Page 13 of Maverick

Outside, the cool night air soothed my battered face. My motorcycle, a new matte black Harley, waited in the narrow lot behind the bar, reminding me I didn’t completely hate being a Road Monster. I fished out a rag from my saddlebag and wiped the blood off my arms as best I could. The distant hum of city traffic reminded me I was still in the underbelly of some nameless backstreet. Places like the Velvet Rooster drew outlaws like me. We drifted in, we drifted out, leaving disasters in our wake.

I took a moment to breathe, resting against the seat. Memories coursed through my skull, each one like a fresh bruise. The first time I met Kingpin in Nashville, the way he set his sights on Eve right away. Then me finding out she cheatedwhile I was still reeling from the miscarriage she and I had suffered. But the truth was, I hadn’t been faithful to her either. I hadn’t even been kind. I drove her to it.

I thought of the rage that consumed me as I pushed her away, pushed her toward Kingpin. My petty revenge, stealing awayhiswoman, Sky, who turned out not to be carrying his baby at all. The baby was some other bastard’s, and eventually I learned that bastard wasn’t a Royal Bastard, not a biker at all, but a mobster named Ralph Getty.

Sky and I had ended up in Alaska, living under the names Owen and Savannah Black, with her kid Caden. We even got married. Then we came back when I joined the Road Monsters, ran a safe house. For a while, it felt normal, stable. But fate always had a twisted sense of humor.

Our baby died in a miscarriage, just like the one I’d lost with Eve. And that’s when the wedge drove between Sky and me. Next thing I knew, she was gone, not even giving me a chance to fix things. Or maybe I was too broken to fix shit. She’d run off, or so I thought, got kidnapped but no, after that dust settled, she went to Getty, her son’s real father all on her own, helped him double cross his uncle and cousin, kill them to take over the Music City Syndicate.

Learning that Kingpin was behind the Road Monsters MC I’d joined just added another layer to the betrayal. I’d come full circle, right back to this asshole’s sphere of influence. And now I was in his pocket again, heading off on some mission to guard some bitch called, Dirty Diana.

“Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath. The emptiness in my chest felt colder than the night air. I had no one left, no reason to fight except for my own pride and survival. The openroad was all that made sense anymore. And, ironically, the MC was the only place that let me be the brand of savage I’d become.

I swung a leg over my Harley, aware of every ache and pain from the fight. My ribs objected when I breathed too deep. My lip stung. But I’d had it worse. I’d keep riding. It’s what I did best, ride away from problems, or ride straight into them, whichever kept me moving.

The engine roared as I kicked it to life. The vibrations coursed through my arms, and for a split second, I felt the freedom I loved more than any woman. I tore out of that parking lot, my headlight splitting the darkness. My head pounded, blood drying on my face, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

I needed the highway beneath my tires, the rhythmic hum that drowned out the pounding in my skull like I needed air to breathe. Because if I stopped, I’d have to face the truth. I’d lost Eve. Sky was long gone, too. I had no family that would claim me. I had nothing except a battered MC cut and a new name that felt as empty as the rest.

Hallow… August Adam Hart… each name was drenched in shame and regret. The quiet detective who once believed in justice was a distant memory. The outlaw I’d become as a Nomad as Maverick was all I had left.

As I sped down the deserted back roads, red taillights reflecting off wet asphalt, my mind inevitably drifted to the next step. I’d have to pack up what little I had and prepare for the ride to Anarchy, California. I’d meet up with the Nashville chapter, or possibly the Road Monsters from wherever. Then I’d locate this Dirty Diana, see what the fuss was about, figure out if she was leaking intel on Kingpin and the rest of the MC. Then what? Did I turn her over? The details were never clear with Kingpin. He just wanted me to be his eyes and ears, and also his fists. But ifthere was blackmail involved… let’s just say I’d seen how far he’d go to silence a threat.

My bike thundered over the interstate, weaving around slow-moving cars. At nighttime, anonymity was my shield. Headlights flashed by, an endless stream of strangers with their own problems. No one gave a shit about me, about the blood staining my clothes. The open road was the only judge now. I’d gone from detective to outlaw, and sometimes I struggled to see the line where my old moral code ended. Maybe it ended the day Eve left. Or it could have ended when I first crossed the line to protect my partner in Columbus.

The panic of the night my partner shot that suspect lingered in my mind.A young father who ran a red light. The guy wasn’t armed. He wasn’t our suspect from the bank robbery, either. That fact didn’t save the guy's life. My partner claimed he was. Internal Affairs grilled us. I tried to do the right thing, but the brass wanted me to cover it up. The scandal tore me apart, even though I never pulled the trigger. I hopped on my bike and rode, leaving behind a career in tatters and a city that now hated me.

Another memory, another regret. No matter how fast I rode, I couldn’t escape them. But I sure as hell tried.

Chapter 8

I was almost out of the city when dawn started to break. My body screamed for rest, but I resisted. However, I noticed a cheap motel off the highway. It was the kind of dump that wouldn’t blink at a bruised, bloody biker paying cash for a room. I parked the Harley in front of my door and limped inside.

Tossing my cut on the bed, I locked the door. I checked my reflection in the mirror above the cracked sink. I looked like I’d lost a street fight with a fucking grizzly. My right eye was bruised, lip busted, eyebrow sporting a fresh gash. My ribs felt like they’d been pounded by a sledgehammer. “Fuck Kingpin,” I muttered, wincing as I gingerly pressed my side. Probably nothing broken, but I'd feel it for weeks.

I couldn't stop thinking about everything. I was tempted to get wasted, pass out, and forget the world. But I had to keep my head clear. If Kingpin was serious about some rally in Anarchy, I needed to be on my game.

Instead of sleeping, I slumped onto the edge of the bed and pulled out my phone. A battered, older model, less traceable. Not that it mattered if the Aces were tracking me. They already had me by the balls. I stared at the blank screen for a moment, considering who I could call. No one. There were whores in every town, willing to video call for some phone sex, but there was no one left to call.

I thought about Sky. A surge of bitterness twisted my gut. I’d truly loved her or tried to. We’d built something of a life together, me going by Owen Black, her going by Savannah, raising little Caden. Then she had a miscarriage. And everything crumbled. Sometimes I wondered if she blamed me for that. Or if it was just her old life calling her back.

She said she was done with Kingpin’s shit. But apparently, she wasn’t done with Getty. She ended up in the arms of the mobster father of her kid. She’d said she loved me. People can’t be trusted to tell the truth, not even to themselves.

I squeezed the phone until my knuckles burned. Then I put it aside. If she wanted me, she’d know how to reach me. If she was in trouble, she’d either dig herself out or not. I couldn’t be her savior again. That nearly broke me the first time.

I flicked on the TV, letting the fuzzy images distract me. Some old Western was playing. A ragtag gunslinger was staring down a line of lawmen, one revolver on his hip. I almost laughed at the irony. I used to be one of those lawmen. Now I was a gunslinger on the wrong side of everything.

Reaching behind me, I pulled out a half-crumpled pack of cigarettes and lit one. The motel’s no-smoking sign might as well have been written in a foreign language. I inhaled deeply, letting the nicotine mingle with the residual taste of blood in my mouth. I didn’t even like cigarettes much, preferred the occasional cigar. But it gave me something to do with my hands, kept me from punching another hole in the goddamn wall.

Kingpin had said to ride out next week. That gave me seven days to figure my shit out. Time for my face to heal. Get some new clothes, make sure the Harley was in top shape for a cross-country trip. The Road Monsters from my current charter might ride with me, or maybe I'd go alone. I was a nomad,anyway, free to drift. Then we’d all converge in California for this rally. The idea of crossing paths with more outlaws, more drama, hardly thrilled me. But it was my ticket to keep living.

I stared at the ceiling, the battered fan spinning overhead. My head still pounded, but now the adrenaline had drained away, leaving a deep ache that went past bruises and cuts. It was an ache in my soul, if I even had one left. Eve was gone, living the life she wanted with Kingpin, two little babies. No doubt she was the queen of the Royal Bastards. Hell, perhaps she was happy. Remembering how she looked at me the last time I faced her, it’s as if she forgot I ever existed.

A flicker of a memory rolled in. Eve’s tear-streaked face when she first told me she was pregnant with my kid all those years ago. The glow in her eyes, the hope in her voice. Then when I found out that she’d lost the baby. My guilt at not being there, the wedge that formed… And soon after, she’d found comfort in Kingpin’s bed. That was it. The end.

I might have been cursed. My child with Eve had died, then my child with Sky. Love was a crock of shit. Some men aren’t meant for it. I was one of those men, obviously.

If I was wise, I’d let the entire scenario go. I’d cut ties, burn my patch, run again. But Kingpin was right. Where the fuck would I run? The entire MC world was connected, especially at the top level. The Road Monsters spanned the country, led by four Aces, Kingpin among them. They had tendrils in each region, alliances with cartels, local mobs, you name it. He’d find me. Or if not him, then someone else he hired.

---