Chapter Seventeen
Ozzy
Orange sunbeams grace my shoulders as the light rises above the horizon, bright lights to cast away the cold of the Montana morning. There’s cold steel in my hand, and my brother by my side.
There’s a simplicity in this; I might’ve lost my way earlier, I might’ve been torn, but now I’ve got my purpose straight in front of me. No more doubts. Today I buy my forgiveness with David Ardoin’s blood.
“You sure about this, Ozzy?”
I nod, kick start my bike, letting the machine roar as it comes to life.
“I’m sure, brother,” I say, checking over my gun for the third time this morning. Fresh off dumping another body in the wilderness and driven by the urgency to see this thing through, I want to mistakes that can be prevented. Just as it was the first two times I checked it, my gun’s in perfect working order. “I owe you an apology.”
He looks at me sideways. “What for?”
“I wavered, earlier. And I wasn’t always honest with you and about my priorities. I held us off on killing this guy because I didn’t want to do anything that could jeopardize Maria’s career. Even if that meant hurting the club.”
It hurts me just saying that. It hurts realizing how close I came to letting my heart cloud my priorities. It hurts knowing that I still care for Maria, despite everything I now know she’s done.
Maybe I’ll never get over that pain.
Maybe it’s what I deserve for doubting my family.
Preacher pats me across the back. “Don’t worry about it. Don’t you think any of us would’ve done the same for someone we care about? Hell, what would Gunney or Bear have done if their old ladies were mixed up in this? Gunney would turn Missoula into a smoking crater for Sam.”
I nod. “I reckon you’re right about that.”
He’s quiet a second while he methodically checks over his gun. “What changed your mind?”
I consider my words carefully. Even now, I don’t think I can tell him about Maria’s betrayal. I don’t want to believe it yet, myself.
“The more I think about it, the more I realize that it’s too much of a liability to leave this guy alive. Even if we can neutralize him some other way, he’s always going to be some kind of a threat,” I say. “Like that time in your show, when they buried that gay vampire king in concrete when they should’ve killed him — it’s just a decision that came back to bite them.”
“Literally,” Preacher says, nodding. “Or when Bill buried Eric. It just doesn’t work out. Well, either way, I’m glad you changed your mind, brother. I’m proud to see you take this step into leadership and make a tough call.”
“Thank you, brother,” I say. “According to Phil, now’s about the time they should be transporting this Ardoin bloke. We should be able to catch them just as the highway hits the mountains. Let’s kill this son of a bitch.”
“Amen,” he says, firing up his bike.
Our bikes let out a steely roar beneath us as we speed down the highway towards the State Prison. Preacher and I put a lot of time coming up with our plan: we’ll force the police vehicle off the road at a choke point in the mountains we’d scouted earlier and then we’ll shoot them all in the head.
It’s a pretty good plan, I reckon. Simple and effective.
We’re well into the mountainous part of the highway when I see something on the horizon that stirs doubt inside me: smoke. Black, ugly swirling smoke rises in a column and, miles away, I can smell the unmistakable scent of burning tires and petrol.
Preacher gestures towards the smoke and I nod to tell him that I see it too and I motion for us to keep riding. We speed down the highway, passing a long backup of cars held up by the burning vehicle.
Off in the distance, I spy the police van making a turn onto a side road to escape the traffic.
I point. Preacher nods.
It’s time.
We cross the median, weaving our bikes through traffic in pursuit of the police van as it barrels down the back road.
The road is empty except for us and the police van about a kilometer ahead of us. It’s one of those mountainous roads, left over from the days when mining towns used to cling to the mountainous countryside. It’s a narrow, asphalt snake that weaves through through the rocky mountains.
“Ready, brother,” I shout over the roaring engines.
Preacher and I speed up to close the distance.
If we’re going to hit this van, now’s the best chance to do it.
There’s an explosion — sparks erupt from the front drivers-side wheel as the tire explodes and steel rims scream across the asphalt.
Another crack, and a bullet rips through the other front tire. The van swerves, sparks erupting as the steel rims scree across asphalt and the multi-ton vehicle careens sideways, crashing into the face of a cliff with enough force that I feel the shuddering blast from a hundred meters away.
“We’re not alone,” Preacher screams to me, gesturing with his gun towards the mountains above the crashed van.
Bullets rain down from mountains — incessant lead hammering the armored sides of the vehicle, high calibre bullets sending spark and steel flying.
Preacher and I bring our bikes to a halt, surveying the scene.
“Brother, did you bring in someone else in on this?” he says to me.
I shake my head. “I wish. Looks like they’re going to do our job for us.”
He looks at me, cocks his head to the side. “You want to go grab a beer, then?”
I pause a moment, watching the firefight. Most of my instincts are telling me to say ‘yes’ and go celebrate this good turn of fortune. Maybe I could even go get some of that good microbrew that I’d had in the lounge. It could be a good way to celebrate a victory.
The back door to the van bursts open and two uniformed officers hop out, sheltering behind the armored doors and returning fire. My eyes catch an unmistakable flash of red hair. My blood stirs — angry and hot — and my heart leaps in my chest, propelled by rage.
It can’t be.
My gun’s in my hand before I realize it. I’m ready to kill.
“Bloody fucking hell,” I spit.
“What?”
“Maria’s down there.”
“Shit. She won’t last long at the rate things are going.”
I don’t hesitate. It doesn’t matter what she’s done — I don’t care about that right now; she’s still the woman that stirs my heart with a look; she’s still the woman that makes me feel like I’ve never felt before.
No way in hell it ends like this.
No way in hell some hillbilly assassin is going to threaten the woman I love.
“We have to help her.”
“You sure about that? You want to charge into that mess?”
I’d charge headfirst into hell for her.
“You’re free to stay here, brother, but I sure as hell am going in there.”
“You got a plan?”
I laugh. “Yeah. Kill them. Save her. Then kill our target. Get drunk after.”
“Pretty brilliant idea, if you ask me. Lead the way, brother.”
I nod and gesture up towards the two spots above the road where the snipers are perched. There’s a small trail running from the road off to where it looks like they’re holed up — a winding scrap of dirt that’s barely more than a goat track. This far, the snipers seems totally focused on raining death on the police van. We’ll have the element of surprise.
Preacher and I ride our bikes to the start of the trailhead and then hop off. Riding up that would make too much noise and cost us our advantage. We take the trail on foot, sprinting, guns out, ready to kill.
One minute, many gunshots, and one policeman’s death-cry later, and Preacher and I slow our run to a quiet walk. The snipers are just around the bend. Two men with high powered rifles, in camouflaged gear hiding in field blinds. This is a professional hit by killers of a higher calibre than the hillbilly bastards we’ve been dealing with so far.
“No fucking around here, mate,” I whisper to Preacher. “Headshots. Quick kills.”
“Of course, brother.”
I take a silent step and stop short as Preacher tugs on my sleeve.
“What?” I whisper.
“You think we can keep their gear after this?” he says.
“Of course. They’ve got some fucking sweet toys.”
We creep up slow — taking every step careful to avoid making any kind of noise, even though the loud sound of the sniper’s gunfire and the policemen’s returning shots echoes loudly through the mountains.
Up ahead, there are two men, laying flat on their stomachs, eyes firmly planted against the scopes of their sniper rifles. Their attention squarely focused on the van hundreds of feet below.
I’m quiet as a mouse as I get up behind on of them and Preacher is just as stealthy getting up to his target. He and I trade meaningful looks.
I nod.
Go.
At the same moment, we pull the trigger.
Two bullets, two dead men.
Bloody brains splatter the dirt at my feet and crimson gushes from the quarter-sized hole in the man’s head, forming a thick, sludgy red pool in the thirsty sand. I take a second to admire my handiwork and allow myself to feel a bit like Jason Bourne or some other stealthy spy.
A scream from down below ruins my triumphant moment.
Maria.
My gaze darts down the hill.
That prick David has his shackles wrapped around the throat of a policeman, the cop twitching and spasming as he claws at his throat, trying to break David’s grip. David wrenches the chains and the cop’s body goes stiff. Nonchalantly, he tosses the body aside and pulls the cuff keys from the lifeless man’s pocket.
Maria lunges at him.
What a fierce woman.
They struggle. There’s a moment where she’s giving as good as she gets — a moment where I feel so much pride; she hits him with a right across the jaw and, in the midst of it all, I feel myself smile.
She’s beautiful.
“Get down, bitch,” David yells.
With the back of his hand, he smacks her away. Maria’s head snaps sideways and she falls to the ground in a heap. I don’t think — I leap froward, scrabbling down the steep sloping face of the hill. Rocks and scree slide beneath me as I dirt-ski my way down to the road.
No one touches her and lives.
“You’re a fucking dead man,” I roar as I hit the bottom.
My vision red, my gun ready and in my hand, I hit the ground running and charge towards the bastard. He’s dead, he just doesn’t know it yet.
David’s already got his cuffs off and a gun in his hand, pulled from the lifeless grip of one of the police officers. Lead whizzes by my ear and I dive aside, looking for the slightest bit of cover as I return fire.
“I’m going to kill you and fuck your woman atop your corpse,” David yells back. Bullets rip through the air next to me, sending shards of rock flying. “Maybe I’ll keep her alive after all this. Make her into one of my girls.”
Behind me, Preacher is making his way down the hill. It’ll take him a while to get to me but it gives me even more confidence knowing I’ve got my brother at my back.
I return fire. He screams as a shot takes him in the shoulder.
“You son of a bitch,” he yells, taking cover behind the metal doors of the prison van.
Another shot whizzes by me. And another. David is shooting like a madman, letting loose on me and taking full advantage of my handicap in returning fire. A bullet bites me in the leg, ripping through my jeans, my shin, and flying out the back of my calf.
Fuck. That’s not ideal.
Blood is pouring down my leg and filling my shoe while I hurriedly cast my eyes about, looking for somewhere safer to take cover. There’s a pile of rocks on the shoulder of the road — remnants of a rock slide. I make a break for it.
“I can’t wait to taste her. I’ll bet she’s fucking sweet,” he yells.
Another bullet whizzes by me, cracking into the ground and sending shards of rock to pepper my face. A sharp rock catches me right above the eye and I stumble. Another bullet tears a bloody streak along my thigh and I fall face-first to the ground.
I turn.
He’s there, looming over me, gun in his hand. Preacher’s still too far away to help and David’s got me dead to rights.
“What’s your name?” he says, grinning. “I want to whisper it to your girl while I fuck her.”
Crack.
Blood spurts from his mouth. Utter shock ripples across his face as lead rips a hole through his chest. His prison jumpsuit turns from orange to crimson in a second.
I look behind him.
She’s standing there, policeman’s pistol in her hands, deep purple bruises forming around her eye, tears streaming down her face.
David collapses face-first to the asphalt.
“Ozzy?” she says, her voice strained, confused, in pain.
I hardly see him. I hardly feel the bullet wounds. There’s only one thing that’s important right now: her.
Because she is hurt, she saved my life, and she needs me.
That’s all I can think about. That’s all that matters.
“Maria,” I call out, forcing myself to stand on damaged legs.
I run to her.