13. Darla #2
For a second, nobody moved. Then the biggest of the goons—a slab of human beef with a shaved head and hands like Christmas hams—lunged.
Axel barely had time to turn and yell, “Run!” before the fist hit him square in the jaw.
I hesitated, because that’s what cowards do.
I stood there, paralyzed, as Axel went down on one knee and spat blood into the grass.
The second guy—a weasel-faced creep I recognized from Sunday school security—grabbed Axel’s arm and twisted.
The third hung back, scanning the playground for witnesses.
Sarge just watched, hands in his pockets, as if this were Sunday brunch.
“Axel!” I screamed.
He looked at me with one eye already swelling shut. “Get out of here, Darla. Now.”
The big guy hauled back for another swing, but Axel drove his skull into the man’s crotch with a headbutt so vicious I heard the impact from where I stood. The man folded, retching. Axel staggered upright and caught the weasel in the temple with an elbow. The crack was wet, like a snapping carrot.
But then all four of them were on him, fists flying. I tried to run at them, tried to scream, but Sarge grabbed me by the wrist. I yanked free, my jacket tearing at the seam, and bolted for the street.
Behind me, I heard the sounds of boots on flesh—dull, rhythmic, brutal. I turned just once and saw Axel on the ground, three men stomping him into the dirt while Sarge stalked over, arms folded, watching like a coach at practice.
I kept running. My lungs burned, my eyes stung, and the only thing I could taste was the metallic echo of Axel’s blood. By the time I hit the curb and the world came back into focus, I realized I’d left him behind.
I wanted to go back, but the fear was a living thing inside me, howling and wild. So I did what good girls do. I ran, and prayed he’d still be breathing when I found help.
Running is supposed to make you feel free.
All it did was make me sick, lungs burning like I’d swallowed bleach.
My jeans and jacket were streaked with mud and what I hoped was only mud.
I sprinted through the brittle grass, past the playground, past the chain-link that marked the boundary between Sutter Park and the crumbling row of strip malls beyond.
Somewhere behind me, I could still hear the dull slap of fists and the grunt of a man trying not to die.
Every time I closed my eyes I saw Axel’s face, caved in and bleeding, and the way Sarge smiled when he said “Princess.” I wanted to puke, but I didn’t have time.
There were no people in the park, not even a cop car passing slow.
I hit the sidewalk and ran along Main, scanning for anyone who looked old enough to dial 911 or mean enough to make someone think twice.
My heart was a wild, galloping thing, rattling my ribs with every stride.
I almost ran straight into the glass door of the Speedway before I saw the three bikers hunched around the propane tanks, chain-smoking and swigging Monster out of a bottle in turns.
Two had the Bastards’ colors, the third wore a denim jacket but had the same look—scabbed knuckles, eyes always moving.
I stumbled toward them, waving my arms. “Help,” I gasped, “please, they’re killing him—”
Vin was the first to notice. He didn’t waste time with questions or sympathy, just flicked his cigarette and said, “Where?”
“Playground,” I croaked. “Four guys, big—” I couldn’t even finish.
He turned to the others. “Go. Now.” His voice was so calm, so casual, like he was just ordering another drink.
They moved as one, not even waiting for me to catch my breath.
Vin took off on foot, pounding the sidewalk in a dead sprint.
The other two jumped on their bikes, engines coughing to life, and peeled out onto the street, almost clipping a Prius that swerved to avoid them.
I followed, tripping over my own feet, trying to keep them in sight.
The world pulsed at the edges, the adrenaline going sour in my veins.
As we cut through the parking lot and into the park, I heard the scream of a two-stroke engine and the crunch of gravel. Vin was already at the top of the hill, his voice echoing over the playground: “Hey! Get the fuck off him!”
I stumbled down the embankment just in time to see one of the church goons land a kick to Axel’s ribs.
Axel was still moving, somehow, dragging himself up on his hands, face a mask of blood and snot.
The goon drew back for another shot but stopped when the roar of motorcycles hit, reverberating off the steel slide and the half-dead trees.
The two Bastards came in from opposite sides, bikes fishtailing over the grass.
One popped his clutch and let the back tire spit dirt into the crowd of enforcers.
Vin didn’t slow down, just charged straight at Sarge, fist cocked.
He caught the guy in the jaw and they both went down, rolling in the mud.
The other church guys scattered, dragging their wounded with them. Sarge stayed on his feet, spit blood, and glared at Vin with a look that could melt paint. His nose was crooked now, bone showing white through a flap of split skin.
Vin got up first, wiped his mouth, and nodded at Axel, who was still on the ground. “You good?”
Axel managed a laugh, wet and ugly. “Felt worse,” he said, though it sounded like a lie.
Sarge limped backward, eyes never leaving Axel. “You’re dead,” he growled. “All of you. Reverend’s gonna light this town up.”
Vin just smiled. “Tell him we said hi.”
The goons melted into the trees, carrying their wounded and leaving streaks of red on the slide. Sarge lingered for a heartbeat, then spat a tooth onto the ground and followed.
Vin crouched next to Axel, peeled back his eyelid with a thumb. “How many fingers, dumbass?”
“Fuck you,” Axel wheezed, but held up three fingers and grinned.
“That’s my boy.”
I staggered over, not sure if I should touch him or just watch. My hands hovered above his face, wanting to wipe away the blood but afraid to see what was underneath. He caught my wrist, squeezed it once, and didn’t let go.
Vin glanced up at me. “You with him?” he asked, not unkind.
I nodded. “Yeah. I’m with him.”
He looked at me, then Axel, and something softened in his face. “You’re in deep now, girl. This isn’t some high school slap fight. You get that, right?”
“I know,” I said. “But I couldn’t just leave—”
He cut me off. “No one’s blaming you. Shit happens.” He looked at Axel, then back at me. “But it’s going to get worse. Reverend’s not gonna let this slide.”
I nodded, because what else could I do?
Vin helped Axel to his feet. The guy couldn’t stand straight, but he leaned into Vin and let himself be dragged. The other Bastards circled back, one of them pulling out a first-aid kit from a saddlebag. They patched Axel up right there, in the dirt, as if this was all perfectly normal.
I watched, still shaking, as they taped his ribs and pressed gauze to his split cheek. Axel didn’t flinch once. He just stared at me, blood oozing down his jaw, and grinned.
“You okay?” he asked, like I was the one who’d just been beaten half to death.
I wanted to say yes, but I burst out crying instead. He pulled me in, blood and all, and held me against his chest until I stopped.
Vin watched, lighting another smoke. “You two lovebirds wanna get out of here before the cops show?”
Axel nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
We piled onto the bikes, me behind Axel, my arms wrapped tight around his battered ribs. The engine’s rumble was a lullaby, drowning out the panic and the sirens in the distance. We sped off, away from the playground, away from the mess.
I knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.