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But those prayers went unanswered, and it was a damn good thing that they did. Because the last thing I saw before the ground was ripped out from under me in a whirl of slammed doors and rough hands was Cross, running down the block, screaming my name. He got smaller and smaller as the tires squealed on the pavement and my spinning head finally stilled, and I realized where I was, and who I was with.
“Been waitin’ a long time for you to come out of there alone, Bex,” Jase growled from the driver’s seat. “Loverboy can’t help you now. You’re mine. The way you always been. Always supposed to have been.”
“Fuck off, Jase,” I roared from my own seat at his side, preparing to launch myself against him. But before I could move, I felt the stabbing in my arm, and something ice cold flowed through my body, flushing me from head to toe. I had enough time to look down and see the needle in my arm before I started to feel pretty weird. And then I didn’t feel anything at all.
Cross
Always go after your woman when she walks away.
Always.
I learned that lesson on the day Jase made his last appearance in our life. I almost let her go without following. I was almost too ashamed and too angry and too dumb to run after her. Thank god I wasn’t, because otherwise Bex might not be here to keep me straight.
As it was, I caught sight of that damn black sedan two seconds too late to pull my gun and shoot out the tires. One minute Bex was there, walking away from me, and the next she was gone, sucked into the car like something out of a science-fiction story. I stalled for a second, trying to make sense of it. But once those tires got to squealin’ and the black car peeled down the street, I knew it was bad news.
My bike was waitin’ for me at the end of the block, and I ran to it fast as I could, prayin’ that the car wouldn’t make any turns. Right as I got my tires on the road, the car swerved around a corner, making a quick left. But I caught up quick, nearly layin’ the Vincent down taking the corner too fast. The car was headed to the highway, where it’d be harder to follow; unless I could stop it first. I went for my holster, meaning to pull my gun and blow his tires out.
I wasn’t wearing my holster. I didn’t have my gun. I didn’t even have my cut. I’d run so fast after Bex, I’d barely put on pants and boots. Shit. The highway ramp was comin’ on quick, and I pushed my bike as fast as she could go, leaning forward like my weight could make a difference. He took the ramp. I cursed and powered on behind him, sliding onto the highway and nearly killing myself tryin’ to merge straight into a minivan.
Pursuing a car on a highway when you’re on a bike is nothing to laugh at. Sure, the bike can weave like hell through traffic, but getting too close to the car is asking to be run down. I managed to get alongside him, and cursed when I saw Bex slumped over in the passenger seat. But he was smart enough to drift my way, and I had to cut between a semi and another car to avoid eating tar for breakfast. I came out in front of him, and endured the honking around me to get back to his speed.
At least my hangover was gone.
Finally, we settled into a stalemate, with him in the right lane and me a few cars behind in the left lane. He couldn’t touch me, but I couldn’t take the exit without risking my skin. When he peeled off to the right suddenly, there were two cars in my way. It was miss the turn, or risk being roadkill.
I took the risk.
The first car just honked as I screeched behind it, but the second car swerved hard to the right in panic; I could almost feel the wind of its spin on my back as I roared onto the exit ramp and it skidded into the breakdown lane in a blur of honking and screaming. Not my problem. Bex was my problem, and I was on his tail again, keeping my distance but never letting him get far out of sight.
He started weavin’ around town like a madman, trying to lose me, wild turns that had my heart leaping here and there with each skid and slip. I don’t know if he knew where he was going, but I began to realize he was headed straight for Blackhawks territory. Those wounds were fresh enough to put my ass in the grass if the wrong person saw me tearin’ through their side of town.
Still, I knew he couldn’t run forever. We crossed that invisible boundary between my world and theirs, but I kept at it, tailing him down every street and around every corner. And finally, he got tired of being chased. Or maybe he’d finally got to whatever place he was tryin’ to get to. Either way, the black sedan squealed to a stop in front of a crappy-lookin’ apartment building, and I braked hard, running towards him even as my bike hit the ground. Nothin’ but Bex could cause me to abuse my Vincent that way.
And nothin’ but Bex could have stopped me from bashing this guy’s face straight into the pavement.
It was Bex I was tryin’ to save, after all. So when he came out of the car, draggin’ her limp body in his arms, holdin’ a gun to her jaw, I came to a dead stop. He had one arm under her armpit, his hand pointing the gun against her throat; the other hand crossed her neck behind the gun.
“Get the fuck back, asshole!” Jase cried. He didn’t look like shit to me, but he was the one with the gun, so I stepped back. ‘She’s my fuckin’ wife, and I’m takin’ her back where she belongs!”
Can’t say I didn’t entertain the idea of rushing him again, but the stakes were too damn high. I couldn’t make a move without endangering Bex. Was he crazy enough to kill the woman he claimed to love so damn much? I didn’t think so, but thinkin’ is a far cry from knowin’, and the cost of being wrong was higher than I wanted to pay.
“Get on your fuckin’ knees,” he hollered. And I did. Goddammit, I did. I never knelt for shit. But I knelt then, feeling hate all the way to my toes.
“Good,” he said, taking a big swallow of air. I could almost see his muscles shaking as he tried to hold Bex up and keep the gun on her at the same time. If this went on long enough, I knew, he’d have to drop her and…
Oh, yes, baby. I saw it. He didn’t. I saw Bex open one eye, wide, then squeeze it shut. Telling me she wasn’t as far gone as Jase thought she was. It was the one thing that we had on him.
Be careful, baby, I thought. Please, Bex, be careful…
He was going to eat cement before I was done with him. I’d never curb-stomped anyone before, but it seemed like a great day to start. I just had to wait and hope that my woman was everything I knew she was.
Jase’s knees bent a bit as he hoisted Bex back up in his arms, clearly tiring of her dead weight. For a split second, the gun moved from under her jaw. And Bex took that split second, wringing it for all it was worth. In one perfect movement, she slammed a fist backwards into his nose and closed her teeth over the wrist of the hand that held her by the neck. Jase dropped her with a curse, probably more surprised than hurt. It was all I needed. He still had the gun in his hand, but nothing could stop me from getting my hands on him now that Bex was safe.
The poor fool was still cupping his bloody nose in one hand when I barreled my shoulder into his chest and sent him sprawling onto the street, the gun clattering off to the side.
And then I was straddling his chest, the back of his head cracking open on the street as I laid into him. I tore Jase’s face off and fed it back to him. Draggin’ him across the pavement, I lifted him against his car and started on his gut, lovin’ every blubbering wail and choked cry that spewed from his lips. His blood tasted sweet on my skin. This was a man who’d hurt Bex. Every blow I dealt him was well deserved, in my humble opinion.
I didn’t let up until he was barely clinging to consciousness. Red spit bubbled from his lips, his body bent unnaturally over the hood of his car. I pulled him up by his collar, one last time, and spit into his gaping hole of a mouth.
“Leave, and never fuckin’ come back,” I said. I was sure he’d heed those words. With the last of his strength, I watched him slide down the side of his car, collapsing into the driver’s seat, then slumping over the wheel, his shoulders shaking.
Well, fuck. No sooner did I see a light at the end of the tunnel than I saw something else at
the end of the street. Black and chrome, ridin’ our way, and fast. Blackhawks. And here I was, in their territory again, not even a month after we’d patched that truce back together. Blood on my hands and a half-dead man slumped in a car at my side, a woman passed out in the middle of the street.
Boy, it was a pretty fuckin’ picture.
The engines came to a sputtering stop as the riders approached; my hopes rose when I saw the man at the lead. Beacon. He was alright, wasn’t he? He already knew about Jase, knew about me and my old lady. And he knew me.
“The fuck is goin’ on here?” Beacon asked.
“You remember the guy who beat on my old lady?” I said, shouting to be heard from my distance. I pointed into the car. “That’d be him.”
“You and your fuckin’ club…mate, you’re a fuckin’ handful, the lot of you. It’s a fuckin’ wonder we don’t come into your territory, way you run shit.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, meeting Beacon’s eyes. “Nothin’ would have made me cross that line, except the bastard took my ol’ lady. I chased him here and…”
“Shut the fuck up, Cross,” Beacon said, sounding annoyed but not angry. “You got him, right? Beat him to your satisfaction?”
