MARLOWE
The first bullet that hit the building had startled the shit out of me. The second, third, fourth and fifth—I’d lost count after that—had me ducking and covering. It’s not a common thing for a girl to hear bullets peppering the building she’s in, and let me tell you, I can’t think of a damn thing that can get your heart pumping any fiercer—no joke! With the organ pounding away like a drummer for a heavy metal rock band, I began crawling toward the door, the wayward thought crossing my mind that by the time I got back to the bomb shelter, I might have to change my panties. I didn’t know what the hell was going on out there, and I didn’t know whether I was in a good place or bad, but either way, I didn’t like it. When I reached the door, I inched it open, peeking my head out. A bullet whizzed past my head, and I quickly ducked back inside. Damn, damn, double damn! That was way the shit too close. *Maybe I* should *stay in here*!
I felt like a bird in a cage, all kinds of shit going on outside, but I couldn’t fly my coop to see. Slowly, I made my way back to my corner, at the same giving an ironic laugh as the famous line from Dirty Dancing came to mind. Patrick was wrong, someone had put baby in a corner. With some effort I managed to push a large tool box out enough I created a small space behind it, and shoving myself into the tiny opening backfirst, I pulled my knees up to my chest, then wrapping my arms around them, I lowered my head onto my knees. I was, for the moment, helpless to do anything but listen to the gunshots, the loud voices, the curses, and the loud screams of those outside my metal prison.
I didn’t know how long the skirmish lasted, but when the bullets stopped flying and the volume of noise quieted, I crawled out from behind the tool box. Slowly climbing to my feet, I made my way back to the door, then once again cracking it open, I peered outside. Blinking, I shook my head. Holy mother of all that goes down! Some kind of major shit happened out here. Bodies lay on the ground in different stages of injury and, raising a hand, I raked it through my hair with disbelief. Eyes rounded with shock, I pushed the door the rest of the way open and with caution, stepped out.The roar of motorcycles had accompanied the whole fracus, but at the sound of those within the enclosure firing to life, I jerked around. Eyes squinting against the bright glare of the stadium lights, I tried to see whose they were. A voice behind me muttered, “Thank fucks! Satan is gonna have my ass for not finding you sooner!”
I jumped at the sound of Jitter’s voice. I’d been so intent on trying to see the rider’s, I hadn’t even heard him arrive. Mental note—*be more aware*!
Shaking off the momentary scare, I turned to face Jitter. “What happened out here?”
“Proofer’s thought they had elephant balls. We showed them ours were bigger.” Then reaching out, he grasped my arm. “I got orders to make sure you’re safe, and…” Pausing, he scratched at the scruff on his chin. “Better late than never, I reckon.”
Finding no difficulty in following Jitter through the land-mine of bodies, I practically walked in his shoes. It wasn’t our members I worried about, it was the ones wearing the kuttes of the rival club that I feared. Many bore superficial injuries and were being aided by our own members in standing and being escorted out of the compound gate. All it would take would be one stupid stunt, and the scuffle would start all over again. I had no plans to be in the middle of it if it did.
I let my eyes roam as we walked, taking in the milay and destruction that had once been a well-put-together compound. Now, it was a garbage dump. This was my first, and I hoped my last, encounter with any form of involvement in a skirmish between rival MCs.
Once we had reached the inside of the bomb shelter, Jitter nodded at me and then headed toward were the injured and non-injured had gathered. Witha shrug and knowing Doc and the others that were trying to help clean and patch wounds could use help, I followed Jitter into the makeshift trauma unit.
A few minutes later, after I gathering a bowl of water and cloths, I stepped into the aftermath of war. Or so it seemed. Blood coated the floor, men groaned, and cursed, while others...well, they didn't look so good. Pulling in a deep breath as I hated the sight of blood, I set to work. As I wiped and dabbed, I scanned the room for Murdock and Satan—I just couldn’t call him Torin, not yet…if ever.
Finished doing what I could for the biker, I made my way to the next—I couldn’t recall this ones name—I began dipping the cloth in the water as a tingling sensation ran up my spine. I was being watched. Slowly, pulling the cloth back out of the water, I began ringing it out as raised my head slightly, looking around.
I caught a glance of Satan’s back as he left the room, taking the tingling with him.
Hours later, bathed, hair washed and behind the bar counter, I was in the middle of making a margarita on the rocks for one of the Sweet Butts’ when Rook came running into the bar. His gaze landing on me, he hurried over in my direction, then stepping behind the counter, he grabbed the margarita mix out of my hand and set it on the counter top. Afterward, grasping my arm, he said, “Satan’s been shot. Murdock said it looks bad and you need to come.”