The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club (12 page)

“You know it. I like her, for the record.”

Tanner smiled. “Yeah?”

Raven nodded. Even for a girl trapped in a psycho’s house, Jenny had remained tough. Raven liked tough women, and seeing Tanner happy was something magical. She already liked Jenny, and after some cleaning up, she could only get better. Raven didn’t have many female friends, but she thought Jenny might be different.

The light turned green and Tanner peeled out to the left. Raven sat there for a few seconds longer before tearing off to the right. She laughed as the wind pulled her hair around her neck, feeling that sweet freedom of the road around her.

After one of the longest nights of her life, Raven took a few days off from the Rising Sons. She needed the time to catch up on precious sleep, and as Tanner had said, “You earned it, sis.”

Raven thanked God that she didn’t have a morning shift at the parlor, and she reveled in turning her alarm off. Flipping the switch on her nightstand lamp, she let out a sigh of exhaustion and bedded down.

Her rattling phone woke her up not two hours later. She reached for it, still blinded by the darkness. Her fingers found it and she pulled her head up. The club was calling.
Of course
the club was calling. It was never in the early afternoon or when she was already on her way. It was always in the dead of night, or when she was busy with some other part of her life.

Raven put the phone to her ear, talking through the deep sleep haze. “Yeah? What’s up?”

“A drug dealer in town kidnapped somebody. We need that somebody, and we need the dealer gone. Two birds with one stone. I’ll text you the rendezvous point. Be there in fifteen. Come locked, come loaded. This ain’t play.”

Thirty seconds after the call ended, her phone vibrated again with an address outside of Walker Basin.

By the time the text came in, Raven was already sliding the previous day’s jeans back up her legs. She slid a belt through them and threaded her holster through the belt. She dug a sports bra out of her drawer, anticipating the need for support rather than style.

She threw on her t-shirt and prospect cut. In the mirror, she forced her eyes open, exaggerating her facial features to try and spring them awake. Raven looked at the patch that read
Prospect
. She knew it wouldn’t be on there long, but she still hated it. She tried to tell herself that she was just starting out and that it wasn’t a black mark.
Someday it will read “Raven,” and under that, “President
,” she thought, her heart catching up to the realization that she was going on a run with the club.

Adrenaline kicked in and did more than any espresso ever would. She headed for the door, throwing on her worn motorcycle boots. Before leaving the house, she checked her Glock 40, a workhorse of a pistol. The 40 had no safety and could fire all day and night without a single jam. She ejected the magazine to ensure it was full, pulled the slider back enough to see that there was no bullet in the chamber, then holstered it.

She tried to think if she was forgetting anything. When her mind blanked, she stepped through the door. There was no turning back.

She made the ride to the address in less than ten minutes. It was an old gas station, the kind with full service and a discount when paid in cash—the same kind that closed down at midnight. Boss and six other bikers sat beneath the old sign with plastic plates that displayed the price for unleaded fuel. She could identify a few, but the dawn hadn’t yet given her enough light to see faces. She could tell Bear was with them. Gunner and his brother, Trigger, were sitting on their bikes next to each other, too. Trigger never missed out on a fight.

“I’m waitin’ on one more guy, then we roll.” Bear turned and addressed the bikers behind him. “We’re looking for one victim. Name’s Nick. Late twenties, early thirties. Probably looks like a burnout. He’s the only one I want left alive. Boss’ name is Beezer. Older, salt and pepper hair, not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Bear shook his hair, imitating a shampoo commercial. A few of the bikers laughed to break the tension.

“I want you,” Bear pointed out Raven, “on the rear. Make sure we’re not followed, and if anyone is coming back to the compound while we’re inside, you’d better fuckin’ let us know.”

She nodded. Raven had listened hard, trying to memorize every detail. It was her first raid with the Rising Sons, and she was determined to prove herself. She was as good a shot, and as good a fighter, as all the men around her. She might not have been as muscular, but she was fast, and sometimes that was what counted.

In this case, though, she wouldn’t be inside. She’d be at the edge of some driveway, looking for red and blue lights, her ears focused on the police scanner.

When they heard the deep roar of a motorcycle on the road in front of them, Bear fired up his own. The crew followed suit, and when the bike passed them with a full head of steam, the president pulled out.

Raven didn’t catch who was riding scout. It didn’t really matter to her; she’d be at the back of the pack. She didn’t want to spend her first raid outside, but for a prospect to ride into a fight with the Rising Sons wasn’t the usual. Raven wondered if it was Bear’s way of repaying her, since she had personally made sure he was freed from jail.

The bikers pulled out from the station, Raven letting the train of riders pass her before she twisted the throttle back. Her job was important, even if it wasn’t glamorous. She protected the bikers from the rear. Attacks from behind were the most vicious. Raven unsnapped the leather strap over her handgun and gave frequent checks over both shoulders.

She looked ahead to oncoming traffic, noting the few cars that they passed. If any of them turned around or stopped abruptly, she’d let the others know and do what had to be done to slow down any attackers.

Raven knew there wasn’t much to her position, but she understood that it was crucial, and she knew that it took time to work up the ladder. Soon she’d be a point man and lead a crew into a building. Until that day, she’d do her job and do it well.

They rode single-file and Raven followed. She had no idea where they were headed or how far it was. The sky was hinting at morning as they raced east and into the foothills. When Raven saw the rider in front of her, Trigger, put his hand out and push it down toward the ground with an open palm, she knew they were close. She dropped her speed more than those in front of her. As the road wound and began to climb, she felt confident that they were close enough that she could find a decent lookout spot.

When she crested the next hill, she saw that Bear and the scout, Cecil, had come to a stop and were parked just off the road. Bear saw her and pointed straight down. He wanted her to stay where she was. She nodded at him, but he had already turned back to the conversation with Boss.

After a minute or two, Bear turned to the bikers. “All right. Let’s do this. If you got a god, ask him for protection.” Bear waited as a few of the Rising Sons bowed their heads. When all eyes were back on the president, he fired up the bike again.

They took off, leaving Raven at her post. She listened to the pack of motorcycles trail off until she couldn’t tell what was the sound of engines and what was her imagination.

Turning to the east, she could see the sun just cresting the foothills. After just a few minutes, she had to raise a hand to block the sunlight. She couldn’t be blinded
and
on the lookout at the same time. She fired up her Harley and headed back west, looking for a stretch of road that gave her a view of both the northbound and southbound routes. Less than a quarter mile of backtracking gave her what she was looking for.

Raven killed the engine and turned on the scanner app on her phone. Her signal was weak, but she had enough bars to hear Bakersfield dispatch. With one earbud in she listened to the radio traffic out of Bakersfield, and with the other she listened for approaching cars or bikes.

The scanner stayed quiet, except for the occasional medical call. One dispatcher did request police assistance, but it was far on the north side of town, more than half an hour in the other direction.

Once the radio traffic went silent, Raven was left alone with nature. The only sound was the wind whispering through the trees and shrubs. The short night of sleep tried to wrap a warm arm around her, but Raven shrugged it off, keeping herself awake by imagining the scene at the drug dealer’s.

She knew that when she heard the engines coming back toward her, she’d need to be ready to ride hard. Raven knew they’d all come back. She just hoped they’d come back with someone riding bitch and no one injured.

Checking her watch, she turned back toward Bear Valley. It had been nearly fifteen minutes. She was getting nervous. Nothing had come across the scanner, but she hadn’t gotten a call or text, either. Her heart rate moved upward at a steady pace. She reached for her phone, certain that the club had been gone too long. As she was about to call Gunner, she heard it.

At first Raven couldn’t tell what direction the sound was coming from. She spun back toward Bakersfield, thinking one of the smaller motorcycle clubs had set the whole thing up. She grabbed her Glock from the holster, pulling the slider back and filling the chamber. She listened as the sound grew louder. The hills made the sound hard to pinpoint, but it clicked after a few seconds. They were coming back.

She mounted her bike and reholstered the gun. As they came over the crest and toward her, she counted. Everyone that had gone in came out, plus one kid riding bitch behind Bear. She waited until they all passed, then followed. Raven’s job wasn’t over.

She kept a sharp eye behind as they headed back to Bakersfield. Any retaliation would come from behind, leaving more mounting pressure on her. The entire ride back, Raven thought she looked behind more than she looked forward. They weren’t followed, and as morning broke and the city began to wake, the Rising Sons made it back to Los Bandoleros unharmed. Or at least, relatively unharmed…

When Raven climbed from her bike, she saw that Trigger had red staining one of his pant legs. She rushed over and crouched down to see what had happened.

“Just a cut. Barely made it through the skin. Ain’t nothing to worry about.”

Raven shook her head. “It’s deeper than you think. We’re gonna have to get you to a hospital.” As she spoke, Gunner pulled off his bandana. He handed it to Raven.

“Thanks,” she said. He nodded back to her.

Trigger tore his jeans away just below the knee as Raven folded the bandana up until it could be used to stem the bleeding. She tied it on tight, and when she saw Trigger flinch, she knew the cut was worse than he was letting on.

“Quit bitchin’, little bro. It ain’t that bad.”
 
Gunner squeezed his brother’s shoulders as Raven tied the bandana on.

“Seriously. You’re gonna need a doctor to stitch this up.” She stood up and helped him to his feet.

Bear got her attention. “Don’t worry. We come prepared. Anyway, you’ve earned your keep for the day. Go home and catch up on your beauty sleep.”

Raven was offended that Bear was sending her away. “I’m sure there’s shit that needs to be done. You woke me up, so I’m here.”