Chapter Twenty-One
Roxanna
They descend on the Busted Crown like a pack of wolves. Predators. Armed to the teeth and ready to kill. One bike follows another so close it’s hard to tell the difference between the roar of each one, they’re so tightly intertwined. I start pacing from the moment the sound of their arrival reaches my ears, fear and dread building inside me.
Ozzy is the first to enter, and he nods in my direction as he sees me sitting at the bar, nose-deep in a glass of red wine. It’s not even noon and I’m on my third glass, seeking the kind of buzz that’ll quiet the riot inside me.
Jynx enters, followed by a handful of men wearing the patch that identifies them as prospects. Jynx is wearing men’s clothes now and heads straight for the bar and the beer taps. Gunney and a few others wearing Kings patches enter soon after. Not a single one of them doesn’t have blood on him.
My stomach turns at the sight.
One man sporting a gruesomely bloody bandaged wound sits down next to me, and Ozzy sits down to my other side.
“Who’re you? New club girl?” the new guy says, hardly showing any pain despite bloody bandage he’s sporting.
“She’s Bear’s girl, brother,” Ozzy says. “Roxanna.”
“Nice to meet you, Roxanna,” he says. “I’m Preacher.”
I stare at his hand for a second before I shake it. It’s caked in blood, but I don’t want to be rude. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Either I’m not able to keep my face from having my question written all over it, or Preacher’s heard what I’m thinking a million times before.
He pulls down the collar of his shirt. A scar, thick, white, and wicked, runs in a circle around the full circumference of his neck.
“I earned this collar and the nickname along with it. A while back, I decided I’d go looking for some peace and quiet in the crook of a noose, save the people in my past the trouble of having me in their future,” he says, his voice as level as if he were telling me what he ate for breakfast. “The beam I hung myself from broke after a minute or two — it might’ve been longer, but I wasn’t in a timekeeping mood when it happened.”
“I’m sorry,” I say.
“Sorry for what?” he says, raising an eyebrow. “That I learned I really didn’t want to die? I was grateful when I woke up with my neck ripped to shit and my lungs still working.”
“What I meant is I’m sorry you had to go through such an awful experience.”
“Life’s shit and God’s a bastard, sometimes. After I woke up, I came in here. I wasn’t part of the club back then, but this was the closest bar I knew of and fuck, I’d just hung myself and I wanted a beer. They let me drink on the house on account of my bleeding throat, and I found myself some brothers. People that’ve been through shit just like me. It was one of the best days of my life.”
“I’m glad you found yourself a family.”
“Yeah, they’re all right. Worth every scar.”
I contemplate my wine glass and let the conversation die for a while. Though Preacher doesn’t seem that bad of a guy, the way he so casually talks about his own near-suicide, and the fact that he’s covered in blood, doesn’t predispose me to talk to carry the conversation with him much further.
Glass empty, I pour some more, then turn to Ozzy. There’s a bloodstain on his pants in a splatter pattern large enough that whoever provided the material for it is definitely not alive anymore.
“What happened earlier?”
“A whole lot of shit. Some Devils carked it this morning.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better, and I’m probably not going to be the only one with a collar by the time this is over,” Preacher chimes in.
I look back through the room. There’s not a person there who isn’t wearing a grim mask of some mix of rage, resignation, and determination.
“Where’s Nash? Why isn’t he here?”
Preacher rolls his head in a circle, and the scar around his neck flexes and stretches, shrinking and growing like this live thing. “He and Rog had some errands to do. They’ll be along soon.”
“Errands?”
He gives me a knowing look.
My stomach turns again thinking about where things are heading. Everybody’s covered in blood and now this? I might not feel unsafe in this room, but I feel alone. Every one of these men seems on a course to murder, and, I can’t help but think that at some point my parents will be swept up in the current of violence.
My father might be mixed up in something illegal, but there’s nothing that justifies the kind of justice I can see the Wayward Kings dispensing.
I can’t let that happen.
I lean in to Ozzy’s ear.
“I have a friend coming out to see me. Her name’s Maria. I’m going to try and get ahold of her — she’s on a plane right now, I think — but, if she comes here first, tell her I’m at that cafe in town. The one that has the red barn on it’s sign.”
“You mean the Red Barn cafe? Yeah, sure, I’ll let her know,” he says. “Are you alright?”
I almost don’t register his question. It’s nearly inconceivable to me that anyone in this room could be ok with how things are going. “What do you think?”
“I honestly don’t know, which is why I asked.”
“It feels like the one thing I can be sure of is that I’m seeing some of you for the last time.”
“That’s life, sometimes. Keeping this town and this club safe sometimes has a cost.”
“You’re all just going to accept that this has to end with a bunch of people dead?”
He’s quiet, a shrug his only response, and it’s maddening how accepting they are, that it’s a given that they’re going to kill more people today and probably lose some of their own.
I finish my wine in a hurry and rush to the door. I can’t be in here anymore.
Samantha, shouting for me to wait, races to catch up to me in the parking lot. I’m steps from the clubhouse when her hand on my shoulder brings me to a halt.
“Where are you going?” she says, her voice an equal mix of concern and suspicion.
“Out of here. I know what they’re going to do and I can’t take it.”
“I had the same problem as you, years ago, when Gunney first joined the Kings.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Yeah?”
“When he decided he wanted out of the service, he was a wreck. He came back from that shit that went down in Bosnia, having to just stand around with his dick in his hands as a Peacekeeper,” she practically spits the word, like it turns to bile in her mouth. “Watching people get butchered while command just keeps telling everyone to stand down. He was a drunk and angry at the whole goddamn world. I was so fucking close to leaving his sorry ass.”
“So?”
“Gunney got his life back together because he found the Wayward Kings. These boys are broken as all hell, but, together, they make it work. It’s where their name comes from; they might be lost or fucked up, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be kings. And they keep this town safe,” she says.
“And that justifies murder? I should just sit back and let Nash – I mean Bear – go on killing people?” I say.
“Sometimes the answer to a fucked up problem is an equally fucked up answer. But that doesn’t change the fact that they’re still good men doing the right thing. What would you do if you were in their place and no one else gives enough of a god damn to help?”
I waver for a moment. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for my own family. And Maria, too. She’s always been my rock to cling to when I felt like the world’s about to sweep me away. I’d sacrifice myself for any of them.
But even so, as much as I care for Nash, I can’t sit around when I know what the club is planning. There has to be a better way.
“I can’t do this.”
I shove Samantha off of me and turn on my heel to head toward the truck.
One foot’s in the old beat-up truck when another pair of bikes roars into the parking lot. Nash and Rog. Nash gets off his bike and just the sight of him pulls me towards him like a magnet. I wrap him in a hug before he’s even got his helmet off. I can’t help myself, and, in my heart, I’m hoping for a chance to change things.
The feel of him calms me, like balm soothes a burn. He’s solid, something I can cling to in the chaos rushing around me. His lips meet mine and heat tickles me from my head to the tips of my toes.
It gives me hope.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he says, smiling as he kisses me.
“I missed you,” I say, sinking my face into his chest. For every thought swirling in my head — fear, anger, the sense that I’ve lost all control — what comes to the forefront is the truth: I care for him. There’s something about being around him that feels so right.
I breathe in. Scents assail my nostrils. Gunshot. The metallic tang of blood. The taste of him on my lips turns bitter. I want to spit it out, expel it along with the heady, gut-turning scent of blood and death that clings to him.
I pull away a bit and look up at him. His eyes are heavy, cold, untouched by the smile on his face.
“What did you do?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he says, his voice cold and brusque.
“Yes it does. Tell me.”
“What I have to do, Roxanna. This is to protect my family.”
“Murder?”
“When it’s either that or be murdered, it isn’t much of a choice now, is it?”
“You have other options. There’s law enforcement—”
“The sheriffs are in the pockets of the Iron Devils. The same guys your father, the judge, works for. This is our option. We don’t handle this, we die. We don’t take care of this — for good — then I don’t ever get to see my daughter.”
“You’re so set on this. If you care about me, at all, don’t do this. Find another way.”
“Another way? Are you fucking kidding me? This is to protect my family. When I got out of the service, they were here for me when no one else was. When I was so fucked in the head that the first thing I thought about every morning was killing myself, the only thing that kept me from pulling the trigger was knowing I’d let them down. Do you think I can just let them die?”
“What about your daughter? We could go to her, right now. I know where she is. Hell, if you want to kidnap her, I’ll help you. We can take her and run. Anything but this. Please.”
“And what? Live on the run knowing I failed my family? No. We’re finishing this, and then I’ll get my daughter back.”
“You’re better than this, Nash.”
“It’s Bear. Now you’re telling me it’d be better to leave my family to die? That’s not how it works. You don’t get to make that call,” he says, his voice rising just below a shout. “I love my daughter, which is exactly why I have to do this. I can’t let threats to her — or to my family — go on living.”
“Think about what you’re doing. How does this solve anything? How can you talk about wanting to raise your daughter right, and then in the next breath, talk about killing people?”
“Roxanna, you can back me on this, or you can go. That’s it. If you want to stay, we’ll protect you. But if you can’t support us, then you need to leave.”
“My father’s wrapped up in this, do you understand? Who’s to say you or the club won’t decide that he needs to die, too?” I say, looking into his eyes. Begging to see him waver, to give me some hope that the violence might end. “I have family of my own, Nash. Don’t I mean anything to you? I’ve helped you — I’ve cooperated, I’ve stolen my dad’s records — because, for some fucking reason, I believed you were a good person.”
More than anything, I want him to be the man I know he can be.
“I care for you, Roxanna. Despite everything I told myself when I kidnapped you — that you were just a bargaining chip — I care so damn much. But you’re not going to change my mind. Either support me, or leave.”
I look into his eyes, willing him to change his mind. My fear for my family, my fear for him, the overwhelming feeling that everything is spiraling out of control, is tearing my heart to pieces.
“I can’t,” I say.
“Then go.”
Sudden. Unhesitating. Those two words crush me without mercy, leaving me weak and small.
“You don’t mean that.”
“Get in my way, or get in my family’s way, and you’ll just wind up hurt. Go back to Chicago, go finish your internship, and go build yourself some calm, quiet life. Forget about me.”
“Just like that? You expect me to forget about all this?”
“I’m not going to abandon my family.”
“I’m not asking you to abandon your family, I’m asking you to look for another way.”
“There isn’t one.”
No more words. No amount of reason or pleading can change this man’s mind.
He leaves me, alone, in the parking lot, watching his back as he heads into the clubhouse to plan a war.
Maybe he is beyond saving. It guts me to think that. Fear and dread and heartbreak roil my stomach until I feel ready to vomit this morning’s wine upon the pavement.
I take a breath and try to find resolution, strength, something to keep me going. If I can’t save him, at the very least I can save my father.
* * * * *
“Holy shit, Roxy, what the hell happened to you?” Maria says the second she lays eyes on me.
I am, simply, a wreck. Inside and out, I feel broken and bruised, though the only thing that’s taken a wound is my heart.
Still, it’s so good to see her. As much as I hurt, I can’t help but smile at my redheaded friend.
“It’s too much to explain. I just need you to do something for me.”
“You know that excuse isn’t going to work on me, right? There’s only two people on earth I’d fly across the country for last minute: you, and David Tennant. And in either case, I’d demand to know why.”
“David Tennant? Really?”
“I have a thing for insanely charming and handsome men.”
“Ok, fine. The short story is that the guy I went home with is, sort of, in a biker gang. And he may be about to commit some serious crimes. Including murdering people.”
She looks at me, unfazed. “Fine.”
“Just ‘fine’?”
“I accept your explanation. It’s a fucking valid enough reason for you to call me out here. Now, what do you need me to do?”
I pull out the files I took from my dad’s office and slide them across the table to her. She opens the folder, casually looks them over, and then shuts the folder again.
“I need you to hold onto those. I’m going to try and stop what’s happening, but if you don’t hear from me after a few hours, you need to take those files to the Department of Justice’s office, or the FBI, or someone and you need to show them and you need to explain that there is some serious corruption going on between the sheriffs department, the Iron Devils motorcycle club, and some of the judges.”
“Judges? Like?”
“Take a guess.”
“Fuck me sideways. Really?”
“Exactly.”
“I mean, seriously, fuck,” she says, swirling the last of her pint of beer around in the glass, repeating the word fuck a dozen times over. Patrons turn and stare. “It hurts to even say this, but, shit, I think you might have been better off with Erick.”
“You’re kidding,” I say, finishing my glass of wine. It’s glass number four for the day, I think. I’ve been trying to get courage in whatever form I can. Maybe if I drink until I’m blacked out, I’ll be able to handle this situation. “Even if the world were ending, it’d still be preferable to getting back together with that creep.”
“True. Even if it were a zombie thing, and I were the last woman alive, I’d learn to like dead people before I got together with Erick.”
“You mean necrophilia?”
“Whatever it takes, Roxy. They’d probably be better lovers, too.”
I don’t know whether to agree with her, or be offended, so I just move on.
“Remember. If you don’t hear from me in a few hours, do whatever it takes to get these files into the right hands,” I say, standing up and Maria stands as well. I wrap my arms around her. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she says. “Sorry I said that necrophilia is preferable to your ex. Even though it’s true, it was insensitive timing, and I’m sorry about that.”
“You’re forgiven. As long as you don’t mention Erick ever again. Or talk about fucking zombies.”
“Agreed.”
We break our hug and I head back to the parking lot, starting up the lumbering beast of a truck and coercing the resistant steering-wheel to take me back out onto the highway. Despair, dread, desperation, all drive me forward at a delirious speed.
I have to save my family. Whatever it takes.