BANE: A Devils' Due MC Romance Novel (13 page)

“Agreed,” the Dago concurred as he secured the girl in his arms.

Her eyes never left mine.  She was terrified beyond belief.  She knew that the men who were abducting her wanted to kill her, but something told me that that wasn’t the reason for the horror she was feeling.

She couldn’t believe I just gave her away like that.

“Don’t give me that guilt-inducing shit, kid,” I told her.  “Hey... it’s either ‘yer life or mine.  And I ain’t a fucking martyr.”

Two other Italians led the girl at the back of the waiting van.  One by one, the footmen went back to the vehicles from where they came from, leaving me alone with the
Ivan Drago
wannabe.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he uttered with a snigger that was clearly meant to ridicule me.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with ‘ya, as usual,” I replied, returning his leer with one of my own.

They drove off.

But my eyes didn’t leave their vehicles.

I studied their formation, their speed, and their driving patterns.

The two cars went ahead.  The van lagged behind... carrying with it the girl and four Dagos including the driver, as I have observed earlier.

For all their notoriety, these Captoli lackeys were never military men.  They may be tough and fearless and committed to their cause, but their tactics were severely lacking.  They made a mistake - a very grave mistake - in letting the van take the rear.

It was the opening I was looking for.

Route 90 was a long stretch of freeway that extended from Buffalo to South Dakota.  It was a turnpike that traversed a wide expanse of undeveloped land, a strip of road that cut through areas filled with mangroves and thick forestry.  I could use the topography to my advantage.

As soon as they were out of my sight, I rode my bike and started to give chase.

But I didn’t follow them via the main thoroughfare.  I drove through the side of the highway, using the foliage as my cover.  I didn’t want them to know that they were being tailed.  I was pushing 85.  Leaves and twigs scratched my face but I didn’t care.  The uneven ground flung my chopper through the air a number of times but I didn’t slow down.  I had to maintain my speed to catch up with them...

Until there, just before reaching Moorcraft, they turned right towards Upton just as I expected.  It was the shortest way back to their base of operations at Fort Laramie, after all.

The two vehicles made the turn first, leaving the van on their blindside.

It was my chance.

My bike emerged from the bank of the road.  With my Glock drawn, I immediately sped to where the driver was.  His eyes widened in shock when he saw me.  He started screaming to his companion on the passenger’s seat, then he drove the van towards his left to knock me off the road.

I fired a shot.

It went straight through the driver’s eye.  His head dropped on the steering wheel immediately.

The other Italian peeked out the window.  He aimed his gun towards me.

Shit!  I didn’t have time to poise for another shot.  He was about to fire and I was a sitting duck.

But the vehicle suddenly careened sidewards, blocking the entirety of the road as it collided with my bike.  I was thrown off my seat, falling on the hard asphalt and rolling half a dozen times before stopping.  I felt like I was blasted by a trio of shotguns at pointblank range.  But I was breathing.  I tried to move my legs.  They weren’t immobilized.  I was aching all over, seemingly bleeding everywhere.  But I was alive, and I could count and lick my wounds later.  Right now, there was a job I had to do.

I raised my head and gazed at the van as it streaked towards the other side of the road until it fell, headfirst, on the slope.  It was only then when its wild motion stopped.  Smoke came out of the vehicle, and so did the three Guidos who were left inside.

Three of them, and I had seven bullets left before I had to reload.

The first hit one of them in the chest.  He screamed loudly.  A death cry before he collapsed on the road.

The second missed my target completely, allowing him to dash a few feet and fire his semi-automatic.  I leaped towards my side as a hail of bullets followed me.  A sharp pain later and I knew I was hit, though I didn’t know exactly where I was shot.  But I could still stand.  It was just a flesh wound at the most.

I got him at the center of his neck before he could fire the next round.  The force shoved him backwards and he never got up again.

One last Dago left.

But I couldn’t find him.  I was too preoccupied with the other two that I lost track of the remaining Goombahs... until it was too late.

The jackass managed to sneak up behind me.  His Beretta was pointed straight at my head.  From the corner of my eye, I saw who he was... motherfucking
Ivan Drago
with his finger embracing the trigger, ready to fire at any second.

But he kept walking towards me.  He didn’t speak a word.  He didn’t bark any order.  He didn’t recite any smart-assed quip.  He just kept plodding until the barrel of his gun touched my nape.

He wanted a clear shot...
a clean shot
... a sure shot that would end the chaos I caused.

Like I’ve said, these Italians weren’t soldiers.  They were some
America’s Funniest Home Videos
waiting to happen.  Being a hotblooded lot, they were fueled by a lot of passion, I’d give them that... but they had little of everything else.

As soon as I felt the muzzle on my skin, I struck his midsection with my elbow.  That took the air out of his body.  I quickly turned around and struck his wrist with my forearm.  He was too weak to maintain his grip.  His arm and his gun slung to his right.  He was defenseless... and the petrified look on his face told me that he knew he was done for.

I smiled.

A blaring crack of a gunshot, followed by the whirring sound of the magazine dropping the shell.

The loud thud of heavy flesh falling on the ground.

I looked at Ivan Drago as he was sprawled on the pavement, a puddle of red spilled from his forehead.  His finger was still touching the trigger, and I noticed the ring that adorned it.  It was a beautiful ring, made of platinum and emblazoned with purplish diamonds on its edges.  It was such a pretty thing... I didn’t want it to rot with his carcass.  So I took it.

The van was clear of enemies.

But the work wasn’t done yet.  How long did that take?  A minute?  A minute and a half?  The two cars would notice that the van wasn’t following them, and they’d come back soon.  I had to move fast.

I ran towards the vehicle and opened the back door.  The girl was there, shaken but safe.  There were tears on her pants and pools of blood formed around them.  No big deal.  Those injuries won’t prevent her from running.

I extended my hand.  She quickly took it.  I pulled her out and led her to the road where my bike fell.  I picked it up and mounted it.  I started the engine.  It roared gloriously, like a fallen beast that came back to life.

“Let’s go!” I told her, my voice brimming with urgency.

She hurriedly straddled herself behind me.  I pressed on the gas and charged towards the direction from where I came from.

The sun was almost gone.  Darkness was beginning to engulf the sky.  Night was upon us, and the clubhouse was twenty minutes away, at the other end of Route 90.

I cursed myself for underestimating the Captolis.  They struck early and they struck fast.  I shouldn’t make the same mistake again.

They were probably waiting for us along the way back to Buffalo.  Not just them, but the local crews they were aligned with, the outside parties they may have contracted, and the cops under their payroll.

Shit!

We couldn’t go back just yet.  That would be too predictable, and we were vulnerable to an ambush.

I had to think of another way to escape them.

“Careful, careful... aw fuck!  Careful!”

He tried his best to suppress the pain as I lifted up his shirt.  Some of the blood from his gashes have dried up, making his skin stick to his garments.  I tried to take off his top as carefully and as slowly as I could, but that only prolonged his suffering.

So, without warning, I pulled it up completely and hurriedly removed it from his body.

He winced in pain, desperately wanting to scream.  He gritted his teeth to stop himself from howling.  He knew where we were.  He knew that if he wailed in agony, he would just arouse suspicion from the occupants of the other rooms in the motel where we retreated.  They might just knock on our door to check what was going on, or worse, call the cops and have them come over.  That would defeat the purpose of our stay here... to hide until things settled down.

“Shit, kid, a lil’ heads-up would’ve helped,” he complained as he held on to his back, feeling the lacerations that, though were still fresh, were beginning to form some scabs.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. 

I grabbed the packet attached to his belt, on his back right beside the holster that held his gun.  He tried to look over his shoulder until the pain stopped him from turning further.  He was surprised when I took the small container tucked underneath his belt, wondering, perhaps, why I knew what it was.

It was their standard emergency kit.  Every member of their club - and every one-percenter in the country, if what my father said was correct - had one.  They were trained to prepare these kits from the moment they became prospects, and for a good reason - its contents can save their lives as well as the lives of their brothers.

I emptied the kit on the bed.  Out came the things that I expected were inside: tampons (to plug bullet holes), masking tape (to secure broken joints), a sewing kit (for minor wounds that need stitching), tylenol (to help relieve the pain), and a pair of condoms (for a variety of uses, really).  However, I didn’t find what I was looking for.

“Ain’t got no diapers there,” he said, an attempt at humor.  “Besides, I’m old but I ain’t that old to be incontinent.”

“I’m trying to find some cloth so we can clean up your wounds,” I explained.

“Lots of towels in the bathroom,” he suggested.

“I guess we can use those.  But what will maintenance think once they see them smudged with blood?”

He grinned.  “Clever thinkin’, kid.  Ye’r a lot smarter than most of the prospects I know.  But don’t fret about it that much.  Go use the damn towels.  We can just say that ‘ya have ‘yer period.”

“What?!”  I couldn’t believe that he actually thought of that excuse.

“Oh... sensitive topic, huh?  Nah!  Just use them.  By the time they’ll get to see the blood, we’ll long be gone from this joint.”

He had a point, so I proceeded to the bathroom to collect all the towels I could find.  I went back and proceeded to wipe the lacerations on his torso.  Some of them were still bleeding.  The worst of his injuries was a tear just above his right rib.  A huge chunk of skin was peeled off, and a bit of his flesh was exposed.  He grimaced loudly when I tried to scrub it.

“Shit!  So that’s where he got me,” he uttered.

“Who?”

“One of those
gooks
.  Tried to shoot me from afar.  The bullet grazed me, but I was too preoccupied to know where I was actually hit.”

“I don’t see any hole.  Does that mean there’s no bullet inside you?” I asked worriedly.

“Yeah.  It’s just a scrape... but please be extra careful because it hurts like hell.”

I chuckled.  There he was... a huge, rugged, muscular man, frowning in pain, threatened by the touch of cloth that would clean his wound.

“What’re ‘ya laughin’ at, kid?” he asked, rather peeved.

“Nothing,” I mumbled as I quickly stifled my snicker.  A smile lingered on my face, though.  It was the first time that I saw him - or any of his kind - ruffled like that.

“The Captolis aren’t happy about losin’ four of their men,” he said as he checked his phone which just beeped.  “Veep just texted back.  He said the boys are preparing for the worst. They’d be mobilizing tonight.  The route from this motel to the clubhouse should be safe come morning.”

“F-Four of them?” I wanted to clarify, my voice breaking with nervousness.  I knew he shot some of them just to free me, but I didn’t really know how many, exactly, he had to kill.

“Yeah,” Bane confirmed.  “I know that may sound horrifying to ‘ya, but I had to do what I had to do, darlin’.  It was either ‘yer ass or theirs.  It was either
us
or them, actually... those bastards know how to hold a grudge.  Damn motherfuckers!”

“Why... Why do they want me dead that bad?”

He wailed once more.  I didn’t notice that I was pressing the towel too keenly against the huge rip on his skin.

“They... They just want retribution, kid,” he answered as soon as the shock settled.

“Retribution?  For what my father did?”

“Yeah.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong...”

“Well, ‘yer pops just caused them around twenty-two million dollars, so they’re really pissed.”

“T-Twenty-two million?” I repeated.  I couldn’t believe what I just heard.

“That’s a rough estimate.  A mil per lab, and the feds shut down twenty-two of ‘em.  No thanks to your pops’ snitchin’.”

“But my dad... my dad’s dead.”  Those words made me pause for a while, as remembering my father crushed my heart once again.  “Why are they after me?”

“Exactly for that reason, kid.  ‘
Yer pops is dead.
  That’s why they’re now after ‘ya.”

“Why?”  I still couldn’t get it.

Bane held my hand and made me stop cleaning his wound.  He looked at me straight in the eyes, ensuring that I would listen well to what he was about to say.

“Because people like them need vengeance,” he told me.  “That’s who they are.  That’s how they work.  For them, a problem ain’t resolved until blood is spilled.  It’s how they do business.  It’s how they maintain their street cred.  It’s what makes them feel good about themselves, especially after a loss that big.”

“A-Are you telling me that... that... that there’s no way out of this until I’m... until I’m dead?”  I desperately wanted to know, though I gravely feared the answer.

He struggled to stand up, grabbing the towel from my hands as he rose.  He cleaned up his wounds himself, his gaze purposefully left my face.

“There’s always a way out, kid,” he said without even looking at me.

“How?” I begged for a reply.

“I... I dunno yet,” he responded with a trace of sullenness in his tone.  “But I’ll think of somethin’.  There’s always a way out... sometimes, we just need a stroke of inspiration to find it.  I’m still waiting to get inspired.”

He threw the towel on the floor, contented with how his wounds have dried up.  Then he kneeled in front of me as I was sitting on the border of the bed.  And he...

He began to unbutton my pants...

“W-What are you doing?” I asked in shock.  My hands tried to push him away... but he was too heavy and strong.  I wasn’t able to budge him.

“Calm the fuck down,” he instructed as he unzipped my fly and started to pull down my jeans.

“Calm down?!” I asked in utter disbelief.  “You’re... You’re undressing me!”

“I’m not undre... well... yeah, I’m undressin’ ‘ya, but I’m not gonna sack ‘ya or anythin’ like that.”

“I... I don’t think this is a...”

I wasn’t able to finish what I wanted to say.  He removed my pants completely with one swift and powerful motion.  Though I was still wearing my knickers, being that exposed in front of him made me feel very, very uncomfortable.  I crossed my bare legs and covered my mid-area with my hands.

He just stared at my thighs.

But there was nothing lascivious about the way he looked at them, though.

Rather, there was concern in his eyes, and his next words confirmed how worried he actually was.

“Shit, girl!  Ye’ve nasty bruises and scratches all over ‘yer legs.  They look worse than Carter’s.”

“Who’s Carter?”

“This doberman I used to bet on at the pits.  Carter had a nice winning streak goin’.  I thought it was a good investment.  For a while, it was.  Then Carter met this fucking huge German Shepherd.  It was a goddamn mismatch of epic proportions, I tell ‘ya.  Carter got half
her
face, including
her
ear, ripped off.”

“Her?” I asked, appalled by what he shared.

“Yeah.  Female mutts are fiercer than males... especially when they just gave birth.”

“She... She just gave birth?”

“Yeah.  And she lost.  Bummer, huh?”

“That’s... That’s so disgusting!”

“Yeah, it is.  I turns my stomach upside down to this very day.  No one likes losing two grand, right?”

“No!  Not your money.  I mean the dogs being forced to fight like that.”

“Oh,” he replied, belatedly realizing what I was referring to.  The he clicked his tongue.  “Nah... not really.  A lot of people have it worse than them fightin’ dogs.”

I was too sickened by his story that I didn’t even notice his hands circling over my legs, checking out the cuts I incurred as he tried to determine whether any of them were deep enough to cause some concern.

I flinched when his palm slid to my inner thigh.

“Relax, kid,” he told me as he shifted his body, grimacing once more as a surge of pain shot up from his injured rib.  “I’m just tryin’ to see how badly ‘ya were chafed, alright?  It’s not like I’m gonna finger fuck the hell outta ‘ya.”

My eyes widened in shock.  I tried my best not to visualize what he said.  He noticed my sudden agitation... and he just laughed at me.

“Not unless ‘ya want me to,” he added, still cackling.

I just kept silent.  I wouldn’t even dare dignify that remark with a reply.

“Ain’t ‘yer thing, huh?” he asked.  His sneer told me that he was just playing a joke on me... but I wouldn’t know what’s really in his mind.  Their lot was capable of the vilest acts, sexual assault being the least of them.

“Nope,” he uttered as he stood up.  “None of them scratches are gonna kill ‘ya.” 

He grabbed my pants from the floor and threw the pair on my lap.  I put them on as quickly as I could.