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“Please don't tell anyone about what they did to me,” he begs.
“I think everyone is gonna know they pulled your hoop ring out,” I reply, buttoning his jeans.
“That's not what I'm talking about,” he replies frustrated.
“It's not? Well, I didn't see anything else, so I don't know what you’re talking about.” I shrug.
“You’re a pretty cool chick, C.” He grins, squeezing his eyes shut, fighting the pain.
Before I can reply, I hear a vehicle squeal in the parking lot out front. And then see an old blue truck come racing toward us. “What does Dylan drive?” I ask Dingo.
“Blue truck,” he answers sharply.
“Good, he's here,” I say relieved.
Dylan gets out of his truck and runs over to us.
“Oh my God,” he yells, bending down to his friend.
“Dylan, you got to get him out of town. They think he is dead. Don't try to take him to a doctor here, they probably have connections and would find out,” I spill hurriedly.
“I won't, I have family in Texas, we will go there,” he informs, looking up to me.
Dylan picks up Dingo and throws him over his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. Dingo cries out in pain.
“Sorry, buddy,” Dylan apologizes, lifting his head up toward Dingo's face.
I open the passenger door of the truck and Dylan lays Dingo down on the bench seat. Dingo curls up on the seat in a fetal position, holding his ribs, moaning.
“Stay down like this, Dingo, so no one sees you,” I order him, patting his leg.
“C, you need to come with us,” he sputters through the waves of pain. “The Rush Riders are gonna fuck you up and kill you for shooting at that car,” he states, staring at me through the slivers of his swollen eyes.
“I'll be fine, besides Linc said he would not let them do that,” I answer, hoping I'm right.
“You need to make sure you do what he said and get to him first. I'm serious, C, what you did was a sign of disrespect, and if those guys find you first, they will kill you!”
“I will, now get the hell out of here and please do something with your dogs before you leave town.”
Dylan gets in the driver’s seat and shuts the door. “We’ll take them to Dingo's aunt on our way out of town, now we gotta go,” Dylan says, starting the truck.
I shut the truck door and watch as they drive off.
Walking back to the parking lot, I get in my truck and just sit there covered in my and Dingo's blood trembling, exhausted, and scared. My hand is really starting to hurt now and blood has soaked through the handkerchief, making its presence useless. I throw it down on the floorboard of the truck and reach in the console for some more napkins. I wrap it back up and sit and wonder what I should do. Would Linc really save me if the club wants me dead? Is he playing me? Just trying to lure me in? They live by a code, that's what he said. Does that code include retaliation, no matter who did the crime? Shit, Roscoe and Dingo warned me to get to Linc before the patched-in members find me, so I'm gonna have to trust him. He is my only hope right now. I reach over and start the truck and am getting ready to put the truck in gear but stop. “Shit, what is that noise, it sounds like an airplane is getting ready to land. Putting the truck in gear, I ease closer to the main road, scanning the road for the source of the noise. “Oh my God, it's motorcycles and a lot of them. And they’re heading this way. I punch the gas and race to the end of the parking lot, but it’s too late. They are just a few feet away and one of them in front has already seen me. He is pointing in my direction. And all of them hit the gas on their bikes, speeding toward me. I push the accelerator harder to try and pull out of the lot to cut them off, but they swarm around me, blocking me in. A big guy gets off his bike right by my door. He’s tall, taller than Linc, with dark hair and a long beard. He is wearing sunglasses. His lips are stretched thin, and he just looks plain pissed. He has on a Rush Riders cut that reads Nick. Sargent at Arms and another patch that reads 1%. He doesn't even remove his helmet before stepping up to the driver’s window. He looks at me through the glass and yells, “Get out.” I look down at the floorboard at my gym bag, wondering if I can get my gun, but looking around I see all of them are now off their bikes and have surrounded my truck. A couple of them have even climbed up into the bed and are sitting by the back window. I look back over at Nick and nod, then pull the handle to open the truck door. As soon as the latch releases, Nick grabs a hold of the door with one hand and swings it open wide, while grabbing me around the neck with his other hand. He pulls me out of the truck by my neck, my feet trip and stumble trying to find the ground as he pulls me forward. He shuts the door then pushes me back into it and squeezes his hand tighter around my neck, making me gasp for air. Lifting me up by my neck so I am standing on my tiptoes he seethes, “You are a dead girl.”
The End-ish.
