Chrome & Leather - The Novel (Adriana Ness ♯1) (Motorcycle Club Romance) (3 page)

The fat bar man came and dragged the whimpering dirt bag out of the bar and minutes later I heard his car drive away with a loud backfire. The bar man returned to his post and began to sop up the blood. He nodded towards my drinks and said, “Same again? Compliments of the gentleman” and he gestured towards the back corner. This whole sorry incident was looking like a stroke of luck. I nodded yes and a fresh round of drinks where pored for me. I put the shot glass to my lips and looked into the gloom, I could make out a large figure sitting off in the corner. I tipped the glass back and downed it in one go. I nodded towards the corner and then turned back to the bar.

I was excited by this initial contact and so soon on the first day. Maybe this case was going to be easier then the Captain had made it out to be. I drank my beer slowly as I planned out my next move. The wise thing to do would be to stay sitting at the bar and hope he came to me, or I could approach him a few days from now when he was in the bar again and thank him for buying me a drink.

My decision was taken out of my hands within a few minutes. The door behind me swung open and I turned as two men clad in black leather jackets walked in. Time slowed to a standstill as events marched forward with grim predictability, it was if I was watching the pages of a flip book blur past my eyes. Individual frames frozen for a splint second as if everything was washed in a harsh strobe light.
 

The two men turned to the corner that my lead was in and their leather jackets billowed back as they pulled out shotguns from a concealed loop holster. The first guy was still raising up the barrel of his gun when the top of his skull was blown clean off. Blood and viscera sprayed out in an arc hitting the floor and ceiling.
 

While his body was still in mid fall his partner fumbled with his gun which looked to be snagged in his holster. A round to his chest sent him spinning like a top with both hands still wrapped around the barrel of the trapped sawn off shotgun. As he spun another slug hit him in his lower back and he sprawled forward and his teeth clacked together as his head smashed full force into the floor.
 

The man stood out of the gloom and for the first time since entering the bar I could see his face. It was BlackJack, his broad square jaw and thick muscular neck with the unmistakable tattoos creeping up his neck. He had a tight crew cut and wore a black leather jacket of the style worn by outlaw riders from the seventies. He was broad shouldered and well built but he didn't look like a typical over muscled meat head. This was all functional muscle and I could see it in the graceful and fluid way he moved to the window and parted the dirty blinds to look outside. He moved like an apex predator, sure footed and ready for whatever was next.

In the couple of seconds that the carnage had taken place I had not moved an inch and I could see some of my fellow barfly’s cowering in the corners. BlackJack raised his pistol and pointed it at the bar man and said, “Fatman there are ten more mother fuckers about to come all guns blazing through that door as soon as they realize that their dead and mouldering brothers have not completed their mission. Unlock the back door and make it quick.”
 

Blackjack bent and picked up the two sawn off shotguns. He pushed one into his belt and then looked at me. “Do you know how to fire one of these?” he said throwing the gun to me. I weighed it in my hands and cocked it open to check the shells. “I do” I said. “If you want to live, come with me. Those guys outside are here to wipe out everything that moves. Fuck the other pond scum here” he said.

The door to the bar swung open and then the gates of hell opened and I was moving on pure animal instinct. The first guy kicked the door in and immediately started shooting in the direction of the bar. Bottles exploded behind me and a spray of beer shot up from a punctured can.

Blackjack went down on one knee and blasted this new intruder. The first shot hit his knee and ripped it completely open. The second shot hit him in the gut and he keeled over gasping for air.
 

Two more men came through the doorway and as he raised his uzi Blackjack hit him in the shoulder. The assailant pressed the trigger and as he was pushed back from the bullet tearing through the soft meat of his shoulder the gun spun upwards shooting a stream of deadly bullets along the ceiling.

A noise like a large angry dog barking filled the bar and the second machine gun toting goon doubled up and was lifted off his feet and blasted back through the door way. The barrel of my shotgun smoked and my shoulder hurt from the kickback. My actions had saved BlackJacks life.

Bullets whizzed by my ears and I could see more men inching their way towards the open door, this time they wouldn't barge in. Either way we where outnumbered and didn't stand a chance.
 

Blackjack grabbed me by the arm and pulled me backwards over the bar and I landed on the floor with a jarring thud. He looked me in the eyes and with all that was going on he looked calm and collected. He said, “Im going to lay down some cover and you make a run for the backdoor, its down the corridor behind the bar. Wait for me at the backdoor.”

He popped up over the bar and let rip with his pistol. Shoots pinged past me as I got up and ran quickly to the back door. The bar man was curled up in the corner and cowering in fear. Seconds later Blackjack was beside me and he grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted “DOWN”. He pulled me roughly to the floor and covered me with his body pressing against me tight. I could feel his heart racing in his chest and his lips brushed against my ear as he tried to protect me.
 

At first there was a whoosh of air and then the wall and floor shook as something exploded in the bar. Clouds of dust billowed and filled the air. Ceiling panels fell from above and thudded onto his back. He leaned up on his elbows and looked me in the eyes, something passed between us in that brief glimpse. He was a born survivor and so was I. He brushed some debris tenderly from my cheek and said, “Are you ok?” I blinked and a hoarse “yes” came from between my bruised and broken lips. We where in a lovers embrace as the whole world fell down around us.

Blackjack stood up and offered me his hand. “We move now and fast, my bike is parked around the side.” He cracked the door open and everything was clear. From inside his jacket he took out two grenades and threw them into the bar. He grabbed me by the hand and we moved swiftly around the corner to where his bike was parked. It was a huge chrome beast, low to the ground with handlebars that flared out dramatically.

The two grenades exploded inside the bar and men shouted in pain and confusion. BlackJack cocked a leg over the bike and straddled the massive beast, he motioned for me to jump on behind him. I didn't hesitate and jumped on wrapping my arms around him. He turned back to me and said, “Hold on tight and as soon as we round that corner blast that shotgun in the direction of anything that moves.”

I wrapped one arm around his waist and I could feel the muscles and sinews move beneath his jacket. I cocked the shot gun and said, “Ready”.

Blackjack slammed his foot down and his bike throbbed to life. The meaty motor sent vibrations through my body. He revved the accelerator and we lurched forward and cleared the corner of the bar. Cars flamed in front of the bar and broken and bloody bodies and body parts lay strewn about. I fired my final shell into the lot and couldn't see if I hit anyone as we picked up speed and zoomed away from danger.

Blackjack eyed the rearview mirror to check for tails and as we turned the first bend I could see that nobody had begun to give chase yet. We turned a sharp bend and then took a small country road heading away from the city and towards the mountains.
 

As we started to put some distance between the bar and us, it began to look like we where safe and I could feel BlackJack relax a little. As we roared along the road he glanced back at me and said, “You are with me now. I will protect you”. He faced forward and we barrelled ahead towards the distant mountains as the sun began to set and the light faded. I wrapped my arms around him tightly and rested my head against his broad back.

I was in.

The motorbike hummed beneath me as we sped along the cracked black asphalt of the winding road. I clung to Jack “BlackJack” Stone as he skilfully tilted the bike into the corners. I gripped him tight and rested my head against his broad imposing back.
 

We were fleeing a scene of death and destruction. The last thing I had seen when he gunned the engine and my head whipped back as the bike growled to life, was injured men lying dead and bleeding in the car park. It had been an all out frontal assault on Jack Stone and with my help we had escaped unharmed.

For me the hard part was now just beginning. I am an undercover cop tasked with building a case against Jack Stones motorcycle gang. They are a highly secretive group suspected to be involved with gun running, drug dealing, bank robberies and several other highly violent crimes. The gang had dealings with the Koreans, the Mexicans and the Columbians. If I could successfully infiltrate them and build a case, the special crimes unit could put away a lot of scum bags.

The events in the bar earlier today had been nothing but sheer luck for me. I had saved Stones life when I had blasted an assailant about to shoot him in the back. We had gunned our way out of the bar and here I was now clinging to him on his massive bike as we wound our way along the back country roads.

When Captain Travers gave one of his many speeches to the members of the elite Special Crimes unit he often used the colourful image of being naked on a tightrope with a pit of rabid and snarling dogs below to describe the job of an undercover detective. Right now I felt like I had taken the first steps onto that tightrope and I hadn’t even wobbled. This was only the beginning and danger and peril lay ahead and the rabid dogs are hungry for my flesh.

I squeezed my arms a little tighter around Jack Stones waist appreciating his taught muscles under my embrace. I would have to get close to him if I wanted to become integral to his gang. This was part of the job and we all knew that when undercover situations like this would arise, sometimes we would have to get intimate to keep our cover in place. If you want to stay on the tightrope you have to do anything possible to maintain your balance. I was not going to fall. The rabid dogs would not get me. I repeated this mantra over and over in my mind, partly to calm myself and partly to reassure myself. The following few hours would be no time for self doubt.

I clung to Stone and pushed all fears to the back of my mind. I was now Linda Lake and any sign of fear or doubt would put me in danger. The veil of this assumed character enshrouded me.
 

The scenery whipped by as we sped along. It was mostly flat scrub brush and wide open pitted dirt fields. As we turned a bend we passed by a large open cemetery. Standing close to an old rusted iron gate stood a tall man with greying hair in a dark suit. By his side was a small blonde boy dressed in a matching suit. As we roared past them the tall man raised his arm and pointed directly at us. His arm hung in the air and one bony finger followed our passage along the road. A chill ran down my spine and I involuntarily squeezed Jack Stone very tight. The bike juddered and weaved close to the centre line and then he had it back in control. I must of jolted him with the unexpected force of my embrace.

A few minutes later the bike slowed down and we pulled to a stop outside an old dilapidated garage and convenience store. He got off the bike and turned to me. His face was an ashen pale colour.

“Are you ok?” I said.

Jack unzipped his leather jacket slowly and before it was even open half way I could see his T shirt was soaked in blood. He winced as he pulled his shirt away from his skin. Fresh rivulets of blood ran down his side and pooled on the cracked asphalt. He put his hand on my shoulder and leaned on me shifting his weight as he gritted his teeth.

“One of those fuckers winged me. Can you get some bandages and meet me in the rest room?” he said forcing a wad of bills into my hand.

I headed towards the convenience store and glanced back at Jack as he walked with a stiff gait towards the rest rooms at the side of the garage. I cursed to myself. If this was more then a flesh wound and things went south quickly I would lose my chance to infiltrate the gang. Without thinking I stopped mid stride. I actually felt a pang of guilt about how coldly I had considered Jack dying. This was not good. In the academy we had been taught that a traumatic event can bring people close with a burning intensity. In our short time together we had both brushed past death and walked away from it. I needed to focus. I pushed the guilt away, excusing it as a momentary lapse of judgement. I needed to focus and not let emotions bleed in.

I picked up my pace and entered the harshly lit store.

I gathered up a few packets of bandages and some alcohol wipes. The man behind the counter was large and sweaty and he eyeballed me with a crooked yellow grin on his face. A stale sour smell filled my nostrils as I got closer to him.

"You look like you have been through the wars" he said barely suppressing a laugh.

I did not like the creepy vibes this guy was giving off. I wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible. I dropped my money on the counter, I did not want this creep touching my hand. I gathered up the bandages and hurriedly got away from the counter.

"Hey, why don't you stop and chat for a while?" He bellowed after me.

I quickly crossed the cracked asphalt in front of the garage as I headed towards the restrooms. Why had I let that guy get under my skin so quickly? My nerves jangled and I felt on edge. I had been running on pure adrenaline for the last hour or so, I was feeling the effects of it wearing off. I dug the nails of my left hand hard into my palm, the shock of pain refocused me.
 

I knocked on the wooden door of the restroom, faded paint flaked away under my knuckles.