They got Rana. Whoevertheyare. All I know about Iron Frontier MC is that they’re racist and they want me or Zeb dead.
They have my friend captive.Not dead. I don’t think she’s dead.
I don’t want to believe that Rana could be dead.
I’m a zombie operating on autopilot. I fill up the motorcycle with gas and buy a map. I don’t want to rouse suspicion or stay anywhere too long, so I drive East until I see the familiar golden arches of a highway McDonald’s. It’s amazing how you can form a trauma bond to McDonald’s on road trips. I sit in the parking lot, not worried at all about anybody bothering me as I study my map and try to reason my way out of the situation I’m in.
It’s getting hot, so I might need to spend more time inside another McDonald’s later so the sun doesn’t kill my ass on the highway. Using my map, I identify what might have been the gas station where they snatched me and Rana up. There are no labels, just little icons identifying gas and restaurant stops…
I head inside the McDonald’s because now I need a pen. I order a chicken sandwich and when the cashier turns around, I steal a pen off the counter and disappear to a seat in the back of the restaurant while I wait. I circle the gas station on the map where Ithinkthey got Rana from. Then, I try to reason out where the hell they might have taken her. Or where I originally left Zebulon.
My first goal is to head West once the sun goes down a bit. I finish my chicken sandwich. On my way back towards the gas station where I last saw Rana, my body fights to pull me away from the scene of the crime.
I could save myself instead of potentially getting shot, killed, kidnapped or worse by a dangerous biker gang. Maybe I should worry about the cops being at the gas station, but it doesn’t even cross my mind. Enough time has passed that if therewerea cop around here, he would be running surveillance or something. I should be careful. This gas station could have cameras too and I haven’t put a lot of work into hiding my appearance.
It hits me for the first time that maybe I’m already way too deep in Zebulon’s lifestyle to escape. My efforts to use Rana as a springboard to get out of my biker gang affiliation not only failed, but possibly got my best friend killed. The guilt eats away at me. Especially because as soon as I’m done at this gas station, I’ll have to find Zeb – the same man I did all this to get away from.
I park my bike behind a big Mac truck, hopeful that does enough for me to avoid detection. I keep the keys in my pocket within easy reach so even in a hurry and with shaky hands, I can grab them and start the bike’s engine. I don’t even notice until I notice a trucker staring at me bewildered that I’m not wearing a helmet.
You couldn’t have paid me to get on the back of that bike without a helmet before. I walk away from his truck quickly justso he doesn’t get a good look at my face. I walk towards the gas station convenience store entrance, searching for signs of the rental car. It’s not there. I don’t know why I foolishly hoped it would be.
But there’s something odd about this situation. It’s close to sundown and there’s no bloodstains on the ground. No broken glass. No sign thatanythinghappened here. Do police clean up crime scenes this well this quickly? I’m nervous about walking into the convenience store, but the person inside wouldn’t have seen me the first time I came here with Rana.
Plus, it was hours ago. As easy as it is for me to convince myself that I should just walk into the store, it’s just as easy for me to generate a hundred ways this could go wrong. I talk myself into it for Rana. And because when I find Zeb, I want him to know that I’m not totally useless.Maybe I thought I was, but I was wrong.
There’s a tall, red-haired eighteen year old boy working at the register. I don’t know if he’s actually eighteen, but he has a much more youthful face than I do. He smiles big when I walk into the gas station, and I appreciate the total transparency younger men have about how attractive they find a woman. He can’t hide the look on his face.
I don’t think I have to worry about the cops.
“How’s it going ma’am,” he says, grinning from ear to ear.Men.
“I’m alright, thank you sir. How about you?”
“I’m doing alright. Can I help you out with anything today? Zyns?”
White boy, do I look like I Zyn?
“I’m alright. I’ve just had one hell of a day,” I tell him, flashing my eyelashes half-aggressively at the boy behind the counter. I’m not proud of myself for flirting with a guy who is abarely legal adult, but it’s for a good cause – keeping my ass out of prison.
“Bad boyfriend?”
“Nothing like that,” I tell him, winking at him. “I’m single. What about you? Has it been crazy over here? It seems like the kind of place that might have cartel activity. I saw a TikTok about that…”
Don’t overexplain, hoe!!!My inner voice is going crazy. I don’t just feel my heart throbbing out of control, I can taste metal on the back of my tongue. The guy behind the counter doesn’t notice and even if he did, he wouldn’t give a fuck because his eyes are glued to my boobs.
“Oh, I just came in an hour ago to help out a friend. You know Hollingsworth bourbon?” he says, green eyes sparkling at me as he gets all flirty and name drops what must be some type of family connection.
“I’ve had a few sips.”
“My family owns it,” he says. “And a bunch of gas stations. This is just a summer gig… In case you were wondering if a guy my age could afford to take you out.”
Okay. This time, I’m in seriously hot water.
“I… I’m taken. I’m sorry. I just… I’ll take a pack of American Spirits and a phone charger.”
I don’t even smoke. I feel stupid, but again, the red-haired man is totally oblivious. He might grow up to be quite handsome, but even if it weren’t for Zeb, he’s way too young for me.
He winks, all ego like men his age usually are. “Don’t be sorry. Happy to be of service to a beautiful woman regardless.”
