The Run (The Hell's Disciples MC Book 4) (28 page)

The sound is deafening, instantly ripping me from my sleep. A quick succession of monstrously loud pops scream through the silence. The sound of wood splintering, glass shattering, and metal hitting metal follows.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The sound that follows each pop is louder, meaner, and stronger. A boom echoes off the mountains before another deafening boom follows in its wake.

I shoot up, just as a bullet whistles by my face, connecting with the mirror above the old sink. The glass explodes and shatters. Shards of glass rain down into the old, icky carpet.

“Fuck.”

It all happens within seconds.

Buck is up out of bed at the same time, the instant the first pop and boom sounded, but it feels like a lifetime. Throwing an arm across my chest, Buck damn near clotheslines me in the process of pushing me back, flat on the bed. Leaping off the side, he jerks on my arm, silently pulling me across the bed and onto the floor with him.

Opening my mouth the speak, Buck jerks his head back and forth, holding a finger up to his lips, effectively shutting my words down. My heart beats wildly in my chest. I can’t hear anything above my heartbeat and the flow of blood rushing through my ears. My stomach rolls and my head pounds. What the fuck is happening?

Staring at the pea green carpet, I blink back the daze. Fog from sleep dissipates when I see Buck jerking on his jeans a foot away from me. Holy fuck! What is he doing?  Lacing his boots, he goes for a closet, then grabs my hand.

“Get in there,” He barks in a harsh whisper. Pushing me towards the open door, I don’t argue. Who would when he replaces me in the closet for the shotgun he pulls out?

Sitting on the closet floor, I watch through the slots in the paneled door as Buck walks to the motel door and throws it wide open. Has he lost his fucking mind? Those were some goddamn gunshots! People out there are shooting at us.

There’s no more noise. No voices, no shots ... nothing. There’s an eerie quiet as Buck just stands there, gun ready, his naked back to me. In short, quick, jerky hand movements, Buck gestures to someone I can’t see. 

Looking over his shoulder at me, he gives me a sad smile and whispers, “Cover your ears.”

15 - Shootin’ Blind

Buck

I shoot blindly. Shotgun in hand, I spray a line of shells into the darkness. I can’t see more than a couple hundred yards into the woods directly in front of me, and in the clearing to my left, I can only see about a mile and a half out, but I don’t see a goddamn thing worth shooting at.

Somewhere out there, a couple cocky assholes are shooting at me, but fuck if I can return the favor. I know they can see me, their bullets riddled in the side of the motel let me know they’ve got eyes on the place. Someone knew we were here tonight, and exactly where to shoot.

Looking around, I see Rock standing on the roof of the bar with Mossy at his back, both armed to the teeth. Poncho is out there somewhere, scouting. At the other side, about four miles away, I know Dan’s already on patrol. There’s no way in hell he slept through that shit.

Not how I saw my night going. Standing half-naked, shotgun in hand, and Lennon in a damn closet is not my idea of a good night.

Staring out of the doorway into nothing, I start thinking this is all one related thing; the dead brother, the missing money, and now the shots. Someone is out for blood. It’s nothing new. I think at some point in time, all of us shit-heads have had a bounty out on us. In this line of work, it’s pretty damn impossible not to piss someone off.

Footsteps behind me startle the fuck out of me. Spinning around, I make moves for the shotgun, only to see Lennon standing there, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Jesus, darlin’. You’re gonna get yourself shot sneaking up on me like that.” 

“What just happened?” Lennon whispers back, peeking around from behind me out the door. “Those were gunshots, right?”

“Right, and there could be more, so take your cute little ass back inside.”

“What? You could get shot standing here too.” Like I don’t know that. I might survive a couple of holes in me, but I’m not sure Lennon could, and I’d rather not find out.

“Better me than you.”

Waiting it out, I listen and look for something, anything, but I don’t find a anything. Sitting on the bed with Lennon, I wait. The punk bitches must’ve ran on back to whatever hole they crawled out of.

Thirty minutes later, there’s a knock on the door, and Lennon leaps a fucking foot. “What was that?” She asks, looking around.

“The door.” Fuck, she’s cute.

Standing on the other side of the door is Dan, and he doesn’t look happy to be awake. Pistol in hand, hanging by his side, he’s standing there looking tired as hell. 

“Someone’s shootin’ at us.”

“Yeah, I heard.” I confirm, gesturing him in, but he doesn’t move, just keeps glancing over his shoulder as he stands in front of the door.

“Can’t come in. I got motherfuckers to hunt!” Dan yells the word loudly over his shoulder. “Probably should take Lennon back up the mountain, brother. Lookin’ at the motel, it looks like they were shootin’ to kill.”

“Fuck, anyone hurt?” He doesn’t have to tell me, his face gives it away. 

“Ben’s been hit.”

Double fucking shit.

Sitting on the couch in the clubhouse, Ben glares at me when I walk in with Lennon holding my hand like a lifeline, but that assholes eyes get even meaner when he sees her. He better pack that shit in.

“You do this, bitch?” Ben barks at Lennon, trying to get off the couch. His shin is a bloody mess. Don’t look like he’s going anywhere in a hurry. “Should kill ya ‘n save Buck the fucking heartache.” Yeah, that’s not gonna happen. “You’re tryin’ to kill him.”

“You’ll be going through me, dickweed.” Swear to fuck, if he pulls a gun anywhere near her, I’ll shoot him before he even has a chance to cock his gun. 

Lennon leans closer to me and asks, “Why would I hurt you?” Good fucking question.

Laughing cynically, Ben snorts. “Because you’re a fuckin’ rat.”

“What?”

I don’t want to, but I look at Lennon, gauging her reaction, but there is none. She just stares back at Ben with nothing but impassive eyes. If anything, she’s tough, because she’s not backing down from Ben.

“Sit the fuck down,” Dan bellows, cutting though the tension. “Now! Called Tank ‘n his guys. Time for us to lock this shit down.”

Never in my goddamn life did I think I’d rather be driving my truck than my bike, but right now, plowing down the highway with someone actively shooting at us, I wish like fuck I had a cage for at least a little more damn protection.

Dan sent me back up the mountain for more firepower. Couldn’t leave Lennon there, worried like shit that Ben might try to off her when I wasn’t looking. So, I’m forced to take her back with me.

“Someone shoots, you keep your head down.” I shout over my shoulder. She’s hanging on to me a little tighter than usual.

“Yeah, okay,” she agrees easily. Burying her face in my back, I feel her relax into me. I wish like fuck that she wasn’t thrown into this with me, but I try like hell to feel bad for putting her in harms way, but I can’t. No, I don’t want anything to happen to her. I’m too damn selfish to wish I hadn’t met her. For the first time in a long goddamn time, I’m happy, and it feels fucking good.

Pulling up in front of the house, I kill the engine and hop off with Lennon in tow. Hand in mine, I drag her behind me. Can’t stand out here like sitting ducks. Walking across the driveway takes forever. Glancing around, I look for something or someone out of place.

“Buck.”

“Quiet, darlin’.”

Throwing the front door open, I pull us inside, shut and lock that shit up tight.

Standing in the middle of the living room, Lennon looks stunned, looking directly at me, but through me at the same time.

“Lennon.”

“Someone could have shot you.” I’m well aware. I don’t need a playback.

“I know, babe.”

“Holy shit.”

Grabbing her face in my hands, I pull her head up, eyes level with mine. “Babe, I need you to listen to me.”

“Okay.”

“In the hall closet, grab the bag on the floor,” I tell her, going for the bedroom door.

Grabbing shit from under the bed, I start pulling out bags, tossing that shit out of my way. I know my shotgun is somewhere under here. Lennon’s little hatbox is next. Tossing it out of my way, it lands with a hard thud, and I do something I wish I never did.

Looking at it, I see bills all over the floor. A fuck ton of money is scattered everywhere, and my heart fucking drops.

I should fucking stop, but I don’t. I should be focused on the shooter, should be worried about getting more firepower and back down the mountain, but I can’t see past the bills.

I dig through her bag and box, looking for God knows what, but the more I dig, the more I wish I hadn’t. Everything I find makes me think I’ve been had, played. Lennon’s fucking hustled me.

Lennon

The bedroom floor is littered with bills. Tens, twenties, hundreds. All my secrets are all over the floor, around Buck’s boots, finally out in the open. The sinking of my heart is palpable. It’s suffocating, making it hard to find air. Hitting the bricks, taking off running is the only thing I can think to do, but my legs won’t move. 

Glancing around Buck’s body, I see it all. All of my stuff; clothes, the little bag of pictures I have, make-up, shoes, and in a small pile on the bed are all my plastic personalities. My smiling face is on each new identity with different names, birth dates, and a different addresses.

I’ve always wondered what it would be like when someone found out. I wondered if I’d care, or how it would feel, and now I know. It feels fucking horrible. Not because I’ve lied, but because Buck, as untrusting as he is, was starting to trust me. I managed to ruin it all with one small box of secrets.

“What is all this shit?” He demands. My words won’t come, their stuck in my throat. “My life,” I manage to utter into the hollow silence. It’s a life I’m oddly proud of on most days, yet in this moment, I’m overwhelmingly embarrassed of.

“What is it?” He bellows, swiping a hand around the room. Buck’s looking at me like I’m a stranger; his eyes are suspicious and haunted. I don’t understand what he’s getting at. What more does he want me to say? My life is what it is. Seep down to the roots, to the bones of it, and there’s my life.

“My life,” I repeat slowly. There’s no better explanation. My secrets aren’t pretty or glamorous, but they’re mine, and they’re part of what little I do have.

Grabbing a hand full of ID’s, Buck’s face falls as he quickly thumbs through them, reading out loud, each name, “Sarah, Megan, Christy, Lisa.” His voice grows increasingly irritated with each name he reads. Tossing them down on the bed, he steps closer to me and narrows his eyes. “Who are these women, and why the fuck is your face on their ID’s?”

“Buck?” I say carefully. Why is he not understanding me?

“Tell me!”

What do I say? That it all started at ten with stolen library books? I’d check them out and we’d move before I could return them, so I kept them. Then my mom would make me sell them to used bookstores for a little extra cash. It was money for her habit.

“Lennon!” He screams, slamming his hands down on the dresser next to the bed.

With a little jump, I answer him. “Okay.”

I tell him everything, from the beginning, to this very moment.

I was twelve when she taught me that standing on the shoulder of a freeway ramp with a sign and a cute face could get us money, even more money for her habit.

At sixteen, my mom taught me how to hustle harder. With a fake ID, I could get into bars and casinos. With it, I was able to hustle people out of money over pool, darts, cards, and craps. At first it worked, but after a while, it wasn’t enough money for her anymore, so we upped the game.

Turned eighteen and learned men were the easiest and most profitable targets. It was dates and their cash. It was smiles and pawnable jewelry. It was time spent and my rent paid. Stealing their wallets when it was over, or asking for money in favor of my time kept her habit fed until it wasn’t enough anymore.

Twenty-one is when she pushed me to the brink. Banks. I’d get a job at some small local bank. Cash would come up missing, and so would I. We’d run, hit the road, and never look back.

My mother is greedy, and in a way, I am too. I’m greedy with the need to keep her habit fed and her out of my life, so I do what I have to do to keep her alive, and me as far away from her as possible.

It’s been two years since I’ve stepped away from that life, and yet I carry around my secrets like a shield, just in case I need to fall back on them.

“You’ve been lying to me. That shit make you feel good?” Buck booms, his face heartbreakingly angry while he watches and waits for an explanation. Rubbing at his beard, he paces.

I’m not fucking happy with the life I’ve led, but I do what I have to with no remorse. I’ve never killed anyone, and I’ve never lied. I might not have confessed outright, but I’ve never, not once lied.