11. Colt, Present
Chapter 11
Colt, Present
M y lungs are going to burst from the pressure, but my legs keep moving. I push the pain in my right kneecap from a training accident to the back of my brain and work on how I’m going to survive this. Bullets whistle past my head. I dodge and duck, looking for where my out is. All I see is sand. I hear footsteps trailing me, but I can’t look back to see who it is. Who made it out alive with me?
Whoever it is, is keeping up, and soon, we’re sprinting side by side. Out of the corner of my eye, I see camo the same color as mine. My heart relaxes a fraction, realizing it’s one of my guys. “Street! Street!” he yells, and my head snaps to the side.
“Tric, where is everyone?”
“They’re gone, man,” he yells. “It’s just us. We can stop running.”
I shake my head. Bombs are exploding. I can hear screaming echoing and the dull thud of bullets being released from the chamber. “I can’t leave him.”
“He’s gone already, Street. Listen to me.” Tric’s gaze stays focused on me. “You can stop now.”
This doesn’t feel right. Why would he say this to me? My brain loops, and suddenly, Tric is gone. I’m leaning over a casket, and when I turn around, my heart hammers louder. BANG.
My alarm screeches and I violently jerk awake, the noise cutting through the darkness of my room. I’m yanked back to reality, the visions from the nightmare slowly sliding away. Sitting up, I turn the alarm off and take a few deep breaths in and out. The sheets are sticking to my torso and all the pillows are on the ground. It looks like I was running a marathon in my sleep.
Sweaty and slightly disoriented, I manage to make it into the shower. The water washes away what was left of my nightmare, and by the time I’m done, I feel normal again. As normal as I can anyways. No matter how much time passes, there is still a gaping hole in my chest that once held light, peace, and love. Nights with dreams and memories haunt me frequently. A lasting imprint of the decisions and choices I made, along with the life I’ve lived. They haven’t become more or less frequent since being discharged two years ago or since I decided to stay in Braham and am now a proud member of Rebels of the Undead.
I quickly dress in jeans and a T-shirt before throwing the signature leather cut on, ready to head to the shop. On my way, I send a quick text to Zane, checking in to see if he’s awake. We planned to get breakfast and hit the gym before our shift, knowing we’re being sent on a run tomorrow.
ME: Heading out. Don’t forget your gloves.
Z-Thom: Yeah, Ma. Worry about yourself.
I snort at his response and shake my head. Knowing that idiot, he probably did forget them and would have used it as an excuse to get out of the new boxing regiment we’ve implemented.
It took zero convincing for either of us to make pledges to the club after meeting them and talking with Austin. I didn’t even mind the year of grunt work that we went through as prospects. Maybe it was from being hardened by military life or maybe it was knowing there was a purpose at the end of the line. Either way, those months flew by and soon we were taking our oaths, getting inked and patched as full-fledged members.
Being in the club was also not what I had expected it to be. When Prez said they lived in the gray areas, he meant as a moral code. We did illegal things mostly to bad people who deserved it. Guilt was not on my conscience when I learned about the people we built intelligence on for jobs that were handed to us. To outsiders, we looked like a usual club, dabbling in weapons and cleaning cash through the strip club and casino. On a deeper note, the majority of that money we made came at the price of a life. A life of gutter trash who harmed innocent people, top of the pyramid of individuals who we wouldn’t be able to take down without our specialty because of their public image. I learned quickly that the majority of the other club members had some sort of military or first responder background, and the information that they had made them dangerous. Tric’s obsession with coming back to the club made more sense.
We were essentially the Batman of motorcycle clubs. My cut may as well be a black cape. That's how it felt most of the time. Then there were times when my steady hand and rock-hard stomach came into use as the assassin I had become. Everything balances. I was fate. Destiny or consequence. I was yin and yang, depending on the day, or depending on who you were asking. The dead person. Or the life of the person who wouldn’t be touched by that person’s darkness. It was only fitting that my road name was Karma.
Slipping out the door of the clubhouse with my gym bag, I climb on my bike and head toward the industrial looking building in town. By the time I’m warmed up, Zane rolls in looking like he’s feeling the bottle of whiskey he drank last night.
“Rough morning?”
He flips me off as he sets his bag down. “I could use the day to recoup before heading out.”
“No time for that.” I shake my head at him. “Prez wants us to leave right away in the morning. You need to get it all out today so you’re fresh for the ride tomorrow.”
“I’m fresh.” He holds out his arms by his sides, but the unmistakable smell of stale liquor hits me. “Okay, so I will be, once we’re done here and I can grab a shower. Besides, Street, you know I sober up best with food. I thought we were getting breakfast first?”
“Stop whining,” I chuckle at him. “Let's get this over with.”
I waste no time going after him. Our sparring training often crosses over from friendly to drawing blood and today is no different. We’re competitive, and taking blows reminds me of what can really happen. After the gym, we grab breakfast at the local diner. I’ve learned now after a few years that Rebels of the Undead aren’t feared by the community. Wary, sure, but not feared. Although I do undergo more traffic stops with the police department than ever before in my life. Thankfully, I have a squeaky-clean record.
Zane and I part ways after breakfast. He plans to head back to the clubhouse and make sure everything is ready there while I head to the shop and go over the inventory I’ll be dropping off and picking up. It’s well into the evening and I’m just about ready to head back to the clubhouse when my cell rings.
“Hey, Prez. What's up?”
“I need everyone back at the clubhouse. Leave the shit you’re doin now.”
I sigh, glancing at the work I still have left before I should be leaving. “Prez, I’m just about done with the inventory.”
“Fuck the inventory. You won’t be going tomorrow. Something came up. Get here now,” he orders and hangs up the phone.
Shit. Prez never loses his cool like that. And to cancel a run, it has to be important. I know our president has a family that he keeps mostly out of the club. His wife helps and plans meals, makes sure the place gets cleaned and laundry serviced. She mostly runs things behind the scenes of the club for us. Ari is a bartender, but he has a set of twins who are in their early teens that he keeps mostly separate from our business. Ari said he was like that with her too until she turned eighteen. Since becoming members, I’ve become friends of sorts with Ari. We keep it casual, no hooking up, just hanging out like friends, and once in a while we grab a bite to eat together. She already knows I don’t want romance and I never want to fall in love again. Plus, our age difference is another turn off for me. Even though she’s twenty-one, I feel like I’m too old to be anything but a big brother figure for her. Unlike Zane. He only offers her and the club whores dick and romance without the commitment.
I pack up quickly and ride out of town and back to the clubhouse in record time. The place is grim when I arrive and everyone is standing around, waiting.
“Sup, Randy. What's going on?” I ask the elderly man, who’s in his usual spot by the door.
“Don’t know. Must be big cuz Prez and Jester have been in Church for over an hour.”
I move farther into the room, nodding at a couple of buddies, and head to the bar. Ari smiles when she sees me and automatically hands me a water. She must not know her dad already cancelled my run for tomorrow.
“What’s happening?” I ask her, leaning over the bar top.
She shakes her head, lifting her shoulders. “No idea. Prez came flying out here and got Jester. Then started barking orders to get everyone home.”
“Hmm.” I trail my fingers over my jaw. My stomach clenches with all the possibilities. Did a job go wrong? I don’t remember anyone else being out right now. I guess there could have been an issue with our traders tomorrow, but I feel like that wouldn't warrant the call we got. I feel wound tight; my shoulders tense and a weird sense of unease keeps crawling down my spine. Something isn’t right, but I have no clue what it could be.
“Ari, get this man a shot,” Zane says a few seconds later, sliding next to me.
“A few,” our buddy Lennox, or Inspector, chimes in. “No job tomorrow.”
Ari’s blonde brow rises. “This must be something huge.”
No sooner does she say the words then Prez is at the door to Church. “Everyone in.”
We file in, everyone glancing at each other, too afraid to speak yet. I take my usual seat around the large table, right in the middle. Jester meets my gaze and I nod at him respectfully. It took a while after deciding to stay for Tric’s father and I to be on good terms. Him because I reminded him too much of his son and he thought I was wasting my life. And myself for harboring a grudge that I had no part of. Tric and Jester made peace even while he was in heaven and I needed to respect that. If Tric hadn’t been denied the club when he turned eighteen, I never would have met him. I can’t hold that against his blood.
“The good doc needs our help,” Prez states suddenly. A few of the older members sit up in their chairs, their eyes becoming concerned. Zane glances at me and I shrug. We’ve been through the same training, and over the years I’ve learned about a lot of people who are connected to the club. This good doc is not someone who’s popped up on our radar in the two years I’ve been here.
“As in not the bad doc?” Zane questions. His words are met with a few groans. Leave it to my friend.
Prez eyes Zane, trying to see how full of bullshit he is right now. “Fuck, Squirrel. Shut the hell up, okay.” I try not to snicker.
“What's it been like, almost five years?” someone asks.
Prez’s head hangs down. “Four and two months.” He glances around the table at us all. Trusting us. “My kid was going through a rough time. She wasn’t sleeping, eating. She was panicking about shit neither my old lady nor I could understand. I was freaked out and Jocelyn wasn’t sleeping because our daughter wasn’t sleeping. She was so worried. One day…my kid came flying down the stairs with a knife, eyes just glazed over. She had no idea who she was or where she was. She just kept saying they wanted her to.” His voice falls off and I lower my gaze to the table. It's one thing for him to share this personal part of his family history, but I don’t feel entitled to see him fall apart.
“The good doc saved her life. She saved my family. I promised her the club would be at her disposal if she ever needed us. A few months ago, she reached out, thinking someone was following her. Since then, it has progressed into full-on stalking.”
“Did she make a police report?” Inspector asks.
Prez shakes his head and his eyes become darker. “She can’t go to them. It's a long story, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the creep after her is part of the force.”
My fists tighten in my lap. “What's the plan?”
“I have reason to believe she was attacked tonight. She called and said the alarm I gave her was tripped. Then she didn’t call back and I can’t get through to her now. It's been an hour. I need to send a few of you up there to check on her and see if you can convince her to take our protection,” Prez finishes. His eyes automatically connect with mine.
“Ah, that's not my usual specialty, Prez,” I deadpan. I’m more of a shoot and then run guy.
“No, but your face might seem less intimidating,” Jester butts in and Zane cackles. I narrow my gaze at my lifelong friend and he holds up his hands in surrender.
“I’m sending Karma, Bullet and Squirrel to get the doc. Jester, I want you to talk to the police chief and see if you can get anything about the sanction up there. We might have to cover something up, so Inspector and Pointz, you two be ready,” Prez rattles off his instructions. “Everyone else needs to stay busy here. Be seen around town. In case we need an alibi. I’ll call DeMario and work on a new shipment plan. We may have to eat some of the cost on this one.”
All of us give our approval and my phone vibrates in my pocket. “That's the address I have for her. Be stealthy, be cautious. She knows how to use a weapon so maybe make friends before you order her around.”
I’m completely stunned by the turn of events; yet somehow, I manage to get up and take the slip of paper from him. I glance at the address, memorize it and drop it in the garbage on our way out. We’ve been given instructions not to waste any more time. Who knows how much time this woman has lost already. Gritting my teeth, I check my piece that’s tucked into the back of my jeans and make sure the chamber is loaded. Zane and Bullet glance at me from their bikes, waiting for my sign to roll out.
I raise my fist and we drive out of the compound and onto the main road into town. It's about a half hour ride to this chick's house. Probably closer to forty-five minutes on a normal day during business hours, but given it’s late at night, we should be able to breeze on in there quickly. I hope so at least. I really need time to be on my side. This errand is important to my prez, and if this doc is important to him then she’s important to me too.
The doc’s neighborhood looks like your average, white-picket fence, family community. There’s a few streetlights lining the block. The houses all look dark, a few have reflections from the TV on, but mostly the neighborhood is asleep. We bring our engines down to a comfortable coast, but there is no way to mistake the rumble our bikes have created in this quiet little area. When I see the house belonging to the doc, it does something to my insides. Maybe it’s the white paneling, or the blue shutters that are so bright I can see what color they are in the dark, or the lilac bush outside the front windows, but it looks sweet. Homey. It instantly makes my chest squeeze tight and I don’t know why. Shaking my head, I walk up the front driveway, noticing no other cars around. Bullet peers into the garage window.
“Just the car we have registered to her.”
“So she’s still here,” Zane guesses, but his words feel heavy. If she was attacked, then there’s a possibility she’s still inside, and the odds that we find something not good are increasing.
I push forward, keeping my back along the side of the house. I notice right away that the front door looks dented in, like someone kicked it a few times. My teeth gnash together before taking out my gun and adding the long piece at the end to silence any shots I may take. We move in sync to the back side of the house where I notice a glass sliding door. Peering inside, I don’t see anyone. I do see couch cushions on the ground, the coffee table tipped and shattered, and what looks like a pot or a pan on the floor in the kitchen along with food all over the countertops. Zane slides a long piece of steel out of his jacket and jimmies the door. There’s no stopper in the bottom and we get in easily. Zane keeps guard while Bullet and I step inside. We scan the main area and the kitchen. I close the fridge door that had been hanging open. Bullet motions his head up, signaling that he’s going upstairs. I keep to the main floor and follow it back to what appears to be a spare room and a laundry room.
“Doc,” I call out. “Rebels are here. Daggerz or Austin sent us.”
Silence.
I strain to hear anything in the rooms. Bullet’s boots can be heard upstairs, but there is zero scuffling or a woman’s scream. Fuck, I hope we aren’t too late. I want nothing more than to find this girl alive for Prez.
“I swear I’m not here to hurt you, angel. Prez sent me to help keep you safe, Doc.” I try again and this time I hear it. A small sob, a tiny noise of pain and fear. My gut clenches and I dive into the laundry room where it came from. I check the cabinet and then see the area I missed. A trap sliding door. Slowly, I lift the edge and see a long lock of silky, brown hair.
“My name’s Karma. I’m not here to hurt you. Let me help you,” I tell her, keeping my voice gentle. Her body shifts as she moves. I shove the door all the way up, not prepared to find crystal sky-blue eyes, framed with the longest lashes and rimmed in red from crying. Her skin is pale and splotchy from tears. Her small frame huddled, holding on to her body protectively.
My brain blanks out and I feel like I’m transported back in time, to when I first laid eyes on this girl. My heart stops completely as the air leaves the room. “Lyric?”