Shooter (Burnout) (4 page)

Chris' house was bigger. Two bedrooms, but still all on one floor, just like the rental. He'd probably prefer the little blue house, since it was smaller, and therefore was just fine for his needs. But there was no garage and there was no way he was parking his bike outside in winter.

Hayley Crystal Turner, or whatever the fuck she was calling herself, peeked into the kitchen, nodded to him, and high tailed it back to the living room, keeping a line to the door free and clear.

"The bedroom and bathroom are down the hall," he informed her and waited for her to edge her way past him to look. When he was behind her, he rolled his eyes skyward.

The bathroom was a tub/shower combo with one sink. She peeked in, same as the kitchen, and turned to open the closed bedroom door. It opened with just enough room to clear a small wall in front of it that was the side of the clothes closet. She stepped through the door, veered right and entered the room.

There was a double bed against the wall and a tall dresser in the corner. Again no TV. Chris didn't think it was necessary to point that out to her since it was obvious.

She backed up, accidentally running into him, and he moved out of the way so she could get back to the living room. "It's nice," she announced, but he couldn't tell if that was what she really thought. He didn't much care, though.

"No parties," he declared suddenly.

"Parties?" she asked. Chris was annoyed by the wide eyed innocent routine.

"No loud music. No large groups of people. Don't invite a bunch of people over and tell me it's not a party. If I can hear it, it's a party. Security deposit. I'll need one. $250. Can you swing that?" He didn't wait for an answer. "And no pets. You obviously don't have one now, staying at the Rainbow like you are. But don't come home with a dog. Or a cat. Or even so much as a goldfish. You got me?"

She stared at him. "Mr. Sullivan-"

Chris rolled his eyes again. Mr. Sullivan. Jesus. "Look, Slick-"

"Excuse me?" she asked, cutting him off.

"You heard me. Slick. As in, you are. Maria might be desperate enough to hire some girl off the street, but don't think you're going to play that Bambi shit with me." Her mouth dropped open. "Rent's due on the first of every month. I get it on the second, you're out. You break something, you're out. You throw a party, you're out.

"Maria talks a good game," he continued, "about not hiring homeless waifs out of the goodness of her heart, but she still does it. More'n I'd like. She
thinks
she can beat you at your game, if you have one. But I
know
I can."

Bambi Hayley Crystal whatever-the-fuck didn't even try to deny she had a game. She simply walked to the door, picked up her duffel bag, which had seen better days, and opened the front door.

"I don't think this is the right place for me, Mr. Sullivan," she said, smoothly. "Sorry you wasted your time."

And with that she left and Chris couldn't say he was all that sorry to see her go. He'd been stewing all day after he'd left Maria’s and driven the two blocks back to his garage where he worked on custom bikes. Maria had been bitten in the ass too many times over the years, but the economy was in the shitter. Even Chris was glad he'd kept the shop streamlined and saved most of what he'd earned. He only employed his boys, minus Caleb, who'd joined the RCPD when they got back from that last tour. He still helped out at the shop on weekends, though, for the hell of it.

Chris re-locked the front door, jogged back down the steps, and stopped on the sidewalk long enough to see Bambi Hayley Crystal walking back toward the Rainbow with her oversize duffel on her shoulder. It was twelve blocks to the motel and even though it wasn't dark out, that bag couldn't be all that easy for a 100 pound girl to haul. He took a step toward her, intending to call out to her, when he heard his cell phone ring.

He spared Bambi Hayley Crystal another glance and turned to pull out his phone.

*************************

Hayley wiped her eyes as she continued the trek to the Rainbow Motel. Slick. Fucking Slick. And it was true. Sort of. She'd put the bruises on her arm before boarding the bus because some people needed visual proof. She was playing them. That was true. But to survive. So her family would survive.

He might have been guessing. He might have been a naturally suspicious person. But, of course, when you're accused of something you technically are doing, you always felt as though you'd somehow given yourself away.

It was best to avoid Chris 'Shooter' Sullivan. No doubt about that. Either he saw too much or was keeping an eye out anyway for something to confirm his already suspicious mind. Either way, she needed to steer clear.

She made it to the Rainbow just before dark and headed straight to the door of her room. Her peripheral vision caught a shadow and saw a tall man coming out of the vending machine alcove several doors down. He'd leered at her yesterday as she was checking in and she was none too happy to see that he'd been given a room just two doors down from her own.

Hurriedly, she jammed her key in the doorknob. The motel was so old and hadn't been renovated in, well, ever, she guessed. They still used keys instead of cards. She shuffled inside and slammed the door, flipping the lock, setting the chain, and pressing back against it with all her weight. She tossed her bag, strode forward and grabbed the dresser that sat on the far wall. She tugged it to the door and positioned it under the doorknob. It wouldn't keep a really determined person from entering, but the resulting noise would make such an endeavor not worth the effort.

She opened her bag, dug out a prepaid cell phone that she'd purchased during her job search yesterday. She'd been charging it at the bar all day and now sat down on the bed. She pressed the numbers she knew by heart and waited patiently for the ringing on the other end to be answered.

"Mom?" she said in a shaky voice, biting down on her lip in order to force herself not to cry.

"Sarah," her mother breathed in relief.

****************************

"Hey, Shooter." It was Mark, aka Tex, calling his cell.

"Done with what I gotta do for today,” Chris told him. “I'll swing back by the shop and we'll meet up."

"Sure thing," Tex agreed, disconnecting his cell.

Chris wrapped a large rubber band around the half-full shoe box and carried it out to the saddlebags on his bike.

As he pulled into the shop's turnaround, David, who no man who wanted to keep his balls called anything but Hawk, was already straddling his ride and Tex was setting the padlock on the bay doors. They acknowledged each other with a jerk of the chin and waited as they heard the sound of a fourth set of pipes coming up the road. Caleb, Doc because he’d been a medic in their unit, but was now an officer with RCPD, nodded to them and kept going. The boys motored out of the turnaround and filed in behind Doc. They hit I-90 and passed the sign for Sturgis, 26 miles, and below that, Fort Meade VA Medical Center.

Chris' jaw tightened and he sure as fuck knew which destination he'd rather be headed to.

Chapter 3

In the truly twisted and fucked up version of Hayley's life, she'd finally managed to get to sleep just a scant two hours ago when she was woken up by a soft knocking on her hotel room door. She wanted to scream. Partly from fear, and partly from sheer frustration. Instead she glued her eyes to the still-barricaded door.

"Hey," said the now-familiar male voice. The same voice that had awoken her the night before, at nearly the same time. "Hey. Girlie. Open up. I just want to borrow some sugar." Then the giggling started. Again. She wondered if Shooter Sullivan was better or worse than this particular hell.

When her alarm went off in the morning, it actually woke her up. She was both surprised and irritated. She kicked off the covers, staggered toward the shower and got ready for a second day at the bar.

Two weeks passed in pretty much the same fashion, days at the bar followed by nights of barricading the door at the Rainbow. In addition to the Giggler, as she'd dubbed him, there were hookers, who were not at all subtle about what they would do to the john who stiffed them. Cars, trucks, and bikes came and went at all hours and on some days Hayley was so tired she slept through her break at Maria’s rather than eating anything.

On the upside, she'd not had the misfortune to run into Shooter and Maria didn't bring him up. Things were decent at the bar. Slow but easy. Which was about all Hayley could handle on just a few hours of sleep at night. On the
up
-upside, she slept so fitfully that she rarely dreamed and as such never woke up screaming. Insomnia did have its perks, she figured.

On Friday, her usual day off, she was planning once again to take a look around town for a more suitable place to live, but so far hadn't had any luck. She was putting on her canvas shoes to do another scavenger hunt when her room phone rang.

Her search for a new place to stay had been cut short as she made her way to Maria’s at five o'clock. One of the night waitresses had called in and Maria had asked Hayley to cover her shift. Hayley, grateful for the opportunity to make more money if not happy about the late shift, accepted.

By ten o'clock, Hayley was impressed with the way Maria and Thomas seemed to make sure the place was fun but not too rowdy. Her tips had been exponentially better than working the day shift and everyone wanted a piece of Maria's new girl.

Hayley smiled, politely dodged roaming hands, and delivered drinks with aplomb. All in all the night was going well for her until she nearly tripped on her own two feet as she spotted Chris and three large, very large, men entering the front door.

She spun away from them and proceeded to be very occupied by gathering empties at every table in her vicinity. Her night took an even more pronounced turn for the worse when Chris and his boys seated themselves in her section.

Miranda, though, seemed awfully pleased to see the Fearsome Foursome and so Hayley casually offered the other woman the opportunity to take the table.

"Really?" Miranda asked, immediately eyeing Hayley for some kind of ulterior motive.

"Well, you know them and all," Hayley explained.

Miranda practically squealed and headed over to them, hips working over time in her stilettos.

Maria gave Hayley a raised eyebrow, but Hayley merely smiled, shrugged, and loaded up a tray with more drinks.

*******************************

"Hey, boys," Miranda drawled, extra emphasis on the ‘boys’.

They all grinned back at her. Chris could appreciate what those heels did for her ass. Yes, he sure could. He put in his order and glanced across the crowded bar. Hayley was wearing a tight shirt, but it showed no cleavage whatsoever. He wasn't sure she was capable of working a biker bar based on her attire. He smirked over his beer.

"How's the new girl?" he asked Miranda.

Miranda's face immediately darkened and she glanced over her shoulder at Hayley. When she turned back to him, he offered her a winning smile and she dropped her budding rivalry with the new waitress. He'd never slept with Miranda, but she was cute and fun to flirt with and it was well known she could turn on a dime on anyone she thought was staking a claim on what she perceived as her territory.

"She's good," Miranda responded.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Miranda repeated. She playfully bumped her hip into his side. "She gave me you, so in my book that makes her fabulous."

Chris paused with his beer in hand and looked at her. "Gave me to you?"

"You're sitting her section, Shooter," Miranda informed him.

As Miranda tottered away, Hawk laughed. "Guess she's holding a grudge."

Chris shrugged, but his gaze zeroed in on Maria behind the bar and he picked up his beer to head that way.

"So," he said, taking the only empty stool. "New girl."

Maria looked up from the sinks. "Can't complain. In fact, wish I had two more just like her."

"That right?"

"That's right. Never late. Never bitches. Never comes up short on her bank. Had to call her in last minute to cover for Bree."

"Guess I might have been wrong," Chris admitted.

"What happened, anyway?"

He scowled. "Might have told her I thought she was a con artist. Playing on your sympathy."

Maria sighed and after a long moment said, "Well, no harm in telling it like it is, even though she still doesn't have a decent place to live."

Chris scowled even harder. He headed back to his table, keeping one eye on Slick, one eye on his boys, and a third eye on the time. At nearly Midnight, he watched Slick cash out with Maria and take off her apron, headed for the back.

He thumped the table twice, announcing his departure, and stood up.

"Where you headed?" Doc asked.

"Gonna make sure Slick gets back to the motel okay."

Tex laughed. "You're gonna have to pull out the big guns if you want that honey to roll over."