Gang Up: A Bikerland Novel (15 page)

“That girl of yours? That Abigail? Goddamn, she is just an agent of chaos. You see, me?” He laughed. “I was gonna wait a while. Let things settle. Get good and married to Sandra, you know. The works. Make it seem like I was gonna give it an honest shot. Then, something would happen. Maybe Case would have an accident. Or maybe somebody of mine would have an accident and we’d all know Case was to blame. That sort of thing.”

It dawned slowly on Robin that he was revealing a lot to her that he shouldn’t. Unless, of course, he didn’t mean for her to leave at all.

Or live for very long.

“You were going to betray him anyway,” she said. “Even if Abigail hadn’t started what she did.”

“’Course I was! Shit. I’m a man, honey. I don’t abide living under the boot of no one.”

“You lived under Titus.”

“Because I was promised power. That’s all. Ain’t nothing to it outside that. And I like me the taste of power, that’s all. I like it a lot. The worse for Titus that I do.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’re a smart girl. Ain’t that what they keep on telling you? You’ll figure it out.”

He had killed Titus. He had been the one. The truth of it gripped her slow, cold around her heart.

“Anyway,” he wrapped her hands tighter around the post. “Ain’t nothing for it now. Full war with Brall and his Cauldron boys. That’s fine. We’ll kill them dead. Case has got to be angry with him now, after the incident with the grain tower and the garage.”

“Was that you, too?”

“Any number of things could and couldn't be me.” He grinned, though, and Robin knew without a doubt that he had been the one to start the explosions. It wasn't guilt he emitted, but pleasure. She recalled that none of Troy's men had died in the attacks. “Don't fret your mind about it. All you gotta know is we got the numbers on that fool now, with Case coming with us. That’s all it really comes to, ain’t it? Numbers. You should understand that, being an accountant and all.” He could see the look on her face. “Ahh, you still like that Brall, huh? Surprising no one that you was born to be a whore after your whore mother brought you into this world. And after we kill Brall, well. People don’t look twice much often when a man like Case, fighting man, strong man, dies in the line of duty. Do they?”

“I’ll expose you,” she said. “Everyone will know.”

But she already knew his response. It was all too obvious. Potter took her arms and locked them behind her with a pair of handcuffs.

“Who you gonna tell, girl?” Troy grinned. “You ain’t going nowhere.”

––––––––

T
here was much action to be taken. The war with Brall was on. Case had to organize his men, prepare an attack. he lived for knowing what the next action was. Even if it was the wrong action. So long as it was forward movement. The worst thing in the world in a conflict was to do nothing.

But alone in his room in the Compound—above ground where the danger was, so that he could fly into action quicker if need be—all he did was pace from one wall to another. Outside his windows he could see the town of Temple. The charred remains of the fallen hotel still smoked in the morning light. The fire was long out but still occasionally small pockets of flame would rise up, hot embers exposed to too much oxygen all at once from collapsing structures around them.

He had two main thoughts that were not related to the war at hand.

The first was that he wanted Abigail at his side. Always something smart to say. Always with encouragement. Always letting him know his will was correct, that his cock filled her like no one else’s, that he was perfect for fucking her like only he could.

God, but he missed his sister. He wanted her. He would even be able to find forgiveness in his heart, if she would just apologize...but she wouldn't. She was too stubborn, even when it was, all of this, entirely her fault.

And the second thought was that that—the gang bang—was not how he had wanted to fuck Robin.

Of course, he had always wanted to fuck Robin. He couldn’t think of a single man in Temple who wouldn’t have, given half a chance. She was gorgeous, and seemed permanently so—like Sandra, beautiful well into past the age where most women in the wastelands were already wasting into dust and disease. Robin would be beautiful forever. That his cock had been sliding into her, taking her virginity, pushing her past her boundaries and letting her know what a piece of
property
she was to him and the Family—that got him hard just imagining it.

But even if that was so, in truth, he wasn’t sure he had ever wanted to get married to her. Even so, a man’s duty was a man’s duty, and the leader of a tribe like the Family had more duties still than almost anyone else. Robin seemed to have carried the same dutiful mindset. In that way, it would have been a good match. But the woman he really wanted, always, was Abigail. But it couldn’t have worked with her. It couldn’t have worked before, and it certainly couldn’t work now. Not after all that she had done.

But that did not stop him from wanting her.

Outside his room he heard shoving, scuffling. Someone demanding to be let in—his mother, Sandra.

He opened the door and saw her with a knife to his guard’s throat. The blade slid close along his Adam’s apple.

“Better let her in, Branson. The lady is serious.”

Branson nodded carefully. “Yeah, boss.”

In a few moments, Sandra had her knife back in her belt and she and Troy sat down at the small table in his quarters, the door shut behind them. The building he stayed at in the Compound had once been a motel, and he had taken three rooms for himself on the top floor, the walls broken down between them. Long tattoos were inked into Sandra's shoulders, wire and roses highlighting the dense muscles beneath.

“I thought it was Abigail who carried a knife.”

Sandra smiled. “Who do you think planted the idea in your father to give her one?”

He shrugged. “Fair enough.”

“You assume you’re the only one who notices anything, don’t you? You think we’re just blind, walking through this world, because we choose to serve you.”

“We” meaning men, and “you” meaning men. Sandra liked to get philosophical at times.

“You think I don’t know about you and Abigail, Case. But I do. I always have.” Case tried to protest, but Sandra shook her head. “It’s rather unorthodox. I don’t know that I care for it. But I’m not sure how much I really care to stand in the way of you two. It seems like you’re pretty well set on being together.”

“Maybe.”

He wasn't sure what to say now. She had caught him off guard.

“Oh yes, you are. And you better get used to the idea. Otherwise Abigail will run right over you. But you’re the one who should be in charge. You’re the man, after all. She’ll be better off taking orders. I was, too, and I was just as crazy as she was once upon a time.”

Annoyance filled him. He didn't want to talk about this, not in the open. It was better as a secret.

It felt like it should have had more of an impact, someone else knowing. Maybe it would hit him later. But then, he'd never been able to keep anything from Sandra. That he hadn't kept this from her was no surprise. And he knew he didn't have to worry about her trustworthiness.

“Is that what you want to talk about? How I want to fuck my sister?”

“You’re right. No. It’s not. I’ve got something else.”

He spread his hands. Go on.

“I know you’re looking out for Temple. For what’s best for all of us. I want you to know that I’ve been looking out too. You’ve been trying to take care of Cauldron and Brall. But there’s rot in our house, and we can’t take care of anything if we don’t clear out the rot first. I’ve got witnesses—”

“Rot? What rot?”

“It was him, Case. It was Troy.”

He leaned forward now. “What do you mean?”

“Someone killed Titus. Someone
murdered
him. And I’ve got witnesses—multiple witnesses—who put Troy at the scene.”

She leaned across the table and grabbed Case’s hands, as if they were joining in a prayer. Her eyes, bright and blue, brimmed with the seriousness of her portent.

“Troy killed your father. He killed my husband. He killed Titus.”

The annoyance at Sandra pushed away easily, like old cobwebs in an ancient house. But those cobwebs weren't pushed away, they were burned. Caught in the sudden, terrible blaze of rage as Case's heart set on fire. 

“Fine,” he stood up. “Fine. Let’s go kill him.”

Somewhere he had a gun in this room. Where was it?

“Wait,” said Sandra. “You men. Always so ready to go destroy any last little thing that gets in your way.”

Case slammed the table. “You don’t want to destroy him? I’m going to nail his ass to my bike and ride him halfway across the wastes.”

“Good.” She nodded. “Good. But we have to do this right. He owns half our men. We have to discredit him, or else—”

“Or else they’ll turn on us.” The fire did not leave Case, but it did still, just for a moment. He nodded. “Okay. We'll wait. But not for long.”

––––––––

T
hey attacked the spring right near dusk. It was heavily guarded, full of well-armed Family men. But with the sun coming down, the light was in their eyes, and Brall had the element of surprise on his side.

It was a short, bloody affair. By the end of it, Brall had lost two men and the Family had lost five. The rest surrendered, and Brall put them in chains. Later, he could sell them back, or use them as hostages to trade for peace.

There would be a certain amount of clemency in his conquering. He wanted to rule these people. They would not thank him for taking all their men away from them.

The stream originated from a cave deep in the rocks. The water was clean, untouched by the radiation of the land. When the fighting was done, and his men had cleared out the lot, he strolled through the rooms himself, surveying what he now owned. Having the water was a major advantage. There were other sources that the Family owned and could use, but none so close or as readily available as this. Without steady, regular water, they would weaken.

He walked into the darkness of the cave, stepping through small pools of blood and on top of emptied shotgun shells and bullet cases. Trickling sounds from the water filled the closed area. The air was cool, a welcome relief from the heat outside. A soft, troubled moan pushed him to search further in, toward a light.

Locked away there in the back corner, hands tied behind her back, was Robin. Brall’s heart began to thump immediately. Why had his men not told him she was here? Was she hurt? Was she scared from the fighting? She could have been shot; she could have been
killed
. He wanted to take her to his chest, hold her there, let her feel the reassuring weight of his mammoth presence on her body. Let her know that it would all be perfectly all right from now on.

His rage at being ignorant of her presence subsided after a moment.

Deep, calm breaths. Be rational. Approach this with calm. She is scared and alone. Comfort her.

His men hadn’t let him know, of course, because they did not know of the relationship. If that’s what it was. Could it truly be such when they had only shared barely an hour together behind an old building?

As he approached, taking her scent in, feeling her presence flow through him, he knew that even just that hour was enough. It was enough for him.

God, but he wanted her! She was dressed only in a small shirt and panties, her body looking small and defenseless. Her legs drawn up against her chest. They had stripped her, he realized. Perhaps made her dance or serve them in some way. He was suddenly glad he had killed one of their number in the battle; that his men had killed more.

She stared up at him with lust in her eyes, heavy lips parted just slightly. Her tongue slid slowly along her bottom lip, wetting it. But she waited for him to speak first.

“How did you come to be here?” he asked her, kneeling down. Even then, he was still much taller than her.

It was an easy thing to undo her bindings. Just metal. She was not strong enough to break them with her hands, but he was. They were tossed aside like foil.

“He wanted me—Troy did—in the most heavily guarded area he had. Did you come for me? Did you want me back?”

In her eyes he could see the desperate need for validation. That their feelings were real—that she wasn't making it all up as she went along. He knew the look because he had it himself.

But instead he said, “I wanted the water. I want the town.”

And I want you. Desperately.

Disappointment showed on her face. “I thought perhaps...” she shook her head. Looking down. “Never mind. I suppose you wouldn’t want me at all anymore, after what they did to me. That was the the purpose of it. Even I know that. To claim me.”

Brall shifted. “And did they claim you?”

“They tried. They took me, that’s for certain. I fucked every last one they brought to me.”

He noticed then, all of a sudden, that he was alone with her. All the fighting and thickness of battle and then quiet and now he was in this small alcove, hidden in a cave with the one woman he wanted.

She waited for his judgment. He did not know what he thought about that—so many other men having taken her before he could. Taking her virginity—that virginity he had wanted for himself. That bliss of exclusivity, knowing she would only ever be his, past, present, and future.

It struck him, looking at her sitting across from him, how little he actually knew about this beautiful young creature.

What do you want, Brall? Do you want a war?

“I ought to...” he shook his head. “I heard what happened. I did. I had hoped it was lies.”

“It was not. They all fucked me. And I enjoyed it.” She thrust her chin out. So lovely. “If that scares you, you should tell me now. I will not be ashamed of it.”

There were many types of men in the world. Most, at this point, would want some kind of apology. They would want an apology from Robin even though none of it had been her fault or her doing.

Brall perhaps even thought he was one of those men, wanting one of those false apologies. But she wouldn’t give it to him. He could see that plainly.