Page 5 of The Chase

His survival instinct kicked up a notch. He had to save himself and he had to save her. As he always had, as he always would. She was getting out alive. He was going to make sure of that.

“Burnt off or cut off? That’s your choice, Colt,” Cleaver spat.

“You can’t be serious,” April spat back. “And how is this in any way a lesson for me? I have nothing to do with this stupid biker gang-”

“Shut up, bitch! Your Daddy was the President-”

“No, he wasn’t! I... I thought he worked as a diplomat for the government-” April stammered, blanching.

“Pah, is that what he told you? No, Daddy didn’t wear suits and brush shoulders with the rich and influential, he was a dirty biker scumbag-”

“He was a biker and a good man,” Colt ground out, looking at April, trying to convey in his eyes that he was her ally here.

She looked about, panicked, realization setting in. “The money he sent me... it was dirty money?”

“It was our dirty money,” Cleaver corrected her.

She whimpered, but regained her fight after a second, anger flashing in her eyes now. “So what do you want from me? Just cut me off financially and let me go, I have nothing else to give-”

“Yeah, I was going to do that, until I realized you were a hot piece of ass. Now I want you to stay here, with me. With all of us. We’ll take good care of you, right boys?” Cleaver licked his lips.

Colt felt sick. The others around the table grinned and leered and snickered. He wouldn’t trust them to be good to a woman. They all looked at her like she was a hunk of meat. A cheap hunk of meat. He knew how this worked. The club owned women. When he was President, they were willing, pliant, they loved being part of the biker club, having any of the brothers they wanted, giving them what they needed. And the brothers would happily share. But they treated the women well, the women could basically do what they wanted, they got money, clothes, cars, freedom to come and go, to party and drink and eat and sleep with them all. He hadn’t seen any women in the bar earlier. Colt doubted Cleaver treated the club women in that way. He certainly doubted he’d treat April that way.

“If you think I will come willingly into your bed, then you have another thing coming-” April began, sassy, quirking up one neatly manicured eyebrow and looking down her nose at Cleaver like he was a piece of dog shit. Colt bit back a smile. But that was exactly the look he feared she’d give Colt himself, all those years ago. And now she’d really poked the hornet’s nest.

“Come willingly? Who said anything about you coming?” Cleaver snickered cruelly. “Who said anything about you being willing?” A vein popped in his temple. “You’ll be one of our whores, I think that would be an apt payback for all that money you took, April. Oh, and we’ll take that back, too. You can pay back your interest to us in sexual favors.” Cleaver licked his lips.

April ground her jaw, Colt could see the little muscles twitch from where he was. She took a breath to respond but Colt interrupted.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You aren’t going to touch a hair on her head. You aren’t going to burn or cut my colors off my back. You’re going to let us both walk out of here and then we won’t see your fucking ugly mugs ever again. That’s what’s going to happen,” Colt said.

“No-”

“Cleaver, stop. Just stop.” Colt played his final cards. “You sit at that table head, then you have the trust of everyone here. You start breaking that trust, and, well, you might not be sitting at that table head for much longer. If he does this to me,” Colt said, looking around at the men’s faces at the table, “he could do it to you. What does brotherhood mean, anymore, if this is what happens? If this is what you let happen? There’s a charter for a reason. So you can all respect your fellow man, and be respected in turn. Otherwise, you’ll be next. You voted to let me go, so let me go. No more fucking about, changing the rules, burning my colors off. Let the chase commence,” Colt finished quietly.

A heavy silence fell. The men around the table looked down. Cleaver could see that there was that sense of doubt settling in. Cleaver could turn on any one of them just like that, too. They were all thinking of their own necks.

Cleaver licked his lips, realizing he needed to backpedal promptly. “Colt, go now, that’s fine, but we’ll start chasing you, and when we catch you, we’ll take your life. Make no mistake about it,” Cleaver said.

Colt shrugged off the two prospect minions who had regained their hold on his arms behind him after the struggle.

“Yeah, fuck you,” Colt growled and clambered to his feet. He dared a glance at April. She opened her mouth to say something to him. But he saw the hurt and confusion in her eyes. She was trying to appear fearless but inside she was quaking like a leaf. He knew that feeling.

Colt picked up his cut, with his patches missing, no longer proudly identifying him. Now he was just a nobody with an old leather vest.

Cleaver turned. “April, my darling, now, you will be tied up on the bed in my room and tonight you will be showing your appreciation to each and every brother in turn-”

“I will not-”

“Gag her, too.” Cleaver added callously. The brothers of the Black Coyotes MC moved to do Cleaver’s bidding. April let out a whimper as they bound her mouth, with what, Colt didn’t see.

Colt turned and walked casually toward the door, tossing his now ragged leather cut on, missing his T-shirt but trying to look like a man who didn’t give two fucks. He gestured a wave over his shoulder, and didn’t look back.

He didn’t look back until he got across the parking lot. He slouched away from the clubhouse, his home, what was his home. The gate was open, no barrier between him and the open road. A guy stood by the gate, clearly meant to be guarding it, but was slumped over, passed out. Colt could see the track marks up his arms from across the forecourt. Standards had slipped. There was no way he’d have let any brother in the MC, not in the least the guy meant to be fucking guarding the clubhouse, use. Cleaver was running a shoddy operation.

Colt saw the line of gleaming Harleys. Where had his ended up? He didn’t know. He had nothing. Nothing in his pocket except a packet of cigarettes. A lighter. No money. No phone. Not even a fucking T-shirt. Nowhere to go. He felt like that helpless fifteen year old for a second. But he remembered he wasn’t that helpless kid any more. He shivered, though it was a warm afternoon and he had his cut on. He was off the hook, in terms of having to step up and be the brave, arrogant Prez again. He should feel pleased, he could just fuck off into obscurity and have a quiet life, live happily ever after, as long as he kept running. He didn’t feel pleased at all.

At the end of the line of Harleys, a prospect was shining up the last one in the row. He looked again. It wasn’t a Harley, it was a Triumph. A nice one. It glinted in the late afternoon sun. Colt kept walking casually until he was right next to him. The Prospect was just a skinny kid himself, Colt thought ruefully. He looked back at the clubhouse, and that body movement covered him to make the next one. Swinging his fist into the kid’s head. He dropped like a leaf. Colt dragged him into the shade and propped him up against the fence. Colt grabbed the keys from his pocket after a swift pat down. He straddled the motorcycle.

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