Hot Wheels shifted nervously, idly fingering the leather tassels that hung from either side of the handlebars of her bike. Her baby. The one thing that she loved more than anything else in the world. Because it represented the one thing that she craved more than anything, the one thing that she would never be able to have. Freedom.
She sighed, staring up at the dilapidated building, knowing full well that she was stalling. She hated that she was. It was a sign of cowardice and if Hot Wheels was anything, it was fearless, always. But she knew that more waited inside the Nomad’s clubhouse than a showdown with the crew’s megalomaniac president. She knew that there was one other person in there, waiting. The last person in the world that she wanted to see. Sparkplug.
She looked up at the building once more. It looked like an abandoned warehouse. There were no signs that there was any life inside, but she knew for a fact that there was. She had been inside that place more times than she could count, back in the days when her and Sparkplug had– Well, those days were long gone. Now, it was just her and her bike. And that’s the way she liked it. No one to rely on but herself. No one to let down but herself.
Hot Wheels shook her head. You’re stalling again, she chastised herself, forcing one leg and then the other off the back of the motorcycle. She gave it an affectionate pat before taking a deep breath. Joel’s words were still echoing in her head from the blistering call. He’d been furious. Telling her that it had been her job to keep the rival gang’s pacified, not give them the details of their operation. And then he told her to take care of it. That’s what she was doing her, girding her loins to walk into the lion’s den. She was taking care of it.
She threw her shoulders back, tilted her chin up and kept her eyes focused straight ahead like a fighter walking into the ring. In a way, she was. Except instead of fists she would be fighting with words. She just prayed it would be enough.
Hot Wheels slid open the rusted metal grate, cringing at the shrieking sound as it echoed through the large, open industrial space.
“Somebody should really put some oil on those gears,” she said in her southern drawl loudly, cheerfully, as nearly twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. Twenty pairs of unfriendly eyes.
“Oookay. Chilly reception, boys. Do you treat all of your guests like this?” Hot Wheels forced the words out passed the sudden lump in her throat.
“We are not boys,” one of the bikers said, rolling his eyes in her direction, “And you’re sure as hell not a guest here. We know why you’re here, Hot Wheels. You roll with the Dirty Cruisers–”
“Things are…complicated with the Cruisers right now. So why don’t we all play nice and get along, sugar.” Hot Wheels sent a forced smile in his direction, more of a smirk than anything else and as she skimmed the crowd her heart skipped as her pale green eyes landed on him. Sparkplug. He was standing towards the back of the room, leaning against a wall. And his heated gaze never left her as she walked closer, too casually.
“We don’t care about your little in house drama. We only care about one thing,” the biker said again.
“Well, about that,” Hot Wheels started, smirking again even though she could feel the bile rise in her throat, “Joel sent me to tell you. In regards to the so-called ‘deal’ you offered this morning. He wanted me to tell you, and mind darlins’ these are his exact words, ‘There’s no way in hell that I would ever make a deal with you, you pussy scumbags. So, you can all just go fuck yourselves.’.” Hot Wheels grinned then, with far more bravado than she felt. “Aw, who am I kidding? That last bit was all me.”
“Why, you little bitch–” it was the same biker. He started to leap forward, to rush towards her but another voice cut through the room, instantly stopping him.
“Enough, Treck,” the voice was low and authoritative and surprisingly cultured for a bunch of bottom of the barrel biker’s. “I said enough.”
Finally, the man, this Treck, took a reluctant step back, and then another, throwing his hands up as if to say he gave up. Hot Wheels didn’t buy it for a moment. She could still see the violence swirling in his eyes, the way his gaze tracked her every movement. But he wasn’t her problem. The man who’d just spoken, however, was. Because she knew he was the president of the Nomads.
“Damaris!” she called out, peering into the shadowed space where the voice had come from, “Damaris, is that you, you old rascal? I thought you knew how to treat a lady.”
“A lady, yes. A thief and a liar? Well, let’s just say I know what to do with those too, and you really wouldn’t like it,” the president said, sliding closer as he spoke. It had surprised Hot Wheels, the first time she’d seen him, just how short he was. A good four or five inches shorter than she herself was. But that didn’t mean anything. He was quick to use that knife he kept at his belt if anyone ever stepped out of line. They rarely did.
“Joel won’t stand for it, Damaris. You’re wasting your breath trying to convince him to deal dirty with you.” Hot Wheels said, once more putting on a brave face, when inside she felt cold with fear.
“It’s a pity. I so didn’t want it to end this way,” the president said, sounding unconcerned but all of a sudden he was moving as fast as a viper, drawing the wicked looking knife and holding the tip against her throat, “He’ll take the deal, one way or the other, or we’ll take the farm. Take care of Hot Wheels here,” he said, putting away the knife as if he hadn’t just threatened her with it. “And make sure you treat her like the lady she really is.”
“What the he–” but before she could even get the words out she was being grabbed from behind. With a cry she threw her foot back, hard, and it landed with a satisfying crunch but it wasn’t enough to have whoever it was let her go. Hot Wheels struggled as hard as she could but it was no use. Her strength was no match for the man who grabbed her, dragging her with malicious intent towards a back room.
“Let me go you overgrown…Oof!” Her arms wind milled as she was suddenly released and went flying forwards as momentum carried her in the opposite direction. Hot Wheels looked back in shock to see Sparkplug with the man who’d had a hold her, Treck, held tight in a headlock.
“Go, Wheels, get out of here,” Sparkplug growled at her as he jerked against the struggling Treck. “You have to go, before…”
“Come on now, Sparky, you really don’t want to do this,” Damaris said, watching with a vapid unconcern that Hot Wheels envied, “You’re making a big mistake.”
But Hot Wheels didn’t even seem to hear his president’s words, didn’t even look in his leader’s direction. His eyes were locked on hers, begging with her, pleading with her. Finally, she took a small step backwards toward the exit, and then another.
“Go, Hot Wheels,” Sparkplug said, anger and resignation hard in his deep voice, “Get the fuck out of here, now!” It was the force of his words that propelled her forward, well, that and the ten big hulky bikers that started moving threatening towards her. She didn’t even want to imagine what her fate would be if they caught her. She wasn’t about to give them the chance. With one last, anguished look at Sparkplug, who even now was being pulled off of Treck by two other members, Hot Wheels turned and fled.
As she ran to her bike, threw her legs over and started the ignition she had to wipe the tears from her eyes to clear her vision. She had to get back to the farm. She had to tell Joel and Carla what had happened. Dread and guilt sat hard in the pit of her stomach. This was definitely not her idea of taking care of things. Because the fact was, she just may have sparked a war between the Nomads and the Dirty Cruisers and another fact was that the Cruisers might not be there to fight if it came to it.
With the split in the crew, she didn’t know anymore who was loyal to the Cruisers, and who was just loyal to that asshole Viper. But either way, it didn’t bode well for them. The Nomads might be scumbags, but they were well organized scumbags, and with the Dirty Cruisers fractured, they wouldn’t stand a chance. Shit. She had to tell Joel, Hot Wheels thought as she revved the engine and raced away from the Nomad’s warehouse. He had to know what was coming.
***
Damaris watched the scene unfold before him like he was watching a play, and in a way he was. Each person an actor playing his or her part. He had to say that Hot Wheels had played hers masterfully. He’d been searching and searching for the match to strike against the Dirty Cruisers and that fucking farm they were working on. And she had wrapped it in a pretty pink bow and delivered it straight to his doorstep. He couldn’t have planned it better himself.
He waved his hand briefly through the air and his men released Sparkplug. He was a good member of the crew, or he had been before he’d gotten caught up on a certain blond and his loyalties had shifted. He’d been all too easy to manipulate, the both of them despicably predictable as his game played out. Boring, almost. And he hated being bored.
“What do you want us to do with him, boss?” Treck asked eagerly. He was always eager. Young, inexperienced. Like a puppy always bouncing around the big dogs, trying to fit into the pack.
“Let him go.”
“Wha– What? Are you serious? Just let him go?”
Damaris took a step towards him, that was all, just a single step but the man flinched as if he’d brandished his knife under his throat. The girl hadn’t even flinched, but Treck was practically sniveling.
“Did. I. Stutter?” he asked, enunciating each word. He waited until Treck shook his head in denial before resuming his seat, “Then let him go. He’s served his purpose,” Damaris watched as the men reluctantly followed his orders and Sparkplug turned, walking away without looking back. It was a shame to lose him. But he didn’t have a choice, now. “If I ever see you again, Sparkplug, I’ll gut you myself and feed you to the dogs.”
Sparkplug paused for a bare moment, nodded once in acknowledgement before continuing on, unfazed by his threat. A damn shame.
“Scorpion, take a couple of the members and follow our guest back to the farm,” Damaris said, still staring after the spot that Sparkplug had just disappeared from, “Let’s give them a new message. A message they won’t ever forget.”
“Of course, Damaris. Right away,” Scorpion said, as emotionless as ever. Damaris knew the man wouldn’t take any pleasure in doing his job, he would just be following orders, and that’s why he trusted him the most. With a wave of his hand, Scorpion, and a handful of others were riding off in the direction of Honey Bud Farms, right on the delectable Hot Wheels’ tail.