder of what I’ve had taken away from me. Once I wouldn’t have hesitated to take it out for a ride.

Concentrating instead on the only other option to bring me pleasure, I anticipate the livid expressions of the bikers when they see I evaded the security they presumably thought was tighter than a gnat’s ass. Glancing at the lightening sky and the dawn just breaking over the horizon, I bring my legs under me and settle down for the wait.

My intention was never to steal a bike, just to demonstrate how easy it was to liberate. Like taking candy from a baby. And while I can’t ride it away, I don’t want anyone else coming along and taking advantage, so I’m going to stay on guard. Propping myself up against a wall, I get comfortable while musing I’ve spent many a night in far worse places than this, and at least the night air isn’t full of the sound of shots or screams.

Of course, that was the wrong thing to think about. Don’t go there.

Taking deep breaths, I make a conscious effort to keep my mind from revisiting the past, focusing instead on the magnificent view of the sun rising, the rays gradually strengthening and lighting everything in their path. I smell the air, tinged with oil, rubber and gas from the shop behind.

I’m here. I’m in the US. I’m in Arizona.

I breathe in, then breathe out, rinse and repeat. Gradually my demons fade back to where they should stay, in the past. They’re helped on their way when my ears pick up the sound of a motorcycle engine, at first faint, then gradually getting louder.

Game on.

My lips curve into a half-smile, and although I remain sitting, I roll my shoulders as I prepare myself.

At first just a speck in the distance, the bike draws nearer and nearer. The Sportster seems to speed up as it approaches the shop then squeals to a halt. Looking like it’s only at the last moment the rider remembers to kick the stand down, he throws himself off, a gun appearing in his hand.

“What the fuck?” he asks, at first spying the bike but not myself. He’s a prospect, I notice, as his back is turned toward me. I watch as his mouth drops open and his upper lip curls back.

Holding his gun in both hands, he starts to cautiously approach the shop. As he inches toward the open doors, I decide to save him the bother and reveal myself.

“Hey,” I call out, deliberately keeping my voice feminine and low.

He jumps as if scalded, and I don’t like the way his hands shake as he trains the weapon on me.

“Whoa.” I hold up my hands. “I’m unarmed.”

He stares at me, then at the bike, then at the door. “Are you alone?”

“Yup.” Keeping my hands in the air, I confirm, “It’s just me.”

He stares through the open door behind me, sensibly too cautious to go and investigate the truth of my words on his own. Then, with his left hand, he liberates a phone from his pocket. He taps a number and raises the device to his ear. “Prez. It’s me. That flat-chested broad you’ve all been speaking about? Well, I think it’s her. She’s here at the shop. Looks like she’s stealing a bike, and I got here in time to stop her.”

Bristling, I glance down at my breasts. I’m not very well-endowed but to call me flat chested is just mean. Raising my eyes, I glare his way. “Not fucking stealing. If I had been, you’d never have found me.”

“Yeah,” he says into his cell. “I’ll keep her here.”

He’ll keep me here?I suppress a snort, knowing I’d have him unarmed in seconds if I’d any intention of getting away.

“Prez is on his way,” he growls, then waits as if I’m supposed to quiver in my boots.

“Great.” My shoulders rise, then lower and I relax back against the wall. “That’s who I wanted to see.” I hope he’ll make good on his bet. I hate being in debt to Harold. “Can I put my hands down now?”

He gives a cautious nod but growls, “Keep them where I can see them.”

Taking that means I can relieve some of the ache, I lower them to my lap, my eyes on his, analysing whether he sees this as a threat. He doesn’t. He should. If I had been armed, I could have rolled, drawn my weapon, fired and killed him before he could finish blinking his eyes. But he’s oblivious to how much danger he’s in.

Reckoning we probably have a good few minutes to wait, I decide to defuse the situation before he gets a cramp in that hand holding the gun, or coughs or sneezes. His finger is on the trigger.

“What’s your name?”

His cheeks flush. For a moment, I’m not certain he’s going to say anything, obviously not wanting to share information with his prisoner. He gives a deep sigh and lets out through gritted teeth, “I’m Shitface the Second.” Well, I’ve got my reason for his hesitation. No, I wouldn’t want to admit to that either.

And, the third…? I snort. “What, as in you were named after your dad?” I’m unable to stop the grin that widens my mouth.

“Not after my fuckin’ dad,” he snarls, then gives the explanation. “Soulz named a prospect Shitface a couple of years ago. Renamed him when he patched in, but the handle kind of stuck, so I’m the one who’s inherited it now.”

I have no idea how to respond to that, so, I settle for, “Well, Shit. It’s nice to meet you.” I can’t help but smirk. It’s no different to the hazing that goes on in the Army, but at least I got a better moniker out of that. “I’m Helo.”

“I know who you are,” he grunts.

Ah, yes. The woman with no boobs. I suppose there have been worse phrases used to describe me and better ones. The thief who broke into their premises. The bitch who made fools of their security.

He takes a breath as though he’s going to start questioning me back, but before he can, the dull roar of multiple motorbikes gradually increases in volume. Ignoring both the prospect and his gun, I get to my feet to face them as they arrive. I’m unsurprised to see Chaz at the head of the line. Shielding my eyes against the low early morning sun, I recognise Legend with him, but there are also a few others I’ve not met before.

Now am I a curiosity, or do they really need so many to take me?The latter thought makes me snort. I manage to compose my features by the time Chaz has kicked down his stand and dismounted his sled.

He takes off his gloves and slips them into his pocket while studying me with narrowed eyes. I meet his stare without flinching, then two of his long strides close the gap between us.

His eyes are cold, his cheeks tinged red with either anger or the wind. His voice is steady, though there’s an underlying vibration that belies the effort he’s taking to restrain himself.

“So you’re thieving again,” he states, then sneers. “Presumably you can’t help yourself. And escalating, I see.” He nods toward the gleaming machine I’m still standing beside. “I suppose I’m fuckin’ lucky the prospect decided to get some work done early else I’d be down one customer’s bike.”

I knew this was how it was going to look, so I need to set him straight. “I liberated it. I wasn’t going to steal it.”

He snorts loudly, half turning to catch the eye of a man wearing a VP patch, before looking back. “Yeah, and a bear doesn’t shit in the woods.”

I shrug. “I was sitting right here when your prospect turned up. Believe me, if I’d wanted to take it, I would have.” The drawn down V between his eyes suggests he’s considering my words. “You asked me to check out your security.” Adding a shrug, I continue, “Thought this was a good way to make a point. I could have left it here for you to find in the morning, but instead, I stayed to make sure no one else would take it.”

“Can’t believe a fuckin’ word that comes out of your mouth, bitch,” his VP growls.

“Stealing parts is one thing, Prez. But a fuckin’ bike?” Another man looks and sounds disgusted. Staring harder, I can see his patch reads SAS Sergeant-at-Arms.

“Lucky I came around.” Shitface puffs up his chest and preens.

At my glare, he takes a step back. Seeing the angry faces and hearing the murmuring, I know I’ve got to get on top of this fast. “I did exactly what you challenged me to do. I could have left a note but decided this was a better way to get your attention. Your security needs tightening up, otherwise it won’t be me out here babysitting an expensive bike. It will be stolen for real.”

Chaz folds his arms. “You got a fuckin’ death wish or something? Sure, I challenged you to find a way inside, but not set you up to steal a ride?—”

I advance on him. “Now just wait a goddamn fucking moment.” At my approach, he lowers his hands. “If I wanted to filch a bike, then that’s what I would have done. And by now, I’d have been in the next county, hell, the next state, and you’d never know where I had gone.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well fuck you.” I throw the keys to the bike I’m still holding down at his feet. “I suppose you’re sticking to that line so you don’t need to hold up your side of the bargain and give back the five hundred dollars.”

“Tired of this bitch, Prez,” his sergeant-at-arms remarks in a lazy tone. “I say we take her back to the clubhouse and teach her some manners. Make sure she doesn’t fuck with us again. Or just put a bullet between her eyes now.”

Chaz blinks his way, then again his cold eyes find mine. As he cocks an eyebrow, one side of his mouth rises. I suppress a shiver seeing his sergeant-at-arm’s suggestion is an option that appears to carry appeal. Looking at the men surrounding me, I know one-on-one I could take them, but I’m not stupid enough to think their numbers couldn’t overpower me. And once I’m in their lair, heaven knows what could happen.

My blood runs cold at the thought of what happened the last time I was in a male sanctuary. Clenching my fists, I try to remain in the present, and come to realise that I’ve got to give them something to get them to believe me.

Like most people, I don’t enjoy admitting to a weakness. My muscles contract and my mouth thins. “I couldn’t steal your bike. I can’t ride it.”

The VP snorts. “Oh that’s rich. You can’t fuckin’ ride?”

“Figures a bitch wouldn’t be able to.” The prospect I’m now starting to have no problem thinking of as his moniker is getting on my nerves.

Gritting my teeth, I expand, “I can’t ride a bike, drive a car, or fly?—”

It’s the VP who barks a laugh. “You ain’t got wings or balls so I’m not surprised.”

But Chaz waves him down. He’s looking intrigued. “Why not?”

“She never fuckin’ learned,” one of the others whose name I don’t know remarks.

Again Chaz turns to hush him, and again that querying eyebrow rises my way.

Annoyed that I have to admit it, I huff. “You saw how I was the other night. I have these… episodes where I pass out. I don’t know where or when they’re going to hit, so it’s far too dangerous for me to be in control of a vehicle.”

Completely opposite to any reaction I’d imagined, Chaz’s face softens. “So that’s why you were medically discharged?”

His query might sound innocent, but its reaction on me is anything but. Forcing my voice to remain casual, I ask, “What do you mean?”

“Come now.” He scoffs. “You really think we didn’t find out who tried to rob us? You’re Queenie ‘Helo’ May, Night Stalker helicopter pilot.”

No.My eyes widen, and I feel the blood rush from my face as I take a step backward. Then I take another.

“Wait,” Chaz demands, clearly seeing I’m about to run. “Helo,” he snaps, when I just shake my head in response. He moves quickly and is in front of me, his hands landing on my arms.

I could get out of his hold, but I don’t even try. There’s a buzzing in my ears as my brain begins to work through all the ramifications. Calculating risks, analysing them, and working out my next move.

“You alright? Stay with me.”

The words slowly filter into my brain. Gradually refocusing my vision, I see the president of the Wretched Soulz MC looking at me with narrowed eyes, no longer angry, but concerned. Pushing my initial panic away, I realise I need more information, clarification on what his revelation really means for me.

I swallow a couple of times as my throat has gone dry and finally manage to speak. “H-how did you find out my name?”

Facial features relaxing slightly, he answers me, “Thieves who run away leaving fingerprints and DNA should realise they’ll be found out.”

I’d thought I was dealing with an ignorant motorcycle club, not the freaking FBI. Alarms bells start clanging loudly in my head as my body begins to get flooded with adrenaline.

I might not have expected an MC to be able to find out who I am, but I sure expect whoever’s after me has the expertise or contacts to do exactly that. And to have triggers set for any such search.

My days in Arizona are numbered, as well as, quite possibly, my days on this earth.

Chaz is studying me closely, and I’m surrounded by his men. If I make a bolt for it, I can’t bank on being able to outrun them. I’ve got to get them to let me leave.

“Chaz,” I say his name, hoping to make a personal appeal. “You don’t know what damage you’ve done. You have to let me leave. I’ve got to get out of state?—”

He’s faster than I expected, swiftly adding two and two together. “You’re on the run from someone and you think we’ve given you away,” he interrupts, summing it up precisely.

Air leaves me in a heavy sigh as I gently raise and dip my head. He sweeps his hand over his brow, then stands unmoving, staring at me. With nothing else to do, I wait for his decision, hoping he makes the right one. There’s no way of knowing how quickly my location will be traced, or whether there’s now someone coming to find me. I may only have hours. I can only pray that I’ve got days. Every minute I’m standing here is allowing my enemies to come closer.

“Where will you go?”

I can’t answer, so I shrug. I’ve no money, no transport, only my legs to rely on. I’ll need to detour back to Harold’s to pick up my pack containing my meagre belongings, then get the hell out of Dodge. It’s not like I haven’t done it before.

Pursing his lips, Chaz doesn’t remove his eyes from my face.

I’ll get no sympathy here.

I rise on my toes, anxious to start heading off into my uncertain future.