Page 85 of Motorycle Daddies

“I need to go help,” the prospect who brought me out here says as he grabs my arm and looks at me, panicked. “Stay back here and you’ll be safe…I hope.” Before I can protest, he takes off toward the house, and not back through the basement passage.

I whisper a little prayer to whatever god might be listening as I duck down behind some bushes. I feel exposed out here and sort of like I might pass out, but I have no other option than to stay out here and hope for the best.

I see few motorcycles in the distance, coming around from the front of the property, and I sigh in relief as I recognize a few of the guys. Grizzly and Dart are not among them, but I’m happy Trap won’t be alone in this fight…well, him and the prospect who brought me here.

All I can do is wait until something happens…what, I’m not sure. Even as I see the smoke rise from the house and assume it’s on fire, I’m still clueless about what big thing needs to happen before this will all be over.

More guns ring out as I hold my breath, wondering how long I need to wait before I try to help them. I know I’m in no condition to do that, but something has to be done. I can’t just sit here and let them all get hurt like this. I take a step toward the house when I hear a sound coming from my left in the direction of the exit from the basement. I crawl behind the bush as I feel my heartbeat in my head. The pain meds haven’t had time to kick in.

I watch as I see a shadowed figure coming out from the door hidden in the side of the hill. I hold my breath to wait to see if this is friend or foe. I don’t know what I’ll do if this is one of the guys trying to get me as some sort of payback for whatever hell my father has committed.

I sit a moment longer, looking between leaves, letting out a sigh of relief when I see that it’s Trap running out of the hole in the hill. He’s looking everywhere for me.

“Trap,” I say with a raspy voice as I stand to my feet.

“Get down,” is all he can say as he quickly slides in behind me. “My bike has been compromised. That kid who brought you here is dead, but he took a bullet for me. I got out, but I know they saw me come this way…we have to get out of here,” he says breathlessly.

I nod as I gather the bag with my medication and belongings in it. Trap throws it over his shoulder and helps me up off the ground the moment we hear shouting coming from down the hall toward the basement escape. I fight the urge to scream when we hear more and more shouting as Trap and I begin to run through the woods.

“There’s a backup bike back here, but we have to drive it through the property to get out to the main road,” Trap says in a whisper as he takes my hand and we run through the trees.

My eyes are blurry and I hold his hand tightly in mine. He attempts to pick me up, but I know I’ll just be a burden on him, so I shake my head as I continue to move as quickly as I can.

My body aches as I run, and my head spins, but I keep upright as I hear shouting behind us.

“They’re catching up to us,” I say as we push our bodies even more. “The baby isn’t liking this,” I add as nausea floods my system.

“It’s just up here,” Trap says as we round another tree, and I can see blood trickling from his arm.

“You’re hurt,” I say, trying to focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

“It’s a knife wound to my upper arm, I’m fine,” he grunts, and I see him flex his fingers on the hand of the arm that is hurt.

I don’t say anything else to him as we make our way to a small shed in the clearing at the back of what I assume is the property line. I stand for a few seconds as Trap breaks down the door, runs in, and comes out on a now running motorcycle. With my body protesting each second, I hold tight to my bag and slide myself behind him. It’s all done so quickly that the bike barely pauses for a second.

As we buzz down the small man-made road I was right to assume was put here for a motorcycle, the shouts of the men coming through the woods draw our attention. There are easily thirty or more guys storming through the trees now that we’re leaving the clearing.

I flip them off as we go by, the same moment they open fire.

“Fuck!” I scream.

“Are you hit?” he bellows over the wind whipping past us, threatening to pull me off with it. “I swear to god if they shoot you?—”

“No,” I cut him off, in a breath that sounds like a gasp.

Gunfire is still swooshing around us. I don’t know where it’s coming from exactly, some behind us and some ahead off to the side where the house now stands, completely on fire. The roof is being licked in flames and all I can think about is how we were just asleep on the couch inside.

Then, a shot rings out. My heart stops as the bike sways to the side a little. Then a second shot.

“Shit, they got the bike,” he says at the exact moment a bullet enters his upper arm, cutting clear through, narrowly missing my arms and his other arm as it flies past. “Holy fuck,” he screams as the bike lurches once again, but he rights it before we can get out of control again.

He screams out in agony as I think about what I can do to help him. There’s nothing, absolutely nothing…but I have to think of something.

Blood spurts from his arm where the bullet has pierced through his leather. Bullets are still narrowly missing us both, but all I can think about is helping him. His arm hangs limp as he uses one arm to drive us out of this place. I don’t know how he’s staying upright, let alone on the road.

Even as we break through the crowd of fighting, both our guys and theirs, and long after we pull onto the main road, he keeps moving forward. I fish in the bag at my side for anything I might find to stop the bleeding as the bike comes to a sputtering stop.

“It hit the tank, we’re out of gas,” he groans as he moves us to the side of the road by the house and we jump off.

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