Chapter 32
Road
This was a mistake.
I should have stayed away, hidden on the roof of the barn close by, or watched the Butchers from the cornfield, crouched between the tall plants, like I was meant to. But the letter I wrote was burning a hole in my pocket until I couldn’t wait. Between Clyde no longer reading my messages and avoiding me in person, my only chance was to somehow find him, press the letter into his hands, and run.
Now it’s disintegrating in my mouth as I chew the paper, running from the pack of Hell’s Butchers who are out for my blood. The ink has a tart aftertaste, but I kill it by gulping down two sips of vodka, and the message scrapes down my gullet, gone for good.
Shame. I put my whole fucking heart into it. But if I end up dead, it can’t be found on me.
The letter is the least of my problems. I’m being hunted, and the yelling behind me is a primal cacophony of beasts hungry for my flesh and blood. Thinking on my feet, I jump over a cement barrier keeping cars out of the alleyway and stuff a bandana into the bottle of vodka. I’ve not seen Clyde in the crowd, so I say my prayers, light it on fire and send the Molotov cocktail at the Butchers running my way like a crowd of zombies.
Someone shrieks, but the shadows slow down as I dash across the very middle of the Butcher compound. Most of them will be too busy drinking and posturing to realize they’ve been infiltrated until I reach the bike hidden in the nearby bushes and ride away, leaving them all in the dust. With no time to waste on reroutes, I head straight for the group of women chilling close to the bar entrance. They scatter as I leap over the concrete block they’re sitting on, and land that bit closer to my salvation. The tension in one of my knees feels too strong at first, but I propel myself farther and run, with the bushes ahead as the only thing on my mind.
At moments like this, I’m reminded that my body has been broken in too many places to count just last year, and I’m not as nimble as I used to be. I could try shooting back into the crowd of bodies in black leather vests, but they’ve seen me. If I kill one of them, I’ll be on the hit list even if I manage to drive off.
A baseball bat slams into me from the side like a viper striking out of the shadows. It knocks all breath out of me, and I’m pushed off my course, unable to keep my balance. The pain soon turns into a numbness in my flank, but as I attempt to punch him back, Puck’s twisted face emerges from the shadows. He slams the bat into my thigh. I collapse with a choked cry, and frantic thoughts bolt through my mind like a pack of terrified dogs. My gun’s right there—I can use it—but if I shoot Puck in front of everyone, they’ll rip me apart. I attempt grabbing the bat but still collapse to my knees as my aching leg gives out, and Puck kicks me flat to my back.
The shadows and lights whirl around me. I try to back away, because my bike is hidden so damn close, but I won’t reach it before this bastard crushes my skull.
He straightens up and lifts the bat like it’s a mallet and I’m the base of a high striker at a fairground. The manic grin on his face brings out the madness in his eyes. My heart stops when I realize this isn’t a bluff. He’s about to swing the bat down.
A shot rings out from the crowd that was on my heels, and to my astonishment, a bullet goes through the back of Puck’s skull. It comes right out of his forehead along with a gush of blood and brain matter.
I don’t have time to process any of this. Puck’s lifeless body is falling on me, but I still glance at the Butchers in confusion.
There he is. Clyde. My fucking guardian angel.
So I guess we’re not holding back on the bullets anymore.
I roll away before Puck can cover me and climb back to my feet, fueled by hope that I might survive this fuckery. The safety’s off, and once I make sure no one’s coming at me from behind, I shoot into the outliers from the crowd .
“Intruder!” someone screams as I dash behind the building, hearing the grunt of bullets hitting the concrete I’ve just passed. There’ll be more of them coming, so I grab the wooden pallet covering the spot where I hid my bike by the bush, and lead it out, because there is no time to wait. The screams get louder, but I’m out of here the moment the engine starts. There is no time for warm-up, nor to consider where to go. I bolt ahead, with the asphalt passing beneath the bright glow cast by my headlamp.
I get to breakneck speed in seconds, my heart pumping at least as fast as Smokey is going. The men chasing me were on foot, so they will have to go back to get their bikes if they want to catch me, but by that point, I’ll be too far away. I laugh out loud and scream in victory.
I create more distance between me and the Butchers by the second. As I do that and my mind calms, I’m reminded why I was there in the first place.
Clyde. He misses me. I don’t know what happened, but he said he understood what I did.
And then it truly hits me. I didn’t just leave the Butchers behind.
I left him behind.
A cold wave of nausea makes me hit the brakes on my motorcycle. The only reason why I didn’t do it even more abruptly is that I’m of no use to him ejected out of the seat and a splatter of meat on asphalt.
My escape was so chaotic, so filled with mayhem, I didn’t have time to register what it means that Clyde shot Puck out in the open.
Fuck fuck fuck!
It’s over for him.
He sacrificed his whole life to save me, and I left him behind .
My throat aches, as if guilt turned to stone and was trying to push its way out of me. I need to go back. I need to get him on the bitch seat and take him to safety, no matter the cost.
Ready to kill every single man or woman in that compound, I turn Smokey around. It’s a race against time after that, because I hear screams even over the roar of my engine, and I join them, unsure how many bullets I have left but ready to use all of them.
My front wheel staggers when I stop, and my stomach drops as the back of my ride lifts off the asphalt. A quick twist of the handlebars settles me in place, ready to take Clyde on the bitch seat as soon as we spot one another .
The Butchers are so focused on the turmoil in their midst, that they don’t even notice my arrival, so I pull out my gun and aim, eager to cover my man when the time comes.
For a second, I’m not sure whether he’s within sight, but the neon above the bar reveals a hunched figure kneeling in the dirt. I can’t see all of him, not with all the tall shadows surrounding him from all sides, but the long braid hanging down his back is a dead giveaway. My blood boils when someone kicks him to the ground, and I shoot without thinking to get their attention.
“Come at me, fuckers!” I yell at the top of my lungs. I could take on an army right now just to get them off him.
One of the dark silhouettes turns his head my way for a second, and I spot a gun in his hand. I fully expect to dodge a bullet, but the man aims at Clyde and pulls the trigger.
I stop breathing, and pain spreads through my chest, then down, into my legs.
At first I hope it’s torture, a way to humiliate him, but Clyde falls into a heap and… stills. He’s not trying to get away, or beg for his life. He’s… gone.
My Clyde is gone.
Tears blur my eyes, and I sob, breathing in the sharp scent of gasoline. A part of me hopes he will stir, show me that it’s all a bluff, that if I charge now, maybe he can survive, but the man who shot him grabs him by the ankles and drags his limp form away from the colorful glow of the neon light.
My lungs refuse to work as I watch the men argue. Some start running my way, one spits at Clyde’s dead body, then kicks it, and I pull the trigger, only to hear the dull click of the empty magazine.
What the fuck have I done?
It’s my fault he’s dead.
I came here. I got in trouble, prompting him to save me.
And now he’s no longer alive. I can never tell him how much he means to me.
A bullet whistles too close to my ear, and I speed off, awakened from my trance. The poison of Clyde’s fate penetrates every bit of me, killing any joy I might have found with or without him. My heart beats so very fast it’s making me lightheaded, but I don’t slow, because crashing right now and not having to live on with the terrible fucking knowledge that I’ll never again hold him would be mercy.
But I survive. Despite the recklessness of my nightly ride, the high speed, the choking sensation in my chest, I’m still standing by the time I slow down in the dark woods, far away from the men who killed the one person who ever made me feel like there’s something out there for me. Something soft, and peaceful, and tender.
Not only will I never have that, but once the Butchers go through Clyde’s phone, they will discover our affair, and they’ll let my club know.
I’m a traitor. And the Vultures have no use for someone like me.
My hands shake as I rub my arms, letting my emotions out in a roar to the cloudy sky. The moon is hidden, as if it too doesn’t want anything to do with a dirty liar like me. I shudder with guilt when I briefly let myself feel grateful for Clyde’s forgiveness at the end. I don’t deserve his affection, and I never did.
We both went into this knowing the risks, but I was the one who pursued him. I killed his brother and still went after him without shame. Because I was greedy.
And he invited me in. Into his life, to his little shack by the lake, and into his body.
I hate myself so fucking much right now I can’t stand it.
He killed one of the Butchers for me, and now he’s dead.
Should I go back there? Set their club on fire? Take revenge and go out in a blaze of glory?
I sob into my hands. There is no glory left for me. I don’t deserve shit. I was so frantic, I ran away and left him to those wolves.
I let down the man I love, lost him, and I’m a traitor to my club.
If I could turn back time, I would have made sure he was on the back of my bike. I’d work it out with my club somehow. Or left everyone behind and didn’t look back.
If it gave Clyde’s life back, I would have never touched him.
But reality doesn’t work that way.
I hate reality, and I don’t want to be a part of it anymore.
It’s a truth that hits me so hard doubts no longer have a place in my mind. I pull out the small pouch of pills and capsules, open it, and swallow each that rolls down my tongue.
My road to bliss.
It won’t be long now.