14. Bram #2
“He’s not going to stop. Not until we’re all dead.” She fought back the tears and looked up at me. “I won’t let him make me cry again,” she said. “Not ever.”
“You know what I have to do?” I said. “I can’t you, the club, or Barstow take his shit anymore. Just because he’s out doesn’t mean people have to flinch.”
She nodded and took a deep breath. “He’s putting the Desert Scorpions back together, calling in old favors. Other clubs are sending muscle to help him.”
I considered that for a moment. We had the manpower and the weapons. If other clubs wanted to die for the man, we would sure as fuck make that happen.
“Right now, we just need to get you girls back to the club.”
Rusty looked back at me. He wanted blood on his hands.
We cleared the front room. Kodiak was waiting at the door, pistol low, eyes on the bodies. He checked over his shoulder once, then led the way out. The sun had shifted, and the whole yard was washed in pink light, so bright it made my eyes water.
Outside, I let Julie steady herself against the trunk of a dead palm. She wiped her face, got the blood off her mouth, and spat once in the dirt. Then she straightened, and for a second, I saw the old DA, the one who could talk a man into confessing just by looking bored enough.
She turned to me and said, “Did you kill them?”
I nodded. “Remember when I said I would crush the world for you?”
She nodded.
“That’s just begun.” Then I said the three little words I’d not said since Millie’s death. “I love you,” I whispered in her ear. “You’re safe now.”
I placed my lips against hers and between lips and tongues, she said, “I love you, Bram.” Then she said, “Please make this all stop. I don’t want to do it anymore.”
“I got you, babe. To the moon and back.”
“To the moon and back,” she repeated.
I never thought my anger could exceed what I felt the night Millie was murdered, but it had. It was time for men to die.
Behind me, Rusty helped Emma onto the front step. The girl didn’t cry, didn’t flinch, just stood there blinking at the sky like it was something she’d never seen.
“We need to get her back,” Rusty said. “She said the Colonel is coming for her.”
“Call the club. Have them ready.”
The rising sunlight stabbed through my eyes and down my spine. It was that late hour when the sun went flat and metallic, throwing heat sideways until it cooked the world from both ends. The stink of the house fell away, replaced by dust and motor oil and the faint, sharp aftertaste of blood.
Kodiak was already at the bikes, posted up on the sidewalk with his hand hovering near the throttle, scanning the street for anything out of place. He nodded as we came out, then turned his face away, respectful or just uninterested in the mess we’d hauled out of that concrete cell.
Julie blinked in the sun, disoriented. I kept one arm around her, waiting until her legs could take her weight, then steered her toward the bikes. She hesitated at the curb, head dipped low. I wanted to say something that would break through, but nothing I said would stick.
I unhooked a helmet off my handlebars and offered it to her.
She studied it for a second, then shook her head, either not trusting her balance or just not wanting to hide her face.
Her hands went to my waist, and she tried to mount the bike on her own, but the movement shredded what little strength she had.
I caught her around the hips, guided her up, then slid onto the seat in front of her.
Her arms wrapped around my midsection, tighter than I expected.
I could feel the tremor in her hands, the small involuntary movements where her nerves hadn’t caught up to her body yet.
Her breath was hot on my back, and every time I leaned forward, she shifted with me, like we were joined along the spine.
When her forearms pressed against my ribs, I felt the rough burn of her skin through my shirt and my own healing stitches screamed back in sympathy.
I turned my head over my shoulder. “You ready?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
Rusty took longer getting Emma on. The girl was glassy-eyed, her jaw clamped shut and her split lip leaking blood down her chin.
She ignored it. She ignored everything. Rusty crouched in front of her, speaking low, and whatever he said got through enough for her to climb onto the bike and wedge herself tight behind him.
She didn’t touch him at first, but when he revved the engine, she clamped both hands to his sides.
I saw the muscles in his back knot, saw the way he angled his head to keep her in the corner of his vision.
Kodiak kicked his stand and rolled out first, not waiting for a signal. He took point, just as he’d done on the way in. We lined up behind, staggered formation, and hit the throttle.
The ride back was thirty minutes of straight-line hell.
The road out of Barstow stretched forever, undulating in the heat, every new patch of asphalt brighter than the last. I kept the speed sane, no sudden movements, no hard stops.
Every vibration of the frame traveled up my back and into Julie, and she held on like her life depended on it.
Halfway down the main drag, I felt her forehead settle against my shoulder blade.
It stayed there, warm and insistent, until we hit the turnoff for the frontage road.
Rusty followed close behind, never more than a car length, and every time I checked the mirror, Emma was still glued to him, not moving. If he felt any of it, he didn’t show it—eyes dead ahead, hands steady on the bars, not even a flinch as the wind hit his face.
At the halfway mark, the ache in my side finally receded, replaced by a different pain.
Not anger, not grief, just the raw certainty of what came next.
I was carrying a woman who’d been broken for my mistakes, and the only thing I could do was get her clear of it, get her safe, and hope that something on the other side would be different.
The compound came into view, a smudge of metal and chain link, and the closer we got, the lighter Julie’s grip became.
By the time I downshifted for the approach, her arms had gone slack, her breathing shallow and even.
She didn’t let go, though—not until I pulled up to the gates and cut the engine.
Behind us, Rusty and Emma rolled in. He dismounted first, then turned to help the girl down.
She slipped off the seat and landed with both feet, but her knees buckled and he caught her before she hit the ground.
She didn’t say thank you. She didn’t say anything at all.
He just steadied her, then put his hand on her shoulder and left it there.
I waited for Julie to speak. She just sat, both legs on one side of the bike, hands in her lap, looking at nothing. After a minute, she said, “Are we safe?”
“For now,” I told her.
She nodded. “Good.” The word was empty, but she needed it.
I offered a hand to help her down. She took it, surprised by her own weakness, and steadied herself against my chest for one long second before pushing off.
We stood there, the two of us, shadows stretching out behind us in the dirt, and I wondered how long it would take before either of us could close the gap.
Kodiak had already dismounted and was heading for the main house, not a word to anyone. Rusty stayed with Emma, both of them just standing in the sun, not looking at each other but refusing to step away.
Julie’s voice came out softer than I expected. “Thank you, Bram.”
I didn’t answer. There wasn’t anything left to say.
We went inside together, the air cooling around us, the desert shutting its jaws behind our backs.