“In a heartbeat.” With that one statement, my fate was sealed.
I didn’t know how any escape could work. Piero had left one of hissoldatooutside the door, ostensibly for my protection. It was the third day in the hospital when the world erupted with gunshots out in the parking lot. The sounds had gotten today’s guard, Roberto, leaving his post by my door, and rushing away to see what the commotion was.
From there, it all went like clockwork. A man wearing a biker’s leather vest, with the patches on the front denoting both that his name was Irish and that he was the VP, had strolled into my room pushing a wheelchair. Before I could blink, I was in it, then traveling down in the elevator from where I was taken to a blacked-out SUV and settled with pillows and blankets in the back.
Perhaps I was foolish to put my life in the hands of a man I’d only just met, but I immediately trusted Irish. I didn’t understand why he was so invested in helping me, but I was grateful he did. He was putting miles between me and my abusive husband, and that was all I needed to know. Once the initial fears of being caught had faded, I’d relaxed. And, being doped up with painkillers, I’d fallen asleep, waking only when we slowed and stopped at a gas station.
I roused only to ask, “Where are we?”
“We’ve just crossed into New Jersey. Got to top off the tank.” His grimace as he checked in on me made me realise I must have looked as bad as I felt. “Sorry, doll. We’ve got another three hours to go today. You think you can make it?” He’d rifledthrough his pockets and brought out a couple of bottles, which he handed to me along with some water. “Painkillers, antibiotics and shit. Rose, your nurse, gave them to me for you.”
“What’s going to happen to me?” I’d asked, conscious I was still wearing a hospital gown. I had no clothes and no money.
“For now, you’re in the hands of the Kings of Anarchy,” he’d grunted. “We’ve got no love for the Mafia, or men who abuse women. We’ll get you somewhere safe where he’ll never look for you and just trust the rest will fall into place.”
I didn’t have the strength to do much else. It was evening when we’d arrived at a place called Dead Man’s Hollow. I’d needed Irish’s arm around me when he led me into a clubhouse full of men wearing vests that carried the same insignia as the one he was wearing, except for the patch on the back that read Pennsylvania rather than New York. To be honest, my head was spinning, pain was bending me double, and introductions went in one side and out the other. I vaguely recalled their prez was called Ransom, and his VP was Stone.
Irish had taken me to a very welcome bed. While I was getting myself settled, a girl wearing clothes in which I wouldn’t be seen dead had entered the room. She’d brought something for me to wear in the morning to replace the hospital gown. Seeing how she was dressed, I was nervous about what she’d considered suitable, then pleased when I discovered the pile consisted of a couple t-shirts, a lightweight sweater, and sweatpants that would be easy to wear. There was no underwear. I’d have to live without panties, but no bra didn’t worry me. My broken ribs meant wearing one would have been agony.
“Who was that?” I’d asked Irish, once she had left.
He’d chuckled. “She’s a sweet butt, a club girl.” My eyes had creased, not understanding the term.
He hadn’t enlightened me. Instead, he’d supervised me taking my medication, then left. Although my sleep had beenuneasy and restless, it was morning when I’d finally awoke to find Irish standing by the side of my bed and the restorative aroma of the cup of coffee that had been placed on the nightstand.
As I drank it, he informed me, “I gotta get back to my ol’ lady and kids. But Wheels, the Pennsylvania road captain, will take you from here. It’s about a four-and-a-half-hour drive to Ohio, and the Kings there will give you a bed for the night.”
I shivered. While I hadn’t known Irish before yesterday, I was nervous about him leaving. Reading my mind, he told me, “You’ll be safe with Wheels. Oh, and I’ve been putting feelers out. You want to put as much distance as possible between you and New York. I’ve got you a place to stay until you heal. It’s with the Kings in Arizona. Their clubhouse is right down south, not far from the Mexican border. Most importantly, they’ve got a doctor on call who is qualified to treat your injuries and who’ll keep his mouth shut. Just another few days, and you’ll be there, okay?”
Arizona? I’d never been out of New York before. I didn’t know what to expect. But it certainly put the desired distance between Piero and me. When I’d reached out my hand, he’d placed his in it. “Thank you, Irish.”
He shrugged off my gratitude. “You’ve got my number. Just check in when you get settled.”
Adrenaline must have fuelled me yesterday. Today, all my injuries made themselves known. In agony, I could barely take in anything as I left the Pennsylvania clubhouse, and I couldn’t tell you anything about the man who drove me to Ohio. I did little but sleep in the back seat of the truck, only rousing when Wheels stated we were coming to the end of our journey and approaching a town called Raven’s Crest.
The rest had recuperated me. Easing myself into a sitting position, I’d looked out at the fields that we were passing. Itwas totally different from the built-up cityscape I was used to. There was even a scarecrow standing dark and tall, and a little bit ominous in the middle of a field… Oh, um…I rubbed my eyes. I must have been imagining things. There was now just a pole standing where I thought a scarecrow had been.
We arrived at an old barn which had obviously been remodelled, standing three stories tall. Wheels had helped me inside, patient as I’d walked hunched over with my arms wrapped around me, supporting my ribs, each step pulling at the stitches where my spleen had been removed. Any energy I thought I’d regained had slowly seeped away as I tried to give Scythe, their president, the respect I thought he deserved.
There was another man who introduced himself as Phantom. With eyes narrowing at the state I was in, he offered to show me to the room I’d be staying in. As it was upstairs, he’d ended up carrying me. When I turned to thank him, he was no longer solid. He looked like he was slowly disappearing. I’d rubbed my head frantically. All this travelling must be hell on my concussion. My brain was fucking with me.
I was brought food and drink by a girl who dressed much like the one who’d provided clothing in Pennsylvania the night before. The same girl brought me breakfast the next morning, and a man entered the room behind her. After delivering the food on the tray, she’d make a point to brush up against the as yet unidentified male, blatantly placing her hand on his dick. He’d ignored her and brusquely pushed her away, which I thought was strange.
That was when he’d told me he was Mountain, the Ohio VP. He stated that, as he had business in Indiana, my apparent next destination, he’d drive me there himself. Again, I was flagging. Being taken from state to state wasn’t helping my injuries heal. I did ask Mountain to thank his girlfriend for bringing me food, and he nearly busted a gut laughing, telling me she was justone of their sweet butts. I still didn’t have a clue what the term meant.
My next stop was Tranquility, Indiana. Once there, it didn’t surprise me to learn all the men here were ex-military. There was just that vibe about the club. Again, I was treated kindly. I found out one of their businesses was running a protection service, so it made sense they didn’t mind helping me. It was their enforcer, Incubus, or Bus as he told me to call him, who took me on the next stage of my journey. I managed to stay awake this time, and he was happy to talk. He patiently answered my questions about the Kings of Anarchy, the chapters they had in almost all the states, but how they were all run independently. He explained about the hierarchy, the officer roles, and how new members, called prospects or recruits, could join. And when I’d asked that burning question about the strangely named and inadequately dressed club girls or sweet butts, he’d laughed loudly. He hadn’t held back while explaining them to me. It’s embarrassing to admit, looking back now, that my first thought had been how any woman would sign up to let themselves be used little better than prostitutes on the street.
Bus had dropped me off with the chapter of the Kings in Missouri. There had been some exclamation about the state I was in. Apparently, I was healing slowly. Another bed, another sweet butt assigned to look after me, and the next day, a continuation of my journey.
When I’d first been rescued by Irish, I’d had a warped view of motorcycle clubs. If you’d have asked me, I’d have said they were organised gangs, smaller but no less evil than the Mafia. This journey quickly made it clear to me that, at least where the Kings of Anarchy were concerned, they were, more than anything, a family.
Oklahoma came and went, and I was impressed by my treatment once again, then I arrived in New Mexico. It wasto be my last stop before my final destination. The long days of travelling had taken their toll on my already battered and beaten body. By then, I just wanted to get to my journey’s end. Somewhere I could rest and concentrate on healing. Of course, I had concerns about how long they’d let me stay at my final destination, and what would happen when I’d recovered. For now, I tried to put those worries to the back of my mind. They were tomorrow’s problems.
At least, tonight I was hungry and ate in the clubroom alongside the men. Baffle, the young VP, had made a phone call in my presence.
“Bullseye? She’ll be with you tomorrow. You got that doc of yours on speed dial? She’s not looking good.”
Gee, thanks, Baffle. I thought my looks were improving, but apparently not. Yellowing eyes were not much of an improvement over black, it would seem.
