The Biker's Secret Torment: MC Romance: Talon (Rosesson Brothers) (8 page)

Talon sped up. I estimated we were going almost a hundred miles an hour, faster than I'd ever gone on a bike. Please don't let us die, I chanted inside my head, either by crashing or by a gunshot. Crazy images spun through my head, making me squeeze my eyes shut, then fling them open as nausea overtook me. I saw a bullet hitting me in the back, passing through, hitting Talon, and both of us spilling to the ground, then being run over by oncoming traffic. My own breakfast threatened to regurgitate into my mouth and I fought to keep it down.

Talon slowed down as the road curved in front of us. He leaned hard into the turn but we still took it too fast. I clamped my teeth together and braced for impact, but somehow we made it to straight road in one piece. Before I could catch my breath, an unimportant-sounding crack came from behind us, like a limb breaking off a tree. Gunshots again.

Talon swore and jerked the bike into oncoming traffic. I screamed, I couldn't help it. But then we were on the shoulder on the other side of the road and decelerating quickly. Cars whipped by us at fifty and sixty miles an hour, their wind pulling at my hair.

The bike slowed to a crawling stop and I craned my neck to see the black van. It was ahead of us already, its brake lights flashing. As I watched, the car behind it came dangerously close to slamming into it. Talon turned the bike in the opposite direction as quickly as he could. "Keep your feet up, Gidge, we're heading back the way we came. If we can't outrun him, we'll outsmart him."

As Talon's words faded, I saw the driver of the black van stick his head out the window, looking backwards, trying to see us, even as he still cruised along at over thirty miles an hour. Just before he disappeared around a bend his front tire crossed the dividing line. A large green sedan swerved to avoid him, then overcorrected and plowed into a black SUV in the other lane. The sound the collision made was deafening, and strangely I could pick out each individual sound within the sounds. People screamed in their cars. Tires screeched on pavement. More cars hit the first two cars that were bouncing apart. Metal fell on the asphalt like rain.

"Mother fuck," Talon swore, watching the destruction with a look of horror on his face. Guilt swarmed me. The head-on collision was the worst I'd ever seen, and it wasn't even over yet. Blood spattered the twisted windshield of the car that had overcorrected. I couldn't look away as the vehicles finally bounced to a stop and traffic halted in both directions.

Talon stopped his bike and got off, his hand going under his cut. "Go help them," he said.

"Talon, what about—"

"Go!" he yelled, his eyes firmly on the road ahead of him. "I'll take care of our friend."

I watched Talon go, walking down the shoulder of the road, stalking towards the bend in it. I couldn't possibly know what was waiting for him, but I did know he would never let me pull him away. Never get on the bike and just run because I wanted to. Once he'd made up his mind, there was no changing it.

I ran into the road, stepping over a fender, glass crunching beneath my feet. I stepped up to the green sedan and peeked in through the broken, arced, destroyed window frame, my stomach twisting at first, then relaxing. The woman driver had her seatbelt on and the airbag had deployed. Blood dripped steadily from her nose, probably from hitting the airbag. Her steering wheel was way too close to her chest. The airbag or plastic enclosing it must have popped her right in the face as it sprung. She was touching her face gently.

"You ok?" I asked.

She looked at me, coughed, and spit out a wad of blood, most of it falling on her leg. "I don't know," she whispered.

"Help is coming," I said, knowing someone had to have called an ambulance by now. I turned to the black SUV, thinking the people inside couldn't have been hurt any worse. Their vehicle was bigger and less damaged. I picked my way over a flattened tire that had come from somewhere and lifted my eyes to the driver's compartment. The driver was a middle-aged man, bent over his seatbelt, his eyes closed. My gaze went to his chest. Breathing. "Hey," I said. People began to gather around me, getting out of their cars, talking. I heard someone giving directions to where we were. "Hey," I said again. "You ok?" He didn't answer. I reached inside his window and took his pulse at his wrist. Fast, but strong. He also had his seatbelt on and his airbag had deployed, so why was he unconscious? I moved to put my hand on his shoulder, maybe shake him.

A man's voice, right in my ear, startled me. "He's breathing." I looked around. A thin man with balding hair was gazing at the driver. "We shouldn't move him. The paramedics are on their way."

I nodded. "You know what you are doing?"

"Yeah," he said, his eyes sad, not volunteering anymore information. That was good enough for me. There was nothing I could do anyway. I was a premed student with one first-aid class and zero experience under my belt. It wasn't like I was going to perform any miracles out here.

I turned away from the wreckage, looking up the road for Talon. His shape and leather should have been easy to pick out among the ordinary-looking people but I didn't see him.

A loud pop sounded from that direction, startling me.
Oh no.
People turned around to look, and I gawked with them, then began to run in that direction.
Talon!

Four more shots boomed through the air. "That's a gun," someone said. A woman screamed half-heartedly, the sound fading quickly. People began to get back in their cars like they could go somewhere, and some jogged away from the sound.

I headed right for it. I had to find Talon. Before I got more than a few steps he came running down the shoulder. His eyes found me immediately.

"Get on the bike," he called.

I turned to do what he said, terror catching up with me again. Would this day never end?

I waited for him, then climbed on the bike with him, cinching my hands around his waist and my feet on the pegs. The bike started with a quiet roar. He maneuvered it between two cars, onto the other shoulder, easing it past the destroyed SUV.

"Maybe we should go the other way, towards San Fran," I said.

"He's coming this way," Talon grunted, still walk-riding his bike around the metal and vehicles. "Going this way is our best chance. He won't be able to turn around again." My throat closed and I looked towards the curve at the stopped traffic.

Then I saw it. The van riding slowly down the shoulder. I saw a bullet hole directly in front of the driver's face.

"Did you shoot at him?"

"Yeah," Talon grunted. "Hold on." He cranked the throttle and the bike shot forward, taking us with it. I tensed, waiting for a tiny piece of metal to take me in the side, tear me in two, but nothing happened. Talon quickly swerved onto the empty road and we rounded the bend, unable to see the van anymore, safe for now.

Talon

I pulled into the clubhouse, my eyes constantly scanning the road behind us. No sign of our friend since we'd left the accident scene.

The parking lot of the club was empty. No bikes. No cars. Damn. This guy had to know who Crystal was and where the clubhouse was, but even if we were alone this was still the safest place for us to be. There were guns inside, and strong locks on the doors, bars and shutters for the windows. The place could be a fortress if we needed it to be.

I stopped the bike just inside the gate and waited. Crystal got off at once. She always read my mind like that. I knocked the kickstand into place, then climbed off.

"Take it around the back then head inside. I'm going to close the gate."

Crystal looked at me like I was crazy. I stared back. She was a smart girl. She would catch on quick. Ordinarily, no one would drive my Dyna but me, but today was as far from ordinary as I ever wanted to go.

Finally she nodded and threw a leg over the seat. I turned away from her and ran to the large gate, pushing it shut. The sound of engines revving stopped me and I waited, my hand on the fence.

I expected to see Whitey's restored custom, but instead, Ram's Fat Boy turned the corner with three bikes behind him. I waited for them to pull in, then shut the gate, engaging the bar that would only let it open from the inside.

I jogged up to where the boys were parking their bikes. Rams, Slider, Germaine, and Pike.

"Where is everyone?"

Rams took off his helmet, shook his hair out of his face, and looked over the gate. "Just us."

"What?"

Rams shook his head. "Whitey told us not to come at all, said you'd be fine. Said he needed the manpower. I threw a massive fit and was going to come alone so he said ok, sent them." Rams nodded his head at the three other men. A prospect and two members even greener than me and Rams.
What in the fuck?

They got off their bikes and we headed for the clubhouse. "Did you tell him I had Crystal with me?"

"Yup."

I shook my head. "Thanks for coming man, we were shot at."

Rams gripped my shoulder, hard. "What the fuck, Talon? Is Crystal ok?"

"Fine."

As we walked inside, Rams told Pike to watch the cameras. Germaine and Slider headed for the bar. "Crystal," I called.

"In here."

We headed into her dad's office where she sat at his desk, the TV on the wall turned on. She flipped through the channels. "News," she said. I fought to keep my eye from lingering on the creamy curve of her neck as her chin strained upwards.

I lost.

I explained to Rams everything that had happened, starting with Crystal being attacked the day before. Rams didn't know about Jaze, so I didn't have to worry about him making the connection.

Rams huffed out a breath when I was done. "Serious shit, dude. Does Whip know?"

I shook my head and pulled out my phone, dialing Whip's number.

"Bikes," Pike yelled from the party room.

"Ours?" Rams yelled back.

"Can't tell yet."

Rams got up and left to go watch the cameras with Pike. Whip answered on the first ring.

"Whip. Crystal and I made it to the clubhouse. We were shot at on the road."

Whip's gravelly voice held no surprise. "Un-fucking real. Crystal ok?"

"Yeah."

"Who am I looking for?"

"Why, you back in Rosemill?"

"No, but I'm coming back now. I need to unfuck this situation, fast."

"Guy in a black van. Brown hair. Bandage on his left eye. We never saw him up close."

"Plate?"

The numbers and letters I had memorized jumped to the forefront of my mind, but a ripple of uneasiness passed through me as I began to speak them. Did I not want to give the license plate to Whip? That didn't make sense. Then I remembered Knox's text.

Before I could confront Whip, he cut me off. "Keep Crystal in the clubhouse. Call me if anything else happens." The phone beeped in my ear, signaling a dead line.

I stared at it for a long moment, before texting my half-brother.

Thanks for the info. Can you run a license plate for a registered owner?

His response came back at once.

Yeah, but it might take awhile. I'm not at my computer so I have to call a friend.

I thanked him again and gave him the plate, glad he wasn't asking why. We barely knew each other but he already treated me like family. He was a good man to know, to be related to. If he ever needed my help, he had it, no questions asked.

Crystal continued to flip the channels mindlessly as I tried to decide if it was a good time to tell her about Jaze. The decision tore at me.

From outside, the rumble of multiple engines shook the building. The team was home. Short funeral. Or maybe Whitey had second thoughts about leaving us high and dry.

I waited, my mouth buttoned, until Whitey entered Whip's office. He looked pissed that I was in there until he saw Crystal in Whip's chair. She was above the rules.

"Trouble?" he grumbled at me. Crystal ignored him. She had never seemed to like him much.

"You could say that. We were shot at."

Whitey chewed on his lower lip, bleeding all the color out of it, making his pale face look even paler. He watched me without saying anything.

Finally he grunted. "Shoulda said something."

"It happened after we called."

"How'd you get away?"

"It wasn't easy. The guy caused a pileup on Novato Blvd. and we got on the other side of it."

Whitey grunted again and turned to go.

"What happened to your funeral?" I asked.

"Wrong day," he said and left the room.

Crystal stared after him, her eyes narrowed. "Wait, he didn't show up to help us because of a funeral?"

"Or something," I said, starting to wonder why nothing the guys in charge said or did made sense all of a sudden.

My phone buzzed. Knox, saying the license plate wouldn't help us. It was reported stolen from a van on the south side of town two days ago. Great.

Breaking news flashed on the screen, showing the accident scene. We watched carefully, but no mention of us or gunshots or the black van was made.