The men left, but they came back every Friday. My father found a way to pay until the day he couldn’t. He riled up the other shopkeepers and ambushed the club when they came into town to collect. No one died, but the bikers ended up in the hospital. A few days later, we received a visitor. One biker showed up. His patch read ‘Whip - Enforcer.’ He told my dad to get out of town and take me with him. He warned my dad that the others were coming for me. My dad did as he ordered. We disappeared for a week. When we returned, the club no longer existed. Word was that one of theirs had set them up to take a fall. I didn’t have to ask who. I already knew. Whip.
“We’re here,” the driver says when he pulls up in front of the hotel.
I blink at the lighted entrance as I gather my belongings. A bellhop opens my door and offers me his hand. I take it and slide out of the taxi. The driver has the trunk open to retrieve my bags when I hear a noise that freezes me. The roar of motorcycles grabs my attention. My hand shakes as three motorcycles pull up ahead of the taxi. I glance at them and suck in a breath. I recognize the kuttes. Adelaide Bushrangers. The valet rushes over to them, which gives me a view of one of the men. Menace.
“Oh, shit,” I mutter.
“Ma’am,” the bellhop says, his eyebrows hiking.
“I have to get out of here,” I mutter. Turning to the driver, I tell him to stop. “I need you to drive me somewhere else. Please. It’s important.”
The driver gawks at me, but shoves my bags back into the trunk before returning to the driver’s seat. The bellhop closes my door as I turn my attention to the driver.
“I need you to take me to the Demon Dawgs clubhouse. It’s a matter of life and death,” I tell him.
“The Demon Dawgs? You’re sure?”
“Yes, please. I know it sounds strange, but I have to speak to one of them. Please.”
“Does this have to do with them?” he asks, nodding at the bikers disappearing inside the hotel.
“Yes.”
He shakes his head, but pulls away from the curb.
My eyes dart around as he drives through the city. I can’t stop trembling as I think about the men I saw. Why were they here? Was it just a coincidence that Whip is here, too? I can’t help but think that it isn’t. They’re here looking for Whip. I know it. I can feel it.
When the car stops, I glance out the window and see we’re stopped in front of a large metal gate. Someone taps on the driver’s window, causing me to let out a squeak. The driver glances at me as he rolls down the window.
“I have a passenger who said it is important to see one of your members,” the driver explains. The man leans down and studies me. I can read the word ‘Prospect’ on his denim kutte.
“Who do you want to see?”
“Whip,” I tell him.
“No one here by that name. Sorry.”
“But I saw him earlier, on the highway. I know it’s him. He’s Australian.”
The prospect stands up and gestures for us to drive inside.
“I hope you aren’t going to get me killed,” the driver mutters as he drives through and parks.
I ignore him as I climb out of the car. Several people come out of the clubhouse, but I only have eyes for one. He’s grown older since the last time I saw him. However, I’m relieved when I see the recognition in his eyes.
“Whip, thank God. You’re in danger. He’s here. I saw him at my hotel. I think he came here for you.”
“Zara?”
“Who’s here?” the man next to him asks. I recognize him, he’s the large man with a beard who rode in front of the others. His kutte says President with his road name ‘Chrome’ below.
“Menace,” I answer.
Chrome looks at Whip to explain.
“Menace was the SOA for the Adelaide Bushrangers. He’s one of the men I betrayed.”
CHAPTER 3: BUSH
