Curves for Days Page 8

  I decide to call my best friend, Tristan. He stayed back in Texas, in command of the crew while I was away on this deal. Whatever happened, he’ll be able to rally the troops down there to do whatever is needed to get back at these sons of bitches in Georgia.

  The phone rings for a while and then goes to voicemail. Now, the worry is creeping up on my and gripping me more tightly. He knows he needs to be able to be reached at any time while I’m on this sensitive mission. And there’s no one in the world I can trust like him. If he’s incommunicado, something big is going down. Something bad.

  I send him a text, call me right away when you see this.

  I’m torn on what to do. If my guys really are just late for this meeting for a reason unrelated to this ambush attack, and they show up as these three bastards are coming back to life – they could be in real danger when they finally arrive. But I know I need to get out of here, myself. Who knows who might be about to arrive?

  Just as I’m running all of this through my mind, I hear a gun shot break out. By the time I’m aware of what the noise was, I feel a sharp pain in the back of my left leg. I fall to the ground while letting out a suppressed roar of pain. Lying on the ground and feeling the sharp pain emanating from my leg throughout my body I come to the full realization: I’ve been shot.

  I craw behind my bike, hoping for some cover. I glace behind me and see the guns of the three bastards I disarmed lying on the ground. I curse myself for not having the sense of mind to pick one up so I would be armed if I needed to be. And clearly, I need to be.

  “Ryder!” A voice calls out. My heart stops. I know that voice: it’s Cole.

  Cole was my father’s top lieutenant, his most trusted man in the crew. When my father died, I was worried Cole was going to try to take over. But he was my strongest supporter in asserting my control of the crew.

  It’s clear now he was only biding his time to turn against me. I remember now: it was him who came to me with the idea of working with this crew as middlemen to make longer-distance deals. This whole thing was a set up.

  I see him walking through the foliage, stepping out from behind the thick trees into the clearing where the motorcycles are parked. He’s got the look you have in mind when you hear the term “grizzled veteran.” A hulking, powerful upper body. Steely eyes. A tough, weather-worn face with an old star running down the side of his cheek. He has his long, dark hair tied back into a ponytail and his usual headband tied around his head.

  “Cole,” I say, crawling out from behind my bike. I know there’s no use hiding. “What the fuck is this?”

  “You know what this is, brother,” he says, looking at me in the eye, his own eyes devoid of any remorse. “I been with The Warriors my whole life. Me and your dad are who made us the most powerful, most successful biker gang in all of Texas. You don’t deserve to be the leader just because you’re his kid – I do.”

  “Well what the fuck Cole?” I shoot back at him. “You were my ally after my old man died. Just to double cross me like this? Like a snake?”

  “I didn’t want a war,” he says, his eyes narrowing and his nostrils flaring in anger at that word: snake. It’s what he is. “That’s what it woulda’ took to take you out right away. It had to be like this.”

  “I ain’t gonna beg,” I tell him. I try to stand up, but my wounded leg won’t support my weight, and I fall back to my hands and knees.

  “It ain’t personal,” he says back, walking toward me, his hand wrapped around his gun firmly. “You’re a good kid, I like ya. But I gotta have what’s mine, and I can’t have it with you around.”

  “You know Tristan’s back in Texas with the rest of the crew, right? You think he’s gonna stand for this?”

  “You think I’m an idiot, Ryder?” he asks, chuckling. “We took care of him. There’s lot’sa people from my generation who don’t like upstarts like you and Tristan trying to take over The Warriors. I got plenty of support.”

  Tristan … I can only hope that he’s been able to keep himself safe back in Texas, somehow. I know he can take care of himself. He’s the toughest son of a bitch in the world.

  “Alright then,” I tell him. “Come on. Get it over with.”

  I stay on my hands and knees and lower my head, inviting him to walk over and finish me off.

  I can hear his footsteps getting closer. Finally, he stops right in front of me and takes his aim. In the quickest motion I can force my muscles to pull off, I grab a clump of dirt from the ground and throw it up in his. I hear him grunt in frustration. My ploy worked.

  In the split second he’s distracted and blinded by the dirt, dust and leaves I’ve thrown into his face, I power upward and tackle him down to the ground. I hear the gun fall to the ground, knocked out of his grip by the force of my tackle. We struggle around on the ground, both of us exerting our bodies to the fullest.

  He grabs the back of my leg, right at the spot he shot me, and squeezes around the wound tightly. I let out a roar of pain. I’m able to break way from his grip and deliver and stiff kick to his face with my good leg. Taking advantage of the only opportunity I might have, I hop back over to my bike, start it quickly and start to ride off.

  I hear shots ringing out behind me – Cole’s gotten back to his gun. Bullets wiz by my head as I drive off, but I’m able to dodge them. I leave Cole behind me in the woods, exiting back onto the road. When I glance behind me to make sure he isn’t following me – yet, that is – I notice a red trail behind my bike – the blood from my leg.

  The shot must have hit a vein or something. I feel myself getting lightheaded, realizing I’m losing blood at a fatal pace. I look down and see my left pantleg soaked with blood, so dark it looks black rather than red.

  I don’t know what to do. I’m surrounded by enemies here. I don’t know if I have any allies left back home. Not that I could make the ride home anyway – I’d bleed out before I got out of this damned state of Georgia.

  I know I can’t go to a hospital or call an ambulance. The police would get involved, and there’s no question the Georgia gang would be able to find me. They must be in league with Cole in this double cross. There’s no question about that.

  A crazy idea comes to my mind: the girl back at the bar?

  I don’t know her … the only thing I know is that she’s working at a bar that belong to this Georgia gang. Any reasonable person would say that’s the last place I should go. But … that eye contact we shared before I left the bar. I don’t know why, but those eyes … remembering them, those are eyes a man can trust.

  I realize I don’t have a choice. There’s nowhere else I can go. And I need to get this wound treated, or I’ll bleed out. She’s my only hope.

  CHAPTER THREE: Jessa

  Finally, I’ve gotten this pig-sty clean. Well, something that resembles clean. About as close as this place is ever going to get to it. Not that anyone will even be able to tell after the end of the next day I’m not on shift, of course.

  I relax behind the bar, cooling down from all the work I did during the cleaning – moving chairs, moving tables, taking out the trash, sweeping, mopping, the whole nine yards. Luckily, none of the other Hogs have stopped by today, so I was actually able to get it all done.

  Normally I’d be hoping that Mikey, Joe and Pete don’t stop by on their way back from wherever they were going earlier today. They’d trash the place all over again. Normally, I’d just be hoping for a quiet rest of my shift to myself, so I can get home relaxed and on time.

  But today, I keep thinking that as long as that new guy, Ryder, was with them … well, even if they trashed the place worse than it’s ever been before, I wouldn’t mind. A chance to feast my eyes on those ripped, muscular arms and that tough but angelic face … the usual antics from the others would be a small price pay.

  I walk over to my purse and take out a little romance novel to read through now that I have some time to myself. Once I start getting into the story, I hear a knocking at the back door.


  No one ever enters from the back door, so I immediately start to feel suspicious. This is a bar, it’s public after all. Anyone who wants to get it can just walk through the front door. Someone trying to get in by knocking at the backdoor? I feel like this can’t be anything good.

  I lay my book down on the bar counter and cautiously walk through the mostly unused kitchen area to the backdoor. I can hear the tapping on the door continue, but it seems to be getting lighter and lighter. This makes me even more nervous. What could be going on here?

  I tentatively reach my hand forward, turn the doorknob and open the door.

  I can’t believe my eyes: it’s Ryder. And he looks like he’s on the edge of death! He’s on his knees, leaning against the edge of the doorway. I look down and see his pants are soaked – it’s only when I look further behind him and see the bright red trail he’s left behind, that I realize they’re soaked with blood!

  “Ryder!” I cry. “What happened?”

  “Jessa …” he says, obviously straining himself not to pass out. “Can I trust you?”

  “Of course you can!” I tell him. Why wouldn’t he be able to trust me? What the hell happened!?

  “I’ll explain everything,” he says. “But right now … I need help. Can you bandage the wound on my leg? I’ve been shot.”

  “Look at all this blood! We need to call an ambulance.”

  “No!” he says, forcefully. More forcefully than I would have imagined he was capable of in his obviously weakened state. “No one can know about this. I just need to get bandaged up so I won’t bleed out, then I need to leave here. Forever. You’re my only hope right now.”

  “Did … did the other three do this to you?”

  “I’ll tell you what happened Jessa. One of the people from my motorcycle gang down in Texas tried to betray me. The whole reason I’m up here turned out to be an ambush. And it looks like your crew is working with the people who want to take me out.”

  “My crew? I just work at this bar. I don’t have anything to do with those animals. I’m thankful that the boss, Russ, gave me this job, but the rest of them can all go to hell.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Ryder responds. “But right now, I just need to get bandaged up. I parked my bike back in the woods behind the bar so they wouldn’t know I’m here if they drive past. If anyone asks you, you can’t tell them I saw you.”

  I nod.

  “I know this is asking a lot, and putting you at risk,” Ryder says, reaching forward to take my hand. My hair stands on end as I feel the gentle squeeze of his grip. In fact, I can feel my nipples harden and a wet tingling between my legs. I know it’s not appropriate, but the danger and risk of this situation turns me on. Not to mention the feel of my hand in his. I can’t help it.

  Without know how to respond, I simply say, “I’ll go get a first aid kit. I’ll be right back.”

  He crawls into the back room and I shut the door behind him, after peeking out to make sure no one else is there.

  So many fights have happened in this bar that I’ve realized I have to keep first aid kits on hand at all time – yes, more than one. I rush to the closet where I keep them and bring one back over to Ryder. I bring a chair with me for him to sit down on, so I can treat the wound.

  He struggles to his feet and sits down on the chair. “It’s the left leg,” he tells me.

  I suddenly blush a deep red, realizing he’ll need to take his pants off for me to treat him.

  Maybe he noticed my blushing, because I see a sly grin spread across his lips. Without a word, he undoes his belt and unbuttons and unzips his jeans. He struggles to begin to get them off, then looks at me with a gleam in his eye and asks, “A little help with these?”

  I blush even deeper and take a big breath, then nod. I grab the bottom of his pantlegs and pull down as he tries to push them off. Glancing up, I can see his powerful, thick hips and thighs start to become exposed. As he’s able to move his pants off more and more, slowly due to the restricted range of motion in his injured leg, I can see his tight underwear …

  My heart beats into my throat as I see the huge, bulging package between his legs. I try to focus my attention back to helping him remove his jeans. I need to remind myself how serious this situation is.

  Finally, we get his pants off. His long, thick, muscular legs are exposed as he sits on the chair. His left leg looks like it’s stained red from his blood. I notice a bullet wound on the top of his leg, and then look underneath to see the entry wound.

  “The bullet went right through,” I tell him. “That’s good. We just need to clean this and bandage it.”

  I clean and disinfect the wound, then bring out the bandages from the first aid kit. I wrap a bandage tightly around his leg. When I apply pressure, I can feel and see his leg muscles contracting, bulging out powerfully. The rock-hard feel of his leg muscles is invigorating, and I can’t help but lick my lips. Finally, the bandage is applied well enough to stop the bleeding.

  “Thank you,” he tells me. “I don’t know how I could ever repay you for this.”

  Oh, I have some ideas in mind … – I mentally slap myself for the though! Come on, Jessa! Now’s no time for thoughts like that!

  “Of course,” I respond. “How could I not help?”

  We look in each other’s eyes. I’m still feeling an intense sexual tension with him just sitting there with his pants off, that massive package between his legs lying in full view. Both of us unsure what to say, our eyes remain locked, communication everything that needs to be communicated. Suddenly, we’re jolted back into reality by the loud sound of the front door bursting open.

  “Jessa!” I hear a loud yell from the front of the bar. It’s Mikey.

  “Oh no,” I say, looking around in shock. I have to go try to keep him from coming back here to see Ryder.

  “Keep him distracted,” Ryder whispers to me, his eyes assuming an intelligent and serious look. “I’ll get all this cleaned up back here in the meantime.”

  I nod and make my way back out into the main bar room. Mike is there, walking around, eyeing around the whole bar intently – looking for any sign of Ryder, no doubt. Joe and Pete are standing in the doorway, looking at the road intensely, not wanting to miss if Ryder drove by.

  “W-what? What’s going on?” I stammer.

  “You remember that guy who was with us earlier? Ryder? Have you seen him?”

  I play dumb to bide time. “Seen him? What do you mean? Uh, yeah, I saw him when he was in here earlier.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Mikey snaps back. “Since we left, has he come back alone? Or have you noticed by driving by on the road outside? Or seen or heard anything unusual?”

  I put on a puzzled look, trying to look as oblivious and innocent as possible. “Well, no. No one’s been here since you left. Why? Did something happen?”

  Mikey walks past me, walking toward the back of the bar. I hold my breath, praying silently that he doesn’t decide to look in the backroom. Relief washes over me as he only walks to the back of the bar to look out the window for a second, then walks back over to me.

  “Keep an eye out. If he stops by, or if you see him driving by – call me right away. This is serious. You got it?”

  Keeping up my fake look of innocence and obliviousness, I say in a puzzled voice, “Yeah, sure … I’ll let you know if I see anything.”

  Mike swivels his head around one more time, taking in the whole bar. Finally, he says, “Alright, let’s go,” and he and the other two hurry out of the bar. I can hear their motorcycles start and the wheels screech out of the parking lot.

  For once in my life, I’m thankful for how stupid these doofuses are. To not even look in the back? But then, if they know Ryder’s hurt … who would think he’d come to me for help? It makes no sense. But I’m so glad he did.

  I hurry back to Ryder to see that he’s put his blood-stained pants back on and is finishing up cleaning. There was a lot of blood and bandages strewn across the floor by the
chair. He’s got it all mopped up, a bundle of blood-stained cloths he used to do so wrapped up by the chair.

  “I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done,” he tells me, his soft, caring gaze meeting my eyes. “I’ll take those rags and throw them away in the woods somewhere. I’ve got my bike parked out there. I need to go.”

  “But … you can’t ride you motorcycle with the injury. The bandages might come loose, the bleeding could start again. Let me drive you wherever you need to go.”

  “No,” he responds, shaking his head resolutely. “You’ve put yourself at enough risk. I can’t let you do that.”

  I want to help him more than anything else in the world … but he’s right about the risk. I realize I still have my little sister to think of. She won’t even be able to make her own dinner without me. I’m so torn. Tears start to well up in my eyes. I burry my face in my hands to try to hold back the sobs.

  Ryder rushes toward me and embraces me, hugging me tight. I can feel his hard, warm body enveloping mine. The comfort of his arms calms my tears.

  “Please don’t cry,” he tells me softly. “I’ll be gone soon, and no one will know you had anything to do with all this. You don’t have to worry about.”

  Still sniveling, I manage to say, “But that’s exactly what I am worried about.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “That you’ll be gone soon.”

  He sighs and says “Oh, Jessa.” He plants and gentle kiss on the top of my head.

  Suddenly, I hear the front door burst open again. I hear an unfamiliar voice barking, “this time, we’re gonna search every damn inch of this place, since you three idiots are too stupid to do this right! The trail of his blood just stops on the highway, and this is the only building for miles. If he didn’t bleed to death, he came here.”

  Ryder’s head shoots up and he says under his breath, sharply, “Cole!”