Wring: Road Kill MC #5 (13 page)

Noose and I kill the engines then step off our
rides simultaneously.

We don't speak.

Lariat walks to our position.

“Where's your ride?” Noose asks.

“Your condo.”

Noose scowls. “Don't want to lead those fuckers
back to my family.”

“Not gonna happen, Noose.” Lariat scowls. “Rose
will chop their nuts off if they get within spitting distance.”

“Don't want her to have to, numb nuts.”

They face off.

I snap my fingers. “Wake up, fuckers. Shannon.
We're here to talk to her, see if we can help.”

They glare at each other.

We take off our leather jackets, fold them, and
place them in our trunks at the back of our bikes.

Lariat moves across the street, walking parallel
to me and Noose.

We go to her house, where a single light is
burning behind a curtain.

I knock, and Lariat stands across the street,
looking conspicuous as fuck.

A voice from behind the door calls out, “Who is
it?”

Fuck. Not Shannon.

Noose mouths, “M
om.
”

“Sam Walker, ma'am.”

Noose claps a hand over his mouth. I elbow him
in his side.

Some locks twist, and a chain is the only thing
standing between Shannon's mom and me.

“Are you the bike rider?” she asks, a pale-blue
eyeball peering between the two-inch space.

Shannon mentioned me?
Good or bad,
I think for a heartbeat.

Her eye shifts to Noose. He flutters his
fingers. “Hello, ma'am.”

Her lips thin.

Damn.

Here goes. “Yes.”

She seems relieved. “A pleasure to make your
acquaintance.”

My shoulders drop, body singing with a tension I
didn't even know I had.

I nod. “Same here.”

She frowns. “Is Shannon with you?”

Her mom tries to look around me, and I
tense.

Noose and I exchange a glance. He'd already
mentioned she was off work.

“No.”

Her eyes go wide. “She…I—” Tears form.

“Mrs. Berg,” I say in a neutral, calming way,
“where is Shannon?”

“She was supposed to be home a half hour
ago.”

Not good.

“You stay here. If we're not back in a half
hour, call 9-1-1.”

“I don't know you,” she states the obvious, and
my fingers curl around the partly open door.

I could force it open, but I only nod. “Yeah.
But I'm protecting Shannon.”

“Why?” Her voice quivers.

I'm honest. Like usual. “I don't know.”

Noose put his face beside mine. “Sorry ma'am,
that'll have to be good enough.”

He pulls me away, and we jog out of there.
Toward the nearest building.

Toward Shannon.

Shannon

My knees immediately soak with blood, and I
shriek, leaping up and stumbling away.

Hands grab me and keep me from falling
again.

The boss walks toward me.

I can't stop screaming. Blood and bits of human
brain and skull stick to his face, throat, and clothes like measles
of death.

He blinks, and his eyes appear stranded within
all the blood droplets.

I gag.

His hands land on my shoulders, and I smell gun
powder.

“Listen, and listen close. You're mine now. I
want that fucking house you got, and I want what I can get outta
you. Got it?”

I don't nod. I don't move.

“Nod your head that you understand. Because
permission's not a part of this.”

“My mom,” I gasp.

“Your fucking breath reeks.” He grins.

Of course it does. I just puked.

“What about your mom? Who gives a fuck? We'll do
the old bitch—hell, it's a mercy. Hear she's sicker than a dog.”
His grin spreads wider, and he gives a manic snicker.

I close my eyes.

When I open them, he's still there—in front of
me like a demonic apparition.

The rumble of bikes mixes with the white noise
of the gangbangers’ activities.

Oh
no
.

“Thought you said that fucker Wring wasn't your
man.”

I shake my head. “He's not.” I'm not involving
Wring in this. It's my mess. But fear saturates my insides.

“I'd know the sound of those Road Kill MC
fuckers anywhere.”

A full minute passes, the gangbangers quiet like
church mice. Listening.

A deliberate pounding on the door startles
everyone. A dozen sets of eyes flow to the door.

“Fuck.” The boss's eyes move over my face,
filled with acute irritation and disdain.

“Clean this mess up,” he says, and three gang
members trot over to Vincent's body.

Oh God. I swallow more vomit.

“Not your man, eh?” He shakes me by my arm,
jarring my wrist, and I yelp.

“Vince fuck up your hand? Gonna stop you from
giving blow jobs, sweet thing?” His tongue lashes the top of my
ear, and I cringe.

His face swings to the loose circle of gang
members, who step away from the steel door. “Wait by the door.”

“Who's there?” he asks and pinches my butt
cheek, and I muffle a cry of pain. The boss claps a hand over my
mouth, fingers biting along my face, numbing it.

“Road Kill MC,” a deep voice says from the other
side.

The boss's smile comes online like a piranha’s
grin. “Open the door.”

Two gangbangers open the door, knives in their
hands.

Please don't hurt Wring,
I have time to
think.

The boss puts me in front of him like a
shield.

The door swings open, and there stands Wring,
the last of the western sunlight backlighting him.

His face is in shadow, but I see enough of his
expression to interpret his feelings.

I see murder on his face. Theirs.

*

My fist comes down once, twice, three times.

Third time's the charm. I drop a bleeding
gangbanger on the steps in front of the building, and he
cooperatively drapes over the cement treads like a human rug. Just
out of our path.

Noose steps away from the other two. They're out
cold.

“We're fucked now,” Noose says in a
conversational tone.

I put my hands on my hips. “If they'd just been
open to some honest-to-God discourse.”

Noose quirks a brow, cracking his raw knuckles.
“Right.” He tries to eyeball his front. “Got any blood on my
cut?”

My eyes sweep down his cut. I hold my thumb and
index almost together.

Noose grunts. “God
dammit
. Dry cleaning
bills get excessive. Should have left it in the trunk with the
leather.”

I don't point out that if we weren't beating
people up regularly, it wouldn't be an issue.

Lariat smirks.

He pounds on the steel door, and a full
reverberating echo sounds, making the interior of the building ring
empty.

We know it's not.

I hear shuffling of feet, and our knots come
out.

The first thing I see is Shannon. Can't say I
was anticipating her being right there.

Navy SEALs are trained in basic EMT skills, and
I'm handy enough to know when I see the beginnings of shock.

Shannon's got them. Her skin's gray, and she's
wearing brains and blood. Back spray from a close-range shot.

The Blood who's got his hands on her is going to
die. He holds her like he owns her.

That's the moment when I know I've been kidding
myself.

Shannon's mine.

“Luis Lopez,” I say with a calm I don't
feel.

“Road Kill scum,” he acknowledges.

“We were gonna be all polite and shit, but now I
don't feel compelled,” Noose says.

“We came to get the girl,” I say, not looking
away from Lopez. I know he's king.

And the king of the Bloods has my girl.

A girl I haven't claimed.

My eyes flick to hers. Shannon blinks, licks her
lip, and grimaces at the taste of someone else's blood. Her gaze
also pleads for me to let her go.

Fuck that.

“She your property?” Lopez licks the top of her
ear, and she cringes away from him.

The fibers of my rope feel like individual
threads of death in my hand. Lopez’s death.

My tongue runs over my lip, anticipating a rope
on a certain throat. “Yeah.” A weight I didn't know I was carrying
lifts. Sometimes it just feels straight up good to admit shit.

Shannon quickly shakes her head.

“Shut up, bitch!” he growls, and his lips close
around the top of her ear.

Tears streak down her face, making clear paths
through the drying blood.

Lopez's eyes go to my knot, which is subtly
turned to do damage. He snorts, yanking Shannon. Her injured arm
bangs against his hip, and she yelps.

“You think your little rope's gonna do
anything?”

Noose and Lariat are as silent as the grave.

Lopez swivels his chin to the sides of us, and
his minions come at us with knives. Shannon gives a big tell,
tensing to her left.

I whip out the double knot and take the knife
from dickless at my left, hitting the hilt hard.

The knife skitters, and I snap the weighted end,
where one knot is larger than the other, hitting him in the
nose.

Cartilage explodes, sending a geyser of blood
out of each nostril.

“Get them,” Lopez bellows.

“Let go!” Shannon screams. Her heels make marks
in the blood as he drags her from the fighting.

Four more men come at us, and I wonder where the
guns are.

Shannon collapses, and Lopez doesn't anticipate
the move.

I love her for it.

I toss the knot I used on dickless at Lopez.

Like a bola, it swings, hitting him in his
arrogant snout. He bleats like a wounded goat, hands coming to his
face.

Shannon crawls toward me.

I can't deal with saving her right then because
two guys land on me.

I wrap the rope hard on the neck biter who tries
to latch on to me through my cut.

Gotta love leather.

He flies over my back and onto the floor,
effectively hanging himself on my shorty length.

Squeezing, I uncross my arms, and he flops to
the floor like a rag doll.

“Wring!” Shannon screams.

And our eyes lock.

I see her warning and duck, swiping a longer
length out, and use it like a tripping wire.

Two guys tumble past me like bowling pins.

Noose roars, and I spare a glance.

He's got three down. All unconscious.

Lariat's got the door.

Only Lopez is left.

He's got a gun. He points it at me.

I see my death. I've seen it a lot in my
life.

A slender leg swings, hitting the gun as it
fires. The bullet goes wide, embedding in the unfinished insulated
ceiling.

Fiberglass rains down like spun sugar. I run to
Shannon and scoop her up.

“Fuckers!” Lopez yells.

Noose kicks the smoking gun away from Lopez, and
it skitters across the concrete like an out-of-control metal
insect.

We leave him alive as a sign of goodwill. The
others lay beat up and bleeding, but alive.

I cradle Shannon against me, and Noose takes
rear position, securing my back, as Lariat leads.

We leave as we came. In violence.

*

“Mom can't see me like this,” I say as soon as
we get back to where the guys’ bikes sit.

“No shit?” Noose says with a snort.

“Come on, have a little compassion,” Wring
says.

Noose laughs silently. “Feeling great,” he
says.

Wring's eyes move heavenward. “Because we used
knots?”

He nods, throws a fist in the air, and they bump
fists.

“I'll take Shannon to Vipe's place in
Ravensdale, get this shit figured out and clean her up.”

I hear the other biker guy fire up his bike and
watch him for a second or two as he pulls out.

He gives Wring and Noose a nod and leaves.

Noose turns his attention back to me. “I can
have Storm drop by your place and,” he throws a hand up, “tell your
mom shit's okay.”

“Please put me down,” I say to Wring.

He does, and I grip his arm to keep standing.
“They might retaliate—hurt Mom.” I can't stand the thought of
that.

“Nah.” Noose winds his long hair at his nape and
reties it, man-bun style. “Fucking Bloods don't have the cojones.”
He grabs a pack of cigarettes out of a pouch between his
handlebars, puts one between his lips, and lights up in a sequence
of moves so smooth they look orchestrated. A ring plumes out of his
mouth.

I watch it float into a sky filling with
glittering stars, and out of nowhere, I start shaking.

His eyes narrow on me. “Shock,” Noose
states.

My teeth start to chatter.

“Yeah, fuck,” Wring agrees, and I try to sit
down on the curb.

“Nope, can't stick around.” His face whips to
Noose's, and I watch and listen to the interaction like I'm having
an out-of-body experience. “Text Storm, get his ass over here on
the QT.”

“On it,” Noose says, extracting a cell and
punching in stuff.

Wring turns my face with gentle fingers.
“Listen, Shannon.”

I nod.

“Taking you somewhere safe, quiet.”

Quiet's good.

“You can't faint.”

No fainting.
I start to laugh.

“Hey,” he says softly, “don't freak out right
now. I need you to wait until I can transport you.”

Wring settles me on the curb and puts a tender
hand on my neck, pushing my head between my knees. “Breathe,
babe.”

I breathe and concentrate only on that.

Not on the fact that Luis Lopez has marked me.
Or that Mom's in danger.

Or that I'm going off with Wring from a
motorcycle gang.

Covered in Vincent's brains.

I just breathe.

My fingers are numb by the time we get to this
place Wring told me about in Ravensdale.

Thank God he lent me his leather jacket. I've
never seen him wear it, only the leather vest with the patches on
it. There’s a Road Kill MC patch and a little black, diamond-shaped
one with the one-percenter symbol.
Whatever that means.