Saved by the Outlaw(6)

Finally, in the distance, I can hear the growl of engines approaching. I strain my eyes to look out the window and make out the approaching shapes of what looks like a fleet of motorcycles. I wrinkle my nose. That’s weird. Why would the cop call for backup in the form of moto-cops? Where are they going to put the guys when they arrest them?

But as the bikes get closer my heart sinks. These guys aren’t wearing police uniforms. They’re dressed in leather jackets and jeans, and they all look mean as hell. They look like trouble. They pull into the parking lot quickly and hop off their bikes, dusting off their hands as they walk over to the squad car. My heart is racing in my chest at this point. Where is the backup? Where are the other cops? We can’t face these guys without help!

The cop leaning against the car seems unperturbed by the bikers’ arrival, standing nonchalantly with his arms crossed on his chest. I want to bang on the window, tell him to take out his gun or something — anything!

What is he doing?!

“Yo! Caught this one. Held her for ya,” calls out the cop. I look up at the back of his head through the window, unable to process the words he just said. Caught me? Holding me?

“Get any information out of her?” barks one of the bikers walking up. I realize with a jolt that it’s the guy from the warehouse with the blue shirt — the one called Lukas.

“Didn’t ask. Just waited for you guys. Like I was told.”

“Good work,” says another biker. I recognize his voice long before I can make out his face: Leon. The guy in the black shirt who chased me.

The cop is working with these guys. He’s a crooked cop. I’ve been tricked. The realization is coming over me slowly, as it seems just too outlandish to be real. This isn’t happening. It can’t be. This only goes down in the movies, on true-crime shows.

I’m just some puff-piece journalist from the Big Apple — not an undercover detective.

What if they kill me?

“Whatchu want me to do with her?” asks the cop. In a panic, I slide across the seat to the other side and try to open the door, but there’s no way to open it. I’ve never been in the back of a squad car before, but I’m pretty sure he’s got me stuck in here. I pull my legs up to my chest and try to recoil from the scene unfolding outside.

“Just let me talk to her, khorosho?” answers Leon.

“I don’t want no blood on my seats, eh? You got that?” warns the cop.

“We’ll get it detailed for you,” sneers Lukas sarcastically.

“Hey man, I’m serious. Chief is on my tail about my unaccounted hours and whatnot. I don’t want him gettin’ suspicious on me, alright?” complains the officer, holding up his hands.

“Shut up,” Leon says, “and open up that door.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

“No,” I murmur softly as the officer pops the door open and Leon reaches inside to grab at me. I slide as far away from him as possible, shaking my head. “No!”

“Come here,” Leon growls, grabbing me by the wrists and dragging me out into the rain.

My lungs clinging to that last wisp of oxygen.

“No! Don’t hurt me, please!” I cry out, flailing at him.

There’s laughter from the biker guys, but Leon doesn’t even flinch, pinning me against the slick side of the police car with effortless ease. He leans in close to my face and even in my stark terror I am taken aback by how handsome he is. His eyes are a jade-green, a color surely too vivid to be natural, and there’s dark stubble shadowing his strong jaw. His lips are barely parted, his breaths slow and measured, as though he’s done this a thousand times. Like this is nothing to him. Like my life is nothing to him.

Even hunched over to get in my face, he towers over me, but I refuse to shrink away — there’s nowhere to run now anyway. I am surrounded. There’s no way out.

“Who the hell are you?” he asks, his voice so low and deep it sends a thrum through my chest. “Who sent you?”

“Nobody.”

“What is your name?”

I close my lips tightly, giving him the fiercest glare I can muster. If I’m going to die in this shitty parking lot, then I am damn sure not going to die cowering like a wimp. It’s the least I can do. Be brave, like dad would have wanted. Not give in to the people who very well might have killed him.

Anger flashes in his green eyes and he shakes my shoulders, pressing me harder against the car. “Why were you in that warehouse? What did you see?”

“Why were you in that warehouse?” I snap, narrowing my eyes.

There’s some unrest among the bikers as they look around at each other, surprised at my brazenness. I gulp.