Page 27

26

ATOM

“ A tom.”

Ember’s scream ricochets off the walls and does the same damage to my heart that a bullet would. A sharp, agonizing pain screaming that Ember needs me.

Catfish and I run to her but she’s already on her way to us.

“It’s him. He’s out back. The one who hit me.” She removes a concealed panel quickly to grab her weapon.

“Fuck,” I curse. “Call your dad and lock the doors.” I pull my gun from its holster; so does Catfish.

“Is the upstairs apartment locked?” Catfish asks.

“Haven’t been up there since we arrived. Should still be locked. I’ll take the back. Cut ‘em off out front.”

Catfish runs to the front door of the bar, and I hear Ember lock it behind him as I shove the bar on the emergency exit so I can give chase out back.

I boot the door shut, hopefully securing it so no one can double back inside.

A different truck is parked on the curb, engine running. We blew the tires and smashed the lights on the one we found at the safe house. There’s a different ugly bastard sitting in the driver’s seat, which makes sense given the previous driver is currently wandering aimlessly around hell without his eyeballs.

“Maksim, let’s go,” he yells, and I hear the passenger side door slam.

Maksim.

I make note of the name.

I aim my weapon at the truck and fire off several rounds, shattering the side window and hitting the door in loud metallic pings. But I must have missed the driver because, other than a quick swerve, the truck stays on the road.

I hear fire from the street too as Catfish joins me. He manages to blow out the back window of the truck and a taillight, but the vehicle picks up speed and swerves around the corner out of sight.

“Watch her for me,” I shout as I run to my bike.

“I’m coming with you,” he says, as I tug my half-face helmet over my head.

“No. Protect the town and Ember.”

Ember’s safety is my priority, but there are many ways that can be achieved. By staying here to look after her, or by trusting her to my brother’s care and giving chase to the men who would hurt her.

I jump on my bike and race after the truck. I’m not a hundred percent certain where they’re headed, but if they didn’t get what they want here, my guess is they’re headed back toward Denver. At the junction, I take a left, headed east towards the city.

“Where are you motherfuckers?” I mutter as I fly down the country road that leads to the highway. It has twists and turns, and I lean into each and every one of them, my knee skirting the asphalt.

There’s a oneness between man and bike. It becomes an extension of your thoughts, a piece of who you are. And I’d trust my bike against their truck anytime.

They must have driven the long way around town to drive in from the west, avoiding the patrol we have on the incoming road from Denver.

But as I turn the next bend, I see the truck, stationary, in the middle of the road. At the speed I’m travelling, it’s unexpected and dangerous, and my heart rate skyrockets. There’s only one thing I can do to avoid driving straight into the back of it and killing myself.

Drive off the road and take my chances in a tall field of corn.

Little can stop a machine travelling at a hundred miles an hour. I hammer and release the brake, attempting to slow myself down before I hit the hard dirt. The bike hits a rut and throws me over the handlebars while it falls to its side and spins in a different direction.

I land hard on my back, the impact knocking the wind out of me. But the corn stems act like an aggressive safety net, breaking my fall with more firmness than my body needs.

The good news is, I don’t slide across the dirt—a recipe for losing skin. While I doubt my denim shirt is going to be worn ever again, the corn saves me from a skin graft.

“Fuck,” I gasp. When I bought this helmet, I got it because I thought it looked cooler than a full helmet. Now, I’ve never been more grateful for the high-strength shell and multi-density safety buffer that’s the reason my skull isn’t cracked open.

Bullets hit the ground beside me, spitting dirt that rains down on my face before I’ve even realized I’m being shot at. I scramble to my feet, while crouching low to the ground, and head into the corn. Shots are fired, but none make it through the stalks before I hear the roar of the truck engine.

When I realize they’re gone, I try to run to my bike. Thinking that I can catch up again, and how it’s going to be easier to spot them with the bullet holes and shattered windows.

Until I put weight on my ankle and realize just how badly everything hurts. I try to suck in a breath and wonder if I haven’t broken one of my ribs.

I trace my way out of the cornfield and find my bike, still running, on its side. It’s unpleasant work, wheeling it out of the field. Everything hurts, and the bike feels like it weighs three times more than it usually does.

By the time I’m back on the road, sweat pools at my temples and soaks the back of my shirt.

I replay my actions in my head. Going after them fast was my only option. Too slow and I would have lost them. But I hadn’t anticipated them being smart enough to think of blocking the road with their truck.

I failed Em.

That’s my overwhelming thought.

The realization I could have died today flashes through me, but I bury it beneath the shame I feel at not achieving my goal of ending this for her.

Thankfully, my bike is drivable, if a bit battered. Gingerly, I climb onto it, ignoring the ache in my shoulder and back. I feel every bump in the road as I try to get back to Em as quickly as possible.

But my nerves are rattled. Getting thrown over my bike is something I don’t want to repeat.

When I get there, Catfish is watching from the upstairs balcony, weapon drawn.

“Shit, you okay?” he asks, holstering his gun and running down the steps to help me off the bike.

I shake my head. “They nearly got me. Parked up ’round a bend in the hope I’d hit them at high speed. Went off into a field.”

“Oh my God,” Ember says, running out to the balcony. “Are you okay?”

I limp up the stairs, trying to decide if anything needs medical treatment. Gently, I lower myself into the patio furniture, which isn’t really big enough for my frame. “Nothing a naked massage won’t fix later.”

I wink at Em, trying to conceal my real feelings about what just happened.

“Fucking stop making me complicit,” Catfish says.

“He nearly died,” Ember says dramatically.

Catfish raises one eyebrow. “When your father finds out about this, he’ll kill him either way.”

It’s then I notice there’s someone down the hallway in the apartment. I try to jump to my feet to pull my weapon, but Catfish presses his hand to my shoulder. “Stand down, cowboy. In the worst possible timing, it’s the insurance guy.”

The windows are open, and the smell of smoke and damp is disgusting.

“Turns out that one of the old-timers’ grandsons is an insurance adjuster,” Catfish says. “Butcher was able to pull a few strings to get him to make a visit today. Or so he said. Not a hundred percent certain he didn’t just threaten him, given the way the guy jumps at everything I say. He’s already said he’s willing to make sure the claim is highly favorable to Ember.”

“And you just decided to let him in, when those fuckers were hanging around outside?” I ask.

“Figured they were gone. You weren’t going to let them get back here, and Ember really needed to get this mess cleaned up.”

Multiple motorcycles can be heard on the street outside. Butcher, Taco, Wraith, and Grudge eventually appear.

“What the hell happened?” Butcher shouts as he marches up the stairs to the patio.

“He was here, Dad,” Ember says. “One of the men who came the other night for money.”

I raise a hand. “Before you get mad at the guys watching the road into town, my guess is the Russians already spotted them and did a loop around the town to come in from the west.”

“Stranger on deck,” Catfish says.

“Who the fuck are you?” Butcher asks when the insurance adjustor appears.

The man looks flustered. “I’m Jamie. My grandpa said you needed this assessment done quickly.”

I almost laugh in spite of the day I’m having. The guy has the charisma of a lettuce leaf.

“Fine. Did you agree to pay out every single penny and not fuck her around?”

Jamie clutches his portable gadget to his chest. “Yes. Of course. Whatever she needs.” He turns to face my woman, and I don’t like the way he checks out her ample tits before adjusting his glasses and looking up over the roof.

Ember smiles, though I can tell it’s false, as she leads him to the steps. “So, I can start cleanup, like laundering all my clothes and things?”

Jamie smiles like a smitten puppy, and it takes all I have to not step over there and punch him in the face. “I can also have an emergency payment made to you, and we can look for a rental property you can use, or you can choose one yourself. I’ll make sure it gets signed off.”

“I had no idea my policy included temporary housing.”

“When you set it up, you did it correct. A residence over a business, and you listed them as two separate property entities rather than one building. Therefore, I can process this property independent of the bar.”

At this point, she’s nudged him to the steps. “Great. Please send me that check.”

“I’ll be in touch,” Jamie says, almost stumbling down the stairs.

“That’s a relief,” she says as we all watch Jamie disappear from the yard.

Butcher folds his arms across his chest. “Now can someone tell me what the fuck is going on?”

It takes ten minutes to bring Butcher up to speed. Actually, it only takes two minutes; the other eight are spent managing his reactions.

“These fuckers are gonna be the death of me,” Butcher says finally. “We have other shit we should be dealing with, like a long run down to LA with the new batch of weed now that the grow-op is back up and running. Not batting away Bratva like fucking mosquitos. It’s like they’re experts at anticipating our every move. They seem to know all our vulnerabilities.”

“We can figure this out,” Wraith says finally.

“Figure it out?” Butcher scowls. “I’m done with this shit. Do your fucking jobs. All of you. Those motherfuckers have us over barrels.”

The others leave the patio, but I remain in the chair. “They ran me off my fucking bike; I’m not moving yet.”

Butcher lights a cigarette. “You’re a sure shot, Atom. How did you miss?”

The question rubs up against my ego and my shame. “Because the truck was moving. Because I was running. And I didn’t fucking miss. Got a shot through the driver’s side fucking window and shattered it, and somehow the lucky fucker dodged. Catfish blew out the rear. Go check the casings on the fucking street if you like.”

He blows a stream of smoke into the air. “And you didn’t think they might try to get you off your bike?”

I stand and a shooting pain rushes down my leg. But if I’m facing down my president, I’ll do it on my feet. “You know what? I didn’t. Because I was too busy chasing after them. Too busy worrying what would happen if they made it to the highway before I stopped them. Too busy worrying about whether Catfish had Ember secured. Too busy keeping my bike on the fucking road. You think I wanted to see that fucking truck blocking the road when I took that corner? And for the record, I feel like shit ‘cause I failed. So, stop making it worse, Prez .”

“Sorry,” Butcher says. “I just hate how they seem to have the advantage. Hate the idea they’re smarter and more capable than we are. You good?”

“Feel like I just got spun up and spat out. Went over the top of the bike. Lucky I’m walking.”

“And what about you?” Butcher asks Ember.

“Just shook up. I wonder if the realtor is still open. They have properties for rent listed, and I certainly need somewhere to stay tonight.”

Butcher shakes his head. “You’re staying with me.”

Ember puts her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to stay with you. I hate your house.”

Butcher rolls his eyes. “You don’t hate my house.”

“You’re right. I don’t hate your house because it was my childhood home, but I hate the parade of club girls who have passed through it that, ultimately, caused Mom to leave. So, no, I am not staying at your place.”

“Well, you can’t stay here, so where are you going?”

“Fuck’s sake,” I say. “For tonight, she can stay with me.”

Butcher eyes me carefully. “Why would she stay with you?”

I shrug. “I dunno. Maybe it’s because my house is close to the clubhouse if there’s trouble. Maybe because it benefits from being inside the ranch boundary and beyond the club security checkpoints. Maybe she’ll be better protected there. It’s less obvious.”

“Or maybe you could both ask me what I want,” Ember says. She gives me a knowing look. One that suggests I might be blowing our secret, coming on too strong to take her with me.

“You can have my room at the clubhouse,” Butcher says.

Ember pretends to vomit. “Even worse. We all know what happens in that room, because while the club girls are many things, discrete isn’t one of them.”

“Well, I don’t want you on your own.” Butcher folds his arms across his chest.

Her eyes flit to mine momentarily, urging me to work with her. “Then I’ll go stay with Quinn.”

I shake my head, attempting to play the game. “Yeah, brilliant idea, Em. Go stay with one of the other women being pressed for money.”

“And Quinn isn’t staying at her place right now. The night they set fire to the bar, they went to her for money. There was some trouble,” Butcher says.

“What?” Ember and I say together.

“Is she hurt?” Ember asks.

“A little. After you and Atom took off, she came over and asked if I had a contact number for Smoke, since they took her phone.”

“Where is she?” I ask Butcher.

“Managed to help her get hold of Smoke, and he okayed her staying at his place. Got Dice and a prospect covering her. But Smoke’s house is so out of the way, they’d never find it.”

That’s interesting. Smoke was dating Quinn’s sister when she went missing. He told me once that he knew it wasn’t a forever kind of thing, but it took him a long time to get over the fact he hadn’t been able to protect her.

I wonder why Quinn reached out to him. I heard she was one of the ones who had blamed him for her sister going missing.

Ember looks at me. “Were you serious about me staying with you?”

I nod. “Makes sense for tonight. I’ll make up the spare room for you.”

“Will there be more food this time?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips with a fake scowl.

I roll my eyes. “For fuck’s sake. You were fed. What do you want this time, a fucking cheese board?”

Ember bites down on her grin. “Cheese would be lovely. I’ll bring some white wine. I trust you have glasses.”

“Jesus,” Butcher says. “Ember, enough. Atom, just take care of her.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got her, Butcher.”

“You haven’t got me ,” she says. “No one does. I?—”

“Good luck,” Butcher says, raising one eyebrow before he disappears down the stairs.