Renegade: Desert Knights MC (20 page)

“What the hell is going on here!” My dad’s voice travels through the house to my parent’s master bedroom. My mother and I are ducked on the side of the bed, the cell phone still pressed to my ear.

“April, I have to go.” I whisper as softly and urgently as possible. “Promise me you’ll find Anton and tell him what I told you. If you don’t, I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

April has been practically silent the entire phone call from when I first told her I was pregnant until I relayed back the story of my dad threatening to cause a miscarriage. I don’t know if she’s shocked or if this is a nightmare she too saw coming all along. Either way, I listen to her as she repeats herself, “I’ll find him. I’ll find him…. But what about the police, shouldn’t I call them. They can help you!”

The sound of two pairs of boots scuffing up the floors as they search the house is getting louder and closer as they make their way to the back where the bedrooms are. My mother tugs at my arm, trying to get me to put the phone down. I whisper back into the phone, “No, April. You know you can’t do that. My dad owns the police. They can’t do a thing for me. Anton is the only person that can help me. You and him. Please April. Please do this.”

“They’re here!” My mom cries out a muffled sob. “Tory, come on!” She points towards the door ominously as we hear the first bang of a fist on the locked wooden frame.

“Tory! What’s going on! Are they back? I thought they were gone?” April’s voice breaks as I place the phone down to the ground. I cuddle myself next to my mom as she holds on tighter to me. My body leans against the speckled white wall as if I pushed hard enough, I could float through it like a ghost. 

“Get the fuck out here, Maureen! You can’t protect that little slut much longer!” My dad sounds even more high than he was when he left just a half hour ago. I wonder how he managed to get a hold of those drugs or drinks in such a short time. Though knowing him and the power he has over this community, anything’s possible.

My mom rises to her knees as she shouts over the side of the bed, “Clay, I will not stand for this. This is your daughter you’re talking about. She’s here with me, and she isn’t leaving this room. Now go do your business, and I’ll make sure she stays up here like you told her to.”

“Do you dare disobey me, woman! Do you know who I am!” He sounds as if he is throwing a childish tantrum as he stomps his boot into the floor. “I am Clay fucking Walsh and when I give you an order, I expect you to command!”

“And I am Maureen Walsh, and I am Tory’s mother. I have just as much say in her life as you do. Now kindly go back to work and leave us be. We’re not causing you any harm in here.”

Everything stops for a moment. All four of us go silent as we wait for the breaking point. My brother and father could turn around, be out the door, and let us rest. They could also continue coming after us with all the hellfire they can summon up. There were no choices for my mother and I. We were at the mercy of their twisted minds -- waiting like helpless children.

We didn’t have to wait long, however. It started with whispers too low for us to make out. My mom even peeked her head back around the side of the bed to get in better earshot. But instead what she heard was the pound of a body against the door. The wood caved a bit, and from my view, I could see the impression of where the person’s shoulder crashed into the other side. That door wouldn’t last long.

“Clay! Stop it! Stop it! Stop!” My mom cried out over the sounds of the body slamming even harder and faster into it. In between hits, the doorknob jiggled and twisted, the creaking sound of metal on metal echoing through the dark bedroom. Her cries were of no use. On the other side, my father began to cheer my brother on.

With only a few more hits before that door would surely bust open, my mom looked desperately towards the window. Standing quickly, she grabbed a sheet off of her bed and wrapped it around her hand and forearm. “Mom, no!” I sobbed nervously, my heart pounding with each rattle of the door behind us.

“Stand back Tory.” She commanded calmly as she positioned herself in the center of the window. I leaned even closer to the wall, ducked between the bed and a nightstand. She takes one deep breath before throwing her fist right at the glass. In a loud crash, a tiny million shards of glass break out. Her fist flies as she makes a large hole in the window. It’s wide enough that she can reach the lock my father had installed on the top so that she could never open it from the inside. When it’s free, she lifts the rest of the window above her head and motions for me.

I only have seconds to look at the damage the glass has done. The white sheet is tattered and torn -- it’s color a ruby red stain that continues to grow as it ties around my mom’s arm. “Go, Tory. Get out of here. Run as fast you can, and don’t you look back. Find Anton so he can take care of you and that baby.”

“Mom---” My voice chokes as I look back and forth between her tear filled eyes and the open window before me. “You ---”

“No, Tory. I can’t come with you. You have to do this yourself. I can hold them off. I promise you. Just get yourself down to my car. There’s a key in the glovebox. Drive yourself somewhere safe where no Desert Knight can get you. They’ll be looking for you soon.” My father and brother’s drunken laughs are practically drowning out my mom’s orders, but I hear her clearly.

I put my head out through the window, spotting the branch to the tree that Anton used to climb to my window. If I jump from the small ledge, I could make it, but if I fell, it would be a broken leg for sure. I had to try though. The imprint of my brother’s body had finally crashed through. And now mixed with the glittering glass shards were the unmistakable white wood chips.

Careful to avoid the large icicle like pieces of glass still hanging just above the bottom half of the window, I push my way through, clinging for the siding of the house. My feet hit the ledge and I slowly manage to stand up. My mom watches me as I scurry to the edge of the cement and brick passway. I count to three slowly… 1…. 2…. 3…. And then leap, my arms outstretched through the air for the branch. I feel the scrape of the skin first before I feel the trunk of the tree against my feet. I use the weight of it to push myself back onto the branch that leans just outside my bedroom window.

As I get ready to climb down, I spot something. In the wind, there blows a slight little bit of paper stuck between the crack of my window. My arm reaches out to get it, but I stop when I hear the final break through the door. While I can’t see anything, I can hear the shouts as clear as can be.

“Maureen! What the fuck did you do? You stupid woman!” Her body falls to the ground with a slam while my brother laughs loudly. “You think you own this house, don’t you? Don’t you!” There’s another cry as she is tousled around. I know I don’t have much time. They’ll soon realize I’m gone and there won’t be much time to escape them on their bikes. I grab the piece of paper, careful not to rip it, and scurry down the tree.

My feet hit the grass and I take off as fast as I can towards my mother’s car parked at the very end of the driveway. It’s thankfully unlocked, and the key is exactly where she said it would be. I start the old Cadillac, uncaring who can hear me. My mother’s favorite music -- old time country blares on the stereo. A on old woman singing about sticking with her man through good times and in bad croons over the sound of the tires squealing as I pull out quickly from the driveway.

As I go to turn, I see the figure of my mother in the window. The light is now on, my brother standing next to the lightswitch with a look of passive boredom on his face. My father points to Brandon as he walks out slowly down towards my bedroom, most likely still looking for me. When he’s gone, my father walks towards my mom, his steps completely unsteady as he wobbles towards the window. I watch in horror as he grabs her by her neck so that she pushes up against the wall.

I want to scream. I want to honk my horn. I don’t want to watch this, but I owe it to my mother. I don’t dare blink. And as I think she’s taking her last breathes, I spot the hand that is still wrapped up in the ruby red sheet. It lifts towards the air near my father’s chest. A gleam of light hits the edge of a long piece of glass before she uses the unbroken piece to slice into his chest like a butcher’s knife. He stumbles backwards as she runs, bolting out of the room with the glass still in her hand.

With my mom at least somewhat safe, I tear out the neighborhood towards the city. My mom’s words of warning about Knights looking for me rings in my head, so I stick to main roads where they wouldn’t dare start anything. I past the Sunset Bar where a bank of motorcycles are parked, and then the turnoff for the warehouse district where the Knights’ headquarters are located. I skip all of these familiar places and instead head towards the vets office where I do my rounds at as an intern.

There’s only one car in the brightly lit parking lot, but I have to stop somewhere. I don’t think I have breathed once since I watched my mom practically butcher my dad. The look in her worn eyes stay with me as I think of how long she waited for that moment. I wonder if she planned that all along, if that was something she had dreamed about after nights he spent beating her up. No matter what happened to her, I would always be proud of her for finally getting her dues.

I sink back into the seat, listening to the same woman continue to sing. I allow my eyes to close for just a second so that I can check in on my body. I’m physically okay, but my heart will not stop thudding up against the walls of my chest. And my hands are soaked in sweat. That’s when I realize that I’m still holding on to that piece of paper I grabbed from my bedroom window.

My fingers shake as I unfold it. The messy, dark handwriting is running from the moisture, but I can just barely make out the few words on the small shred of paper:

Tory,

If you need to get away, go to our spot where it all happened. I will find you there.

I love you,

Anton
 

I flip the white paper back over disappointed, searching for more answers. That’s it? What does he mean -- the “spot where it all happened?” I pound my head into the headrest as I try to decipher it. Does he want to me to go back to headquarters where I met him at that party? Even with him having a plan, there’s no way in hell that the Knights’ headquarters was anything but safe. And it couldn’t’ be his apartment. That would be one of the first places my brother or dad would look for us. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were already headed there. And it couldn’t be the Sunset Bar -- the Knights were already assembled there.

And then it dawns on me. Where “it” started wasn’t us meeting or me sleeping in his bed. It wasn’t me wrapping his hand up while I was drunk. It wasn’t us fooling around in the back room of his favorite bar. Where it started was in my car in the desert. It is where we made love for the first time. It is where we conceived our child. It is where I knew that I loved him.

I start the car back up and pull out of the driveway. Getting to that spot in the desert wasn’t going to be easy with Senators and Knights prowling their territory and my brother and dad just on my heels, but I had to get there. When April got to Anton, that would most likely be the first place he would go in search of me.

The tires of my car howl as they burn on the pavement. I swing the car round pointing it straight towards my destination. No one could stop me now.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, Anton. Something ain’t right. I thought those damn Senator runners were supposed to be here by now.” George looks around nervously from our spot just behind an old water well. The rest of my men all look as anxious as him as they huddle in the distance, just out of site from the main road.

“I agree with you. Leo’s time can’t be wrong. Those drop off times are supposed to be set in stone. They’d be idiots to miss it.” I hate to admit it, but I’m starting to doubt this was the best course of action, especially considering I haven’t heard any updates about Tory. When I left the parking lot, I had instructed April to text me if she heard something, anything from there house. Her and Leo also headed out together to the Walsh house for surveillance in case they saw her escape. But there’s been nothing, not even an all-clear, in the last hour.

“Should we pack it in? I mean, if we wait any longer, we’re just sitting targets for when the Walsh boys find out about our meeting. As much as I trust our guys to keep it low, you know that any one of those men could have ran back to Daddy Walsh and turned each and every one of us in for mutiny. Jesh, for all we know, he could be assembling a crew of Desert Knights from Los Angeles to track us down. No one would even know we’re go--”

“George, shut it!” I turn to the old man with a look that says it all. The last thing I want to think about are the “what ifs” and he was giving me the laundry list. Still, I sigh as I kick the dirt ground, “Fine. I think we should pack it in. It’s been an hour past the time, and it’s getting too cold and too dark to stay out here for long. Go round up the guys and let’s head back to the Sunset. I’ll text Leo to get the crew together so we can decide on Plan B once I go get Tory.”

“Sounds like a plan, boss.” George dusts off his hands with his jeans as he stands from our hiding spot. He looks down at me with a wicked smile that only looks more mysterious and eerie as he is backlit by the full moon. With a gleam in his eye, he says matter-of-factly, “You know, Anton. I’ve been in the Desert Knights for damn near twenty-five years now. And while I always thought you’d just be another bastard reject, I hate to say that you’d actually make a great Knight President.”

George turns towards the men as he adds, “That is, if we can ever bring down those damn Wal---”

There’s a sharp pow from the front of our hiding spot. I don’t have time to react as I watch in horror as George falls, his knees buckling under him and his arms shooting up in a T. When he hits the ground with a thud that sends dirt and dust clouds up around him, I spot the wound -- a small hole shot right through his chest. It’s a kill shot.

“Woo boy! What a shot, Brandon! Right on the money. That fool didn’t know what was coming from him.” A man hollers in the dark, his bike’s headlight flashing on. From the reflection in the metal well covering, I can see what appears to be five men sitting on their bikes. Their leader, no doubt Brandon Walsh, aims his pistol straight out, waiting for another taker.

No one moves. No one breathes. I look back and forth between my guys No one's quite sure what to do. All we know is that the worst thing we could do would be to die in that desert. I pull out my gun from my pocket. The cold metal practically burns in my bare hand as I lift it to my face and click off the safety. The rest of my boys follow, some with hands shaking nervously.

“Who’s next, Anton! Who do you want me to kill for you next?” Brandon taunts me as he fires off another round next to George’s unmoving body. I crouch down lower, hoping he doesn’t know exactly where I’m hiding at. When I don’t reply, he shouts even louder, “Oh come on now! Don’t make this anymore harder on me. Let’s just get this over with, and if you surrender yourself, I may even let your traitors walk free… with most of their limbs intact.”

My blood boils as I hear his sniveling, limp voice dare threaten my life and my men’s. I can’t stand it anymore as I yell back, “Fuck you, Brandon! You and your daddy’s time at the top is done. Over! We all know what you two are cooking up. The entire club knows that you are double crossing and getting all the profits. How long did you think you could hold off a mutiny?”

“As long as I’ve got the best riders in all of California. Oh, and all the guns too. You may outnumber us, but I bet not one of you are marksmen like me. I bet only you have fired a gun before. How you feeling now about your chances, Anton? Want to test it out and see how many boys we kill in the first round? I probably won’t have to reload before you’re all corpses for the vulchers!”

He’s partially right. Looking around at the boys with me, I doubt that any of them have fired a gun outside a range, let alone at another human being. And while I’ve drawn blood before, I’m no champion gunslinger. I just know to aim and fire. However, what Brandon doesn’t know is how surrounded he is.  As I scan our positions and measure them to the reflection, I notice that his men are all pointed straight ahead where only I hide. The rest of our guys have found ideal spots just off to the side of his henchmen. If they can just get a few shots in, they may stand a chance.

I manage to get the attention of the men off to the side of me. They’re about 50 feet from me, but they understand me perfectly when I motion to how and what I want them to shoot.

I close my eyes as I wait for Brandon to dare speak his big mouth again. And like some miracle, he starts, “Come out, come out, wherever you are…” It’s my cue. I turn towards the boy to the side of me, my fist closed. It’s our signal. There’s a burst of noise and chaos as the first shot fired becomes five, six, seven, eight. There are a few screams and hollers, but they aren’t coming from my guys.

In the reflection, I see smoke billowing around where Brandon and his men were standing. A black leather jacket falls to the ground. A bike collapses to the side. Brandon is nowhere to be found. Red rivers of blood slowly start to form as my men collaspe in heaps against their hiding spots. I can hear their panicked, noisy breathing occupy more space as they collect themselves and then go back for more.

Finally, when I see no one else standing, I lift my hand slightly up to signal the cut off. Everything stops. There isn’t a pin drop to be heard as we all just sit and wait. I know that I have to be the one who tests this out. This is what a leader does. He sacrifices himself first. I slide my body on the ground, inching towards the side of the well, my eye still fixed on the reflection of the unmoving men.

I put my gun out and away as I snake my head and chest out first. There’s nothing. No firing, not taunting, no moving. I stand slowly, still pointed at the dusty scene before me. My breath remains stuffed down in my chest as I will myself to move one step at a time towards the carnage. As I get closer, I can make out the bikes covered in bullet holes, the bodies of large burly men with their guns inches from their hands, and little pieces of fabric from clothes and backpack spinning in the unlit sky.

I whistle the all-clear to my boys, but none of them approach instantly. Like me, they crawl their way out of their hiding spot, careful to not fall victim to a counter-ambush. When the first man makes it to my side, he places his arm around my shoulder and pats it congratulatory, “That was a nice job, Anton. Now all that’s left is Walsh Senior.”

The man stares at me with huge blue eyes the color of the ocean. He doesn’t blink, but he does fall forward, directly on top me. In shock, I push his body away, seeing the blood spurting from around his neck and chest. The man wraps his hand around his throat as I lay him down. The rest of my men form around me as they shoot wildly into the dark.

In the distance, a headlight pops on as I see the unmistakable figure of Brandon Walsh starting up his bike right out of shooting range. He cackles as he says, “That one was supposed to be for you Anton Murdoch! The next one’s owed to your lady, and I know just where to find her at! See you in the desert!” He fires again from his silenced weapon. All we hear of it is the sound of it flicking off of the metal tailpipe of a fallen motorcycle.

I look back down at the man. He is still moving, still breathing. The rest of the men form a circle around him as they place scarves around the wounds. One of the older guys, Pedro, begins to pray as the shot man swats him off. I push past the crowd and kneel down beside him. Taking his hand in mine, I whisper, “You saved my life, man. We’re blood brothers now. We all are. And when I get back, I am going to owe you everything. Don't you forget it.”

“Go,” he attempts to shout back at me, his arms slightly raised as if he were pointing to one of the bikes. “Go kill that son of a bitch.” His lips turn ruby red as small specks of blood form around the corners of his lips. A cough forms in his throat, and I watch as the men attempt to elevate him so he doesn’t choke. This isn’t the kind of injury many men came back from.

“I’m going after him.” I say to the man next to me, not caring who he is. “Call the Doc and get this guy to him ASAP. Take him to the hospital, for all I care. He needs help. Another one of you call Leo and tell him what’s happened and that Brandon has escaped. He’s not going back to the house, but he’s going to the desert. The rest of you, loot these guys and look for the money. Even if they didn’t go through with the drop, they most likely had large amounts of Senator and Knights cash on them. Let’s not make this worth nothing.”

“Do you know where exactly Brandon is going?” the blonde haired kid asks me quizzically.

“Yeah. He’s going back to the spot where I told her to meet me, the spot where we started this whole thing. He knows where to find her, so I need to beat him to it.”

“How are you going to do that? He’s got a ten minute lead on you!”

One of the men listening in places his hand on the young man’s shoulders as he said reassuringly, his eyes fixed on me, “Kid, no one knows the road like Anton.”

I nod thankfully to those looking up at me before heading off on a sprint towards where we parked our bikes behind the shade of a few lone trees. My bike turns on under me in an instant, not even sputtering or stalling. My headlight flicks on as I peel off in the opposite direction of where Brandon rode off to. While he may know the way to get there, I know the back roads. No highways for me. I’m going the straight path.

In the dark, the desert does some crazying things with your vision. Every shadow looks longer, every howl seems a little deeper and more threatening, and every moon cast paints a scarier picture. With the black tar road, there is nothing really to show me that I’m actually on a road or that I am going in the right direction. I am doing this all by instinct and memory.

Luckily for me, I know that there’s a hiking route about a mile from where I am. And I know the road so well that I’m able to count the mile markers in my head at each quarter mile. Even going over 100 mphs, I can still estimate the distance well enough so that when I see the small trail mark just off the side of the road, I turn perfectly onto the gravel path. As soon as my tires adjust to the new terrain under me, I move back at my original pace out past the outpost, the few camp lights and fires, and through the more wooded areas.

When I come to the end of the trail about six miles later, I am practically on the other side of the highway. Trail markers are replaced by street lights and the sound of the desert animals coming to life are transformed into speeding cars and an occasional honk of a truck’s horn. The scent of the cooling desert fills my nose as I stop to get my bearings.

And in that moment, I see her. She’s in an old Cadillac I don’t recognize immediately, but, even from a distance, I see those almond eyes flickering as she scans the roads for me. I watch as her hands wipe away the strands of hair that have fallen onto her shoulders. Her red lips part gently as she yawns tiredly tilts her head against the driver seat.

I’ve found her. She’s safe. She’s mine.