Bound: Minutemen MC (14 page)

Chapter 21: Hot Pursuit

There were a few skills that Camilla had picked up during her travels as an investigative reporter. One of them was to ride a bike—sort of. This Harley-Davidson, it turned out, was a lot heavier than the bikes Camilla had tried. However, she knew enough of the basics to keep herself in the saddle.

She had not considered just how cold the desert was at night, and she shivered in the much-too-big-for-her leather jacket she had stolen from the chair in Dirk’s bedroom. That way, she had figured, if anyone were to spot her—God forbid—at first glance, she would look like a Minuteman going about his business.

She only hoped it wouldn’t be the Tar Mongols who spotted her first. In fact, she hoped no one would. It was only a matter of time before Dirk came after her, anyway, and he would be a formidable enough adversary to worry about. Even now that she was away from the house, Camilla had no great hopes to outrun him; no matter how exhausted he had been after their heated sexual encounter earlier that night, men like Dirk Coleman didn’t stay dead to the world for long.

Camilla couldn’t suppress another shiver, and this time it had little to do with the cold desert night. Vivid images from her prowess in Dirk’s bed rushed back to her memory. Yes, she had meant to wear him out so that she could finally make her move, but she had not expected it to go
that
well. She would have been lying if she said she didn’t enjoy it.

The Harley-Davidson hit a bump in the unpaved desert road and Camilla jumped, barely managing to regain control over the bike before it threw her off the saddle. She harshly berated herself. She needed to focus. Her mind was racing along with the bike she had stolen. She knew what she had done was pretty stupid, but she didn’t feel like she’d had a choice. She
had
to try. She had to give herself a chance. This waiting things out at Dirk’s house, waiting for “the war”—as Dirk and his men called it—was driving her insane. Guilt had become an ever-present burden ever since she had heard of the death of that Minutemen lieutenant and his family. She just
had
to do something. Even if that something was running through the Mojave Desert on a stolen Harley-Davidson, quite unsure of where she was going in the first place.

There was a heaviness in her heart, and she felt half-consumed with something very close to panic—and if she were to be completely honest with herself, not all of it had to do with the fact that she was, indeed, wandering amongst the California desert on a stolen bike. Some of it—and a good chunk of it, at that—had to do with the fact that she was leaving Dirk behind. She felt a sense of loss at the notion. She would miss the fiery hot sex she had with him, and she would miss him, too.

Camilla almost rolled her eyes at herself. Trust her to go and get Stockholm syndrome. But it was really,
really
hard—if not utterly impossible—to ignore the remarkableness that was Dirk Coleman. Camilla knew that she had lost him. Because even if he caught up with her—which was quite likely to happen—things would not be the same after the stunt she had just pulled. At the very least, he would not want to have sex with her again. Or maybe he would, Camilla thought after a moment, reconsidering, and it would be rougher. A shiver of anticipation ran down her spine.

Camilla shook her head to forcefully push those thoughts away.
You’re an idiot,
she reprimanded herself.
Just watch where you’re going and try not to fall off.

She had to stop her mind from wandering like that; it was dangerous. She needed to focus of all of her energy on her escape if she wanted to have a real chance at somehow getting back to New York.

New York
. Camilla sighed in contentment at the mere thought. Oh, but she missed it! She missed all of it. The chaos and the beauty. She missed her apartment and her friends. She missed the TIME headquarters and her co-workers. She missed Kurt, her boss and mentor.

Camilla shuddered as thoughts of Kurt entered her mind. She would have to explain to him what had happened. She could already see him, shaking his head at her naivety. Granted, he had been as fooled by Tobias Alvarez as she had, but Camilla was the one who had climbed on the back of his bike without taking any precautions. She would have to tell Kurt they had lost the story, because there was no way she was ever coming back here. He would be so disappointed…and Kurt Davis was the one person Camilla hated to disappoint—more than anyone else in her life.

She tightened her hold around the Harley’s handlebars, ever glad that she’d had the presence of mind to grab a pair of Dirk’s biking gloves from the garage. They were too big for her, but they got the job done.

Camilla thought she heard a howl in the distance, past the roaring of the bike. She shivered.
Coyotes.
If she crashed, she would be a good prey for them. Of course, coyotes don’t usually attack humans, but with her recent stroke of bad luck, she wouldn’t be surprised if something else were to go horribly wrong.

As if on cue, she heard a redoubled roaring of bikes. She managed to cast a quick look behind her without falling off her transportation, and she cursed when she caught sight of two bikes coming after her in hot pursuit. She tightened her hold further on the handlebars and gave more gas, speeding up.

Two bikes.
Where could Dirk possibly have gotten two bikes in such a short time? She hadn’t been gone that long, and yet he had managed to not only notice that she had gotten away; he’d even had the time to get backup. Then again, Camilla reasoned, the Minutemen probably had outposts scattered all over the desert; they must have seen her speed by.

Camilla couldn’t help but hate herself just a little. This really was a bad plan. What had possessed her? Was she really thinking she could get away with slipping out of the Minutemen’s vice-president’s house and stealing his bike? On the club’s own territory? It was pure madness. But Camilla had been desperate, and try as she might, she couldn’t see any other option.

So here she was, racing in the middle of the Mojave Desert on a bike that wasn’t her own, pursued by the thugs of the man she wanted to be near but whom she had to get away from. The whole situation was just too fucked up for words.

How did I get here?
she thought in frustration, not for the first time over the past few weeks.

Camilla stepped on the gas and commanded the bike to go even faster. She didn’t know how much longer she could run without losing control of her ride, but she would hold on as long as she could. Even though, ironically, getting away from Dirk was the last thing she wanted to do.

***

Dirk was furious as he drove at breakneck speed through the desert. He was furious with himself for being stupid enough to fall for Camilla’s old-as-time trick, and he was furious with Camilla for having tricked him. How dare she? Had he not treated her with nothing but respect? Did she know how good she had it, considering her situation? There was no way any other biker’s gang would have been this considerate. She should count herself lucky. Instead, she had snuck out in the middle of the night and stolen his beloved Harley-Davidson. So much for gratitude.

Dirk stepped on the gas pedal, as he was hit with a renewed wave of anger. He could only imagine what Stephan would say if he lost her. The ramifications would be endless, and he wasn’t sure Camilla had thought of them. Everyone knew they were screwing each other, and her escape would raise questions. People would become suspicions. They might even go as far as to think that he let her go.

Dirk tightened his hold around the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. Did she know the danger she was putting him in? Or did she just not care?

Speaking of caring…why did he? He knew there was no way she had any idea where she was going. Chances were she would just get lost in the desert, and he could search for her the next day with the men’s help, with no rush. Why was he even going after her right now, in the middle of the night?

Dirk shook his head. Asking himself those questions was dangerous territory. He’d best just tell himself that he was doing it out of anger. He wondered if he should come up with a way to punish her…and then he shook his head again at the images that thought brought to his mind.
Damn Camilla and her curves
. She had put him under a spell that he had no idea how to break, although he knew he had to, and that he had to do it soon.

The jeep jumped and wobbled over the uncertain terrain of the unpaved desert road, but Dirk hardly noticed the harshness of the movements. All of his focus was on Camilla. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around what had happened. He had been stupid and careless, and it just wasn’t like him. He had let his guard down, and that was the thing that angered him the most. He
never
let his guard down.
Ever
. Especially around women. He couldn’t afford one of them to sneak in and get under his skin.
Like Camilla had done
, even though he hated to admit it.

He couldn’t think straight. Thoughts of Eleanor swirled around his head, unbidden, unwanted. He usually tried his best not to think of her, but it was a hard task to accomplish when he found himself dealing with the only woman—after her—who had managed to truly grab his attention.

No more,
Dirk thought fiercely.

No more would he let himself fall under Camilla’s spell.

His cell phone rang on the passenger seat, and he jumped. He stole a look at the display and his stomach clenched when he saw Stephan’s name flashing at him. How did the man know?

He reached for the device and picked up, putting his president on speaker.

“Yeah,” he said, as laconically as he could.

“Dirk, we have a problem,” Stephan’s clipped voice came from the phone’s speaker.

You have
no
idea,
Dirk thought gloomily. Aloud, he said, “What is it?”

“We think the Tar Mongols might be getting the Vandals involved. Johnny saw them make a deal in the park earlier tonight.”

“Fuck!” Dirk cursed heartedly, punching the steering wheel for good measure.

“Yep.”

The California Vandals were nothing more than thugs, but they were efficient thugs at that, and them getting involved wasn’t a good thing. Besides, the thought of a second gang watching their every moves wasn’t a thrilling one. Too many enemies at once was always a very difficult thing to handle, even for the Minutemen.

“Are you sure?” Dirk asked, even though he knew the answer already.

“Pretty sure,” Stephan said, predictably. “Positive, in fact.”

“What do you think Ruiz offered them?”

“I don’t know,” Stephan admitted. “But it wouldn’t take much to get the Vandals to step in. You know they’re always ready for violence. Besides, it’s no secret they don’t like us very much; we’ve stepped on their toes once or twice.”

“Yeah,” Dirk said, with a satisfied smirk in spite of everything. “I remember.”

The jeep hit a massive bump, and the whole vehicle jumped.

“Shit!” Dirk cursed through gritted teeth, barely able to get the car under the control before it flipped over.

“What was that?” Stephan asked.

Oh, fuck.
Dirk swallowed nervously. “What was what?”

“That metallic clang and screech of tires,” Stephan said, matter-of-factly. “Are you in the car?”

“Uh…” Dirk figured there was no point lying now. He sighed heavily. “Yes.”

“I thought you sounded way too alert for someone who had received a phone call at three forty-five in the morning.”

Dirk didn’t say anything. What could he possibly say?

“Why are you in the car, Dirk?” Stephan asked. His voice was calm, which was generally a bad sign.

Dirk thought fast. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said. “I thought I’d go for a ride to clear my head.”

“And you left Camilla alone at your house?” There was skepticism in Stephan’s voice.