Chapter 2
Annalese
T oday was another day of disappointments. My asshole stepbrother sent me a message that our father’s will is still tied up in probate. My ex, who is also his best friend, sent a message saying that I took his laptop, and if he finds out where I am, he’s going to retrieve it with extreme prejudice. He’s obviously lying, and of course spoiling for a fight. Much like my stepbrother, he’s a spoiled little prick who is all too used to getting his own way. Both of them grew up rich, while my mom and I had to work for everything we got. Every time I sign into my old social media account, I pick up shitty messages from the two of them. I hate them both. If I didn’t need whatever pittance of an inheritance my father might have seen fit to leave me, I wouldn’t bother to pick up their messages at all.
Once my father remarried, his new wife made sure we didn’t get one cent more than the court forced him to pay. Truth be told, even though my stepmother died in the car crash that took my father’s life, I don’t expect to get much of an inheritance. Why would he be generous now, when he spent his life being miserly towards us? All I hoped was he’d leave enough to ensure my mom could still get the care that she needed.
I’m so deep in my own thoughts that I don’t notice the multitude of bikers swarming around my jeep, at first. There are two or three dozen at least, just cruising along like they don’t have a care in the world. They’re probably going to a biker rally or some other fun event. I envy them for their freewheeling lifestyle.
***
I go from a bright sunny day to a nightmare in the space of a few moments. I catch sight of some kind of roadblock about a hundred yards in front of me. Only then do I realize that I’m on a lonely stretch of highway that only seems busy because of the large number of bikers weaving in and out amongst several vehicles.
When the sound of gunshots ring out, it slams home that those aren’t cops at the roadblock but other bikers. I’m guessing those of us in cars understand the danger all at once, because I can hear tires screeching as the other cars try to veer off the road and turn around.
In their haste to escape, one vehicle with a panicking middle-aged man behind the wheel careens into me, spinning me towards the guardrail. It feels like time momentarily slows down. It’s unfortunate that I’m driving a jeep because their higher center of gravity and shorter wheelbase make them prone to rolling in a collision. I wonder why, when I should be thinking of survival, I remember a stupid fact about a jeep’s center of gravity. Before I get a chance to brace myself for impact, I hit the guardrail with such force that it sends my jeep tipping over the top and down an embankment.
Even though I’m wearing my safety belt, I feel every single roll and bump along the way. There are trees on the embankment that slow down the jeep’s fall, but a branch spikes through the open passenger side window on the way down, jabbing into my arm and wrenching it awkwardly. I hear a horrible sound that makes me think it broke my bone. Up until this point, I had been gripping the steering wheel for all I’m worth, praying to come out of this alive.
I get slammed hard into the ground several times, there’s a cracking noise as the branch breaks off and a shooting pain as something jabs into my side, then nothing but overwhelming pain and a sensation that my world was splintering as I gasped for breath. This is the final blow. As everything fades to black, I remember one clear thought. I’m going to die when I hit the bottom and it’s all because of those idiot bikers.
***
I don’t know how long I’m out but when I wake up, my jeep is upside down and I’m hanging from my safety belt in an awkward position. Surprisingly, I’m not in a lot of pain. It must be the endorphins my body released due to the physical trauma. Said idiot bikers have surrounded my jeep and are literally lifting it up so one of them can get to me. They have removed the branch and for some reason dust is flying everywhere. I can smell the strong odor of gasoline and it’s making me lightheaded.
A strong arm reaches through the passenger window, and a warm hand cups my face. “Stay calm Anna. We’re going to get you out of here.” It’s the hot biker from the Savage Legion clubhouse. I don’t recall his name, but I remember his handsome face.
I try to answer, but no words will come out. Instead, I can hardly catch my breath. It feels like all the oxygen has been sucked from the air. It doesn’t take me long to figure out there is something wrong with my breathing. It feels like every time I try to take a breath, I run into a tightness that stops me. I’m panicking on the inside, thinking I’m gonna die from lack of oxygen before these men can get me out of my jeep.
Somehow, I remain hanging upside down until the one biker I recognize, squeezes his bulky form into the passenger side of the jeep. He checks me to see the extent of my injuries by running his hands over my body. I realize immediately that he’s probably checking for broken bones. He’s all business and the grim expression on his face tells me that he doesn’t like what he finds.
His voice is a deep rumble when he speaks to me. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”
I speak but since I can hardly breathe the words are halting and unintelligible. I reach up with one bloody hand and clutch my chest, not daring to move the arm that got smashed by the branch. That’s when I realize that drops of clear liquid are dripping down onto my raised arm. It’s tears because I’m crying and didn’t even know it.
The big biker curses under his breath, grabs my arm and ties something he ripped off his body around the gash that I don’t know I missed. Then he yells, “We gotta get her outta here right fucking now! Where’s Rage?”
Someone outside the vehicle says, “He’s treating, Crow. Best keep her stable until EMS gets here with a backboard, Haze.”
His name is Haze. I remember that now. I start shaking my head as I reach out with my good hand to grasp Haze’s arm. I can’t breathe to the point where I don’t know how I’m still conscious. Even though his face is upside down in my field of vision, I can see understanding flash in his hazel eyes.
“I think one of her lungs collapsed and she’s losing a lot of blood,” he yells back. “I can smell gasoline, there’s a chance the jeep might blow. I’m making the executive decision to bring her out now, we can’t wait. Commandeer a vehicle so I can get her to the hospital.”
A gruff male voice responds, “You realize the battle is still raging, right?”
“Just trust me, Vapor,” Haze responds.
“You got it, brother. The sooner we get her free and on her way, the sooner we can get back to kicking Digger ass.”
Something about the way he says the word Digger with such disdain shocks me. Haze pulls out his pocketknife and opens it. “The Grave Diggers MC are the ones who set up the roadblock. They’re bad news. Don’t worry, we’ll try to steer clear of them once we get you out of your vehicle.”
I barely nod in acknowledgement because I’m getting really lightheaded, and the darkness is starting to close in on me again. When he slices through the seat belt, I don’t fall because he’s got one arm cradling me and the other comes out to cradle my injured arm. The moment he touches it, pain reverberates up and through my shoulder. The darkness slowly closes in as he pulls me from the vehicle. Feeling weak, I just go limp against him and trust his judgement in this situation.
I remember waking up at some point during the trip to the hospital. Haze has me cradled in his lap with his big hand clamped over the gash in my arm, which has clearly started bleeding profusely again. I’m so out of it that I don’t understand at first that he really has commandeered some stranger’s car and is bullying them into driving us to the hospital. The man trying desperately to save my life is arguing with the man behind the wheel to drive faster, telling him to put on his emergency lights because it will alert the police that there is good reason for exceeding the speed limit.
The other man flings back irritably, “I’m not damn a race car driver, so don’t be surprised if I lose control of the car doing ninety on the interstate.”
“You’re not going to lose control. Just pay attention to the road instead of fighting with me, and we’ll make it there in one piece.”
“Your lady friend is bleeding out all over seats. What are you going to do about that?”
Haze responds with forced calm, “Just contact my club tomorrow and our auto repair shop will deal with cleaning it up and replace your carpet if necessary.”
“I’m tired of all the damn criminals making life miserable for the law-abiding citizens of this town. Why can’t you guys give it rest for a few months?”
“There is no rest for the wicked. You know that, mister. Everyone knows that.”
They continue bickering back and forth about how the Savage Legion isn’t a one percent club and only one percent clubs like the ones who set up the roadblock engage in criminal activity. I can’t seem to keep track of the conversation because my mind wanders back to the accident that crippled my mother. After that, my life seemed to go on a downward spiral. Because my mom wasn’t working, I had to withdraw from all my college classes and get a job to try to keep up with the mortgage payments, that put a swift end to my scholarship. The house ended up in foreclosure anyway, and I had to go and stay with my father—much to the dismay of his new wife. I guess I should have been grateful he took me in despite her complaints, but then when they were both killed in the car crash, my stepbrother threw me onto the streets. Just another in a long line of shitty things that happened to me as of late.
Before I can get turned around, we’re pulling up at the hospital. The emergency room staff must have known that I was coming because they’re standing outside with a gurney and gently take me from Haze’s arms. The cool night air chills me to the bone. It’s what cues me that the sun has set. Laying there, staring up at the sky while they wheel me into the ER, the night sky is filled with twinkling stars and a full moon. It’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen, and I pray it doesn’t end up being the last time I see a starlit sky.
I can’t seem to keep up with what’s going on around me or grasp the questions they’re belting out, one after another. Instead, my mind drifts to my mom who is still making a prolonged recovery at the assisted living facility. If I’m not real careful, I’m going to end up in the room next to her. The thought of that doesn’t sound so bad. We could recover together, and she can finally get that good quality time our busy lives never afforded us the opportunity to have.