Landon
When I get to the train station, it’s almost three in the morning. I can’t stop thinking about Blade, Steel, and Vivian. I know I need to concentrate on the task at hand, but it’s killing me that I’ve almost surely lost two of the best men in my life…in one fateful evening.
Life with the Blacktop Chaos hadn’t exactly ever been peaceful, but this was a new level of horror. Between fending off rival MC attacks, selling drugs, and making Steel happy as a king, the guys and I had always had our work cut out for us. But now that the Helldogs were trying to actively reduce our ranks, I wasn’t sure what the future would hold.
There was a time where I thought I’d end up like Steel. Maybe not exactly like him–maybe not with a daughter. But I saw myself leading Blacktop Chaos until I was too old to get on a bike anymore. The MC had been my life, my family, my everything, all wrapped up in one.
Before I’d met Vivian, it hadn’t been hard to keep from getting involved with women. Sex was sex. I’d always loved pussy, but Vivian was something different. She was easily one of the smartest women I’d ever met, and definitely one of the sexiest. For her, I’d started breaking my rules one by one.
Years ago, I thought my rules were inscribed on stone like the commands brought down from the mountain top. But the first time I’d kissed Vivian, my personal code had disappeared like ashes in the wind. Turns out that having such a strict set of rules wasn’t enough to keep me on the straight and narrow after all.
My bike is roaring beneath me like a wild hog come to life, and I’m leaning over the handlebars and staring straight ahead into the blackest of black nights. Big Hill usually has a reputation for gorgeous nights full of glowing stars set against an inky velvet sky. But tonight, it looks like any anonymous little town in Texas. The unfamiliarity is jarring, and snakes of nervous anxiety are twisting around in my gut. It’s so dark outside that I can’t even see the lines on the road.
A truck roars by me like a sentinel, the headlights flashing across the flat dusty land and dark sky. There’s a wicked breeze kicking up, and the lack of moonlight makes me feel cold. Everyone always thinks of Texas as dry heat, but the nights in the desert are chill–deep enough to suck my soul right out of my body….if I even have a soul left to give.
The train station seems to fly out of the darkness like something alive. It’s an old building that, on normal days, looms over the flat horizon like a beacon of hope for travelers. Something seems off tonight, though. I can’t put my finger on what’s wrong, but there’s an odd feeling in the air. It almost feels like I’m at a play–like a spectacle is being put on for my amusement.
“I’m here!” I scream into the night. The wind roars, carrying away my voice and making me feel no more powerful than a field mouse.
Of course, there’s no reply.
I slow my bike and finally stop, spraying gravel through the night air. When the roar of my engine dies down, I realize that it’s almost deathly quiet around the station. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone here.
As quietly as I can, I move along the path towards the entrance. The doors are boarded up; it doesn’t look like a real train has gone past this town in years. But when I try to glance inside, I can’t. The windows are papered with brown bags, cut and pasted up like some elementary school kid’s project.
“I’m gonna fucking get you,” I hiss under my breath. Pulling a knife out of my pocket, I try to jimmy the lock on the door. The lock sticks, though. It won’t budge. Grunting under my breath, I throw my weight against the rotting wood and press with all of my strength. The door looked flimsy from the outside, but I’m starting to realize that it must have been reinforced somehow. I’m sweating and groaning by the time the wood gives just an inch. Finally, I throw my knife on the ground, back up, and run towards the door. Slamming my shoulder against the wood yields a satisfying craaaaack sound and the door bursts open. I stumble and almost fall, my feet tangling beneath me like a newborn fawn.
Inside, the room is empty. The floor is covered with a thick layer of dust, although there are multiple sets of footprints crisscrossing the room. It looks like whoever was in here was doing a lot of heavy pacing. Scowling, I make my way across the floor to a rickety old table. It looks ancient. There’s ornate scrollwork on the sides and the legs are spindly and obviously carved by hand.
Vivian flashes across my mind. It’s tempting to close my eyes and imagine her sitting at this desk, warming the ancient wood with her body. I bet she’d really love it. It looks just like the kind of thing I’ve seen in old movies about professors and students.
Focus, Landon, I order myself. Banishing Vivian from my mind is the most difficult thing I’ve had to do all day. Something about her is so buoyant that I can’t make the image sink, even when I’m gritting my teeth and clenching my hands into fists. It’s easy to forget that Vivian’s a real person when I’m away from her like this. She almost seems too good to be true, like a fantasy girl I created in my mind.
There’s a loud noise outside and I jump in surprise. Scurrying over to the covered window, I gently peel the brown paper away from the thin, ancient glass. Headlights bounce over gravel. I cringe when I see my bike illuminated in the hazy yellow light. Fuck, I think. I should’ve covered that up.
To my growing horror, the car stops. I hear the slam of doors, followed by grunting voices and the slap of feet against gravel. My heart is in my throat. There’s no way to conceal myself in the small station, and I know that each second that passes is another second closer to danger.
As quickly as I can, I pull out my gun and aim towards the door. The footsteps grow nearer, and I can hear two male voices bandying about, both thick with Texas accents. I pray that they’re not affiliated with an MC. The best case scenario would be a couple of good ole boys, lookin’ to fuck with someone and his bike.
But when the door pops open, I realize that I’m in deep shit. Two guys, both clad in the Helldogs insignia, walk into the room.
One of them is the man with the red birthmark. He doesn’t look very scary. He’s a scrawny little runt of a man, with rotten teeth and a bony face that reminds me of a skeleton. But the other guy is bigger–muscular and brawny, with biceps fatter than the circumference of his neck.
“Who the fuck are you?” The brawny one growls, stepping forward. I wonder if he’s the birthmark man’s muscle.
“I think you know the answer to that,” I say as calmly as I can, lifting my gun into the air and pointing it at the man with the birthmark.
“Well, well, well.” Birthmark man steps closer and eyes me carefully. His eyes travel the length of my body, and I’m sure he notices the knife strapped to my thigh. He pushes my gun to the side like it’s no more than a toy.
“Landon Lockhart,” the man says. He grins and a foul odor of air from his mouth wafts over my face. “Pleased. It’s about time.”
I ball my free hand into a fist, waiting for the perfect moment to take a swing and punch this fucker out. But he’s faster than I am, and before I can even move, he’s grabbed my gun and knocked it out of my hand.
“Alan,” Birthmark man hisses. “Get him! Quick!”
The scuffle with Alan, the brawny one, is so short that it’s almost comical. I’m backed into a corner and even though I’m a hell of a fighter on a good day, it’s like I don’t even know how to move. Alan grabs the back of my neck and slams my head into the wall like a zookeeper knocking out a gorilla. His fingers are so strong that I can’t even breathe—it feels like my throat is closing up.
Alan knocks me down on the floor, pinning me easily with one of his giant boots. I’m writhing and groaning and trying to get free, but I have a feeling that escaping from the situation at hand isn’t going to be easy. Finally, I twist my body and yank my hands free. When Alan turns his head, I wrap my hands around his ankles and throw his body to the ground.
A gun fires. The shot echoes off the old walls of the train station. Alan starts yelling as I haul myself to my feet. Making a fist, I swing my hand through the air until my fingers connect directly with his jaw. As I hit him, his eyes bulge out and he makes a loud cry of pain as he falls to the floor behind me.
The man with the birthmark is standing there, panting hard. He’s holding my gun, aiming it at my head.
“Don’t fuckin’ try anything else,” the man sneers. He cocks the gun, pushing the barrel close to my temple. “Or your brains are gonna be painting this wall in just a few seconds.”
Fuck.
“What the hell did you do with Vivian?” I grunt. I’m aware that I don’t sound too tough. The truth is, I feel like a huge pussy. I can’t believe how easily Alan was able to knock me over and keep me pinned to the ground.
“Like I’d tell you that,” the man sneers.
“Branden,” Alan grunts. “We gotta get the fuck out of here. We left the girl back at the house.”
A sigh of relief escapes my lips. So Vivian’s safe. Even if she’s in Alan and Branden’s custody, that’s better than being dead.
“Okay.” Branden, the man with the red birthmark, steps across the floor. He sneers at me, spinning my gun around on his index finger. “You got lucky, pussy, you hear me?”
I snicker. “Yeah, I hear you,” I say. The wheels and gears in my head are churning and spinning as I desperately try to think of a way to save both Vivian and myself from this situation. I’m almost happy they’re taking me instead of killing me and dumping my body. Any time spent close to these assholes just means more chances to win back the woman of my dreams.
“Come on,” Branden grunts.
I shake my head, laughing.
Branden sneers at me, spitting on the floor in disgust. When he looks up at me, he shakes his head slowly.
“What?” I cock my head to the side. “Why the hell are you so pissed?”
“Because you’re fuckin’ laughing at me,” Branden says. He spits on the floor again. “What the fuck is so funny?”
My lips curl into a smirk and I lean against the musty wall. “Your name is Branden,” I say. “That’s pretty fuckin’ funny, don’t you think? I would’ve thought you were called Tex or maybe Buck or somethin’ like that.” I smirk at him, wishing I had a cigarette to throw out on the top of his shoe.
Branden lunges at me. This time, I’m ready and I punch him square in the nose. I can feel the delicate bones of his face breaking under my fist. When he eyes me again, blood is streaming from both nostrils and he looks deranged.
“Fuck you,” Branden sneers. “You’re gonna pay for that.”
“I bet I am,” I say, rolling my eyes. Alan is at my side again and before I can move, he pins my arms to my sides. Alan and Branden frog-march me out of the station. I’m not even fighting. I want to save my strength for later, when I’ll need it. My bike is parked in the gravel, a ghostly specter in the dark of night.
While we were inside the train station, the sky cleared up. Now I can see stars–thousands, hell, maybe even millions of ‘em–all glinting against the dark black like pinholes with a bright light behind. The moon is curved and the sight of it makes me ache. There’s something feminine about a waxing moon. When I used to stare up at the moon in the old days, I’d think of a mother.
But now the moon just makes me think of Vivian.
Everything makes me think of Vivian, I realize as Branden and Alan drag me over to an ugly little black car. She’s my world, and I’m hers. If we’re not together, I won’t be able to live.
Branden and Alan shove me roughly into the backseat of the car. I can’t help cringing but it’s the filthiest car I’ve ever seen. The floorboards are littered with empty beer cans, soda bottles, and fast food burger wrappers. It smells like a fucking dumpster, and I’m angry again.
“You can’t even take care of your fucking car,” I mutter under my breath as Branden climbs behind the wheel and slams the door. “It’s a fucking sty back here.”
Branden growls. “I can take care of whatever I wanna,” he says, whirling around and glaring at me. I glare right back. Now that we’re on equal footing–or rather seating–I see no reason to let this asshole keep intimidating me.
“Oh yeah?” I shrug, raising my arms to the side. I know what I’m about to say is risky, but that somehow doesn’t make it any less tempting. “Like you took care of Vivian?”
To my surprise, Branden bursts out laughing. “You don’t know shit about Vivian,” Branden says. “She’s the president’s daughter and you couldn’t keep your dirty hands off of her.”
Narrowing my eyes, I try to ignore the hot burst of anger that tearing through my body. “Fuck you,” I say in a snarling voice. “You can’t hurt me, and you can’t hurt her, either.”
“Careful,” Branden says, backing out of the train station’s gravel lot while keeping an eye firmly on me. “If you keep acting out like this, I’ll make sure you never get to meet your child.”
Now it’s my turn to gape. “What did you just say?”
Branden’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “What?” He asks in a mocking, falsely tender voice. “Little Vivian didn’t tell you about the widdle baby in her tummy?”
As the car pulls away from the train depot and onto the highway, I feel sick. Why the hell wouldn’t Vivian have told me if I’d gotten her pregnant? The days Vivian and I spent together cooped up in the hideout weren’t that long ago. I don’t understand how she could even know she was pregnant.
And even more disturbing to think about is how Branden and Alan found out. What exactly did this pair of jerks do to my woman?
Balling my hands into fists, I clench my jaw and wait, silently. I’m determined to find out exactly what these men did to Vivian, and then I know they won’t be men for much longer.
I’m going to get my revenge on them if it kills me.