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It’s a classic bike – if kept in good repair. Roach’s was a piece of shit, barely hanging together with duct tape and spit.
Well, he was still here.
I didn’t know if that was good or bad.
I slowed down as I got to the parking lot and pulled out my gun. All of the motel windows were dark. Any lights out in front of the rooms had burned out long ago. The neon VACANCY sign was about as dim as could be, and the fluorescent lights in the office offered no help at all. No one could see me coming, which was an advantage.
On the other hand, I couldn’t see much going on, either.
I was fifty feet away from her room when the door opened.
My stomach turned as a man walked out of her dark room.
I couldn’t tell much about him – he was wearing a black hoodie pulled tight over his head – but I could see what he wore over the hoodie.
A Midnight Riders leather jacket.
Oh God no.
“Roach!” I hissed as I quickened my step. My gun was down by my side, but still in my hand.
The hooded figure looked over at me – and immediately pulled his gun and aimed.
Holy shit –
I dove behind the closest car as two gunshots rang out.
BLAM BLAM!
“ROACH, CUT IT OUT!” I yelled. I would have yelled out It’s Jack! but in a gun battle, it’s not exactly a good idea to shout out your name in front of potential witnesses.
I heard work boots clacking on the asphalt. I looked over the Ford Fiesta I was hiding behind and saw the hooded figure running, his gun in the air, still pointed at me.
He was heading in the direction I’d come.
Towards his Triumph Bonneville.
Shit – I couldn’t exactly shoot at him. How the fuck was I going to explain that one to the club? Yeah, I knew he was there at the motel, and I knew it was Roach… but since he shot at me, I decided to plug him in the back.
I could follow him, but that just invited more shooting. And I didn’t exactly want to take friendly fire.
Besides, I didn’t give a shit about Roach right now.
I only cared about who was back in that room.
I let Roach get far enough down the street until there was no fucking way he could hit me, then I ran for the motel.
Her room had been forced open. That was the first thing I noticed – the splintered frame, the cheap, cracked door. I flung it open and reached for the light switch, dreading what I was about to see.
Her naked body, bloody and bruised, still as death, lying in a pool of red.
I held my breath and flicked the switch.
The place flooded with dim light.
Nothing.
Well, that’s not exactly true. The place had been tossed like somebody was looking for drugs.
