Hard Rider (Bad Boy Bikers Book 1) (22 page)

“Don’t you dare leave here, Theodore Kirkpatrick. Don’t you
dare
—”

But the motor was already running, and he was in the wind. June held Ram, shaken, not knowing what else to do. She chided herself insanely for not knowing anything about first aid—when would she have ever learned first aid? What first aid class would have taught her how to treat a bullet wound?

But she chided herself all the same, ashamed that all she could do was wait and watch while Ram stood over his dying brother, desperately trying to staunch the bleeding still.

Finally the ambulance arrived. June started shouting out at the paramedics to come give a hand. They rushed to Mikhail on the concrete—obviously ready for this sort of thing.

“They’re here,” said June. “Don’t worry, they’re here.”

But it was too late. She looked back, saw Ram’s stricken face.

Mikhail was dead in his arms.

––––––––

T
he range of mistakes in this world widens by the day. Every hour someone fucks up their life or someone else's with a misstep, a miscalculation, a moment of envy or spite that follows them around for years. But in the range of fuck-ups on that particular day, Theo's rated pretty goddamn high.

Because Theo had just killed the best friend of Ram Maddox.

Ram's bike roared as he bolted down the streets of Marlowe, searching for any sign of Theo. He had ignored June’s insistence that he stop, that he slow down, that he wait for the police.

Didn’t she understand? The police were the problem. The police had done this—they had made it all worse.

The police were the reason for
all
of this. If they hadn’t shown up at
The Hammerin’ Nail
, he would have dealt with the Black Flags and Beretta and left them in the dust like they deserved, and then he and his brothers could have run this town like they were supposed to.

Beretta would have been a black scorch mark on the pavement in front of the bar, forever, until Ram came back later on and layered over what ash remained with tar—just to make sure nothing from that son of a bitch ever saw the light of day.

A small voice in his head informed him coolly that it wasn’t that simple, that these matters never were. He could no more factor out the police than he could the past. And he certainly couldn’t factor out his
own
implication in all of this—starting brawls, shitting on Theo for years, humiliating the police every chance he got just to raise their tempers and put them off-balance.

And Theo was certainly off-balance now, wasn’t he? How did that work out, Ram?

But the voice was drowned out, pushed down by a torrent of rage and the ineffable din of the engine between his legs. The heavy heat already oppressed and turned back every rational thought that came Ram's way, and his rage wouldn't allow one to stay inside of him.

Marlowe wasn’t a large place. The deputy couldn’t hide from Ram, and Ram knew more or less where he lived. Theo used to buy pot from Ram, way back in the day, and Ram would make house calls when he delivered. Street by street he rode now, faster and faster—through the city square, then through the market district, roaring through stop signs and red lights, past the mill and the feed factories, past the high school and the police station, through one neighborhood after another until—

There.

He saw Theo’s squad car, swaying drunkenly still in the street, no lessons learned. Who would pull him over, after all?

The car pulled up into a small house much like Ram’s, with a longer driveway that wrapped around to the back. Ram hopped off his bike, not even bothering to stop it. It landed in the grass on Theo's lawn, tumbling into the unkempt bushes there.

Roaring, Ram yanked Theo’s door open and snapped him out into the driveway. Theo tried, vainly, to hold on to his door but his grip wasn’t there. Ram kicked at his hands, knocking Theo's gun far away and feeling fingers break.

That was just the beginning. He slammed a knee down hard onto Theo’s chest and began to rear back, punching him hard in the skull with everything he had.

His mind snapped away to another place. Not seeing Theo at all—seeing Beretta. That asshole putting Madeline in the ground. And now here was another dead body to put in the ground for Ram, and he had all the anger in the world to do it with.

Theo tried to block, throwing up his elbows and forearms, but Ram's fists still punched through the defense, bloodying his face. Arms flailing, desperate, Theo grabbed a utility knife from his belt and slashed at Ram’s arm.

Ram swore in pain, backing up and grabbing at the long slash in his arm. The blood turned his vision red.

There was no reason left in him, no mercy.

“I didn’t mean it,” said Theo. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake. We just...it got so out of hand...”

Theo stood up unsteadily on one knee, a leg sliding out far to the side to keep him upright. The knife was loose in his broken hands, held like a baseball bat. He was beaten. Ram didn’t care.

It was possible Theo meant the apology. But that was beyond Ram's capacity at that moment. He tracked down Theo's gun in the grass, picked it up and aimed it. It was a heavy revolver, and it would only take one bullet to put Theo away forever.

A truck pulled up to Theo’s house—June. She was screaming something—calm down, stop it, something stupid like that. Ram ignored her, gaze affixed.

“Drop the knife.”

Theo gulped, looking down the thick barrel of his revolver.

“Drop it.”

“You’ll kill me.”

“What do you think I’ll do if you don’t drop that knife?”

Uneasy, Theo dropped the knife down to the curb. Ram rushed forward and whipped him across the skull with the haft of the pistol, opening Theo's head above his ear. He lost control of himself entirely then, kicking Theo in the ribs and shoulder, crunching down on anything that moved or squirmed. He was a madman, lost in rage, caring only for revenge. Neighbors were probably calling the police—he’d go to jail, but he didn’t care.

Finally he pointed the gun at Theo’s head. From up the road, somewhere distant but not that distant, he heard thunder approaching.

“I’m gonna kill you, Deputy.”

Something hard and heavy swatted at the back of his head, sending him stumbling. The hit came again, and Ram dropped, totally down, consciousness drifting out.

––––––––

A
s Theo regained consciousness, June was there in the room with him. She hadn't been able to go with Ram.

She had been the one to call Ace and tell him what had happened—and he brought the cavalry to spirit Ram away before the police could get him.

June was also the one who stopped Ram from shooting Theo, slapping him over the head with the tire iron from the back of his truck.

It was not something she enjoyed doing—it was, in fact, something she had been really terrified about doing. A solid blow to the head could kill a man or leave him a vegetable for the rest of his life. But she couldn't stand by and watch him kill her cousin.

She'd had her new family for less than a day and already it was trying to destroy itself. Wasn't this sort of thing supposed to happen around Thanksgiving?

June had a business idea. It involved gathering up an army of well-armed grizzly bears and dumping them in a circle, inside of which were all the men in a woman's life. The men weren't allowed to leave until they got along. For a hundred bucks, you could throw in a keg of beer. For two hundred bucks, the bears would be drunk too.

Sixteen hours had passed and Theo's condition was stabilizing. The room they had put him in was painted a light cream color with a long yellow stripe about waist level across the walls. There were cabinets in the corner that looked new. June sat in a chair near his side.

When the ambulance had brought Theo in, he was busted to pieces. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, his face a mess of gashes and bruises. Both his hands were broken in different places. The mess of his face was hard to look at, puffy and swollen. He looked like some cross between a blow fish and an open-faced sandwich.

Ram had done a number on him and he would have done more if June hadn’t stopped him.

She didn’t feel like she had a choice. She didn’t want to hit him—but he would have killed Theo. Wasn’t that the right thing?

A voice in her told her it was, indisputably. There was nothing to gain from Theo’s death, even if she would have thought, even then, that the dumb asshole had it coming. 

Between all that, some good luck had landed. Pet Luck had called and offered her a job. June explained she was in the middle of a family emergency and would have to call them back. She had no idea if she would go through with it or not.

After all that had happened, even being dead broke and in need of that job, she didn't know how she would stay in Marlowe. More and more she thought her best bet was just to beg for money from her mother so she could pay the deposit on an apartment in some completely other place. Midland, or Lubbock. Somewhere cheap and far away. Maybe another state altogether.

When Theo opened his eyes—barely possible, through a thin slit located between the swollen tissue of his eyelids—he smiled grimly at June.

“Hey, Juney.”

“Hi Teddy. How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a few different cars.” Talking was clearly an effort for him. “Did they get that son-of-a-bitch?”

“Do you mean the drunk asshole who murdered an innocent man on the street? I'm looking at him.”

Oh yes, she was definitely angry with him. Mikhail was a good man. He may have been a criminal, but he didn't deserve to be slaughtered on the street like a cow gone to market. Even worse was that she knew already that Theo would likely not have to serve any time for it—that her father would make sure it was marked down as self-defense.

There wasn't a court in Marlowe that would convict a cop of murder, maybe not even manslaughter. There was always a plan in place to protect the police of Marlowe, even when they were in the wrong.

Theo's sigh was long and distant. He blinked several times. “You know who I mean.”

“Ram? No. His brothers came to pick him up.”

“You don't sound disappointed.”

“Should I sound disappointed that my husband didn't get thrown in jail?”

“Husband?” Theo's face turned to one side, and he grimaced in pain. “Jesus...”

She didn't know if he swore because of the pain from moving or because of his disgust with her. There was a button near his broken hand for morphine, and he pressed it.

“You can think whatever you like of me, of Ram, of the both of us. I don't care, Theo. That's up to you. But you ought to take a look at yourself. You're an officer of the law. You're running around making threats, trying to shoot people just because you're sad about your friend dying.”

“He was
shot
—”

“By
someone
, I know, but hey, you know what? Let's say it was by Ram. Let's say it was by
me
. Let's say I was there and you really, really thought it was me who did it. Would you shoot me without any proof? And even if you had proof, where does it say in the law that a policeman can hunt down someone like they're game? You've been going crazy, Theo. There's no other way to describe it.”

“I just...I know he did it, I—”

“You don't know that. You don't know anything. All you know is your friend is dead.”

“But it was...your dad, he was certain it was the Wrecking Crew, and he said that...”

June stood up now. The morphine was really kicking in on Theo.

“What did he say? What did my dad say?”

“After the party. Said he had evidence. Said...couldn't use it. Got it the wrong way. Shame to...to let it go. That no one would say...nothing if Ram wound up dead.”

Theo drifted now, eyes still half-open, but there was nothing inside.  He drifted in a painless near-sleep, no longer present in the world.

So that's how it was.

It wasn't enough for her father to disapprove of her coupling with Ram, wasn't enough for him to simply want his family to be “back the way it always was.”

Her father was willing to lie to his own men to get his own murderous way.

And what was that about evidence he couldn't use? Why would he have evidence he couldn't use that Ram was there? June trusted Ram, and if he said that none of the Wrecking Crew killed the cop, that meant they didn't, as far as she was concerned. Some doubt still niggled at her, but she wanted to follow that thread where it led.

She made two assumptions, realizing that both might be fallacious.

The first was that Sheriff Colt
did
have some evidence of who killed the cop at
The Hammerin' Nail
. It wasn't that far of a stretch; her father had been in professional law enforcement for more than thirty years, and unfortunate though it was, being required to pick apart the pieces of a gang shootout wasn't exactly uncommon.

The second assumption she made was neither Ram nor the rest of the Wrecking Crew did it. She knew he was there—and she knew the Black Flags were there. That left either police friendly fire or the Black Flags who killed the cop.

If it were the police, would her father blame the Wrecking Crew to save the face of her department? By why only the Wrecking Crew, and not the Black Flags? And what evidence would there be that he couldn't use? In fact, if it were the police, the autopsy report would show it almost immediately—and that got released to the public.

So, it had to be a Black Flag, but why would her father not say so? Why would he protect them?

How many pots did he have his finger in?

––––––––

“H
ow is he, doc?”

Sheriff Colt had an imposing presence and for once, thought June, it was rather useful for him. Normally, it took ages to ever get responses or information from a doctor. But since all the doctors knew the Sheriff—and were, therefore, as law-abiding people, rather scared of him—they kept him current on any happenings with Theo.