Bound: Minutemen MC (23 page)

Chapter 34: Ride

Dirk rode like a madman. He rode like Hell and the Devil were on his heels—which, as far as he was concerned, was exactly the case. He knew Camilla was terrified; he could tell by the way she was squeezing him so tight that it was a wonder she wasn’t breaking a rib, and he felt a pang of guilt. Because he, Dirk Coleman, was not scared at all. In fact, he was elated.

He knew Herman Ruiz was amongst the riders that were after them. He didn’t know how he knew, he just did. He could feel the man’s dark presence like dogs sniff out the bones they have previously buried deep into the ground. Dirk thought of Eleanor’s bones—deep, deep in the ground. He thought about the man who had put her there, and he fumed a silent, deadly fury.

His blood was on fire. His skin was crawling. His nerves and muscles and tendons were taut with the good kind of tension, the kind that made you ready. Ready to spring. Ready to hit. Ready to kill. Dirk knew without a doubt that this would be the day when Herman Ruiz would die. If it was the last thing he did, Dirk knew that today he would settle his score.

He stepped onto the gas and spurred his beloved, trusted Harley onwards. He laughed, as the wind whipped at his face. It was a madman’s laughter; he knew that, but he couldn’t have cared less. He had never claimed to be sane anyway. The desert was his. It was his home. The desert understood him, and he understood the desert. He had learned to understand the sand and rocks and dirt back in Afghanistan, the land of fire and ice. Afghanistan had taught him to read the desert, and he had found out soon enough that all deserts were the same at heart, whether they were rocks or sand or a little of both.

The Mojave Desert was no different. It spoke to him. It was the reason why Dirk had set up his house smack in the middle of this endless expanse of rocks and cactuses. It was his place, his home. He felt safe. The desert wind now spoke to him and spurred him onwards, and Dirk was all too happy to comply. Behind him, he knew Camilla was having a hard time, but he also knew there was nothing he could do for her. This was war. It was just the way it was.

“How’s it going back there?” he asked anyway, yelling to be heard over the joint roars of the wind and his Harley. It was the sweetest song he had ever heard, and it was a song he knew by heart, so much so that he was almost tempted to sing along.

“I’m fine!” Camilla yelled back.

Dirk laughed. She didn’t sound “fine” at all, but he appreciated her attempt at bravery. “Hold on!” he offered. He knew that one way or another, Camilla’s ordeal would be over soon. And he would make damn sure that it ended with Herman Ruiz’s death.

“Where are we even going anyway?”

He almost missed Camilla’s voice in the wind, but somehow he managed to hear her question anyway.

“It doesn’t matter!” he said, and he knew she wouldn’t like that answer. “All that matters is that we lose them!”

A moment’s hesitation. He had begun to think she wouldn’t say anything else when her voice carried back to him once again, “And are we?” she asked. “Are we losing them?”

Dirk threw a quick look over his shoulder. The dust clouds were getting closer. “Doesn’t look like it for now!” More silence, and Dirk cringed inwardly. As far as reassurances went, he was definitely lacking. “Don’t worry!” he said, although he knew she had good reason to worry. “We’ll make it!”

“I don’t feel too confident!” Camilla replied.

He had to laugh at her irony, at the hint of humor he could catch in her voice. Camilla Hernandez was one hell of a woman. Here she was, running for her life on the back of the bike of a madman, and she was keeping her wits about herself and making jokes. Dirk admired her. In fact, he felt something different and a lot deeper than that for her, but he refused to stop to think about it.

His stomach clenched briefly as he assessed their situation. He was confident enough that they would lose the Tar Mongols, and then he could bring Camilla to safety and go after Ruiz alone. But what if that didn’t happen? What if they were somehow forced to face the horde riding behind them? What then?

Dirk knew Camilla couldn’t fight. She could shoot—or so she claimed—but there was no way she was a good enough for the battle that would ensue. Speaking of battles, he was also sure she had never been in one. And if a ride through the desert scared her, a full-on raging battle would probably paralyze her. He wished she had listened to him and agreed to be left behind and wait for him where it was safe—or, well, saf
er
. He wasn’t sure he could engage the Tar Mongols
and
keep an eye on her at the same time.

He thought of Stephan and the others. He wondered if they were all right. He had told Camilla they most definitely were, and he believed it. But there was no way that
all
of them were okay. There must have been a few casualties from yesterday’s ambush, and he shuddered to think of whom they might have lost this time around.

He spurred the Harley onwards. His priorities were changing quickly now that the rush of the ride was wearing off and he could think more clearly. He had to bring Camilla to safety first and foremost. And
then
he would get his revenge.

To Dirk’s horror, the next sound he heard was a godawful sputtering. The bike shuddered underneath him, and it took all of his strength to plant his foot firmly on the ground and catch it, holding it and Camilla and himself upright when the Harley stopped running.

“What’s going on?” Camilla asked, her voice laden with fear.

Dirk turned around to look at her. Her green eyes were so wide that they seemed almost too big for her face. He grimaced, not liking what he had to say to her.

“Bike’s dead,” he said somberly.

If possible, Camilla’s eyes went even wider. “What do you mean, it’s dead?”

Dirk swallowed nervously. He was more afraid of her wrath than of the Tar Mongols gaining ground behind them. “Something must be on the fritz. The carburetor, perhaps. I don’t know, I don’t exactly have time to check right now.”

Camilla stared at him in disbelief. “What do we do now?” She cast a nervous look over her shoulder. “They’re coming!”

“Okay, relax—”

“
Relax
?” Camilla all but roared.

Dirk cringed. It had clearly been the wrong choice of words. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He helped her dismount, and he grabbed his saddlebags and a rifle, slinging the weapon over his shoulder. He took her hand and led her to a clump of rocky dunes nearby. He crouched down low, and he leaned his back against the rock, which already burned hot from the morning sun. He welcomed the heat against his clothes. It kept him alert. It kept him focused. It would keep him alive.

“I want you to stay here, you understand me?” he said as he loaded the rifle and readied it for what was to come.

Camilla watched him worriedly. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to go over there,” he pointed to a faraway, higher dune to their right, “and I’m going to wait for them. And I’m going to take out as many of those sons of bitches as I can.”

“Then I’m coming with you.”

It took all of Dirk’s self-control to stop him from rolling his eyes at her. Instead, he said, “No,” leaving no room whatsoever for discussion.

Or so he thought. Camilla, of course, argued anyway. “Don’t give me that again,” she snapped. “I’m not staying here and watching you get slaughtered.”

Dirk snorted out a laugh. “Slaughtered? Honey, that dune is a godsend. I can take out quite a few of them before they’re on us.”

“And then what?” Camilla retorted. “What happens then?”

“I take them out in close quarters.”

She arched an eyebrow. “You sound mighty confident for a man who is alone against a horde of bloodthirsty assholes.”

Dirk had to laugh at her definition of their mutual enemies. However, he sobered up quickly. “Look, Camilla, I know what I’m doing. It’s not like I haven’t done this sort of thing before.”

She stared at him. “Afghanistan?”

“Yeah.” Dirk cleared his throat. He never talked about the war to anyone who wasn’t Stephan. “Listen, we don’t have much time. I want you to take the gun I gave you and be ready, just in case someone gets away and comes for you. I mean it, Camilla. I need you to stay here. It’ll make it easier for both of us.”

“It’ll make
what
easier?”

Her green eyes were burning into him. She knew what he meant. She heard the words he wasn’t saying. If they had to die, it would be easier to do it away from each other, where they couldn’t see each other’s last moments.

He took a deep breath. “If I don’t make it—”

“Dirk, please, don’t.”

“Shut up,” Dirk snapped, and sure enough, she clamped her mouth shut. He’d have to remember this for later on…provided that they made it out of here alive. “If I don’t make it,” he said again, “I want you to run. Look for the others. Look for Stephan, he’ll help you out.”

Camilla stared at him, long and hard. “I’m pretty sure Stephan Walker would be quite happy to kill me and have this over with.”

Dirk grinned. “Maybe,” he conceded. “But he wouldn’t. For me, at least.”

Camilla snorted. “Well, that’s reassuring.”

Dirk smiled. He reached out and cupped her nape with one hand. “Be careful. Run if you must. Don’t pull any crazy stunts, okay?”

Camilla swallowed visibly. She was clearly struggling not to cry. “Right back at you,” she said quietly. And she surged forward and kissed him.

Dirk stiffened in surprise for a moment, but then he kissed her back. As always, he had no other choice; he couldn’t resist her even if he tried…not that he had any intention to try, especially right now when it could very well be the last time he felt her lips on his.

He set the rifle aside and wrapped both arms around her, pulling her impossibly close. When they finally pulled apart, they were both panting and their cheeks were flushed with more than just the desert heat.

“Be careful,” he said again. He took the rifle and jogged away, keeping low and close to the rocky walls of the dunes. 

His heart hammered, as he made his way to his selected spot. He was ready. He had said his goodbye, and now he was ready. He couldn’t wait for the Tar Mongols to be more than just a cloud of dust on the horizon. He couldn’t wait for them to ride into his field of vision. He couldn’t wait to shoot at them. He couldn’t wait to see their faces as his bullets took them out one by one. He couldn’t wait to see the expression on Ruiz’s face when he left him for last. He couldn’t wait to taste the blood. He couldn’t wait for revenge. Finally.
Finally
.

Chapter 35: Battle

The bastards were indeed surprised. Dirk watched in satisfaction as they fell under the thunder of his rifle. He had been a sniper in Afghanistan, amongst other things. He had hated it with a vengeance, but now he was loving it. He was loving watching what he was doing to those beasts who insisted on calling themselves men.

They were close enough now that he could see their faces. Herman Ruiz was in the front, and his puffy, ugly features were distorted in a mask of rage and disbelief. Dirk avoided him on purpose. He didn’t want to kill Ruiz like this. He wanted to do it up close and personal. He wanted to slit the man’s throat, like the bastard had slit Eleanor’s.

His hands shook briefly as he thought of her, and he pushed her memory out of his mind with a silent apology. He needed to remain focused.

No distractions.

He smirked. What a joke
that
rule had turned out to be.

He squeezed the trigger once again, gently. One more Tar Mongol fell. Five down, four to go. He wasn’t sure he had enough ammunitions to bring them all down, but he was pretty sure they wouldn’t risk it. Sure enough, the desert wind once again worked in his favor and carried their voices back to him from the distance.

“Where are you going, you scum?!” Herman Ruiz yelled, as his remaining men started to turn their bikes around.

“We have to retreat, Ruiz!” one of them yelled back. “That’s probably Dirk Coleman up there. He’ll take us all out! We need to come back with more men!”

“Fuck that!” Ruiz roared. “If it is Coleman up there, then that’s all the more reason to flush him out!”

Two of the men hesitated, but the third one turned his bike all the way around.

“No,” he said. “Fuck this. I ain’t dying like this. I’ll bring the others, come back—”

His voice died in his throat. Literally. Ruiz’s bullet reached him square in the forehead, and he toppled over, his bike crashing on top of him.

“You ain’t going nowhere,” Ruiz growled. He spat on the body, and he turned to the two remaining men. “Anyone else want to be a coward?”

Dirk’s jaw clenched in anger and disgust. He knew the man was a monster, but to see him gun down one of his own in cold blood still shook him up. He decided not to give the other two Mongols the chance to reply. He squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession, and he watched as they, too, fell.

If Ruiz was scared to find himself the only survivor of a deadly ambush, he didn’t show it. Instead, Dirk watched as the man cast a look to his left and steered the bike in that direction. He felt himself go pale as realization slammed into him.

Camilla!

Dirk hesitated. He didn’t want to kill Ruiz like this. It was too clean. It was too painless. It was too quick. But he couldn’t let the bastard reach Camilla; he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that she would be no match for him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Disappointed, furious, and frustrated, Dirk took aim and squeezed the trigger.

And nothing happened.

He did it again.

And nothing happened. The rifle was empty. His ammunition had run out.

“Fuck!” Dirk cursed loudly, knowing there was no one but the desert wind to hear him. He threw the rifle aside, and he jumped to his feet. His gaze settled briefly on his handiwork down below, and he smiled to himself. Eight down. One to go.

***

Camilla wasn’t entirely surprised when the man appeared overhead above the dunes’ profile. She had watched everything from her hiding place, and she had been both fascinated and horrified with Dirk’s killing abilities. She had seen the man who was now coming after her gun down one of his own men in cold blood, and that’s when she knew who he was—Herman Ruiz. She had watched him leave the battleground and come towards her hiding spot. She didn’t know how he had known she was there, but there was no doubt that it was her that he was after.

Camilla was ready for him—or as ready as she could be, given the fact that she knew nothing of fighting and battles, and even less of killing. She held Dirk’s .45 tight in her sweaty hand, and she prayed that her aim and her heart wouldn’t falter. She prayed she could remain lucid and focused and somehow get the upper hand on an experienced killer.

Please, God. Get me out of here alive.

She was surprised when the words formed in her mind, unbidden. She had not prayed in a very long time. She had stopped somewhere along the line of puberty, and she had never picked it up again. She could never tell exactly why. It just happened. She outgrew God in the same way children outgrew Santa. She wasn’t even sure she believed in God anymore, and yet here she was, in the middle of the desert with a gun in her hand, praying. If the whole situation had not looked so horribly dire, she would have laughed at the absurdity of it.

Herman Ruiz climbed down towards her. There was no villain-like grin on his puffy face. Instead, he watched her, curiously. Camilla ran her gaze over his figure. He wasn’t very tall, but he sure made an impression. He was sturdy and stocky, with calloused hands that could kill in a millisecond and with not a care in the world about what they were doing, about the life they were ending. He had dark hair and dark, dark eyes. He had the round face of a man on the edge of being overweight, and yet Camilla had no doubt that he could be quick as a desert cougar. She swallowed hard. She searched for some kind of expression on the man’s round features, anything that would betray a flicker of human emotion—but there was nothing. Camilla had not expected to find anything, not really, but she was still disheartened.

She took a step back and aimed with her gun. “Stand back,” she said.

Herman Ruiz did smile then, and it was a cold smile that chilled her to the bone. “Really? That’s the best you got?”

“No,” Camilla said. “
This
is the best I got.” And she squeezed the trigger.

She watched, horrified, as Ruiz grunted and clutched at his bleeding side. She had no idea where that had come from, that readiness to shoot. Up until a few minutes ago, she couldn’t have seen herself doing it. But somehow, instinct took over.

She didn’t have time to congratulate herself though, because the next thing she knew, there was another thundering sound, followed by a searing, unimaginable pain in her right shoulder. The gun dropped from her suddenly nerveless hand, and the impact of the bullet sent her flying. She heard more than felt the smack of her skull against the desert rocks, and that was all that she knew for a long while.

***

Dirk’s blood ran hot and cold at the same time following the sounds he heard. Gunshots. Two, not that far from one another.
What the fuck is going on? Who had fired the shots?
Ruiz, of course. There was no way Camilla would fire on a human being.
Is she dead? Had Ruiz robbed me of another woman?

Dirk ran faster, the empty rifle held tight in his hand. He stopped long enough to take in the scene. Camilla lay sprawled on the desert soil, blood oozing from her right shoulder and seeping into the red dirt. Ruiz was going for her, and it was all too clear what his intentions were.

Dirk let out a roar that he didn’t know was even in him. He launched forward and brought the bastard down. He heard Ruiz grunt underneath his bulk, and he felt him wince, and he felt wet blood seep through the thin layer of his cotton T-shirt. It wasn’t his blood. It was Ruiz’s. As they grappled with each other, Dirk spotted the wound in Ruiz’s side, and he couldn’t help but grin in savage satisfaction. Camilla. She
had
fired after all. His admiration for her grew tenfold. He just hoped he’d have the chance to let her know.

They wrestled, Dirk Coleman and Herman Ruiz. They battled each other in the desert dirt, trading punches and kicks and blows so powerful and full of rage and hatred that it was a wonder the Earth wasn’t shaking from the mere force of it all.

Dirk slammed his elbow into Ruiz’s bleeding side, and he watched with satisfaction as all the color drained from the man’s round face and a scream tore from Ruiz’s throat. He grabbed the man’s filthy hair and slammed his head back against the desert ground.

Dirk knew he had the upper hand. He had not expected it to be this easy, but he knew Ruiz was finished the moment he saw the man’s eyes roll briefly back in his head. Dirk’s heart thumped, his blood boiled. He had waited
so
long for this…

“You’re mine, you son of a bitch,” he growled.

He pressed his forearm down against Ruiz’s throat, and he grinned at the choking noises that followed. Ruiz flailed, his ugly eyes widening when he realized that Dirk was never going to stop. He tried to form a word with his lips. He didn’t manage to push any sound past his bloodless lips, but Dirk heard it anyway.

Dirk spat in the dirt next to Ruiz’s head. “Please?” he repeated, and he snorted. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

He increased the pressure. He felt the windpipe crack under his arm. Ruiz spasmed and gurgled and choked. And Dirk pressed down on his throat and finally,
finally
, crushed him.

When it was done, he sat back and looked down at the pathetic body next to him. He smiled and spat on the man’s still chest. The look of terror in Ruiz’s wide, lifeless eyes would stay with him forever—as one of the best memories he ever had a chance to treasure.

“Dirk?”

Dirk jumped. He turned around and hurried to his feet and over to Camilla, who was pushing herself up in a sitting position, swaying precariously.

“Easy,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders to steady her. He gently felt around her head when he noticed the matted blood in the back of her hair. “You’ve got a good bump here.” He also took a few moments to examine the wound in her shoulder. “Bullet went right through. I guess you’ll live.”

Camilla grunted. “I guess so.” She looked past him to Ruiz’s still form.

“He’s dead,” Dirk offered.

Camilla snorted. “I bet he is, what with you crushing his windpipe like that and all.”

Dirk blinked. “You saw? How long have you been awake?”

“Long enough.” Camilla grimaced at the new wave of dizziness that hit her, and Dirk steadied her once again.

“You didn’t stop me,” he said. “I thought you might have.”

“Fuck, no,” Camilla said, the hatred in her voice palpable. “I may not be a soldier, but I’m not an idiot either. He had to die.”

Dirk’s features darkened. “Yeah, he did.” He pushed her hair back off her face with a gentle hand, and he searched her eyes carefully. “Are you all right?”

Camilla nodded, and she hissed at the movement. “I’ll be fine. I just want to sleep for a week.”

Dirk had to smile at that. “I bet you do.”

Camilla licked her lips, hesitating. “Is it over now?” she asked, and she didn’t need to elaborate any further.

Dirk nodded readily. “Yes. It’s really over now.”