Nausea rushes up. I take several deep breaths as I fight to keep Dolly’s book club cake in my stomach. I jump off the back of Reaper’s bike the second he roars up outside of the Dead Tree Asylum, ready to puke.
Reaper is beside me, holding my hair back, but nothing comes up.
“It’s okay, baby.”
I hear what he is saying, but my heart screams the exact opposite, drowning out his words of comfort.
Once I gather myself and stand, he passes me off to Dolly and is off giving orders to his crew to help fight back the flames from overpowering the neighbors.
Angel passes me water and I swoosh it around in my mouth, hoping it will help calm my revolting stomach. It does. But nothing can help my aching heart.
Whirling sirens and horns push the gathering crowd to the sidewalks so they can get in to fight the flames.
“Dios, ¿por qué?” I whisper, clutching my hand to my throat. Invisible steel fingers grip my heart and my lungs. No matter how hard I fight for them, I can’t seem to catch my breath or my balance. Everything I’ve built here is on fire, my life is turning to ash and there is not a damn thing I can do about it.
Tears blur my vision, but I can feel every page wrinkling and turning to ash under the hungry flames consuming my life to my bones.
“I have to see what I can save.” Call it a moment of madness, but I dash for the front door that’s no longer a door but a blown-out metal frame with no glass to be seen. Shatter remnants crunch under my feet as I try to get into my bookstore.
“No, you don’t. It’s nothing that can’t be replaced.”
Various sets of hands grab onto my shoulders and arms, holding me back. “This is exactly what I didn’t want,” I scream into the cold autumn night. “This life of disaster, chaos, and violence.”
I whirl on Dolly. “I can’t do this. I walked away from this and came here thinking I could find a quiet life. I was wrong.”
The older, wiser woman takes my shoulders and gives me a stiff shake. “No honey, you came here to find the other half of your soul. We all see it. Now it’s up to you to fight for it, fight for him. Or not. It’s your choice.”
Her words cut past the burn of hurt blazing a path across my soul.
She looks ready to shake me again so I nod my head and let her know she’s made her point. Loud and clear. “You’re right, you’re right.”
I turn to the nearest Sinner. I can’t remember his name right off. Wait. “Patriot, right?” He’s holding an ice pack to his head. His lower lip is split in two places and the black bruise forming over his left eye didn’t get there by accident.
“Who did this?” I seethe.
“You can guess.” Trish pops a bubble but right when I am about to tell her to drop the fucking chewing gun routine and bad girl shit, I see the pain and the fury in her eyes as she watches my bookstore burn. It’s as if it has become a part of her and I realize something at that moment. She’s just as pissed off as I am. These people are here to protect me. I look around at the Sinners and the locals all coming to help the little bookstore on the corner.
I look around for Reaper but he’s gone. And so is his bike.
I grab Trish and Angel’s arms and drag them to my car. “Get in.”
Reaper
Iroar into Peril and I don’t let off the throttle until I see the whites of Mayhem’s beady little fucking eyes.
Red paints my entire world and I don’t plan on stopping until I see blood spill.
There have to be at least ten Riders scattered across the dirt lot in front of the Chaos Rider’s shabby clubhouse. A couple of windows throw light over the uneven porch that I don’t think has ever seen better days or a coat of paint.
I spot Mayhem standing on the porch, shoulder against a beam, beer in hand. The rest of the crew kick back in chairs or on their bikes.
A few spotlights light the place up like a stadium. Good. I want them to see the reaper coming for them.
The second my bike stops I pull a gun and pop two in the man’s kneecaps to my right. And another two into the man on my left.
Screams and the scent of blood feed my need for violence.
I laser in on Mayhem, one gun aimed at his head and another at his heart.
I throw a leg over the seat of my bike and take the steps two at a time until I’m face to face with my rival. “Celebrating somethin’ asshole?”
“Just a little weekend fun is all.”
He’s fighting it, but I hear the tremble in his tone. I’ve heard it in every man’s voice right before they eat my lead. He squares up with me. He has to. His men are looking on. He has no other choice but to accept the challenge I’m throwing down.
I sense movement behind me and I fire off a round, aiming at their feet.
“If anyone else wants to lose your kneecaps, step on up.”
The music inside dies and I hear men and women scrambling around behind the front door.
“Tell them to fuck off, before we see how long it takes for me to drop you and then burn your shit hole of a club to the ground. Eye for an eye is how I’m feeling right now.”
When he doesn’t move to get his men to back off, the barrel of my gun meets the skin of his forehead.
“Alright, alright. Dammit. Back the fuck off. You heard him.” He gestures to the men behind me and the ones trying to push their way out of the front door to get to me.
To help them understand faster, I pop a round off, taking out the doorbell.
The door slams and I have everyone’s attention where I need it. On what I have to say next.
“I know the fire tonight was your men’s doing.”
“You have a few weak links in your chain, Reaper. Not my fault.”
He spits a wad of chewing tobacco at my feet.
Holding my gun beside his ear I fire one off into the beams above.
After he stops screaming and rolling in pain, I haul the fucker to his feet and pin him to the wall of his clubhouse. Blood spills from his ear and my inner demons grin.
“I want you to use your good ear and listen closely.”
Mayhem nods his head. He’s shorter than me by about six inches and comes in at about my weight. He has ten years on me and the man still looks meaner than a snake-bitten bear on crack. But the rage running in my veins will only leave him pulverized on the ground if he wants to take this old school.
The Chaos Riders keep their clubhouse as trashy as the men who make up the gang. Neon signs throw the motley crew to my sides into multi-colored figures. A man comes up on my right. I point and pull. The thunk of dead weight reverberates across the planks of wood under my feet.
Someone else feels brave enough to go up against me. I aim and dance my finger over the trigger. “I said, tell them to back the fuck off, Clint. Or I can clear out your club the easy way. Your choice.”
“You heard him, you fuckers. You all wanna die? Huh?”
“Good man.” I press the muzzle of my other gun to his temple, my second weapon trained on the group of jackals looking for me to drop my guard. I am not stupid enough to believe they won’t try to rush me again.
“There are two ways we can end tonight. Your blood on my boots or you putting up the man who dared cross into my territory. You have ten seconds.”
“He’s a nobody, just someone visiting is all,” he squeals.
“Eight.”
“Fuck you, man. You’re in Chaos territory now. What’s to say I don’t put a bullet in you and bury your body in the backyard.”
“Because you’re not a dumb shit.” I cock the hammer back and press the barrel into his temple. “And you would have already taken me out if you had the balls to get it done. Five seconds.”
“Okay, man. Shit.”
He signals for one of his men. A second later the front door swings open and the man I threw out of Arabelle’s front window is shoved out wearing bandages on his arms.
I crook a finger his way. “You and I need to talk.”
He backpedals but the man at his back throws the one I am after right back out.
“The fuck I am. Hell no, prez. C’mon on, man. You can’t let him kill me. I was just gettin’ even with the bitch.”
I don’t feel the burn of his scruff on the back of my hand as I make him eat my knuckles. Wide eyes and shaking hands are not enough to get me to back down. I grab him by the back of his cut and throw him down the front of the stairs.
“Yes. The. Fuck. We. Are.” I enunciate for the dumb shit.
“You ain’t part of my crew. Nomads don’t have patch protection. Now get the fuck out,” Clint yells out as I push the asshole who dared cross into Haven and who dared try and hurt my woman.
I push him to his knees. “Hands on the ground.”
In my world, a crime against a brother is punishable and the wounds are to be made where the scars are visible to everyone. It sends a message that no one can trust the bastard. He’s not part of my crew but the same principles apply. Anywhere this fucker rides, he’ll be shunned.
And the man at my feet understands what is about to happen.
“Hands on the ground,” I repeat.
“Nah, man. You can’t make me.” He makes the mistake of raising his hands like I’m some fucking cop.
Two bullets. Two wounds. “You’re lucky it’s not your life I’m taking.”
He falls forward clutching at his hands. I inhale and revel in the smell of his blood in the air.
“Keep out of Haven. The next bullet will be between your eyes, motherfucker.”
Satisfied I look to Clint as the man is towed away. “Keep your men out of my town, Mayhem, and I might not have to kill any more of them.”
I leave my warning burning their ears and haul ass back to Haven. I take a shortcut through some backroads and make it back in half the time. The second I pull up outside the bookstore I know something is wrong.
Rock looks me dead in the eye from ten paces away covered in water and soot.
“Where the fuck is Arabelle?”
“I don’t know man. She was here one second and then just gone.”
I can’t breathe as I twist the throttle and sling the back wheel of my bike around and head north.
I take curves at full throttle and lean into the dips and bends into the road.
She can’t be leaving. Not my Arabelle. I can’t lose her. Not again.
