London Casey & Karolyn James
Some days it was great to be a fucking outlaw. To ride a road that never ended with a freedom that was more pure than the sweet smell of a virgin and a responsibility that was greater than the one that kept the sun rising and lowering with each passing day.
Other days… I felt like I was back in the desert, chasing down fucking ghosts, waiting to step on the wrong spot and get blown to fucking pieces. That was my old reality and sometimes right at home it was the same goddamn thing.
When I felt the surprise bullet graze my right leg it took all my force and might not to pull the motorcycle and drop it. I gripped the handlebars tighter and throttled harder, gaining more speed. Trent was riding next to me. In front us was the Prez, Trev. His old lady was like a balloon ready to pop with their first child. My survival instincts kicked in, along with the deep seeded urge to protect my brothers, just like I had done in another country.
I grabbed my gun and pointed at Trent. I waved forward, telling him where the bullet came from. We were on a long stretch of desolate interstate, nobody else in sight. Or so we thought. So someone was trying to take out Back Down Devil MC. There was a long list of people that wanted all of us dead. Shit, there was probably an even longer list that wanted me dead personally. I couldn’t go back and think about all the people I had fucked over in my life. Hey, freedom came with a steep price. I may have left that desert intact physically but that was about it.
I sped up and got right next to Trev. The key now was to protect the Prez. I cut to the left and Trev had to get out of my way. I heard him bellow something at me. He didn't know I was saving his fucking ass. Last thing I needed was a grieving widow holding a newborn over his casket.
Trust me, I’d been there before in life… many times.
Trent shot forward and got between me and Trev. I pointed to the left and screamed for Trent to take Prez off the road. When Trent moved, Trev fucking listened. I heard another bullet zing right by me. I thought it had tagged my leather cut. All I could do was wait for the moment a bullet finally got me and ripped me to pieces. Halfway across the world we’d just fight back. When you couldn’t see the bullets coming the panic trigger finger would set in. Nothing wrong with that though. It was the only way to hedge your way into surviving any kind of an attack.
So that’s exactly what I did.
I started to shoot.
I emptied my clip and then I pulled over to the side of the road.
Inside the leather bag on the back of my ride was a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. We had helped out our old Russian friends with a little run down to Tijuana and now it was time to deliver the money and take our cut. So between keeping Trev alive and keeping the cash safe, my hands were more than fucking full.
I turned my ride sideways and grabbed the bag of cash. I put it next to my back wheel. I reloaded my weapon and got up on my knees. I didn’t have the necessary gear to see in the fucking dark so I just stared out at the darkness. But I knew someone was there.
I heard movement from behind me and turned to see Trev and Trent coming forward.
“What the fuck is going on?” Trev growled.
A second later there was a barrage of gunfire. The booms echoed into the night.
My body tensed and my nerves started to shake. That fucking sound brought back some memories I wished could have been dead and gone for the rest of my life.
“There’s your answer, Prez,” I said.
I extended my right leg and turned it a little. I reached back and took out a small flashlight. I shined it on my leg and saw that my jeans were cut but the blood wasn’t that bad.
“Fuck, brother,” Trent said. “You got shot.”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Who could this be?”
“Anyone,” Trev said. “Russian enemy. Our enemy. This road was supposed to be secured for us. Ivan is going to be fucking pissed.”
“This is his fucking fault,” Trent said. “We shouldn’t have agreed to run the money back.”
“Hey,” I said. “We can’t go back now. Only forward.”
“What’s our move, Duke?” Trev asked.
He was like the old Prez - that piece of shit called Ripper - the way he looked at me in a crisis to make a decision and fix it all. Just because I came from a military background. My answer was always the goddamn same.
“Stand up and fight,” I said.
“In the dark?” Trent asked. “I could give a shout to the clubhouse. Get Cash and Hudson up here in a truck with some heavy weapons.”
“No time,” Trev said.
“Fuck that,” I said. “We don’t show weakness.”
“Ivan won’t help,” Trev said. “He wants his cash and nothing else.”
“Even if it’s his fucking enemy?” Trent asked.
“I have an idea,” I said. “Get ready to shoot. They could be coming from any direction. But I have this…”