7. Psycho
Chapter seven
Psycho
I recognized the sound of Huxley’s voice, taunting me. Bobbie trembled, probably scared out of her damn mind. Fuck, this was the last thing she needed right now.
The gunshots stopped, but the motorcycles continued to rev at a deafening level. I brushed Bobbie’s hair out of her face and rolled her over, making sure she wasn’t hurt. Blood stained her teeth and her hands were painted red.
Bile burned in the back of my throat and I could have sworn my heart stopped beating.
“Shit, honey, you’re bleeding—”
“I’m okay,” Bobbie said, fighting to catch her breath. “It’s just…it’s glass. I cut my hands on the glass when we hit the floor. And I…I must have bit my tongue. I’m not—I wasn’t—I haven’t been…shot.”
She was shaking so hard in shock that she could barely speak. I grabbed a dish towel and bunched it up, pressing it to her bloody hands. Cupping her face, I skimmed my thumb along her lower lip.
“Can you show me?” I prompted.
Bobbie blinked then smirked a little and stuck her tongue out at me.
“Classy,” I said dryly.
To my relief, she had no other injuries. Just a bite to her tongue and a few minor cuts and scratches from the glass. God, I shuddered to think how much worse it could have been.
“Psycho,” Bruiser barked. “They’re coming in.”
Swearing under my breath, I tucked Bobbie into a sheltered corner of the kitchen, with her back against the cabinets. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I shoved it into her hands.
“Stay low. Call for backup, and tell them to haul ass.”
Bobbie nodded, wide-eyed. Despite her shock, she didn’t freak out. I was so fucking proud of her for keeping a cool head amid the crisis.
I risked a glance through the now-gaping kitchen window to see five or six Rebels milling around outside. That wasn’t even half of their club. But that still left us outnumbered.
A booming thud echoed against the front door as someone tried to break it down. My pistol was in a safe upstairs in my closet. With no time to retrieve it, I had to come up with another way to defend myself.
My gaze fell on the box of lawn mower engine parts, and I spotted a wrench poking out. I grabbed it like a club, satisfied at the weight of it in my grip.
Then the door splintered, the lock buckled, and Huxley barged into my home, carrying a pistol. Two Rebels flanked him. He bared his teeth with a wolfish grin.
“I wish you could see the look on your face right now.”
“Well, I wish that you’d been shivved in prison, to give you a little taste of your own medicine,” I bit back. “But I guess we can’t always get what we want, right?”
Huxley’s eyes darkened and his grin turned into a sneer.
“You mouthed off to me once before. Sounds like you didn’t learn your lesson. I’ll have to teach you again. And I’ll make sure it really sticks this time.”
I could hear a scuffle emanating from the direction of the kitchen door as Bruiser did his best to prevent the Rebels from swarming us. We couldn’t hold them off for long, but we just needed to distract them until The Reckless Order showed up.
“We have an agreement between our clubs,” I reminded him. “We’re on peaceful terms.”
Huxley shrugged.
“I heard about that. But I was in jail at the time, thanks to you. Since you put me there, we took a vote and we agreed that there are exceptions to every rule.”
Huxley handed his pistol to one of the Rebels next to him, and pulled a knife from his boot, flipping it in the air and catching it with ease.
“My Old Lady left me when I was in prison. I lost my house. The only thing I have left to my name is my place among the Rebels as their Road Captain.”
I clucked my tongue.
“Aww. That’s sweet, saving your seat at the table like you’re besties back in middle school.”
Goading him wasn’t a bright idea, but I was tired and pissed off. If Huxley wanted a fight, to hell with it. I’d give him the fight of his fucking life.
A muscle twitched in Huxley’s jaw and his grip on the knife’s hilt tightened. I braced for impact.
His gaze flicked past my shoulder and a glimmer of recognition sparked in his gaze. He could easily see into the kitchen from the entry way.
"Is that your girlfriend?" Huxley pointed in Bobbie's direction. "I heard a redhead was sniffing around, asking questions about me."
"She's none of your business," I bit out.
Huxley laughed, low and dark.
"Give me a few minutes with her. I'll find out if she's your precious little rat."
"Put your hands on her and I'll rip you to fucking pieces," I said coolly.
He lunged, taking a wild swing at me, blade singing through the air. He aimed for my ribs again, jabbing and slashing. I was prepared this time and blocked the blow, ramming my wrench into his gut.
Huxley grunted from the force of the impact and doubled over. His eyes flashed with anger.
“I’m not some scrappy newbie anymore, too green around the gills,” I said. “If you want to win this time, you better work for it.”
Huxley spat on the ground between us, adjusting the knife in his hand.
Just as he took a step toward me, the glare of flashing blue and white lights spilled through my broken windows.
“Cops,” one of the Rebels said. “Cyclone, we gotta go.”
Huxley seethed at being forced to back down. But if he didn’t go now, the cops would take him back to jail. He had to choose—killing me, or keeping his freedom.
In the end, he pointed at me with his knife.
“This isn’t over, asshole. I’ll be back and I’ll skewer you and your girlfriend like a piece of meat for ruining my life."
“Looking forward to it,” I replied in a bored voice.
Huxley huffed, turned on his heel, and bolted out the door. The roar of motorcycles filled the air. I watched as The Filthy Rebels dodged the line of police cars pulling into my driveway, and disappeared into the night.
Cops and bikers were usually like oil and water—we didn’t mix well. And since my home was the site of a shootout, that would give the police even more reason to scrutinize every damn thing I said or did.
I could take the heat. But Bobbie…
When I returned to the kitchen, she peered up at me from where she was huddled into a tight ball. My shirt swamped her thin figure. The urge to simply pull her into my arms and hold her overwhelmed me, but we couldn’t afford that luxury right now.
Someone cleared their throat. I turned to see a middle-aged police officer skirting around the ruins of my front door, dangling haphazardly on the hinges.
“Sheriff Todd Whitfield with the Juniper Creek Police Department,” he said, shaking my hand. “It looks like you were roughed up tonight.”
“Just some bad blood between clubs, Sheriff,” I replied.
He hummed in thought, with one hand resting casually on the butt of his pistol as he glanced around.
“Well, Hillbilly sends his regards. I really need to stop answering the damn phone when I see his number. But I owed him a favor, and now we’re finally even, so he can stop holding it over my head.”
I let out a breath of relief and sagged into a chair at the kitchen table.
“Bobbie called for backup.”
Whitfield shook his head.
“She didn’t call us. She called your old President. Then he turned around and bullied me into doing his bidding, as if he’s the one bankrolling my paycheck.”
I chuckled, feeling a fresh wave of pride all over again.
Bobbie called my club instead of the cops, giving us a chance to handle our business without having the police breathing down our necks.
I kept forgetting how much she had learned about my life and my club while she was in town before reconnecting with me.
Bruiser traipsed in through the kitchen door, with a black eye, busted knuckles, and wiping blood from his mouth.
“Those bastards really thought they could take me and win, since it was three to one. Until I started fucking swinging. Then they figured out real quick that they picked the wrong fight.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Whitfield said. “In fact, my incident report will say this was nothing but a false alarm, so it won’t even be on the books.”
I took a breath to speak, but he held up a hand to silence me.
“Next time I show up at your doorstep, I won’t be playing good cop. Hillbilly gave me the break in a case that I needed, and I was promoted to Sheriff because of it. The score is settled now. No more favors."
“If you’re looking for another lucky break,” I replied. “I can point you in the direction of an escaped fugitive.”
Whitfield arched an eyebrow with interest.
“You have my attention. Off the record, of course.”
After I explained the situation with Huxley, Whitfield started issuing a series of rapid-fire orders into the handheld radio clipped to his uniform.
A moment later, the familiar rumble of motorcycles approached. Within less than a minute, my house was full of bikers as The Reckless Order streamed in my door, milling around.
I waded through the melee to Bobbie’s side and helped her up. Her hands weren’t bleeding anymore, but the cuts would need some TLC.
“Seven,” I called above the hum of voices clamoring over each other. “I need you to look after my girl for me. She’s hurt.”
It went so silent that I could have heard a pin drop. Everyone turned to look at us. Bobbie sucked in a sharp breath and stared at me.
“What is it?” I whispered. “What did I say?”
“You—you called me your girl,” Bobbie replied softly, her cheeks going pink.
I slipped an arm around her waist, tucking her into my side. Her fingers grazed the scar on my ribs.
“Because it’s true,” I said.
Her throat worked as she swallowed hard. She ducked her head and pressed a kiss to my shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut. Then she gasped.
“Arrow, there’s a piece of glass stuck in your back.”
I twisted around, but it was nearly impossible to get a good look at the chunk of glass protruding from my shoulder blade. Now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, I could feel the sharp edges of it though, especially when I moved.
“Sit down,” Seven said, gesturing to the kitchen table. “Both of you. Don’t make things worse than they already are.”
I pulled Bobbie’s chair tight against mine, until our thighs were pressed together. I rested my palm on her bouncing knee as she tried not to squirm while Seven doused her cuts in alcohol and wrapped her hands with gauze.
Pretty Boy stepped in and took over.
“Tarzan and Trooper, check the perimeter of the house and make sure we don’t have any surprise visitors lurking around. Bruiser, you’re done for the night. Grab a beer and put some ice on your face before you swell up like a balloon. Viper, you’re on watch.”
Brass and Recoil began sweeping up the broken glass. Ironside retrieved a blanket from the back of the couch, and draped it around Bobbie’s shoulders. Hades examined the front door and removed it from the broken hinges.
When everyone was busy with their respective tasks, Pretty Boy propped a hand on the table and gestured to us.
“You two are staying at the clubhouse until Huxley is back in prison,” he said.
I cast an apologetic glance at Bobbie. There would be no privacy, no peace and quiet at the clubhouse. And my brothers were about to pester her with all kinds of questions about our relationship.
Especially now that I had publicly staked my claim on her in front of them.
My girl.
I smiled to myself, smoothing my thumb over Bobbie’s knee.
I liked the sound of that.