Ash: Devil's Crucifix MC (21 page)

My three men trail behind me, struggling to keep up with me. As we clear the hospital doors and enter the parking lot, I hear Aaron finally shout towards me, “Boss! What’s the plan here? What are you going to do?”

I place my hand out until Duane comes forward, handing me the keys to his red Chevy pickup truck and points to where it is parked. Before I run towards it, I somberly say the only thing I have on my mind, “I’m going to give Remmy and Spark what they want. Tell them I’ll meet them at midnight at the Piedmont. No weapons. No men. But you warn them that by the end of the night, I won’t be the one who winds up dead.”  

“Where do you want me to go?” My voice is shaking as I don’t dare to turn around towards the backseat. The man still has his arm firmly around my chest and his gun pointed right into my left temple. It vibrates as I visibly shake in fear. I don’t think I’ve ever been this afraid in my entire life. Even the fire at my apartment doesn’t compare to a deranged man pointing a weapon directly at your brain.

I wonder if I should be flashing back right now. Shouldn’t I be thinking about all the good things in my life -- my father singing in his car as he drove me back home from school, my mother fussing over my prom dress, Ash laying beside me in bed after a long love making session. Where are those white flashes, those angels, those memories? If my death is coming, I want to at least be comforted.

But none of that is coming. I am totally present. I know where this guy, Remmy, is and what he is doing. I can hear his fingers curl into the upholstery of my backseat and feel his breath move a length of my hair. His eyes continue to glance towards my heaving breasts that are just barely covered by my push-up bra.

I lower my voice, trying to remain calm as I ask him, “Can I at least put my dress back on? Wouldn’t I get some attention if I’m driving half nude?”

He looks up at the rearview mirror, making eye contact with me for a brief second. I can tell he doesn’t think much of me. If he knows Ash, maybe it’s because of all the other women I am assuming Ash has been with. I haven’t really thought about it, but from all the movies I’ve watched and the few motorcycle club men I’ve met at skeezy bars, it seems like they all have a certain type of woman they go for -- bimbo, submissive, leathered up.

I’m not one of them. Maybe I can pass for it being so petite, and my black skater dress doesn’t help. The only reason why I’m wearing it, though, is because I thought Ash might appreciate it. Now it’s a disguise that might help me. If I can convince this guy I am just another club girl with an appetite for men like him, I may be able to walk out of this car alive.

I do the one thing I can think of that will make me sound more simple than I really am. I laugh nervously and say, “It’s just a dumb dress. I can put something else on, too, something a little tighter…”

I watch as the man in the back of my car leans all the way against the seat and smiles wickedly. The hand with the gun follows, falling into his lap. I don’t even want to know if he’s got an erection for this. I just keep my eyes up at him, smiling nervously like the stupid little girl I can pretend to be.

“What do you got in that bag you can put on for me?”

He tosses me my gym bag, the bag I was just looking for seconds ago. I unzip it slowly, cautious to alert him that I am not going to pull a fast move. I kick myself for not having any pepper spray on me or even an air horn. Though those two things probably would have given me a higher chance of getting me killed even if I could use it right now.

Instead, I pull out a pair of my boxer briefs, the pair I wear when I do my cardio workout. They really don’t leave much to the imagination so I never wear them around other guys. I already get enough attention as the only girl in the station. I then grab my slim cut-off tank top. It was part of my bartending uniform for when I worked at this totally sleezy men’s club. If I lift my arms just high enough, the frayed bottom slips over my bare breasts, totally exposing me to a group of cheering frat boys waiting on their vodka tonics.

I hold both of them up to the mirror for him to examine, and he immediately nods his approval like an eager dog awaiting his walk. I take my time standing up in the driver’s seat to slip on the boxers over my thong panties. While I hate giving this man a show he truly doesn’t deserve, I know I am also buying myself time. Jamie would soon notice that I’m not picking him up, and knowing him, he’ll freak out. The longer I can stay in this parking lot, the more likely the cops, or maybe even Ash’s gang, will come looking for me here.

I freeze in place as I feel a grizzly handful grab hold of the fleshy part of my ass, squeezing so tightly that I have to hold onto the steering wheel. My knee jerks into the car horn, bringing him back to the present situation. He wraps his hand around my waist and pulls me back into the seat. “What the fuck are you doing, you crazy bitch?”

I laugh nervously again as I apologize over and over again, “I’m so sorry, sir. I really am. Your hand, it just…surprised me. My knee…I didn’t know. Can I finish getting dressed? Please? I won’t touch the steering wheel until you command me to. I promise.” I stare him into the eye for the last part remembering just how much Ash loved it when I begged him.

The man’s face softens in a strange, twisted way before he lets go of his grip on my waist -- his fingers purposefully feeling at my crotch as he frees me. This time, I move more quickly, not wanting to slip up again. Without standing, I pick up the boxers from the floor where they have fallen and pull them up and over my hips. He then hands me the top and removes the gym bag from within arm’s distance. I can tell he’s on high alert now.

“Take off the bra,” he murmurs as I slip an arm through the tank top. “I want to see what Ash is so riled up about.”

My hands quiver slightly as take the tank top off again and wrap my hands around my back. All the shaking makes removing the clasps impossible.

He snickers as he offers, “Let me do it, girl.”

I feel that brush again of his hands on my skin, the burn of wanted contact. He gets it on the first try and the bra unhooks easily. I pull down each strap off of my shoulders, letting it slide to my elbow. Hours pass in my mind when I know that realistically this is just buying me a few precious seconds before the inevitable.

I peel the fabric away, exposing myself to him. He leans his head up towards the front seat to get a closer glimpse at my breasts. My nipples harden instinctively, and I wonder if he thinks I am actually enjoying this. I wait for him to touch me, to try something. But it’s his gun that feels up against my skin, tracing the curve of my tit and traveling up the length of my cleavage. I try not to stare down at the barrel of the gun as it moves towards my neck and then down again around the other breast in a strange, messed up massage he probably thinks is what I want.

He smacks his lips in hunger, his heavy breathing picking up. He places the gun down on the front seat and moves forward. But before he can touch me again, the ringer on my phone interrupts everything. It manages to break the silence between the two of us just as the horn did. I finally get a chance to breathe as he moves back again to his place with my phone in hand.

“Who the fuck is Jamie? Is this another guy you’re fucking behind Ash’s back? Little slut like you, I bet you’re screwing half the town.”

“It’s…uh…a guy from my work. I was supposed to pick him up. Do you want me to answer it?” I vaguely wonder how long I have been in this car. The phone says a half hour, but it feels like an eternity. No wonder why he’s calling me. I’m missing my exam.

Something in Remmy changes, as if the charade is completely off. He looks up at me in the rearview mirror and scowls. “I want you to put that damn shirt on and fucking do what I told you to do! DRIVE!” He screams it at me as he pounds a fist into the back of my seat.

I watch through the sleeves of my shirt as he rolls down the window and tosses my phone to the other side of the back parking lot. I stick the keys back into the ignition and start the car up. The old beater roars tiredly to life, and I reverse gently into the main parking lot. We pass a few people getting into their cars, but none notice me. I don’t know what I would do if I could get their attention anyway. Screaming would be useless. He’d have enough time to kill me or, worse, innocents in the process. And jumping out of this car would be completely pointless. While it’s done in movies, it’s a quick way to get yourself killed in real life. Unfortunately, I’ve seen one too many fire department training videos of teenagers attempting to do the same thing.

So I do the one thing I can do: I breathe a few deep breaths and I drive. He doesn’t really give me directions, so I pull out towards the right, back towards town. I know the roads there, so at least I am in my territory. With Oregon Rose Hospital being near the back of the town, I know I have at least an hour of driving to go before I get into the main center, so I drive fast.

I’m not talking a little above the speed limit. I’m talking twenty, thirty, forty miles over. The gas pedal is my best friend as I try to think of something, anything I can do to grab attention. And as I pass a quiet security station outside one of the town’s factories, it dawns on me. There is one thing I can do to make sure I am seen: I can drive like an insane person.

It is risky. Already, I can see from the man’s face that he is noticing how erratic I am driving. So far, he is probably blaming it on me being nervous. But without him giving me much direction, there isn’t much he can do. Still, as I push harder down the on the gas pedal and begin to swerve in and out of the traffic lines, I can tell his reassured calm is beginning to switch sides. He may have the gun, but I have the steering wheel.  

From behind me, he barks, “Slow the fuck down. You need to get into town, back to your hotel.”

“I don’t know the way, sir,” I say feigning ignorance. “I’ve never come this direction before and I was using GPS when I came here.”

He sighs impatiently as he lifts his finger and points to the turn, “Head west on the highway.” To my luck, he’s pointing me in the wrong direction. If he wants me to go back to Sterling, he will have us driving forever on the highway with only one or two exits to turn us around before we are far off from the city. This could be good and bad for me. The crazy driving seems like it could get me spotted, but going the wrong direction could get me more time to think this through. I decide to play it safe and not correct him.

We go at least twenty miles in complete silence before he notices his mistake. A sign pointing toward Portland gives it away as he screams out, “What the hell are you doing? This is the fucking wrong direction!”

“I -- I didn’t know. I don’t take the highway anywhere. I was -- I was just listening to your directions.” I plead with him in the most girlish, innocent voice I can muster up.

“Well, fucking turn around, you idiot!”

I decide to test my luck, the insides of me smiling as I coyly ask, “Should I wait for the next exit or--”

“Here! Damnit! Turn around NOW!” He raises his gun back to my head as I gulp down that smug smile I’m hiding. With no one within miles of us, I spin the wheel out so we cross the median and slip into the other side of traffic, headed back towards town. This time, he doesn’t miss telling me the correct exit.   

It’s just about 4 or 5 PM when I finally see traffic lights and pedestrians. Cars of commuters are starting to take to traffic, interfering with my plan. I am forced to slow down to the first stoplight. The car next to me at the light has been following me for a while now. I can feel him staring me down, trying to figure out why anyone would need to go 70 mph in a 30 mph speed zone or why I was careening in and out of traffic with a death wish.

That’s when it hits me. A death wish. I need a death wish. Realistically, I know what the man in the backseat of my car wants from me, and it isn’t going to end with me walking out of whatever backroom he has planned for me. If he is working with that Spark guy, the guy Ash told me about, then I know I’m not working with the most sane guys in the world. The way that man started fires is almost suicidal. He isn’t going to stop until he gets what he wants, and that means getting some kind of revenge against Ash. I am just the dangling meat, the tool to get him to come.

I am not going to be what led Ash to his death. If I am going to save him, I am going to have to sacrifice myself. But it can’t be by gun. I have to make sure to take out at least one of these guys if I am going to get Ash a shot of surviving. My hands again begin to shake as I close my eyes and decide just how I am going to make this come to an end.

Without even looking across the street or waiting for the light to change from red to green, I pull out at a breakneck speed from the intersection. The man in the back goes flying from the force as I peel into traffic going the wrong direction. He screams at me, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you dumb bitch! I’m going to fucking kill you!”

I watch as he raises the gun up in the air, but I jerk the steering wheel as hard as I possibly can so the car spins on its squealing, smoking tires. His body goes tumbling again, the gun getting lodged underneath the passenger seat where his hand cannot easily reach. He crawls desperately across the backseat as I turn the car in the opposite direction just as hard as the time before.