Take Me, Outlaw(25)

I took a deep breath. That was a lot to process, and I just didn't have the time. “So you think he'd be able to help?”



“It's a slim chance, but maybe,” Boomer said. “He'd have access to the CPD's files, and probably any intelligence the FBI has picked up on them. But like I said, Bard's the one who's got a relationship with him, an' Bard doesn't know I've been helping you out. If I ask him to reach out on this, there's no reason to believe he'll say yes.”



“I get that, totally,” I said, finishing my cigarette and tossing it. “But Boomer, if there's anything at all you could do for me here...”



Boomer sighed. “I know, I know. I'll do what I can. Okay?”



“That's all I ask,” I replied. My phone started beeping at me, and it took me a second to realize it was the call waiting. And since the only other person who had this number was Snoops...



“I gotta go,” I said. “Thanks again, man.” I switched the call over and put the phone to my ear again. “Snoops?”



On the other end, it sounded like a war zone. There were distant gunshots, and I could hear people yelling. “Rafe, it's me,” Snoops said. His voice sounded faint. “Two guys on bikes just came to The Flytrap, tossed a grenade through the window, an' then lit the whole fuckin' place up with Uzis. They killed half the people inside, went in to get somethin', and then hopped back on their rides an' zoomed out. We tried to stop 'em, but...aw, hell, they killed Marley an' I got shot in the belly...”



Fuck, I thought. So much for grabbing breakfast. I turned around and started running back to the motel room. “Did you see which way they were going?” I asked. “What highway they were heading for?”



“Yeah,” Snoops groaned. “They were goin' toward I-94. Rafe, whatever this is about, trust me, you don't wanna go up against 'em...not these guys...too much gun...” Snoops sounded like he was fading fast.



“Don't worry about me, Snoops,” I said, leaping up the steps to the room. I could hear sirens in the background, and Snoops coughing wetly. “Just hang in there and wait for the ambulance to show up, okay? I'm sorry, man. I'm so fucking sorry I put you in the middle of this.”



“'S okay,” Snoops whispered. “We're...Reapers, right? We...stick...together...”



I heard a clattering sound, and realized Snoops had dropped his phone. I hoped he'd make it, but I knew I had to act before it was too late.



I had to head them off on I-94 before they could get to Chicago, grab whatever they'd snatched up, and hope like hell it could help us somehow.



And I had to dodge bullets from Uzis while I was at it.





Chapter 25




Jewel



I heard Rafe's key card in the lock a moment before he threw the door open. “We need to hit the road,” he said, throwing the duffel bag over his shoulder. “Now.”



After the past couple days, I'd gotten pretty good at hurrying when he told me to. I gathered up my belongings and headed for the door immediately. “Where are we headed? Milwaukee still?”



Rafe shook his head as we raced down the stairs. “Too late for that. Whatever the thing is, Jester's people already showed up and grabbed it. They're heading back down I-94 now. We need to stop them before they reach Chicago. You go check out and I'll get the car started.”



I ran over to the motel lobby, my head still throbbing and now spinning with questions. I was worried that my anxiety and rushing would make the clerk suspicious, but the middle-aged woman's flat, glassy eyes barely left the screen of the lobby's TV set as she took my room key.



I was about to leave quickly when I heard someone mention Milwaukee on TV. I stopped in my tracks, turning to look.



The set was tuned into a local news show. A young female news correspondent in a loud blue blazer with wide lapels was standing in front of what used to be a nightclub, and was now a smoking, bullet-pocked wreck. Police cars and emergency vehicles surrounded the front, and huge crowds were gathered behind yellow crime scene tape. EMTs were loading bodies on stretchers into ambulances. The buzzing drone of helicopters could be heard above.



“The scene outside of the Milwaukee nightclub The Flytrap is one of chaos, confusion, and devastation this morning, in the wake of a shocking attack that happened just moments ago. According to bystanders, two men on motorcycles threw an explosive device through the front window, then entered with machine guns and systematically executed all of the employees, including two waitresses, a hostess, and the manager. Upon exiting the club, the attackers engaged in a brief gun battle with several members of the local chapter of the War Reapers Motorcycle Club. So far, their involvement in this—and the motives of the gunmen themselves—remain unknown.”



“Crazy shit, huh?” the clerk asked. “Just a few miles away from here, an' it looks like goddamn Beirut.”



I nodded vaguely in her direction and walked to the Saab, getting in on the passenger's side. Rafe had gotten it started and was drumming his fingers on the dashboard nervously.



“That took a while,” Rafe said, pulling out of the parking lot and driving toward the highway. “Was there a problem?”



“Not exactly,” I answered. I felt a lump of fear quivering high in my throat, and it felt difficult to talk around it. “They had the news on, and they were showing footage of what happened in Milwaukee.”



Rafe glanced at me, eyebrows raised. “Jesus. From the sound of your voice, I'm guessing that looked like some apocalyptic shit.”



“That would be a good word for it, yeah,” I replied. “Rafe, this seems insane. There has to be someone we can go to about this instead of throwing ourselves in harm's way. I mean, the idea that we're actually driving toward the men who killed all those people instead of going in the other direction as fast as we can...”



Suddenly, Rafe jerked the car over to the emergency lane of the highway and hit the brakes, making us screech to a stop. He leaned over and grabbed me by the wrists, his eyes blazing into mine with an intensity that was almost blinding.



“Listen,” he growled, “I know you don't know a lot about me, but here's something you should get straight right now. In the seven years I was in the slam, I survived four different guys trying to kill me. Since I got out, nine more have tried. And guess what? I'm still here without a mark on me. And I don't give a goddamn if Jester comes at me with a fucking army. I'm grabbing whatever those guys are carrying and I'm using it to take Jester down hard, even if I have to take it off their dead motherfucking bodies. Now is there anything about me that you've seen over the past two days that makes you think I'm not serious?”



I thought of the fights and shoot-outs I'd seen since I'd been with Rafe. They were all terrifying, but every time, he'd handled himself just like a hero from one of my dad's Westerns—keeping me safe, acting fearless in the face of danger, and taking out the bad guys even when the odds were stacked against him. I also thought about the massive weapon in the duffel bag, and how something like that might possibly even the odds a bit.



Part of me still wanted to run to the nearest state trooper and tell them the whole story so they'd take me away from all this, but what if what Rafe had told me before was true? If even half the cops were in on this, how could I be sure I'd run into the right one? How could I be sure that even the right one wouldn't turn me over to the wrong one without even realizing it? I imagined being marched behind the state police barracks and shot through the head before I'd have a chance to tell my story to anyone who could help.



Rafe scared me, especially the way he was looking into my eyes at that moment. But pretty much everyone and everything else was scaring me a lot more, and deep down, I was certain that Rafe would be able to protect me.



There was something else I had to consider too, though. Rafe had said he'd do whatever it took to “take Jester down hard.” Not to protect me, because clearly, this wasn't about me—or at least, not as much as Rafe wanted me to think. There was something going on between Rafe and Jester, something from before Rafe watched me witness a murder and swooped in to take me away from all that. Something Rafe still wasn't telling me.



I thought about the feel of his big hand around my wrists—secure but a little painful. I thought about what happened the night before, and how much I'd wanted to go even further with him.



I thought about the fact that in spite of everything, I still wanted that.



“Okay,” I said. “I'm still pretty freaked out, but I'm in.”



“Good,” Rafe answered, getting back on the highway as fast as the speed limit allowed. “We all get a little freaked out the first couple times someone hands us a gun and we find ourselves deep in the shit. That's natural. But it's important to keep your head. Like right now, every cell in my body's telling me to floor it, but the last thing we need is for a cop to stop us, so I have to stay under the limit, even if it feels like we're fucking crawling.” He banged on the steering wheel to emphasize the last two words, and I realized how nervous he was, even though he was trying to hide it.



“How will we know who we're looking for?” I asked. “The news said it was two bikers, but...”