…
Remy
The slow, high-pitch creak of my hotel door opening didn’t wake me. It was the footsteps crinkling the glass on the carpet that did it. My pistol was in my hand before I even had my eyes open. I heard a woman’s self-muffled scream when I pointed it toward the noise.
The morning daylight bitterly flooded the room, blinding me. Once I saw that there was only one figure in front of me, I lowered my gun, and I motioned for the girl to shut the door. That sobering light needed to die.
The shitty curtains cut the edge, but the room was still lit enough that even with the door shut, the aftermath of my tantrum was laid as bare as I was. I hadn’t moved from the spot I collapsed upon last night and didn’t give a thought to put on clothes yet.
“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded.
She didn’t answer.
I could see her surprise as she surveyed all the damage. It didn’t look like this is what she had prepared herself to walk into. Was she one with one of the dealers outside? Was she supposed to lower my guard so that other people could rush in and take me out? I whistled, startling her from her survey of the room.
She winced under my stare, and it quickly became obvious that she wasn’t a threat.
That’s a shame. I’d have liked to see how that played out.
Deciding I needed a cigarette more than answers at the moment, I tapped my face with a two-finger smoking gesture and pointed to a pack on the ground near her.
She carefully picked it up and tiptoed it over to me through all the debris.
I snapped the pack out of her hand and bumped up a cigarette. My whole body ached from the ass-kicking I gave the room last night. The dull muscle pain with exertion mixed with the sharp, continuous sting from the multitude of fresh cuts. The sink was completely fucked. I’d have to reposition the upside-down couch-chair to get to the shower.
“Fuck.” No lighter. I riffled through the glass and displaced plaster around me to no avail.
She said something and handed me a lighter. That wasn’t English or Spanish. Wonderful.
“Know any English?”
She looked at me regretfully, shrugging at my question. At least she had some comprehension.
“Who let you in?” I asked in between puffs of getting my cigarette started. “Why are you here?”
She started talking.
I only got about as far as her name being Katya before I held up a hand to stop her. She spoke far too fast and far too foreign for me to understand what she was saying. At this time of the morning, I’d barely understand English, let alone the Russian she was rattling off. All it was doing was making my throbbing headache worse.
Katya stood there and waited for instructions.
I coated my lungs with a breakfast of nicotine and rat poison while I put on my best Sherlock Holmes and tried to deduce what the fuck was going on. I gathered from her gestures that her name was Katya, not that that mattered, and something about Los Lobos. This was solidly their turf, and from the way she was dressed, I’d say she came with the room. It was a similar deal, as how Muse ran shit at her place. Out-of-towners didn’t buy hookers at Muse’s. They bought certain rooms with the understanding that they’d eventually get some company.
Apparently, last night I paid for the red-haired Russian room.
I checked her over. She had waist-length, cherry-cola hair, bright blue eyes, and a thicker, curvier build with some banging curves. Here-for-the-fuck strapless red dress over smooth, olive skin. It was a good thing Muse didn’t have whores like this, or else she’d never be rid of us. Maybe that’s why Muse went with that good-if-you’re-drunk quality so we’d eventually leave. She was a savvy business woman after all.
Okay, that’s the why, so now for the how. Didn’t matter where it was. It’d be too audacious for whores to unlock—
Ah. I chuckled which quickly turned into a coughing fit.
Katya gave me a confused expression having no idea what a bloody naked man could possibly be laughing at.
I never locked the fucking door last night. Any one of the bangers, dealers, or junkies outside could’ve rolled in here while I was passed out, but none did. Not that it mattered too much as the locks were a joke anyways. Management here didn’t even bother taking the busted ones off the wall because they just bolted on new ones above them. Lazy fucks.
Katya swept off a spot on the bed and put her purse down before she began to unzip her dress.
“Seriously?” I scoffed. Yeah, I was obviously not bashful and she was pretty enough, but not even my dick was in the mood for this. I cocked an eyebrow and held out my blood stained arms. Undeterred, her dress dropped to the floor, then her bra. I had to hand it to the Russian girls. They just didn’t give a fuck.
She looked at me and leaned forward. Gravity hung her full tits perfectly. They swayed and jiggled as she worked the black cotton panties down over her pale, two-handfuls ass. Katya straightened up and slid her hands between her pillowy mountains, over her smooth stomach, and down to an appetizing pussy. She had her pubic hair expertly groomed into a landing strip.
Didn’t take long for what little blood I had left to start flowing down to my cock.
Still, as hot as this girl was, thoughts of Star kept creeping in. I felt stupid for even thinking that way. Star was gone. I gave her up, and she was outta my fucking life completely. I should fuck this whore because of that fact alone! Katya was hot, smooth flesh. All tits, ass, and fuck-me. And Star…
Star was just another ghost to me.
At Katya’s grasp, my cock hardened fully. She spat on my swollen head to use her saliva as lube and slowly stroked her hand over the top, then back down the shaft to the balls. It felt so damn good. The girl knew how to handle a dick.
Completely unfazed by the bloody warpaint I was wearing, she leaned in to kiss me. This girl was a freak like I’d rarely seen. I turned my head at the last moment, so she kissed the side of my face instead. I never had any qualms about being kissed by whores before. I never sought it out, but if it happened, it happened.
This time, though, it felt extremely wrong.
Katya didn’t smell right either. Not bad. I just hated her perfume. The rings she wore were round and smooth, but I didn’t like their pressure as they crested the head of my cock. She wore her makeup way too heavy, and it made her already sad eyes look sleepy.
I was being critical, and I didn’t know why.
Her makeup? I’ve never even noticed makeup on a whore I was about to fuck before.
Her jerking quickened. She leaned back and squatted down in front of me. Her pussy lips separated, revealing the hidden pink folds beneath. She swallowed a finger just to pull it out in a kiss, then dragged it down the length of her curvy body. I could feel the heat from her pussy on my thigh. She rubbed her clit a moment then plunged the wet finger inside.
It was a hell of a show, but it still felt wrong and I didn’t know why.
But I knew why. I just didn’t want to admit it to myself.
I hated getting bogged down by the past, and Star Keller was solidly in my past. So why couldn’t I just fuck the shit out of this hot-ass Russian whore? I would fuck her. I needed to.
You never get over your fear of heights while standing on the ground.
This was happening, I decided. Man the fuck up and get over her.
I grabbed the Russian girl’s waist tightly.
Those sleepy eyes opened to reveal a little life. Not fire, but just enough to show that she was here and wanted it. She let my rigid cock go and placed both hands on my shoulder.
I should wear a condom, as she was a whore. Fuck it.
I jerked her forward, and she hovered expectantly over my ready dick. Her pussy was wet, full, and waiting... but I stopped.
She looked confused and motioned for us to continue.
For all my bluster and bravado, I just couldn’t do it.
I pushed Katya up until she was standing on her two feet. My dick started to sag right away. Fuck! I couldn’t ignore the hold Star had on me.
My mind swelled with odd, crazy thoughts. If I could get out of all this, shake the kill teams, and hook up with the Lobos... maybe I could find Star again. I’d never been to New England. She could show me those changing leaves. It was an interesting array of feelings. Concern. Anticipation. Hope. Thinking about Star made me feel alarmingly human like someone removed me off a forgotten shelf and dusted me off.
Katya didn’t understand, and she tried coming in again, taking a dominant role this time.
The girl was good, but I was stronger. I ejected her away. Cute girl, but I was completely over her and this whole situation.
I needed to stop moping and get off my ass.
“Stop,” I ordered, but she didn’t. Yet to her credit, I’m sure she didn’t hear the word often, so I repeated it forcefully. “Stop!”
Katya looked utterly dejected. I forced myself not to smile at that, but the show was almost worth the blue-balled ticket price. She awkwardly stood up and dressed. She would remember the time she walked into a naked biker’s destroyed hotel room and left unfucked.
I finally found my legs and made my way over to the sink, bringing only my gun with me. I wasn’t bashful, and my pants couldn’t shoot me in the back so I left them. The TV was set aside, and the sink cleaned out in short order. I could see it in the glass shards littered about everywhere.
I was a fucking mess. To my surprise, I wouldn’t need stitches, as most of the cuts were shallow. There were just a shitload of them. What I needed was bandages. The warm water felt nice, though. Felt like I was washing off not just the layer of blood, but some of my grief as well.
“Steel Veins?”
I stopped cleaning my arms and turned to see the Russian girl across the room. Comprehension that I wasn’t Los Lobos was dawning on her as she held my vest.
The gun was in my hand like it was magnetized.
She staggered backwards and dropped my vest when she saw me staring at her. Katya threw her hands up and apologized.
I should have shot her right then.
Regardless of my current affiliation, she was the only one that knew a Steel Vein was at this hotel. If I let her walk out of here, I’d have fifteen minutes at most before the Lobos showed up. I drew down on her.
She screamed and fumbled to find the doorknob but was too terrified to break eye contact with me and look for it.
“Cut off their feet,” Bren’s memory whispered into my ear. He was right. The gears of a plan rotated in my head. I didn’t want to kill her because she was just doing her job. I smiled instead, realizing there was a better way to get what I wanted.
“Tell them all I’m here, darlin’. Every last one of them.” I lowered my gun and motioned for her to leave.
Katya didn’t hesitate. She found the door and left. Had she moved any faster, she’d have left a smoke trail.
When she was gone, I glanced back into what was left of the mirror.
The dark reflection was gone. It was just me in the mirror now.
“Let’s give ‘em a show.” I grinned. I was back in control.
The alarm clock was miraculously spared and was even still plugged in. Nine-seventeen a.m. read the digital display. Not enough time to escape. I could run out to my bike and bounce, but the Lobos would easily catch up with me. A running gun battle with a dozen bikes behind me was suicide. If I stayed here, I might actually have a chance, but only if I played my cards extremely well.
What other choice did I have?
I threw on my clothes, checked my boots for glass, then tossed them on as well. There was going to be plenty of bloodshed soon, but what I really dreaded was the next thing I had to do. As much as I really didn’t want to talk to him yet, I had to hope Top had his cell on him.
The handset of the hotel room phone was snapped in half, but the base looked otherwise usable. A dial tone. Excellent, considering that I had left my cell in my room back at Muse’s. I never brought it with me to the bar when we stayed there because I never needed it. I knew all my numbers by heart, and everyone I wanted to talk to was usually with us already.
“Yeah?” Top skeptically answered, not recognizing the number.
“It’s Remy,” I said, holding the speaker in one hand and the microphone in the other. Man, I really did a number on this room…
“Wonderin’ when you’d call,” he grumbled, both relieved and angry.
“Yeah, Top... been a busy few hours.”
“It sure as fuck has.” He started to rev up.
“How’s Tee?” I diverted.
“Well, he’s pretty pissed that you shot him!”
“Tell him to stop being a pussy. I knew he was wearing a vest.” I’d seen the vest straps through his shirt. Otherwise, I’d never have done that. Tee was probably the closest person I had to being a best friend.
“Yeah?” Top scoffed. “And Skinpipe? Rio?”
“Scum,” I spat. “Fuck em.”
“Doesn’t matter, Rem. They’re still Veins, and you know that! You don’t get to just walk away from that. What the fuck has gotten into you?” Top was intent to drag the conversation back on topic.
“This path...” I started slowly, rubbing my forehead with the speaker part of the phone and building up the nerve. “What we’ve become. It’s hollowed me out, Lawrence. Ever since Maria, I haven’t been able to find meaning in any of the shit we do. And now with Bren gone…”
Top didn’t say anything. It had been a long time since anyone had referred to him by his real name. I don’t know why I said it. It just slipped out. I know the whole Bren thing had been eating him alive as well.
“Club business,” Top swallowed hard before continuing. “It always comes first.”
“Still towing that line, huh?” I shook my head in disgust.
“I’m the chapter prez! All our guys look to me for answers!” He roared. “What the fuck do you want me to do?”
“Burn it all down!” I barked back immediately. “Fuck club business! Our brother died because some stupid, old fuck at a gas station out in the middle of nowhere owed us a couple grand! Was that worth it for you? Was it?”
Silence.
“That’s what I thought,” I continued. “I needed to get away from it all.”
“You picked a really, shitty fucking way to do it,” Top replied finally. “Deadeye’s raging over what you did to his son, Rio. And even more so because he vouched for you against the club. You went too far, little brother. That bitch has got you all fucked up. If you’d just let us deal with her—”
“Goddammit, Top! That’s exactly what I’m fucking talking about! Star wasn’t the problem. She didn’t kill Bren. We’ve gotten so fucked up these past few years that what? We kill everyone who’s inconvenient to us? For fuck’s sake, Lawrence!” I tried to rein it in, but I was too pissed. “You sent that dog, Rio, out to finish her off behind Deadeye’s back. How was that following the club’s bullshit rules?”
“It was for your own damn good, you stupid sonofabitch!” Top huffed incredulously. “She’s a witness to your murder! How do you not fucking get that?”
“Yeah, well, maybe I should’ve been put away for that.”
“There’s no way in hell I was going to stand by and watch my only flesh and blood get hauled off to prison for killing the fuck that killed Bren!” he ranted.
Through the phone, I could almost feel the spittle and protective anger flowing off the man. “It was my fault that Bren died because we shouldn’t have been there at all. All I wanted was to do one good thing and just deal with whatever consequences followed. And you – you and the rest of the club fought me tooth-and-fucking-nail at every turn.”
A long silence followed.
“The Steel Veins have lost their way,” I continued. “There was a time where I’d have taken a bullet for every last one of our brothers, but now? Shit, man! Would you take a bullet for Rio? For Skinpipe? Lorenzo? Twisty? What’s happened to us, man? I used to be so damn proud of the SV tattoo on my chest. Now I just wanna burn it off.”
I sighed, calming back down.
“Goddammit, Remy...” Top’s tone filled with resignation. Top knew my mind was made up. I knew he felt the shift, too. We’d never talked about it because some things were easier left unsaid. We were too proud to recognize it. Top still couldn’t face it fully. “Word went out that a convenience store went up last night in Vegas. Even out there, Deadeye’s got a few cops on the payroll.”
Hearing that made me apprehensive for Star. Shit, I knew they’d be chasing me up to this area, but I had no idea Deadeye’s reach with cops extended this far.
“They didn’t give him a name, but he’s convinced it’s you. It’s that damn Jap bike of yours that gave you away. He’s got a KT en route. Hell, they’re probably already in town. I can’t call them off, Rem. I’m sorry.”
That was the first bit of good news I’d heard all day.
“I don’t want you to call them off. Let Deadeye know that I’m at the Super 8 on Business Route 25.”
He howled with indignation. “Why would I—”
“Top. You gotta trust me this time. Who are they sending?”
“They tapped Kael first, but once they told him how it all shook out and that it was you, Kael told them to get fucked. Unfortunately, I think they settled on Lorenzo.”
Kael was an old friend who led one of the other kill teams. Lorenzo was just a bastard.
“Call Lorenzo directly and tell him where I am,” I said, quickly forming a plan in my head.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Top’s voice was filled with incredulity like I knew it would be. Lorenzo was a sadist of the purest form. Neither of us liked the man, but we were forced to respect the patch. He was a brother in strictly the most technical of senses.
“You gotta make sure he gets here as fast as possible. If Deadeye’s as pissed as you say, he’ll be looking to make it mean, and that’s Lorenzo’s team’s specialty.” Lorenzo’s team was no joke. They were the worst we had to offer. The nuclear option. Deadeye only called them when whole clubhouses had to be purged.
“Fine, I’ll call that piece-of-shit... But I’m tired of burying brothers! You’d better know what you’re fucking doing,” Top grumbled then hung up.
Yeah, I’d better.
I let the phone pieces drop away, then grabbed the rest of my shit. Checking the front window, I realized I needed to move fast. That call took too long. The front hallway and parking lot appeared empty. I saw the Russian whore hobbling out of the main check-in building. She must’ve snapped a heel and fell which would look like I beat her up. A rival club member on their turf getting rough with their working girls? That was probably going to get the Lobos here even faster.
I rolled up my vest, left my room, and headed toward the check-in area but stayed on the second floor.
Eight rooms over was the closest room to the fire stairwell that led to the back of the building. I tapped on the door.
Nothing.
I moved to the next one and tapped a little louder. With my ear pressed against the wood, I could hear mumbling inside.
Good. I knocked again, louder. I could break any of these doors in, but that wouldn’t help me. I needed to be let inside so I could lock it behind me.
“Fuck off!” the voice behind the door warned.
I knocked again.
The door opened to the length the slide-bar would allow. “What’ya want? Who—”
I threw my shoulder into the open door, popping the slide-bar off its screws, and knocked down the fat fuck behind it. As long as the door worked fine, I didn’t care about its back-up restraint.
A woman screamed and covered herself with the sheets up to her nose.
I already had my gun out, oscillating between them so they got real quiet real quickly. I closed the door gently behind me.
“Take whatcha ya want,” groaned the fat man on the ground.
I ignored him and peeled back the curtain. The manager was just outside the check-in building on his cell phone, looking at the room I had rented. There were only two ways this was going to go down, and it all depended on who was on the other line of that call.
“Whatcha want?” he pleaded, waddling his way back to the bed like a turtle after he’d righted himself. Mustering a spine and with some indignation, he demanded, “Do you know who I am?”
I frowned, turning back at him, then gave the room a once-over with my eyes. His briefcase leaned against the wall. There was also a pressed suit draped over a chair and empty bottles of cheap wine filling the small waste basket. A wedding band sat on atop his wallet on the nightstand so he could look at it while he fucked his whore. His wife and kids were probably at home waiting for him to come back from some bullshit conference.
Everything about this guy screamed middle management. He wasn’t going to be a problem.
“A cautionary tale.” I returned my attention to the window. “Now shut the fuck up and get in the bathroom! Both of you!”
“How dare you—” he started but was easily interrupted.
“And if that door isn’t locked when I come over there and check—” I gave them a half-glance back, squinting slightly out of the corner of my eye. I didn’t have time for his false bravado. “—I’m going to fuck you both to death with this gun.”
The man huffed but allowed himself to be dragged away. The woman wrapped the bedsheets around her to preserve some laughable modicum of modesty.
The irony forced the corner of my mouth up into a sliver of a smile. I rolled my gun in a hurry-up motion, and they found a little hustle to get into the bathroom.
All I could do now was stay by the window and wait.
I riffled through the man’s wallet and pocketed all the cash he had. When I came across the picture of his smiling wife and two little girls, I decided to snag the man’s wedding ring as well. I wasn’t planning on taking it originally. Pawning rings like these were usually more trouble than they were worth. Many places checked them against the stolen items registry. If I had the time, which I didn’t, I would be better off melting it down. Either way, this cheating fuck sure as hell didn’t deserved to keep it. I pocketed the ring and took out the book I’d snagged from the convenience store. I was through Hercules’ Seventh Labour, the Cretan Bull, when I heard motorcycle engines approach. Music to my ears. If it was the police that showed up, I was fucked.
Now to see which shade of evil was it.
Fifteen bikers pulled in – not a bad showing to deal with just one guy. I couldn’t make out the name at that distance, but I could easily see the colors they were flying. Yellow and red. Los Lobos. They knew the area better, so it made sense that they would get here first.
Although founded in California by some white guy veteran, most Lobos up here were Mexican, and they fucking hated the Veins. There was lots of bad blood between our clubs which was probably why they had such a strong showing.
So much of the MC lifestyle was about sending messages.
The Lobos didn’t bother going in and talking to the guy that called them. They parked and pulled out whatever weapons they had on them. Half of them beelined to the room I’d rented while the other half stayed behind in the parking lot to catch me if I came out another door or to spot other Veins or even cops that were stupid enough to show up.
I heard them kick my rented room’s door in all the way down to the room I was currently squatting in. These walls were so extremely thin.
When they didn’t find me, they started down the line, kicking in door after door on either side. Eventually, they’d find me through the process of elimination alone. The second part of my plan had to get here soon, or it was about to get very messy.
Not wanting all his doors busted, the manager hollered and rushed out with his master keycard. The fourth room down from me had people in it. Junkies, high on a nod, ran screaming down the hallway.
The Lobos just let the pitiful creatures pass as they didn’t want to risk anyone calling the cops for hearing gunfire, at least not until they found me.
I checked the ammo in the one clip I had on me. There weren’t many doors left now...
Slam! Another door unlocked and flung opened.
They were two doors down, and it began to look pretty grim. I quietly lowered the table on its side. It wouldn’t do fuck-all for protection against bullets, but at least it offered some visual cover when they busted in.
If the Kill Team was already in town, they should’ve been all over me by now.
C’mon, Lorrenzo. I know you hate me! Hurry the fuck up, and come and kill me!
Slam! That was the last one. The next would be mine.
Any second now, I would hear the master keycard jammed into the slot, and the door would be thrown wide. I hadn’t reupped my ammo, and only had five bullets left, I could be a crack shot all I wanted, but if six of them showed up, I doubted they’d want to share.
The odds weren’t in my favor.
I needed to focus, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Star. I had to remind myself that she was probably still better off with the cops than she was with me, despite Deadeye having a connection in the precinct here. I couldn’t but selfishly want her here with me. If anything could force me through a situation, it was knowing I had to protect her.
How fucked up was I wishing I could put her in harm’s way just to have her near me?
It was good that she was safe from me. I’d done the right thing for once in my life. But that was fleeting solace was short-lived. With her and my family gone, what did I really have to fight for anymore?
The crazy hope that I might make it through this and see her again? No, I’d been on the other end of enough last stands to know when it was all over. When the Lobos burst in, I’d give them fight of their lives, but without Lorenzo’s kill team here, there was no way I was walking out of this.
“Rage!” I growled softly to myself, bracing against the piteously indefensible table and preparing for the Lobos to barge in. “Rage against the dying of the light!”
Figures darkened my room’s only window, then the keycard ground hurriedly into the lock. Any second now.
I’m sorry, Star. I’ll miss you most of all.
The opening slam didn’t follow.
Suddenly, I heard shouting and bustling around outside. Had someone already called the cops? That wasn’t it. More bike engines were arriving. It could’ve been Lobos reinforcements, but it didn’t make sense to show up segmentally. It was common practice to group ahead of time and ride en masse.
The Lobos fled out of the room next to me, cursing in Spanish.
Knowing the Lobos would be too distracted to spot me, I opened the shade just enough to get a good look outside. Salvation rode in in the form of the assholes that were sent to kill me. The kill team that Deadeye had sent after me had finally arrived. With them came a tidal wave of tension, threatening to crash over the Steel Veins vicious rivals.
It was the most beautiful thing I’d seen, second to Star’s hazel eyes.
Seven of the worst psychopaths we had to offer dismounted, wearing black bandanas pulled up over their noses. I didn’t need to see their faces to know each and every one of those heartless killers by name. The masks were for intimidation and for their exit if, or rather when, the cops came. Kill teams never wore club colors either for the same reason. They didn’t want to be associated with the club if the public witnessed them doing horrible shit.
There were five kill teams total within our MC. We called them the Fist of the Steel Veins. We’d created the teams to fight other clubs mostly. Each “finger” specialized in something different. Lorenzo’s team – the Pointer Finger – was the most direct – assassination. They found and pressed out specific people. They didn’t give a damn about collateral damage, therefore were mostly looked down upon by the rest of the club while still being acknowledged as a necessary evil.
My team was predominately demolition, but we were versatile enough that Deadeye had us doing a lot of the more nuanced jobs like intimidation, and sabotage of real estate projects of rival entities that tried to horn in on our turf. Before I quit, we had our share of executions, too. I hated those the most.
We were the Steel Veins’ Middle Finger.
I was surprised to see them riding bikes to a hit. My crew always took clean burner cars, so it would look like regular gangland violence. But Lorenzo was a prideful fuck who was far too reckless and short-sighted. It was a goddamn miracle he hadn’t been killed or caught yet, and I had no idea why Deadeye kept such an obvious liability in the club.
Lorenzo led the Veins up to spitting distance of the Lobos in the parking lot. Outnumbered two-to-one, none of the Veins showed any fear or hesitation. They were here for me, and they would lay waste to anything in their way. They only had one policy and that was fucking scorched earth.
Lorenzo usually did the talking so he pulled his mask down. He appeared the same as the last time I saw him minus a new scar on his cheek. He was tall, lean, and clean shaven with short, greased-back hair.
Everyone’s guns were out except Lorenzo’s. He lit a cigarette casually like he was waiting to catch a bus. Only after it was lit, did he start talking. He was smooth, and given enough time, he’d work out an arrangement with the Lobos that allowed everyone to come out looking like they won—except me, of course.
I’d be dead.
Even if the shit was calming down in the parking lot, no one on my level could hear the conversation, and that made for a lot of itchy trigger fingers needing to be scratched. The Lobos up here were obviously rattled. They knew who these men were and even having them outnumbered, they probably wished they’d brought more backup.
Sirens sounded across town. The cops were finally coming! Tension was thick in the air like spilled gasoline vapor on a hot summer day. It was time I cracked the door, dropped the match, and got this party started.
“¡Vayan a chingar a su madre, pinches gringos cabrones!” I shouted curses at Lorenzo and the rest of the KT. Still hidden in the room, I then licked off two, carefully aimed gunshots. One struck the tire of a KT bike while the other drilled a hole in the back of the Lobo talking with Lorenzo.
Boom! Everyone in the parking lot and on the second floor balcony with me exploded into action. Bombs and tense conversations could be extremely similar when you had the right ignition. Lucky for me, I was a demolitions expert.
The Lobos up here unloaded first but were too amped up to hit what they aimed at. Instead, they generated a general, semi-automatic spray of bullets that peppered the parking lot.
The Steel Veins, though, cut with extreme precision.
In a blink, Lorenzo had his mask on, and all the Lobos in the parking lot were dead. Bullets chipped the stucco walls all around me as I scrambled out of the hotel room and darted for the short hallway that led to the back stairwell where my bike was parked. This was not a fight I was going to stick around for.
I cracked a small grin when I saw my bike. I couldn’t help but fantasize about the possibility of seeing Star again.
Most of the pieces in my master plan were set, but the dominoes fell faster than I could ever have predicted. I could hear the cops arrive in the front parking lot. The gunfire renewed as bigger weapons were brought into the fight. It was pandemonium.
Because of all the commotion, no one had time to surround the building with two MCs and the police fighting it out. This was the perfect shit show for a real escape. Everyone would be too busy trying to stay alive to chase me.
I tucked my piece, stuffed my vest into the small bag affixed over my gas can, and took off. Unfortunately, the only way out to the road took me past the parking lot where bodies were littered everywhere. I weaved between cop cars and made my way out toward the I-25. The motel was about two turns off the highway which was why I chose it in the first place.
Shit! Unfortunately for me that was the same direction the SWAT team was using to join the party. I jacked up on my bike’s brakes, planted my right foot hard, and whipped my five-hundred-pound Ninja around like it was nothing at all. Peeling out for a moment my wheels found their traction, and I shot off back toward the firefight at the motel. I’d mapped out an alternate route to get me on the interstate, but it was so staggeringly dangerous at this time of day that I didn’t think it would even work. I gritted my teeth and gunned it.
What choice did I have?
Cutting back through the throng of scattering bikers in front of the Super 8 was a fucking nightmare. A bullet skipped off my exhaust pipe, and I had to swerve hard not to T-bone one of the fleeing Lobos. We hit but didn’t wreck, and only after speeding away did I realize the fucker clipped off my damn side mirror.
My surroundings were still residential, but when I got on the road, I was able to open the throttle a little more. It was a brief calm before the storm as I drove toward what passed as a downtown. I took a deep breath, preparing myself to deal with the early lunch traffic clusterfuck when a bullet flew past me, and punched into my other side mirror.
Through what was left of my shattered mirror, I saw that it was another biker that was hot on my ass. I couldn’t tell if it was Lorenzo or not, but it had to have been a kill team member to make it through the motel war zone.
Come get me, asshole. I was hunched over low and fast. My bike sliced through the narrow gaps between passing vehicles as the urban swell closed in around us. My best chance to lose the tail was to play cat and mouse through the busiest streets of the knock-off Vegas.
I just needed to get back on I-25, then I could really open the throttle.
Most clubs were very formal about which bikes were allowed. It was mostly just Harleys with an occasionally smattering of other American-made motorcycles like Indian or Victory. Lately, some of the fringe chapters like ours were getting a little more relaxed with that shit. Although whenever I rode to conferences or did multi-chapter Steel Veins rides, I’d always bust out my Harley. When it was just our chapter business, my Kawasaki Ninja was king, and fuck anyone that said otherwise. The handling on my Ninja was tighter, easier for me to maintain, and it could fucking smoke any other bike on the road.
On the highway, I was untouchable. I just had to make it there first.
We blew through lights and signs. On my one side mirror, I spied the guy chasing me clip a jaywalking pedestrian. Technically, we had to keep the speeds down due to the clogged intersections with the oncoming early lunch rush. I couldn’t tell who was chasing me because of the black mask, but whoever it was, he was damn good on his bike.
The metal Interstate 25 sign shined like an angel’s halo. Through the coming intersection, there was only the onramp up ahead, and after that, I was a fucking ghost.
And that’s when my rear tire exploded.
It was just an incredibly lucky shot ‒ or incredibly unlucky ‒ depending on which end of the gun you were on. My beautiful Ninja jack-knifed, and then flipped end over end. Plastic, metal, and sparks sprayed in every direction. I was thrown into the side of a school bus that was slowly turning in the opposite direction. There was a choir of screams inside as my bike and I hit the canary-yellow sheet metal and shattered some windows on the bus. The kids must’ve been heading out for a field trip this late in the morning. I prayed that I didn’t inadvertently hurt any of them. I had too much terrible shit on my conscience to be able to carry hurting a child.
I crumpled in a heap next to my destroyed motorcycle. My head rang. My vision blurred. My whole body was on fire, but miraculously nothing felt broken. I was straddling on the edge of passing out completely. If I did, I knew I was never waking up again.
“Hey, Poet.”
Most members outside our chapter knew me better by my handle “Poet” or just “Poe” if they were clever or lazy. I almost always had a worn paperback sticking out of my back pocket with this time being no different if it was still in my back pocket after the impact. Most likely not.
I guess I was never going to find out how Hercules made it through all twelve labours.
What a stupid fucking thought to have when I was about to die.
“Rocks...” I groaned. I recognized him by the sound of his voice. I should’ve known by his riding. He was probably the only other Vein that could outride me. “Never hit a bus before.”
He briskly walked over with his gun out. I had no idea where the fuck my gun was. After all, I had hit the transportation vehicle so hard—I was surprised my pants stayed on.
“Huh. Usually, it’s the other way around.” His chuckle was muffled through the mask. Rocks was about as smart as a sack full of his namesake, but that didn’t matter because he was efficient at his job. He was given the name because he was sent to jail for killing two men with just a palm-sized chunk of granite. That had been club business that had got him caught, not that he minded.
Rocks was loyal to the MC to a fault.
“Nothing personal, bro.” His thick eyebrows furrowed downward with inevitability of what came next. He raised his gun. “Deadeye’s orders.”
“Yeah.” I rolled over, struggling to get the words out. Breathing was so difficult, I must’ve had cracked some ribs. But it was a good thing we were riding relatively slowly, or else I would’ve been paste. For all that mattered now. I pushed through the pain and struggled to my knees. “Make it clean. We got kids watching.”
“Freeze—” A ballsy security guard from the bank across the street barely got the word out before catching a bullet in the throat. He dropped, wheezing and clutching his neck. For a man who liked getting his hands dirty, Rocks was a hell of a shot and fast, too, as he had been able to turn, line up the shot, and fire before the guard could do anything.
There was a renewed round of screaming on the bus as the kids watched in horror. The bus driver was shouting at the elementary-aged kids to hit the floor, but most just stared at the devastation, too afraid to move.
“Naw, shit! Sorry, kids!” Rocks apologized through his black mask, then the turned back to me. “I wanted to let you say some last words, but looks like we gotta do this quick. When you get to Hell, keep my seat warm for m—”
Out of nowhere, a tan, four-door sedan plowed right over Rocks.
His head whipped forward against the road like a watermelon on a rope. Then he immediately disappeared under the chassis of the car with several bone-splintering crunches. The mangled wreck that came out the other side was wet and at all the wrong angles. A mockery of the human form. Rocks probably clung to life for a few seconds, but it truly was a hopeless scenario.
I guess he’d be beating me to Hell after all.
The car came to a screeching stop, and the passenger door was kicked open. The driver’s hazel eyes were something out of a dream.
Was that Star?
“Get in!” she cried with equal parts horror and excitement.
“Take the I-25 onramp!” I unsteadily climbed to my feet, grabbed Rock’s gun, and threw myself into the car. She took off before I could even get the door shut.
How the hell was Star even here? And she just killed someone... Whose car was this? We both rattled off questions, but I had too much trouble following anything said. It was only when the adrenaline started wearing off that I realized how much hitting that bus really fucked my brain up.
Was this all just a dead man’s dream?
My peripheral vision faded to grey, then blackness took me.