Chapter 34: STEEL

Chapter Thirty-Four

STEEL

W hen we get back to the bike fully clothed and ready for the rest of the ride, I have seven missed calls from my mother and eight missed calls from Hunter. Two missed calls from Tanner. Four missed calls from Gideon. Eighty-one missed calls from Ruger, who most likely dialed me with his ass…

Shit. My wedding clearly has some feathers ruffled. Well, if anyone even thinks about mentioning Joslin’s race, I’ll create a fucking problem. The phone calls and congratulations text messages can wait until I get to my mama’s house. We’ll be there soon so… don’t see the point in calling back. Joslin thinks I’m making a mistake but I remind her that I’m armed and dangerous. And always ready to protect her.

I meant for our first time to feel more like making love, but I couldn’t hold back my desire for Joslin. Not after we tied the knot and I knew without a doubt that she would be mine forever. She moves her hand around to the front of my cut, gripping my chest as I pass a Honda Civic on the highway heading east. Her small hand against my chest sends a pulse of excitement straight down to my dick.

I love you. She said that to me without me forcing it out of her. With nothing but softness in her gaze. It feels like I’ve won a goddamn prize that no one could ever take away from me. My phone buzzes repeatedly in my front pocket. Again. Some families border on smothering. They’re acting like this is some kind of emergency. I crushed back too many damn energy drinks to think of anything other than my goal: get to my mother’s house so she doesn’t kill me.

We drive another fifteen miles and my phone stays quiet for a while, but then picks up again. It’s hard to focus on Joslin’s crotch pressed into me or her hands feeling up my muscles with all the distracting movement. I didn’t mind the relative absence of cellphones in prison. I had a flip phone smuggled in for club business, but that device wasn’t a constant pain in the ass. Joslin shifts uncomfortably behind me.

The phone vibrations distract me from my more pleasant fantasies about Joslin. I glance at the highway signs. Ten miles away. But then… I catch something else in my rearview mirror.

That Honda Civic. What the fuck?

We should have passed them miles ago. We did pass that Honda, didn’t we? The suspicious urge comes over me suddenly. But then the Honda shoots past us on the right and I guess I must have been overthinking it. Joslin squeezes my arm. Does she notice something? I keep riding, convincing myself she was just copping a feel.

I don’t blame her. I keep my muscles firm. Hard and solid from rigorous exercise and a regimented diet of nutritious foods – the complete opposite of the slop you have to fight over in prison.

But Joslin’s squeezing repeats more aggressively and I don’t think my wife is doing this to feel my muscles. I glance in my rearview again and notice something else.

A motorcycle accelerating towards us.

I don’t know why that would be anything to worry about. But if Joslin doesn’t want us near them, I don’t mind kicking up the speed. I push the bike up just over the speed limit. But my next glance in the rearview troubles me a little more.

Three bikes. Going faster. Coming straight towards us.

There isn’t other traffic out here. It’s typical in this part of the country. Miles and miles of highway untouched by the law. This is the last place in America where men can live as wild and free as the cowboys of the Old West.

Panic won’t make the situation better. There are plenty of bikers out here. Plenty of clubs. But my phone has been buzzing off the hook. And Joslin’s instincts are telling her the same thing my instincts are telling me.

We’re in trouble.

Just when I thought I was done with it.

Just when I thought I’d won. I don’t like this. The bikes are closing in on us. We’re miles away from the exit towards my mama’s house but… we don’t have time to worry about that. If I lead them off the highway, maybe I can find a way to lose them. Better than riding out in the open road like sitting ducks. Joslin tugs on my cut, the side closest to the exit.

I suspect she’s thinking the same thing. Her thighs clutch my body and I know she must be feeling scared. We get out of their sight but I know we don’t have long before whoever they are catch up to us. I take the first right turn I can off the interstate down the state highway, ignoring the fifty-five mile an hour speed limit in favor of the “stay the fuck alive” speed limit.

Adrenaline courses through me as I tune in to every sound. They’re close. Edging closer, even. But we have an advantage over them, which is a few minutes to prepare. There ain’t shit off the highway around here except cornfields and alfalfa farmland. One small clearing of trees at the end of some farmer’s property provides the first shelter from sight I see since getting off the highway.

Whoever the fuck is following us will be able to follow the bike tracks but… we still have a minute before they get to us. Joslin doesn’t need to be told what to do once I stop the bike. She gets off and takes off her helmet, setting it down gently before giving me the most serious fucking look I’ve ever seen.

“Please tell me you have another gun.”

“How long have they been following us?”

“There are five of them,” she says. “Possibly over an hour. They’re Midnight SS.”

I don’t need much reassurance that she’s telling the truth. Joslin’s deep brown cheeks look almost ash gray, as if her face wants to be colorless.

Despite our time constraints, I lean forward and peck her on the lips reassuringly.

“I have another revolver. But only two bullets. Are you a good shot?”

She gives me a worried, wide-eyed look.

“Just point. Pull the trigger.”

I reach into my cut for a revolver and hand it to her, taking Joslin’s other hand and shoving two bullets there. She’s a smart woman and she’s killed before.

“Get behind me,” I command her, reaching for my glock.

Motorcycle engines roar to a stop. I glance behind the tree – which isn’t really hiding us – and see four bikes forming a barricade in the road. The fifth is keeping watch, up ahead, or in the rear, which means we’ll have to get to him last. I try to get a head count when my eardrums nearly blast out of my fucking skull.

Joslin.

All hell breaks loose because apparently, Joslin takes to the fucking revolver like a goddamn natural. The first head I counted drops over his bike and nearly knocks over a second bike. A volley of gunfire comes in our direction. I don’t think. I grab Joslin and throw her back against the tree. She holds her hand up, hoisting the revolver above her head so she doesn’t accidentally shoot me.

We both look at each other like we’re not sure who is crazier.

“I got him,” she mouths to me.

Foolishly, I stop her lips with a kiss. We don’t have time for it, but I am so fucking turned on by this tiny killer that I don’t bother fighting the instinct. If it’s my last chance to kiss her, I want to take it. Joslin’s lips part readily, but after my first peck, she pulls away.

“Did we get ‘em?” a thick, Texan accent blares from about fifty feet away. I peer around the tree, holding my pistol steady with my less dominant hand and using the rest of my body to keep Joslin shielded against the tree. This will come down to reflexes. Who shoots first. Who shoots fastest.

I peer around the tree. Catch sight of a head.

Bang! Bang!

I miss the first shot, get his shoulder with the second. But I fire first and Shithole yells out and drops to his knees. Two men run towards him, but they quickly catch sight of me and change direction. Fast. My only concern is getting Joslin out of the way. But I don’t have time to do both – save her or save myself.

Looking at her, I know what choice I’ll make. The first night I met her. In every lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, kissing Joslin firmly on the lips and stepping out from behind the tree to my certain death.