“Mel!” I shout, shoving back another guy, moving into the street. I hate fights like this, where chaos is erupting and exploding all around you. I feel like I'm floatin' above the damn ground, peering down at this gathered crowd o' fools. “Mel!” I don't see nothing, and I don't hear nothing that gives me a clue as to where she might be. But I do see lights at the end of the street, red and blue. Two cop cars wait at the intersection in the road, near the beach. They don't bother to do shit at this point. I mean, hell, what the fuck they gonna do? Fight a hundred plus bikers with stun guns and rubber bullets? Shoot, man.
You can bet though that they're calling in reinforcements. Fuck and shit.
“Austin!” I shout, turning back to the melee, wading into a group of jackets and grabbing a man by the hair. Around me, I can hear the sound of motors. Most of the Triple M'ers are climbing onto their rides. I toss the man to the side, using his hair to send him rolling onto the pavement as I come up to my Pres.
“Get on your fucking bike, Beck. We're getting the fuck out of here.” Austin is breathing hard and blood is running down his face, but he looks alright. “I just sent Kimmi up for the others. At this point, we've got to go. I'm spreading the word to run. We'll meet up on the highway. If you see the cops, keep going and we'll find each other later. Go.”
“Where the fuck is Mel?” I demand, noticing that we're not the only ones pulling back. Seventy-seven Brothers knows what a few cop cars now can mean later. With all the shit we been pullin', I would not be surprised to see an entire SWAT team. Fuckin' shit. “Where is she?” I scream when Austin doesn't answer. He gives me a look that says he don't know crap, and turns his attention to getting the group together. Me, I move forward and try to catch sight of the men leaving on their bikes. They aren't going to let this go, not after that bloodbath. I'm about to give up and go after Austin when I see her.
Melissa.
Fuck! I run forward as fast as I can and hop on my bike. There's not a fucking second to spare. For whatever fucking reason, fate or whatnot, I ain't got the slightest, somebody from Seventy-seven Brothers has got Melissa on their ride. They're taking my wounded friend, but why? Well, to make sure we pay. That's fucking why. If they take her, we can either leave our friend to a fate worse than death or we can follow after.
I am bound and motherfucking Goddamn determined to take that advantage away from them.
“Beck!” Austin screams after me, but I'm already kicking away from the curve and flying down the road, chasing blue and white and broken dreams.
Tease
Chapter 8
I decide to devote my entire day to people-watching, waiting for the sun to set in the sky and remind me that I should head to the clubhouse sooner rather than later. I'm going to spend as much time with my brother as I can before he disappears to God only knows where. I'd had plans to clean up the house, maybe get some paint for the living room. It's looking less than ideal in there. My mother passed away midway through her renovation of the old house, so some rooms, like the kitchen, are near perfect. Others, like the living room need some work. I'm not much of a do-it-yourselfer, but I think I'm capable of throwing up a coat of pale yellow paint. But instead of doing that, I'm still sitting here fantasizing about the lives of strangers.
Today's crowd is a lot more interesting than usual. I've seen a man in clown makeup, a lady with no shoes, and three separate groups of Japanese tourists. I'm starting up another cigarette and smiling at a pair of girls in matching pink T-shirts when I hear the sound of a bike coming my way. Not many riders come down this street – anyone that knows their shit knows Seventy-seven Brothers has their clubhouse here. Occasionally we get a rider or two who has no idea who we are, who doesn't even know there's an entire world buried below the surface of their lives. Leisure riders, folks who own a motorcycle but have nothing to do with any club. My brother doesn't mind these people, but what he does mind are full patched riders sliding through his territory.
The cigarette tumbles from my lips and hits the denim of my jeans. I swipe at it and knock it to the floor where it crackles and burns, a single spot of orange in the shadows of the porch. I'm not looking at it though. I can't. The only thing I'm capable of staring at is the insanity that's going on right in front of me. A rider blasts down our street, sliding to a stop directly in front of the house, tires skidding across the pavement, burning the road with the hot scent of rubber.
I stand up and move towards the railing, curling my fingers around the old wood. Inside my chest, my heart beats a broken rhythm of surprise. I felt both light-headed and grounded at the same time. The air in my lungs becomes stagnant when I forget to breathe. I blow it out in a rush and suck in a massive breath, letting my chest get tight with sunshine and sweet ocean air.