Chrome & Leather: Liars Tomb (Motorcycle Club Romance) (2 page)

He stepped back and said "You are with me now".

I stammered back a weak sounding "OK". If my mouth wasn't so sore I'm sure I would of stood there with it agape. What I hadn't been expecting was the rush of feeling when he kissed me. Tingles ran up and down my spine with the initial gentle brush of his lips. 

My training told me that this was to be expected. Traumatic situations could usually form a strong bond between strangers. Even with that knowledge I was a little off balance with the surge off feelings I had felt. 

"Your husband is still alive. You punctured his lung and he is in a chemically induced coma."

He locked eyes with me and spoke with conviction "He can never hurt you again. Not while you are with me".

He got on his bike and revved the engine. I got on and wrapped my arms around him, being careful not to squeeze too tight. His body language was solid and assured. He seemed energised after our brief kiss.

He looked back at me and said "It's time to deal with a rat," and gunned the engine. We left the lot in a cloud of billowing dust and dirt.

I had always been attracted to strong women. I think it was because of my mother. She raised three of us while also working a full time job in a back breaking factory position. My father had bailed on us when we where all young, because of the pressures of family life as my mother told it. Fuck that guy. I had grown cold and hard towards this man as I grew older. My brothers spoke about tracking him down, they had a need to confront him. Not me. He became meaningless as soon as he turned his back on us.

My mother dated sporadically as we grew older. The guys always seemed shifty from my young perspective. I suppose a single mother of three isn't going to attract a good man. 

The longest she was with someone was for a year or two with a dude called Sam Finch. He was a tall rangy looking guy who always seemed to have one eye on the door as if he was waiting for someone to kick it in and drag him off into the night. I never liked him.

One night he raised his hand to my mother. He did not hit her, he never got the chance. I was in the next room watching Tv and I could hear them both getting agitated as they squabbled about money.

My hands balled into fists in my lap, my nails digging into my palms drawing blood. I could feel my breathing increase in rapid little wheezes. My vision strobed in and out flashing white inside my skull.

The next thing I knew I was on Sam, sitting on his chest with a broken beer bottle at his neck. I was foaming at the mouth. I remember my mother screaming in the background "Jack get off him, don't hurt him Jack," she wailed.

I pressed the shard of glass into his neck, the skin dimpled under the pressure. His eyes were huge saucers of fear.

"Get out of my house" I snarled into his face.

Tears streamed from the corners of his eyes. He never blinked while I straddled him. My mothers screaming rose and fell in waves. I came close to plunging the bottle into his neck and ending that piece of shits life there and then.

I got off him and waved the glass back and forth, pushing him towards the door.

"You are fucking crazy kid. You will never amount to anything" he said as he backed towards the door.

He opened the door without turning his back on me and then he was gone. My mother sank to a heap on the floor balling her eyes out. I dropped the glass shard and it went skittering across the floor sending glints of light off it as it spun.

"What have you done Jack" she sobbed into her hands.

"What have you done?"

"He was going to hurt you," I said as I bent to hug her.

She wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close. I felt safe and loved in her embrace. I felt needed, I had made a difference for her. My emotions spilled over and I cried into the folds of her shoulder as she stroked my hair and calmed me down.

That had happened when I was twelve years old. A door was opened up inside me that night. I had gotten a thrill out of protecting my Mother, it had felt like the right thing to do. Even more I had gotten a bigger thrill out of the violence. I wouldn't fully say that what happened put me on my current path, but it was another totem that showed me that I wasn't destined to live a regular nine to five life.

I was dragged back to the present by a sharp pain in my ribs. The bullet had passed right through me but I was pretty sure two of my ribs had been broken. I could feel a raspy sensation every time I breathed in as if something was loose inside me. Blood had continued to trickle down my side and pool in my boot.

I didn't believe in luck but if I did Linda Lake would be luck personified. Without her help back in the bar I might not of made it out of there alive. I knew who the culprit was. Only one member of our gang knew where I would be today. That rat fucks hours on this planet were limited. He deserved nothing less than the liars tomb.

Linda shifted on the bike as we entered a long flat bend. It felt good to have her pressed against my back. A warm reassuring presence. Back at the gas station I had spoken to my contact in the police department. I had some dirt on him when he was caught with his trousers around his ankles with some young guy. This is something his pretty new blonde wife might not want to see pictures of.

He had access to some of the police systems and could get his hands on most files if we needed them. We had built up a nice collection of intel on various members of the vice squad.

I had gotten him to do a quick background check on Linda and her dead husband. Unlucky for her she only put him in the hospital. Judging by her face he was the kind of bastard who deserved to be killed. This is something I could arrange if she wanted. 

I had gotten my source to check if there was any heat out on Linda. So far it looked like nothing major and if the husband recovered it would be up to him to press charges if he wanted to take it any further. 

The roads where empty of traffic and I gunned the engine as we headed up into the mountains. My gang had a simple wooden shack on a couple of acres of scrub land that we used from time to time. We had several of these places around the county. I didn't like to meet at the same place too many times in a row. After today I wouldn't be returning to this place as it would be too risky.

I turned off the main road and slowed down as I got near to the thick chain strung across the road. I pulled the bike to a stop and got off.

"How are you doing?" I asked as I unwrapped the chain from a tree.

"I could do with a drink. I'm still shook up about my husband being still alive. I felt sick to my stomach that I had killed him and at the same time I also felt huge relief that he was gone. Is that messed up?" she said.

"Any man that did what he did to you doesn't deserve to feel the sun on his face. Fuck him I say. Don't waste your time feeling guilty about him," I replied.

"What if he comes after me?" she said.

I locked eyes with her and said in a calm and steady voice "He is never going to hurt you again."

She lowered her gaze and I could see tears welling up. My first instinct was to hop on the bike and head straight for the hospital. I could feel my vision begin to strobe with bright flashes of white in the corners. 

I could feel my hands wrapping around his neck. See his eyes wide in fear as I squeezed every last bit of hateful life out of his frail and broken body. His windpipe creaking and then snapping as my fingers crush with all my force. Only then would the strobing white light in my vision recede and the beast within stop beating against my chest. 

It was a familiar feeling. A pressure behind my eyes as if I was filling up inside with a thick and viscous fluid. My fingers would feel fat and unwieldy as if I was made out of thick slabs of meat. The pressure inside would grown and grow and unless I did something about it I would explode. I had never let it get to that stage. I was afraid to let the pressure build. I did not want to let it obliterate me, ripping and tearing at my flesh as it found the point of least resistance and ripped through my soft weak body. I had found a way to relieve the building pressure. The crushing and breaking of weak men, the kind of men who took advantage of women, these where my pressure valves. I would rend them until they where nothing but a grease stain on the ground.

Linda's story gave me something to latch onto, a release point for the growing weight behind my eyes. I think a visit to the hospital to take care of a loose end for her was inevitable. Rationally I knew the visit could bring untoward attention to me, but my heart told me it was the right thing to do. It was the only way to ease the mounting pressure.

I reattached the chain to the tree stump as we headed up the dirt road to the small wood cabin.

The cabin stood in a small clearing surrounded by silver birch trees. Parked outside were three motorbikes. The sun glinted off the polished chrome of the exhaust pipes. Birds chirped as they dove into a dark cloud of insects buzzing in the air, snatching mouthfuls of the bugs as they swooped about. 

As Blackjack pulled up in front of the cabin the door opened and a man with greasy blonde hair walked out. He wore a beaten up leather jacket that looked like it had seen several lifetimes of action. The elbows where scuffed and worn and it looked like the man lived in the jacket. 

Blackjack stopped the bike and got off. The blonde haired man came down the steps and they hugged like brothers. 

"This here is Linda Lake, she helped me out back at the ambush," Blackjack said.

The blonde man tipped a hat that wasn't there towards her.

"I'm Bill, but everyone calls me Red," he said extending a hand to Linda.

She took his hand and it was engulfed in a large warm and calloused embrace. 

"That's one hell of a shiner you have there," Red said.

"You should see the other guy," Linda said and giggled nervously.

Red winked at her and turned to Blackjack.

"Is he ready?" said Blackjack.

"Yeah we got the jump on him when he was leaving some whores place in old-town. He didn't know what hit him. He's inside cooling his heals right now. He will be happy to see you," said Red smiling a shark tooth grin.

"Is everything else set up?" asked Blackjack.

Red nodded and leaned up against his bike. He took out a match from a back pocket in his grease stained jeans and started to pick his teeth with it.

"How bad was the fracas at the bar?" 

"Nothing I couldn't handle. They where packing some serious heat. I didn't recognise any of them. They looked like out of town help. Things got dicey for a minute. Linda helped even the odds."

"You can handle yourself?" said Red admiringly to Linda.

"I know which end of a gun to point at trouble," Linda deadpanned.

Red let out a snort of a laughter and said "you're a veritable Calamity Jane, good for you".

Linda gave him a slight smile. He seemed friendly enough, but she could see that behind his openness and jokey charm was a darting furtive intelligence. She could feel herself being sized up even as he smiled innocently and laughed along with her.

"I think we have let him stew long enough, lets do this," Blackjack said and walked towards the door.

"What about her?" asked Red.

"You wait outside while I have a little chat with a compatriot of mine. It wont take too long," said Blackjack.

Linda nodded and hung back by the bikes. There was nothing she could do. She knew from studying the stacks of files on motorcycle gangs that most of them never let any of the women be involved or witness anything they got up to. She was lucky to have got this far so quickly.

She ground her boots into the soft earth kicking up puffs of dirt trying to bury her frustration about being left outside. She needed to work on making herself indispensable to Blackjack. She needed to get to a point where he never wanted her away from his side. She thought she knew exactly what she needed to do.

CHAPTER TWO

Blackjack and Red entered the gloom of the one room cabin. The first thing that hit Blackjacks senses was the acrid smell of piss. Clearly the prisoner had soiled himself in fear. He should be afraid, Blackjack thought darkly to himself.

In the middle of the room was an old beaten up armchair. Chunks of the foam padding poked out through holes in the faded green material. The chair was flanked by two large bald men. They both had the same large crooked nose and jug ears. They where the gangs enforcers known simply as "the brothers".

Tied to the chair and the source of the acrid piss was a young man in his early twenties. In better times he would have been called good looking, the sort of guy who always had a beautiful woman on his arm and a devilish glint in his eyes. Right now a woman would of screamed at the sight of him.

His nose was flattened and broken on his face. Blood streamed down his chin and ran down his naked chest. His face was puffy and uneven from multiples blows to the head. The brothers had worked him over good. Three of his fingers on his right hand were broken. They had been pulled back until the knuckles popped and cracked as if they were brittle twigs. He had passed out briefly from the pain of the second finger snapping. The brothers allowed the black veil to swallow him momentarily then one of them wrapped his hands around the bound mans neck and began to squeeze. His eyes shot open immediately in panic and he flailed weakly against his constraints.

"Wake up fucker" said the brother as he released his grip on his neck.

Blackjack circled the broken and bleeding man, pacing in long slow loops of the chair and saying nothing. The tied up man followed Blackjack , tilting his head back and forth so as not to lose sight of him. His eyes bulged in his head in fear, afraid if he lost sight of him the cobra would strike.

Blackjack stopped circling and dropped to his hunkers in front of the man.

"Pike, you look like you have seen a ghost. Did you really think your plan was going to work?" Blackjack asked.