Bound: Minutemen MC (22 page)

The Mojave Desert had never looked more hostile to Camilla. She couldn’t shake a feeling of foreboding as she rode on the back of Dirk’s bike, her arms wrapped firmly around his waist. The hot and yet tender moment they had shared back at the headquarters did little to reassure her; it had felt like a goodbye more than anything else, even though neither Dirk nor she had said anything about farewells.

Now she wished she had said something. She wished she had thanked him for all that he had done for her. She wished she had told him he was the most incredible, remarkable man she had ever met—and that was saying a lot, considering her career; an investigative reporter met remarkable people all the time. But no one was like Dirk Coleman. She wished she had offered some reassurance. She wished she had let him know that even if she made it out alive, she would never use the Minutemen’s story for TIME magazine—or any other media, for that matter. She wished she had told him he was the best sex she’d ever had—although he had probably figured
that
one out.

There were many things she wished she had said, but she hadn’t said any of them. So now Camilla clung to Dirk, and she hoped for the best. Perhaps she was just being paranoid. They weren’t riding out to war yet, after all; Dirk and the club wouldn’t expose her like that. They were just “moving houses” so to speak. She had done it two days before, when Dirk’s men had come to take her from his house to the MC’s headquarters. Nothing had gone wrong then, so why should anything go wrong now?

Camilla felt Dirk stiffen in her embrace all of a sudden. She heard him curse loudly, and her stomach tightened.

“MONGOLS!” she heard someone shout, and her blood ran cold in her veins.

Camilla turned her head, and sure enough, two waves of riders on bikes came over the sandy hills of the Mojave Desert, from both sides.

Shots were fired almost instantly. Camilla made herself as small as possible on Dirk’s Harley. They were all open targets, but so were the Mongols, and the Minutemen were fast to respond to the attack. Still, the element of surprise was not in their favor, and it soon became clear that the advantage was not theirs.

“SPLIT UP!” Stephan’s order came from ahead of them.

Camilla froze. “Split up”? It didn’t sound like a good idea. But the Mongols were coming from both sides, and they were going to break their pattern no matter what they decided to do. On second thought, splitting up was their only option.

“Hold on!” Dirk shouted, and it took Camilla a moment to realize he was shouting at her.

She barely had the time to tighten her hold around his waist before the bike lurched sideways. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling suddenly queasy as Dirk fired loud gunshots and the Harley sped along the desert soil.

“We’re never gonna make it.”

The thought entered Camilla’s mind unbidden, but once there, it simply refused to leave. The more she thought about it, the more she convinced herself that there was just no way that she could survive this. The odds were too much against them. She didn’t know how many Tar Mongols were hot on their heels, but she felt pretty sure there were more than enough. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Dirk’s survival skills; it was that she didn’t trust her own. And she didn’t trust fate, who had played some pretty cruel tricks on her recently.

Camilla’s eyes flew open when they hit a bump so violently that she jumped on the bike’s seat.

“Hold on tight!” Dirk shouted again.

“I’m trying!” Camilla shouted back. She didn’t think her hold around his waist could possibly get any tighter, but she tried anyway.

Dirk was driving at breakneck speed, and Camilla found the experience both terrifying and exhilarating at the same time—which she thought spoke volumes about her levels of insanity…or lack thereof. What
was
it about Dirk that always made her feel like she was living her life to the fullest, even while she was imprisoned within a MC’s headquarters or rushing through the desert running from ruthless bikers?

Camilla’s head was spinning. Her heart was beating so violently within her chest that for a moment she feared it might just explode through her ribcage. If anything, the gunshots had faded away in the distance, and soon she realized she couldn’t hear them anymore. Dirk was no longer shooting, and no one was shooting at them.

She didn’t know how long they ran. All she knew was that it felt like an eternity, and she didn’t notice time passing any more than she would have noticed a hot air balloon flying overheard. Camilla didn’t know much about the Mojave Desert, but she had learned that out here, time and space ceased to matter—perhaps even to exist.

The sun had set when Dirk finally put a stop to the Harley’s mad dash. The temperature had dropped considerably, but Camilla wasn’t sure whether she was shivering from the desert cold or from the rush of adrenaline and emotions coursing through her.

Dirk helped her down and caught her when she stumbled, her limbs stiff and unresponsive.

“Sit down,” he said, as he led her a few feet away from the now still bike.

Camilla looked around, her eyes wide. She told herself it was because she was trying to see through the advancing darkness, and not because she felt like she had just lost ten years of her life. Dirk had gotten them to the top of a massive series of rocks and dunes, and they were sheltered by large jutted rocks that stood guard against any prying eyes. As hiding spots went, it was as good as it could get out there. To her dismay, Camilla realized that it was only the two of them and they were completely isolated from the rest of the club.

“Where are the others?” she asked, although she was afraid of the answer.

“We did what Stephan said, we split up,” Dirk said, rummaging in his saddlebag for a flashlight that he pulled out with a triumphant little cry. “We got separated as we ran.”

Camilla bit down on her bottom lip nervously. “Do you think they’re all right?”

Dirk’s face darkened. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I hope so.”

“What about cellphones?” Camilla asked after a moment’s reflection.

“Out here?” Dirk snorted. “Good luck getting a signal.”

Camilla clamped her mouth shut, feeling foolish.

“I’m gonna go find something to start a fire with,” Dirk said. “You take this, and shoot anything that moves.” He tossed her a .45 that Camilla caught remarkably easily. “You
can
shoot, can’t you?” he asked when she looked at him blankly.

Camilla’s eyes flashed. “Of course I can shoot,” she snapped. And she really could. But that didn’t mean she liked holding a gun in her hand. “It’s just that I don’t like this,” she clarified.

Dirk grimaced. “I know. Believe me, I don’t like it either.” He double checked his own gun and squared his massive shoulders. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll give you a whistle before I let myself be heard, so you’ll know it’s me. Anything else moves or comes close, you shoot first and question later. I mean it.”

Camilla nodded. She didn’t say anything; she didn’t trust her voice any longer. The whole situation had rendered speechless. She watched as Dirk headed down the rocky slopes, and for the first time she half-wished the black Harley were a real horse; she would have felt less lonely if that were the case. Instead, here she was, stuck on the top of a hill in the Mojave Desert. Alone. It was certainly a less than ideal predicament. Not for the first time since that crazy desert adventure had begun, she found herself wondering how she ended up here.

***

It wasn’t a long wait. About twenty minutes later, Camilla heard whistling in the night, and Dirk appeared, carrying a load of dead desert bushes. Camilla helped him prepare the fire, and even though he didn’t say anything, she could see he was impressed that she knew how to do that. But one doesn’t become a successful investigative reporter without picking up a few skills. Soon enough, they were sitting in front of a small but effective fire.

“Won’t they spot us?” Camilla asked. The afterthought made her blood run colder than what the desert night had done up until now.

“Nah,” Dirk said. “These rocks are tall from down there, and this is a small fire. Even if they ride in the vicinity, they won’t catch the glow.”

Camilla wanted to ask if he was sure, but she refrained; if anyone would know about this sort of thing, it was Dirk Coleman.

She shivered and huddled closer to the flames. Dirk stood up, rummaged some more in his saddlebag—which just so happened to also contain Camilla’s sparse belongings—and handed her the hooded sweatshirt she had packed. She nodded gratefully and put it on, zipping it all the way up.

“Not used to the desert night, are you?” Dirk asked. He was only wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt, and Camilla wondered how he was not freezing to death.

“I’m not used to most of this,” she admitted, bringing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them.

Next thing she knew, Dirk’s arm was wrapped tightly and securely around her shoulders.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. This isn’t the way it was supposed to go.”

Camilla smiled bitterly. “Story of my life over the past few weeks.”

Dirk chuckled. “Touché.”

Camilla leaned into him and lay her head on his strong shoulder. “So what now?” she asked after a few moments of companionable silence.

“Now we wait the night out,” Dirk said. “And then, at dawn, I’ll ride out and see if I can find out what happened to the others.”

Camilla lifted her head to look at him. “What about me?”

“You’ll wait for me here.”

She scowled. “No, thank you. I’m coming, too.”

“Camilla—”

“No. God forbid something happens to you, am I supposed to just be stuck here, waiting for you while you may be out there, hurt? We’d both be out of commission.”

Dirk thought it over. It was clear that he didn’t like it, but she knew she got him the minute his eyes darkened with the same notion. “Fine. You’ll come, too.”

Camilla smiled, pleased. “Good.”

They stared silently at the flames for what felt like forever. Eventually, they found themselves lying down on a blanket Dirk had spread over the rocky terrain, Dirk’s arms wrapped firmly around Camilla, who was nestled against him.

“This would be wonderful if we weren’t in such a crappy situation,” she remarked. She heard his chuckle in the rumbling of his chest against her ear.

“It does suck,” he agreed. “But don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

Camilla frowned. She wanted to ask him how he knew, but she didn’t; she was too scared of the answer. Besides, their predicament was dire enough without her bringing both of them down. She closed her eyes and tried to force her busy mind to just shut up and go to sleep, knowing that every bit of rest could make the difference tomorrow between life and death; she couldn’t outrun the Tar Mongols if she was sluggish.

Once again, she wondered about the other members of the club. She wondered about Stephan Walker. The man seemed invincible, but so did the Tar Mongols. Was he even still alive? Were any of them?

Chapter 33: Lost

Camilla woke up to the sound of nothingness. You’d think nature would take it upon itself to call you back from the land of dreams and nightmares, but in the Mojave Desert there were no birds to sing you awake.

Dirk’s arms were still wrapped firmly around her, so much so that she wondered if he had moved at all. Probably not. In fact, chances were he had been just as cold as Camilla was during the desert night. It was the kind of cold that wrapped you up tight in its icy embrace and just wouldn’t let you go. It got ahold of you, a strong enough hold that your body simply refused to make even the smallest of movements, so as not to disperse precious heat and energy.

Dirk stirred when she did, and they reluctantly disentangled themselves from each other’s embrace. He stretched languidly and stood, stomping his feet and working his limbs to restore circulation. After a moment’s hesitation, Camilla did the same. It felt good to feel the blood start flowing again, warm in her veins. She hoped that once her blood was moving it would warm up the rest of her half-frozen body.

“How do you want to play this?” she asked when she could finally trust her teeth to stop chattering long enough to get her voice out clearly. “What do we do now?”

“I told you,” Dirk said. “I’ll have a look around, and you—”

“And
I
told
you
, I’m not staying here,” Camilla snapped. She was in no mood for arguments first thing in the morning, particularly when they were arguments they’d already had.

Dirk huffed in annoyance. “Fine,” he finally relented.

He cast a look towards the horizon. The sky had just begun to turn pinkish, and they could both feel the desert heat creeping up on the land. They welcomed it after the freezing night, but they knew they would be cursing it soon. 

“Where do you think the others could be?” Camilla asked. She hesitated. “Provided that they’re okay…” She let the words hang in the hair. She didn’t like to bring up that possibility, but she also couldn’t ignore the reality of what had happened yesterday.

“Oh, they’re okay,” Dirk snapped. His blue eyes burned in the rising sun. “Trust me, it’s gonna take a lot more than an ambush to finish us off.”

Camilla shivered at the choice of words. She hoped and prayed no one would be “finishing off” anyone anytime soon. She wanted this madness to be over, and she wanted it over with as little bloodshed as possible.

She watched as Dirk walked over to the bike and took a couple of water bottles out of the saddlebags, along with two Snickers bars. She arched an eyebrow as he handed her share over to her.

“Breakfast of champions?”

Dirk shrugged and smirked. “Hey, at least it’s food.”

“That’s debatable.”

Camilla sat down next to the charred remains of the previous night’s fire. Dirk sat across from her on the other side of the pile of ashes. She watched him intently, unable to look away. The war had begun, and she had never seen him look more beautiful or confident. He was completely within his depth; war was clearly Dirk Coleman’s element. She wasn’t sure she liked that notion, but there was no denying it.

Dirk looked up, noticing her scrutiny, probably feeling her gaze on him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Camilla said quickly.

Dirk frowned. “Seriously. What?”

She hesitated. “I was just thinking that you look…uh…really at ease, considering the situation.”

Dirk shrugged. “I’ve seen worse. Besides, this is kinda what I do. Fighting,” he elaborated when Camilla looked at him blankly.

“Oh.” Camilla looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Does that bother you?”

She considered lying. And then she decided that they were past the point of lies. “A little,” she admitted.

“I’m not sure I can do anything about it.”

Camilla frowned. She looked back up at him. There was a hint of disappointment on his features, as though deep down he would have indeed liked to be different from what he was.

“You don’t have to do anything about it,” she said after a moment, and she smiled. “I like you for who you are.”

Dirk blinked in surprise, taken aback by her words. Camilla flushed, suddenly feeling foolish. But he didn’t seem to mind that she had said what she had said. Something hung in the air between them, a sort of electric current, softer and different from the sizzling sexual energy that had bound them from day one.

Camilla wanted to kiss him. She wanted to go to him and wrap her arms around him and never let go. They moved at the same time, standing to go around the pile of ashes and charcoal…

…and then Dirk froze. Camilla cursed herself. Did she really think that a man like Dirk Coleman could give in to a moment like that?

“Shit!” Dirk cursed under his breath, and Camilla realized that the sudden tension in his body had nothing to do with them. His eyes were glued to the far distance.

Camilla hurried over to him and followed the direction of his gaze. She saw nothing but a layer of dust and dirt rising from the line of the horizon.

“What is it?” she asked, but even as she did, she already knew. She felt her stomach clench and her blood grow cold.

“Tar Mongols,” Dirk said, darkly. “They’re coming.”

“How do you know they’re not Minutemen?”

Dirk shot her a look like she had just asked the stupidest question he had ever heard. “I just know,” he snapped. “Come on.”

He grabbed her arm and dragged her over to the bike. He didn’t wait for her to climb onto the seat; he simply lifted her up and placed her on the Harley. It would have been hot if they weren’t in such mortal danger.

“Hold on extra tight,” he said, as he swung himself up on the saddle. “The ride downhill is going to be bumpy.”

Camilla did as he instructed. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on for dear life.

The Harley plummeted itself onwards and down the slope of the hill. Camilla tightened her hold until her arms hurt; “Bumpy ride” was the understatement of the century to describe their descent. She could feel every rock underneath the powerful wheels of the bike. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that it would all be over soon—all of it.

The desert whizzed by, the air whipping at her clothes and skin, making her long, auburn hair fly behind her like a veil.
How much longer?
she thought.
How much longer before Dirk’s prowess carried us to safety? How much longer before we leave those nightmarish creatures that were the Tar Mongols behind? How much longer will I have to be chased, hunted? How much longer will I have to be afraid?

She was really tired of the terror. It had crept up to her that day a mere few weeks ago—although it felt more like a lifetime had passed—when Tobias Alvarez had betrayed her and kidnapped her to deliver her to Herman Ruiz. The fear had snuck up on her that day, digging itself a place into her very self—muscles, tendons, nerves. Heart. Her heart was constantly afraid.

As the Harley continued its mad run through the Mojave Desert, Camilla kept her eyes closed and her forehead pressed against Dirk’s back. It was a surreal time, when she could do nothing but think the thoughts that ran through her head as crazily as the bike was running through the desert.

Try as she might to maintain a positive outlook even in these circumstances, Camilla couldn’t help but feel like this was it. For better or for worse, this was it. They were not going to escape the Tar Mongols. They would have to fight. Or rather, Dirk would have to fight. Once again, Camilla would be completely useless. She was also tired of feeling powerless, but this wasn’t her world; she didn’t know how to behave in it. She didn’t know how to act, what to do. She had no moves.

She thought back on that godawful night when she had made her escape from Dirk’s place in the desert and ended up stuck in a canyon with two bloodthirsty Tar Mongols for her efforts. She had been powerless then, too. If it weren’t for Dirk, she wouldn’t be here. Ruiz would have killed her already—after his men, and maybe him, too, had their way with her. It had been a very close call, and Camilla still shook every time she thought about it.

She knew that if they stopped, if they were forced to face the riders who were coming after them now, this time would be even worse. This time, it wasn’t just two men they had to deal with. She didn’t know how many Tar Mongols were currently hot on their tracks, but she knew there were enough. She cursed herself. She should have listened to Dirk. She should have stayed behind and let him go on his exploration. Now he was stuck with her, and she would be nothing but a liability.

“How’s it going back there?”

Dirk’s voice carried through to her as if from a great distance, even though he was right in front of her.

Camilla swallowed the lump of fear in her throat and forced her voice to remain steady. She was pleasantly surprised when it complied. There were no cracks in her voice as she said, “I’m good!”

She felt more than heard Dirk laugh in the wind. “Are you sure?”

Camilla scowled. She thought it was incredibly insensitive of him to make fun of her right now. “I’m fine!” she yelled again, and she could hear the anger in her voice.

Dirk heard it, too; she was sure of it, but he was completely unfazed by it, and he laughed again. “Hold on!” he said for what felt like the hundredth time, but this time Camilla had the feeling he wasn’t just talking about her holding onto him so as not to fall off the bike.

“Where are we even going anyway?” Camilla asked, yelling to be heard past the roar of the Harley and the howling of the wind.

“It doesn’t matter!” Dirk called back. “All that matters is that we lose them!”

“And are we?” Camilla asked. She couldn’t turn around to look for herself, otherwise she would have toppled off the saddle and maybe even brought Dirk and the bike with her, sending them all out of balance. “Are we losing them?”

“Doesn’t look like it for now!”

Well, fuck.

“Don’t worry!” Dirk said, as if he read her mind. “We’ll make it!”

“I don’t feel too confident!”

Dirk laughed one more time, and that was when Camilla realized that he wasn’t laughing at her. He was laughing because of what was happening. He was thrilled; he was exhilarated by the situation. It was the laughter of a madman who thrived in war and danger and blood and bullets.

Camilla shivered. She definitely did
not
like that notion. Not one bit. She lay her forehead against Dirk’s back, and she squeezed her eyes shut once again. She clenched her jaw to keep in the scream of frustration that had come to tickle at her throat.

She didn’t know how Dirk did it. She didn’t know how he had done it in Afghanistan, and she had no idea how he was doing it now. How did anyone thrive in this kind of predicament? Never like in that moment had Dirk Coleman seemed so alien to her.