Chapter 48
Road
I’m a rabid dog ready to protect its family whatever the cost.
My fur bristles. My gums itch with the need for blood. Each muscle is tense and ready for launch.
That crazy fucker Grizzly pulls the trigger.
I don’t know if he’s aiming at me, or the two people behind me, but it doesn’t matter now, because there are several more bullets where the one that just swished over my head came from. A hand stretches toward me, no doubt about to punch or grab me, but I duck and slide my thumb under my belt, where a small throwing knife is waiting for opportunities like this one.
I send it flying, and as it hits the target—Grizzly’s gun hand—and makes the bastard drop the weapon, I throw myself at him with my whole body weight.
Shouting and chaos.
I taste dirt in my mouth when Grizzly’s bike collapses with us, but my arms are already around Grizzly’s head. By the time multiple hands grab at my clothes, I gain momentum by stomping on the ground with one foot and twist.
I can’t hear the creak of a breaking spine in all this noise, but the body in my arms goes limp. Never again will he fucking shoot at me, Brigid, or my man.
I’m high on adrenaline when I turn back, desperate to see if Clyde is okay. One of the Butchers is in my way, gun in hand, but this time Creep’s bullet (because I’m sure it’s Creep sniping from our roof) doesn’t miss its target. The guy falls on top of me in time to shelter me from someone else’s shot. Thank fuck the Butchers can afford Kevlar.
All I can think of is spotting where Clyde is with Brigid as I crawl out from under the body. It’s absolute mayhem around me as the Vultures joined the fight in mere seconds, like a stampede of ancient warriors but armed with guns, knives, and knuckledusters. Yeti even holds a trash can lid on his arm like a shield when he rams into a Butcher.
The screaming, the banging of metal against bone, the gunshots, it’s all too loud for me to hear Clyde if he’s out there. I swear I heard him call out when Grizzly pulled the fucking trigger, but his voice died in the cacophony erupting around me.
The lamps cast deep shadows that transform the battle into a scene from an artistic black-and-white movie. Men, knives, and bullets are flying everywhere, it’s as if I’ve entered the circus of horrors. Someone’s bulk clashes with me, sending me straight at the fence, but while the razor wire on top tears my sleeve, I grab the fucker with my free hand and shove my fingers in his eyes. He shrieks, and fuck, am I happy I don’t know his voice, because this might as well have been one of ours.
I’m in survival mode. The one and only instinct stronger than that right now is finding Clyde, because when I finally get a glimpse of the spot where he’d stood with Brigid, there’s a trail of blood on the ground.
The next guy lurching at me with a heavy chain in his hand gets a punch that crunches his nose and throws him to the ground. I don’t care to check if he’s alive or dead. I don’t have time for such bullshit and leap over him like I’m a damn ballet master, not a biker.
“Clyde?” I yell, then frantically follow the trail of blood. I’m a sniffer dog on the hunt, staying close to the ground in case someone has the smart idea to shoot through the wire fence.
Bullets keep flying. Men fall. But I’m following the trail, because I can’t live not knowing what—
A massive brute with a jaw wide as a pan and pin-thin pupils launches himself at me from the side. I grab his ear and tug on it with all the force in my body, but when it gives, a massive fist armed with a knuckle duster collides with my ribs and knocks the air out of me. The pain is intense for only a split second, but while it’s soon replaced by numbness, my head starts spinning, and I fall over when he grabs me by the throat. His ear is now partially torn off and drizzles blood straight onto my face as he pushes down on my throat, trying to crush it .
Someone grunts right next to us, and just as the fucker choking the life out of me looks that way, a crowbar rams into his head, caving his skull in. His blood sprays on me like soda from a shaken and pierced can, and his eye drops out of its socket. It’s the strangest plum I’ve ever seen. The light-headedness eases, but stars still dance in front of my vision when I look up at my savior.
Clyde.
Oh, Clyde . The fucking love of my life, still on his feet.
He’s heaving, one of his arms covered in blood and hanging by his side, but he still holds the crowbar, ready to deliver another blow to the man on top of me if one wasn’t enough. But he’s pale, dazed, and despite the urge to lie still and wait for my lungs to fill again, I make myself get up and drag him farther toward the clubhouse. Someone’s stomping toward us, an anonymous shadow with a baseball bat, but as I take the crowbar from Clyde’s hand, ready to fight, the would-be attacker drops to the ground with a choked cry, and Creep shouts from somewhere above.
“Now! Covering you!”
I don’t think and drag my man behind the concrete wall. This isn’t the end. I’ll rejoin the fight as soon as my throat stops feeling as if it’s been punched, as soon as Clyde’s safe, because he can’t protect himself now. But as we settle on the wooden porch, listening to the chaos around us, I take a second and stroke his face, because who knows what happens next?
“Brigid?”
He takes deep breaths with every word, and I notice a piece of black cloth tied around his bleeding arm. “I… took her… inside. She’s… fine.”
“Was it Grizzly?” I whisper, double checking his arm to make sure he is not bleeding out while I fuck off to battle the Butchers.
When Clyde nods, a smile stretches my lips. “He’s dead,” I say.
He holds up his hand for a high five, but then leans closer. “Fuck it,” he whispers, wraps his arm around my neck and kisses me. We don’t have much time, but I still enjoy it like a shot of coke straight into my veins.
“It’s grazed. I think,” he says about his arm when he pulls away, resting his forehead against mine.
Only then I realize there’s an eerie silence behind the wall. Our gazes clash as worry sets in, and we peek past the concrete block at the same time to witness a standstill. The Vultures are retreating toward us, some helping others walk. I focus on the background, where dusky shapes with shotguns loom on the other side of the battlefield, keeping the Butchers from running their way.
“Do not fucking move, you vermin! This is our home!” shouts someone, and I chuckle, dragging my hand down my face, drowning in relief. Rhonda, the canteen lady is here too. Apparently, some civilians chose to stand by us and protect the settlement rather than hide. Their support from the back must have tipped the scales in our favor. I start clapping before I can think, because this is exactly the kind of community we deserve.
“Well said!”
“Clap now, because we’ll be back to burn down this whole fucking place!” one of the Butchers yells despite being forced to kneel, but a bald friend of his slaps him on the head.
“Just shut the fuck up!” Baldy raises his hands, staring at Prophet who stands in the open gate, assessing his victory. “Grizzly’s dead, and most of us have been unhappy about this whole Roy vendetta for a while now. Am I right, brothers?”
When he looks to the other Butchers for support, most of them do nod and grunt in agreement. My heart soars. Could this be the end? At least for now?
Baldy continues. “As far as we know, none of you killed Roy. Case closed.”
The man next to him must have learned from the slap, because now he’s eagerly changed sides. “And what do we care who Clyde fucks? He’s not a Butcher anymore.”
More grunts of agreement from men with guns to their heads. If they know what’s good for them, this shaky new peace won’t be just for show.
Baldy nods. “You’ve got your business, we’ve got ours, and from the look of it…” he takes a pointed glance around the few dead men. “We’ll all have a field day with the cops, so… truce?”
Prophet makes a show of stepping over Grizzly’s body, and forces the Butchers to wait, but he eventually extends his hand to Baldy. “Finally. Someone who talks sense. Truce.”
“Let’s fucking hope it lasts longer than the last one,” I say, dragging myself back to my feet as I watch Clyde’s former club admit defeat.
Baldy shakes his head. “Me too. We’ll talk in a few days,” he adds, meeting Prophet’s gaze. Skirts swish over the floor, and I twitch when a familiar, slender hand settles on my shoulder .
“You’re fine. I told Clyde you would be,” Brigid says, then leaves us, walking toward our prez, as if all of this blood and gunpowder was only an event that needed to happen for the Vultures to surpass what they were before.
But as much as I want our opponents gone, so we all have the opportunity to lick our wounds and regroup, those things take time. Several of the Butchers have fallen, and on our side, Martin has bled out from a wound to the neck. There will be mourning. I don’t fucking know who slashed him, and it’s not like we have cameras here to confirm, so I choose to believe it was the dead fucker found close to him. At some point, people hit each other blindly, and while guilt soaks into my heart every time I glimpse at his body, we are better off than the Butchers. Martin pissed me off at times, but he always came through when it mattered. I’ll miss that shit-mouthed bastard.
The Butchers eventually leave, accompanied by several patches, who are more or less intact, and I look down at Clyde. He’s still sitting by the wall, and I’m eerily convinced he might start bleeding out and die like Martin.
The fucking thought of it is… unbearable.
“How are you—” But when I scoot down to him, Clyde slumps face-first against my knee. “Fuck!” I peek right back up, and there he is, Parker, our village doc. “Parker! Come here! Come see him!” I yell, already picking Clyde up on one side so I can take him into the clubhouse where there’s lots of light and water, as well as some basic first aid kit.
To my relief, Clyde’s eyes open at the sound of my voice, but he’s pale and dazed as I lead him inside. “I’m okay,” he says, even though he’s definitely not.
“Like fuck you are,” I mumble, carrying his weight despite my ribs begging for attention as well. The others will get help too, but Clyde is my priority. I shove beer cans off the large dining table, before helping him lie on top of it. “Parker!” I shout again, shushed by Clyde’s chuckle.
“Aww, you’re so worried.”
I raise my hands and let them drop in exasperation. How could I not be? But with our doc tending to those in worse condition first, I fetch Clyde some water and watch him for any sign that he should be prioritized right the fuck now.
Clyde entwines the fingers of his healthy hand with mine, then pulls it to his lips for a tender kiss that might be magically healing all my wounds. “Did we win?”
I roll my eyes and take hold of his fingers. “Of course. We always win. Let’s get you patched up, and then I’ll take you home. ”
“I love you, Road. You’re the best motherfucker I know. Give me one more kiss.” He seems half-lucid, but his smile still makes my heart leap.
We did it.
We fucking did it.
I can’t help but chuckle, because as angry as I am at him for claiming to be fine, I know that won’t last long. Shaking my head, I lean down and let our lips touch. There are other people here, and they will see us, but it doesn’t matter anymore. We survived, we have a future, and I want to drink this victory from the sweetest cup I know.