Chapter 14 – Zeb
Chapter Fourteen
Zeb
Trust issues. You got trust issues, Zeb.
Recognition doesn’t quiet the noisy emotions.
I know I have trust issues, because Janelle has only been talking to her friend for seventeen minutes on the phone and I’m at a point of despair and panic.
I know I said I would be out there in ten minutes, but that was just to keep her conversation brief.
I promised myself that I wouldn’t let my demons get the best of me.
But each minute she spends away from me, a dark possessive shadow climbs into my mind.
Is she still talking to Rana, or someone else?
My urges aren’t helped by how pent up I feel after all those days on the road with Janelle and no way to relieve my desires. I don’t even have the promise that she might one day cave to my yearning to get me through this trip. I peek out the window and don’t catch sight of her.
Logically, I know she probably just walked around the building, but I can’t help the surge of paranoia.
I shove my phone and a hotel keycard into my cut pocket and sprint out of the room like somebody threw Janelle on the back of their bike and disappeared with her.
When I pass the front desk, I hear a squeak coming from behind it.
“Help…”
What? Before heading outside, I approach the hotel counter and see the girl who should have been working crouched down.
“Don’t let them see you!” she hisses.
“What’s going on?”
“Bikers outside,” she says. “Get down… please.”
“What?” I know what she said, but my body takes a beat to react to the news that there are more bikers. If they were my bikers, this isn’t how I would have found out about them.
I don’t pause to hear anymore. If there are bikers outside that scare this woman, that’s all I need to know.
Janelle’s in danger. When I push open the motel door, the little bell on top rings and I hear Janelle screaming as two men drag her off to their bikes.
I don’t even think before reaching inside of my cut and grabbing my gun.
The situation isn’t ideal with the possibility of hitting Janelle, but it’s the only chance I have.
I steady my beating heart and let my training take over.
Janelle flails and screams enough that her fight slows them down.
Once I shoot, five of them will realize that I’m armed and more dangerous than they thought.
The guy holding her legs has to go first so she can run. I aim for his kneecap and fire.
The burst of blood that erupts from him tells me that I hit him in the quad instead. Two seconds pass. He screams and drops Janelle as he tumbles to the ground.
God forgive me for what I’m about to do next, because I’m not sure that Janelle will.
I get the right guy and Janelle breaks free.
Thankfully, fear doesn’t make her freeze.
I level my gun again, tilting my hand away from her as she comes running right towards me.
I keep her out of my sight, but I hope she has the good sense to realize that I can’t stop shooting until we’re in a much better situation.
I fire again. Janelle screams and ducks.
I keep walking, catching up to her as she stays crouched on the ground.
I’m not in the clear. These men must be green because two of them fire at me, both miss.
Nervously, I look at Janelle, but she’s no longer crouched on the ground.
I whip around and find her standing behind me.
This would be much easier if she were armed too, and if she knew what she was doing.
Unlike the men firing at me, I don’t need luck.
With only four more shots, I hit all of them in critical areas.
I approach each body with Janelle clinging to my back and kick their firearms far enough away that not even the strongest burst of adrenaline could save the bleeding men on the ground.
Once I make sure to separate the last man from his weapon, I pick it up and hand mine over to Janelle. Mine will be easier for her to handle than this. It’s a little bigger than most handguns, better for someone who knows what they’re doing. Janelle gazes up at me with terror in her eyes.
“The only reason I’m not dropping this is because I don’t want it firing,” she says with a shaking voice. I want her to know that nothing bad will happen to her so long as I’m here.
“You scared?”
“Yes, I’m scared. We just… What about the cops?”
“We’re in the middle of the desert. Nearest police station is nearly sixty miles away.”
“Great, so a cop going 90 could be here in under an hour. I’m assuming the girl inside called right away.”
“The girl inside most likely has some kind of affiliation with my club, or I wouldn’t be staying here. Now… hold the gun like this.”
I move my hand over the weapon I picked up off the ground. One of the men groans and Janelle flinches instead of listening to me. She’s too scared to be holding a weapon like that, but I haven’t reloaded yet so even at her most scared, she can’t do much damage.
“Janelle. Listen to my voice and don’t be scared. Hold it like this.”
“You’re too calm about this.”
“I’m as calm as I need to be. Now watch…”
She holds the gun with more control this time and I would feel a lot better if she were more confident with that. She looks up at me again and a dark thought crosses my mind that I know I shouldn’t act on.
“We have to make sure they’re dead.”
“We?”
“Yes.”
She can’t tell that my heart is beginning to thump uncomfortably fast. I know that I’m about to ask her something that will turn her into a person who won’t want to leave my side.
This isn’t sticking to my plan of looking after her and letting her go once I’m sure that I can keep her out of trouble.
This is me doing something that could bind Janelle to me forever. Without knowing how she feels. Without ever having touched her. I know it’s crazy, but I’m not sane enough to stop myself.
“I need you to shoot this man.”
If she does it, I’ll take it as a sign that maybe Janelle and I met each other because of some greater reason. Maybe she’s meant to be by my side and that strange coldness I’ve always felt about other people will fade. Unfortunately, she doesn’t seem enticed by my request.
“Are you serious?” Janelle knows that I’m serious, but she wants to give me an opportunity to slip out of this commitment. I don’t.
“These men thought they could drag you off kicking and screaming. Look at his leg twitching. You could be his mercy.”
“Murder is wrong.” Her staunch morals bubble to the surface again, but we both know when pushed, Janelle will do whatever she must to survive. It will be better if she learns that she has control over situations like this. I never want Janelle to feel like a victim.
“Agreed,” I respond. “Murder is wrong. But not killing. The Bible is clear that when you kill for a righteous cause, God looks at it differently than if you murder somebody.”
“That seems like making excuses to me.”
“It’s kill or be killed out here, Janelle. The sooner you do this, the sooner we can clean this up.”
“Can you clean this up?” Her question makes me think that she’s a lot closer to agreeing with me than she might ever want to admit.
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to do this.”
“It will be quick.”
“It’s–”
“It’s the right thing to do while they’re in pain, bleeding out in the sun.”
I remember when a man had that talk with me several years ago. I took to killing a lot more easily than Janelle. She nods at me, and I can tell that she’s strengthening her resolve. Whether it’s towards obedience or defiance is another story.
We walk together towards the nearest half-dead biker. She glances at his cut and wrinkles her forehead.
“I don’t get it,” she says. “What do any of those words mean?”
I shake my head. I’ve never seen jackets like those before, so I assume they must be a newly established organization. Iron Frontier MC. I’ve never heard of them before now.
The cut isn’t beat up, so it’s not one that’s been passed down.
Some of the insignias look like possible military to me – but not the Army.
Maybe Coast Guard or Marines – I’m not too familiar with either of them.
They have long sleeves, dark brown leather, and American flags sewn on with a thin dark brown line where most flags of that sort might have a thin blue line instead.
Cops? But not cops. There’s a name sewn on his patch, but it’s written in strange lettering. Maybe Russian?
There won’t be more answers staring at the damned thing.
Tamiya Blackwood is the person we all call in situations like this, although I don’t know what expertise she might have in new biker gangs in the Midwest. If there was new blood after us that Wyatt Shaw knew about, I have a hard time imagining he would let these kinda run rampant and unchecked.
“I don’t get it either. They could be cops and this is some weird Norse shit. Once we’re done, I’ll send a picture of the jacket to my cousin.”
Gideon’s wife, Tamiya, has all the resources necessary to get the information we need about this gang of bikers.
Are they related to the cops back in Boston, or an enemy gang looking to cut into our weapons’ supply chain and exact more control.
These guys are white, which doesn’t tell me much except that they’re most likely not affiliated with any cartels.
There’s nothing definitive on the first guy pointing to military service. Janelle points her gun at his chest and closes her eyes. Instinctively, I snap at her.
“Eyes open.” I regret using such a harsh tone the second the words fly out of my mouth, but it is truly of utmost importance that she stays focused at a time like this.
Her eyes snap open and her nostrils flare with frustration.
“Watch your tone with me, Zeb.”
She’s on edge, which makes her more unpredictable and far more reactive. I reflect her tension with unmovable calm. I know how scared she feels holding a gun. And these men had her strung up like they could carry her off. This will be good for her – to know that any man who touches her will die.
“Always look where you shoot,” I respond stiffly. “It’s a matter of safety.”
“I don’t want to look at him.”
Part of me wants to say, “Too damn bad.” When I was serving this country, I didn’t have a choice. I had to keep my eyes open and witness every last thing they asked me to do – and I did it all willingly.
“It will be more humane if you look.” I try to reassure her that this is the right thing to do with my tone of voice, but I can feel her panic. She still seems determined to go through with it, which makes me feel a lot better.
Janelle asks with a wavering voice, “Where do I aim?”
“Right along his neck, since we’re this close. That would make it quick.”
She cares about not hurting people. And all I want is to make her do something that will force her to feel closer to me.
I don’t want to touch and take her if she doesn’t want me, but so far, no gentle touch has brought Janelle any closer to jumping my bones.
I crave physical closeness from her and even more than that, I crave intense, yearning attachment.
“Zeb…” she whispers. “I can’t.”
Then she pulls the trigger – and Janelle cuts off his breath with a single shot. I don’t have to say anything else.