Page 12 of The Biker and the Loner
A bullet whizzes past my ear, grazing it, and I can feel the intensifying burn with each second. With laser focus, I aim and fire. Man down.
I aim and fire. Man down.
"Michaelson..."
I duck and flatten to the ground next to Mitchell when a fusillade of bullets sprays in my direction. With a sickening thud, another troop member falls. Head shot. Dead before he even hit the ground.
"Micha—"
When I look to my left, Mitchell is gone. Eyes wide and frozen with terror. I couldn't save him.
"Retreat!"
A commander’s order should never be disobeyed. But I’m ready to die. It’s not fair that two good men are shot down and I’m still alive. I reach over and run my palm down Mitchell’s face to close his sightless eyes. Then, I reach up to my neck and clasp the protection chain rested above my dog tags. Lifting the pendants to my lips, I press a kiss to them and whisper goodbye to her.
Ready to meet death, I climb to my knees again, aim, and fire.
"Scratch!" Onyx’s voice wrenches me to the present. "Jesus...”
I blink.
I'm surrounded by brothers, all staring down at me with concern. Crouched to the ground, drenched in cold sweat, my gun aimed at Onyx.
"What?" I ask dumbly, disoriented.
Judge suddenly pushes through the crowd. "All's good, Scratch," he tells me. "It was just air shots, for fun. Like we used to do, remember?"
I lower my firearm. "Right."
Of course. Firing off a few rounds in the air is the norm at Den of Heathens’ shindigs. I should’ve expected it. But I hadn’t. Because I'm not the same anymore.
"All right, you can all go back to partying," Judge barks. "No more goddamn gunfire. Your brother's comin' back from a fucking warzone. Gonna take him some time to readjust."
As the circle of people begins to disperse, I straighten, suddenly uncomfortable.
"Had an uncle who went to war," Judge tells me as he gets out a pack of cigarettes and offers me one. "He came back a broken man. Colored by violence. Shots, fireworks, backfires, slamming doors...any sudden noise would set him off, send him in a violent tailspin." He takes out a lighter and lights up my cigarette. "Real messed up."
After taking a pull and exhaling smoke through my nostrils, I ask, "What happened to him?"
"Blew his own brains out."
"Shit."
Judge drops his hands firmly on my shoulders and looks me right in the eyes. "Gonna tell you what my grandad, who was a veteran, told him: You ain’t here, you're stillthere. It's like sleep-paralysis where you're trapped between sleep and wake. You gotta fight real hard to wake the hell up. ‘Cause sleep-walking through the rest of your life is only gonna lead you to a place you can’t return from."
"Right," I mumble around another lungful of smoke.
With another shoulder squeeze, he leaves.
Flicking the partially smoked cigarette to the patchy-grassed earth, I ground it out with my boot. Three years and seven months. That’s how long it’s been since I quit cigarettes. One night and that shit’s down the drain. "Think I'm gonna call it a night."
"'Kay." Onyx eyes me carefully. "Need anything?"
"Nah. Heading to Grunt's."
"Cool." He throws me a chin jerk. "Here if you need me, alright?"
"Yeah."
