Rider

The bar door opens behind me, and I duck behind the bar, crouching next to the dead man without thinking twice.

The man yells something in Brazilian, and I assume he wants me to come back out from behind the bar, which is not happening. The arguing voices outside are growing fainter.

The dead man is clutching a Glock, which he didn't have time to fully draw before he was gunned down by two shots to the chest.

I grab the gun, lift it and aim at the man as he rounds the corner of the bar. He's wearing a suit and tie, so he's not a biker, but the enemy, and he's got a gun aimed at me too. That's all the thinking I do before squeezing the trigger and putting a bullet right between his eyes.

I was seventeen the first time I held a gun, but I took to it like a fish to water. The day I fired off twelve rounds without missing my mark once was the day I finally completely let go of my promise to become a priest. By then, I liked doing the wrong thing too much.

I peer carefully through the door at the back of the bar. In the distance, two more suit-wearing guys are dragging a biker into the dense jungle just beyond the narrow strip of gravel behind the bar.

I run out into the blinding sunshine, but veer left as I head into the trees, with no clear plan in mind except doing what I can to prevent the biker they've overpowered from meeting the same fate as the one lying dead behind the bar.

Luckily they're talking a lot and loudly, as all Latinos always do, no matter what kind of situation they're in, so I have no trouble following them while staying out of sight.

The biker is on his knees under a palm tree when I finally reach them, one of the suited men holding a gun to the back of his head, while the other one stands in front of him still talking a mile a minute.

It's not usually the case, but right now I'm glad for the Latinos' inability to say whatever they have to say in a timely fashion. It gives me all the time I need to aim carefully and dispatch the one with the gun. The talking one goes down next, his mouth still open to say whatever he was gonna say before life left him.

The biker jumps to his feet, looking around wildly, searching for me. I emerge from behind the palm tree, my gun still half raised, because I'm a stranger to this guy who still has the fear of death etched into the features of his face.

He says something in Brazilian holding his hands up in the gesture of surrender.

I lower my gun. "I don't understand what you're saying, but you're welcome."

"Thank you," he says in heavily accented English. "I am Maluco, presidente of Dois Cobras."

He turns and shows me the logo on the back of his cut, the two snakes reminding me of the ones adorning the back of my own cut before I ripped that shit off when I crossed into Mexico. I left the cut in Chloe's room, after wearing it while I fucked her a few times like she wanted.

The man walks over, gives me a friendly tap on the arm. "Come on, I will buy you a drink and thank you as is fitting for the service you provided."

I shake my head, because the clarity and peace that eluded me all through my long ride last night are finally here. And they've never been stronger.

I just risked my life to save a stranger, yet I left Chloe, the woman I love, to face a fate that may be worse than death on her own. I have to go back to her as fast as I can and stay by her side through anything, forever. Because she is all I need, the only person who's ever given me true peace, true purpose, a true belonging that goes beyond any home I've ever lost. If dying by her side, or dying to save her, is what's required, I won't think twice. And it will take dying for me to ever leave her again.

"I have to go," I say. "We'll get a drink some other time."

I stride away back towards the bar, hear him do the same behind me.

"Wait," he calls out once we reach the open ground in front of the bar. "What is your name?"

"Rider," I say without breaking step.

"Wait," he says again. "Take my phone number and call me, if you ever need anything. I must repay the favor you have given me."

Even though every cell in my body is laser focused on getting back to Chloe as soon as physically possible, I do realize that having the phone number of a president of a local MC to call if things get bad is a good thing to have. So I follow him into the bar, where he first laments the loss of his brother for a good while in Brazilian before finally scribbling his number on a napkin.

He starts talking again before handing it to me, thanking me profusely some more, and again promising to come right away if I ever need him. I raise my hand to silence him, after learning yet again that Latinos will over talk even in languages they have only a basic grasp of.

"There is a woman who needs me," I say. "And I've kept her waiting for me long enough."

He nods knowingly and finally hands me the napkin.

I offer to help him move the dead guy, but he tells me his men are on their way.

It starts raining a few miles into my ride, and doesn't stop, only gets worse. My bike might not survive this downpour. But it just needs to survive long enough to get me to Chloe. Then it might as well never start again, as far as I'm concerned. A bike can be replaced, Chloe can never be.

* * *

Chloe

It's been raining for hours, so hard the skin on my fingers is puckered painfully. But I'll dig until my arms fall off. Ed and Olivia are digging further up, where the ditch has also now collapsed under the rush of the water. There's a lake where the open ground in the middle of our orphanage was and the water just keeps streaming down, harder and harder, filling it. The water where I'm digging is already halfway up to my knees.

The kids are safe for now. We moved them to the garage, which is the only building in the entire camp that's on an incline, so the water hasn't reached it yet.

But it will. At the rate it's coming down, it will cover the entire camp soon, probably wash it away by morning. I told them to run up the hill if the garage starts flooding.

I freeze in my digging, thinking I heard the roar of a Harley over the hissing of the rain and the rushing water. But there's no way. It's just my crazed mind playing its last trick on me, before I'm finally forced to admit defeat. I'm so close to doing that, I can already taste its bitter aftertaste. I remember the taste of defeat well from the first week or so after I left home for good, finally realizing that my world was ruined beyond repair, that the only thing left for me was to get lost somewhere where no one knows me.

But then I found my calling here, helping these poor kids lead a good life. And it will be hard to let go of that, to leave it behind, to admit that I failed at it.

I think I hear the kids talking now, jabbering excitedly, but that's just in my mind. I'm just imagining them begging me to stay when I tell them all is lost.

I start digging hard again, even though my arms are shaking because I'm so tired. But I won't stop. I'll never stop trying.

"Need some help?" Rider’s voice says.

Yes, I do, I answer him silently, because I know it's just in my head.

Only he's standing right in front of me, water dripping off the locks of his hair, his eyes glowing in the near darkness. He looks as real and alive as anyone I've ever seen. More so.

But it still takes me a few moments to realize he really is standing in front of me.

I drop my shovel and lunge at him, wrapping my arms around his neck with the last strength I have left. Holding him is better than speaking, because I will say the wrong thing if I try. He lifts me up, and I wrap my legs around him too for good measure. His lips find mine, and I taste the tangy rain, but underneath it I can also taste everything I ever wanted from this world. All the peace and love and good things I wished for everyone and for myself, but was denied until this very moment. I'm not tired anymore, in fact, I feel as light as I ever did when riding the waves, letting the water carry me where it will. I never fought the waves, and I will never again fight my love for Rider. I'll let it carry me where it will.

"You came back," I whisper when we finally stop kissing and he's just holding me.

"I should never have left," he says. "Do you forgive me?"

"Yes," I say and hug him even tighter. "I'm sorry I said I don't need you. I do. I need you more than breathing."

There's a void inside me, which only he can fill. And it's been growing deeper and wider since he left. But I'm only now daring to acknowledge its existence. Because he's here to fill it again, and it's already growing smaller.

He looks deep into my eyes. "I'll never leave you again, Chloe. I can't, because I love you too much. Someone'll have to carry my dead body away from you for it to happen."

There he goes with his straight shooting again, and hearing him talk of his death, picturing it because he described it so vividly, hurts like a bullet has actually pierced my heart. But he's here, alive and breathing, holding me in his strong arms.

"I love you, Rider, and I'll never let that happen. We'll go away from here, like you said, find somewhere safe to live."

He grins at me and sets me down. "No need, I have a plan. But first, what the hell happened to my ditches?"

"They didn't hold," I say sheepishly.

"It's only been raining for what, six hours?" he says. "No way all this water is just from that."

He grabs the flashlight that I've been using for light and charges up the ravine. I'm huffing by the time I finally catch up to him halfway up.

Ed and Olivia are staring at him, just as frozen as I must have been when he first appeared by my side.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"To see where all this water is coming from," he says, shining the flashlight up the incline, following the path of the raging, bubbling stream coming down the incline.

I follow him. Ed and Olivia drop their shovels and join us. The path of the rushing water leads us past Dom Gustavo's house, right to the edge of the estate, where a second stream usually runs along the fence. Only there is no more fence because the stream is pretty much a river now, rushing down towards the bungalows.

Rider stops, shining the light at it, but looking at the three of us. "Why didn't you tell me this swelled up so bad?"

"Because it never has before," I say. "At least not since I've been here."

"And Gustavo never mentioned it either," Ed adds.

Rider starts walking again, following the stream, which is a river now, further up. Eventually we come to the actual river.

When I reach him, his flashlight is illuminating a mound of light grey rocks that block the water, sending it all flowing into the stream that is now destroying our home.

"The cartel assholes diverted the river," Olivia is the first to point out. "They're trying to flood us out."

"Nothing for it, we have to move these rocks," Rider says and gets to work, groaning and cursing, but managing to move a rock, which is so large I would've sworn no man can even nudge it by himself. Ed, Olivia and me join forces on another one half as big, and succeed. But there's at least fifty more to move.

Dawn is breaking when we finally manage to clear the makeshift dam, and the river is finally flowing the way it was meant to, and no longer feeding the stream. I'm so exhausted, I'm seeing double. But that's OK, because now I have two Riders instead of one. And they both have to carry me back down to my bed, because I have no strength left.