Burn (13 page)

“Tank did his part.
 
I supplied him with the right cocktail of drugs to kill Henry and Tank slipped them into his drinks.
 
We had it all worked out.
 
See, Henry was an asshole and wouldn’t budge on drugs.
 
Wouldn’t allow them in his town.
 
Me and Tank, we saw a goldmine being wasted, so we did something about it.”

Mercer couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
 
Fixer, Mercer’s main enemy, was responsible for the death of Henry.
 
Fixer and Tank had actually plotted the death of the man Mercer loved, the man he’d considered to be a second father.

Fixer’s eyes moved around the room and landed on Mercer.
 
His smile had faded, his face serious and deadly as he kept talking.

“We were going to be rich and powerful.
 
The money we had from the drugs was used to buy guns.
 
We were going to merge the clubs into something more powerful than anyone had seen in this area.
 
A new beginning for Rawlins.
 
We were going to be the Black Rattlers.
 
Death on wheels.
 
We would amass money and men, spreading out and taking over any territory we wanted.
 
We would patch over the gangs smart enough to join and destroy anyone who resisted.”

His eyes were wide, his fists clenched.
 
The anger was clearly coursing through his body as he thought about all his plans and the waste that had been laid to them.

“Then you, Mercer…”
 
His breathing quickened.
 
“Goddamn it!
 
You decided Tank was bad news for the club.
 
Your goddamn loyalty to Henry.
 
You stole our money and took off.
 
Back to that shit-heel of town you come from.”

Fixer jumped on the table, then off again, landing next to Doc.
 
Fixer gave Doc a good kick in the ribs.
 
Doc made a painful sound, but at least that meant he was still alive.

“So those buildings marked on the map, they were part of this new super club?”

“New clubhouses, spread out to take control of everything between here and Cheyenne.
 
But you ruined everything!”

Red tucked his gun into his waistband and walked behind the couch.
 
He grabbed a gas can and began pouring it over everything in the clubhouse.

“You been working for the Rattlers this whole time?” Mercer asked him.
 
“That’s how they knew to attack us on our way to Billings.
 
That’s how they were always one step ahead.”

“None of that matters,” said Fixer.
 
You’re going to die tonight, Mercer.
 
You, your club, and your girl.
 
That’s all you gotta worry about.”

The room reeked of gasoline.
 
Mercer’s brain was working in overdrive, but nothing was coming to mind.
 
Fixer lit a match and threw it on the ground.
 
The gas ignited and the room instantly scorching hot.
 
Fixer and Red headed to the door.

“So you’re just going to leave me to burn?”
 

Fixer laughed.
 
“And leave you to go out the back door?
 
Hell, no.
 
You’ve been a pain in my ass for too long.”

Red raised his gun and cocked the trigger.
 
A blast rang out—Red’s chest tore apart and he fell to the ground.
 
Mercer looked behind him and saw Danni standing there, gun in hand, looking like she could take on Satan himself.

When Mercer looked back, Fixer was making a run for it.

“Are you OK?” Mercer asked.

Danni nodded.
 
“Go after him.
 
I’ll get Doc out of here.”

Mercer ran out the door after Fixer.
 
He heard a bike start up and ran to his own.
 
He was off, chasing after Fixer.
 
It was over tonight, one way or another.
 
No more getting away, no more running and hiding.
 
Mercer gunned the accelerator and shot down the street.
 
He ran red lights and blasted through intersections, he didn’t care.
 
He was focused on a single mission.
 
Kill the Rattlers.

Running through an intersection, a car almost hit him, but Mercer accelerated through it.
 
He was uncomfortable with this bike.
 
He hadn’t been riding it very long and wasn’t sure how much it could handle, but he wanted Fixer more than anything.
 
He wanted to permanently put an end to that disgusting grin, but he had lost track of the man.
 
Fixer had only been a few lengths ahead, but when Mercer almost hit the car, he’d taken his eyes off Fixer.

He was out of town now.
 
The trees became more dense and the only light to see by, besides his headlight, was the moon, fat and bright overhead.
 
If Mercer had been able to see better, he might have seen Fixer sooner.
 

The man was off his bike, standing in the middle of the road, gun pointed straight ahead.
 
Mercer saw the blast from the muzzle and felt his insides catch fire.
 
He fell from the bike and hit the pavement hard.
 
He rolled to a stop, clutching his midsection.

“Jesus, Mercer, look at us.
 
We’re not that different,” said Fixer.
 
He was standing right next to Mercer, looking a thousand feet tall in the moonlight.
 
“We both want what’s best for our clubs.
 
At least what’s left of them.”
 

Fixer crouched down and put the barrel of the gun right where Mercer had been shot.
 
The pain was excruciating, white hot, running through his body.

Fixer said, “We both set out to make something of ourselves, to prove ourselves, and now look.
 
We’re the only ones left.
 
I’ve killed all your people and you’ve killed all mine.”

Mercer was desperate.
 
His gun had gone flying away when he hit the ground.
 
Once again, he was unarmed.
 
He had as much time to live as Fixer wanted to talk.
 

Fixer stood up again and paced in front of him.
 
“We’ve gone round and round for too long now.
 
Me hitting you, you clawing at me.
 
They’re going to make us the stuff of folk legends, you know.
 
When bikers talk about bitter rivals, real enemies, they are going to talk about us.
 
How we took everything away from each other.
 
But only one of us is walking away tonight.
 
It’s over, Mercer.
 
My hat’s off to you, boy.
 
You put up a hell of a fight, you really did.
 
I mean, you never should’ve lived past Tank, but here you are.
 
Then you had a traitor in your ranks, a man right next to you, feeding information to me, but you still got the drop on me.
 
You even got your girl back.
 
But none of that matters.”

Mercer’s side was on fire and he was tired of hearing Fixer talk.
 
If he was going to do it, Mercer thought, then fucking do it already.
 

Fixer kept going. “No, tonight is where it ends.
 
You die in the dark on this road, then Danni joins you before too much longer.”

Danni.
 
No, I’ll never let him have her.

“Last words?” asked Fixer.

Mercer mumbled something low and Fixer didn’t hear it.
 
He kneeled next to Mercer again.
 
“What’s that?”

Mercer whispered hoarsely, “Don’t fuck with Black Ice.”

He grabbed Fixer’s gun and turned it.
 
Mercer shoved his finger on the trigger and fired, again and again.
 
Fixer roared and fell back.
 
Instantly, Mercer was on top of him, gun in hand, and fired until the clip was out.

Fixer lay on his back, blood spilling out from him.
 
Mercer was next to him, barely able to stay upright himself, but wanted to make sure the last thing Fixer saw was Mercer, victorious.

Fixer smiled that evil grin, but now his yellow teeth were red, covered in blood.

In a low voice, he said, “I told you, Mercer.
 
We’re the stuff of legends.”

Then his head fell back.
 
Fixer was finally dead.

It took him awhile, but Mercer managed to get to his feet and over to his bike.
 
Somehow, he got it on its wheels and started it.
 
Before he left, he looked back at Fixer one last time.
 
It had been so long and so rough, Mercer was starting to wonder if he really was some kind of supernatural creature, impossible to kill.
 
But Fixer lay there, his eyes open, staring at nothing.

His last words rang through Mercer’s head.
 
We’re the stuff of legends
.

“No,” said Mercer.
 
“You’re just an asshole.”

Mercer kicked the bike to life and rode back to Rawlins, back to the flaming remains of the Black Ice clubhouse, and back to Danni.

Mercer rode down the street, the sun on his face, his long hair flowing out of his helmet.
 
The motorcycle was humming along nicely.
 
It had taken him a while to get the right mixture of gas and air for maximum efficiency, but he had finally nailed it.
 
In fact, it was safe to say that the gas mix in the bike had been his biggest problem for the last couple of months.
 
Everything else was going according to plan.

He pulled up to the new Black Ice clubhouse, the one they had rebuilt after the fire.
 
He had to admit, it was an improvement.
 
New building, new tech installed.
 
It gave him a sense of renewal.
 
Like the fire in the old clubhouse had burned away all the problems of the past, stripped the place of its demons.

He pulled his bike into his slot and checked his watch.
 
He was late for the meeting, but he figured the president could be a couple minutes late.
 
Especially today.
 
He opened the thick wooden door and entered.
 
The men were waiting on him, talking to each other, shooting pool, whatever to pass the time.
 
When they saw him, they filed into the meeting room, the one for Black Ice members only.
 

All nine members took their seats.
 
Mercer, as president, was at the head of the table.
 
Doc was to his left, just as the vice president should be.
 
It had taken him a long time to recover from his injuries.
 
He hadn’t been able to ride for months and there was a strict rule in Black Ice: you don’t ride, you don’t vote.
 
But Doc had fought his way back and seemed younger than ever.
 

The other seven men were as good as Mercer could hope.
 
All good riders, all trustworthy.
 
Maybe a couple of them needed to settle down and keep their attitudes in check, but that was just another job Mercer was fit to do.

Mercer called the meeting to order. “How’s the new shipment looking?”

“Dude down in Casper said it’ll be ready tomorrow, but he’s always late,” said Billy.
 

“After the meeting, call his ass and tell him late isn’t an option this time.
 
Tell him we need it yesterday.”

Billy nodded.
 

“What’s the cash situation?
 
We got enough to cover this run?”

“Oh yeah,” said Doc.
 
“One thing Black Ice doesn’t have to worry about right now is cash.
 
Not after selling all those Rattler weapons.
 
In fact, we need to start discussing expanding.
 
It would do us good to have a branch in Casper.”

Mercer smiled. “I think I remember a building down there that would be perfect for a local clubhouse.
 
I know no one’s in it right now.”

Doc gave him a knowing grin and winked.

They discussed a little more business, and then Mercer adjourned the meeting.
 
He had to get going early today.
 
He waited until everyone had filed out of the meeting room, and then walked through the main area of the clubhouse, down the long hallway to the private quarters.
 
Along the way
,
he passed some things from the club’s past.
 
One was a framed picture of Henry, then a gleaming motorcycle, completely rebuilt and on display.
 
The little brass plaque beneath it read, “
IN MEMORY OF Gerald ‘CRUZ’ CRUZAN.
 
BLACK ICE LIVES ON THROUGH HIS SHINING EXAMPLE
.”