Page 1 of Claymore
Chapter One
Claymore
The aged brick building stood tall in front of me with its new iron sign hanging over by the door. The wooden portico that hugged the front door was water-stained after the first rain shower Mascid had in a while. The air was so humid I was sweating straight through my leather jacket, and so I peeled it off, heading inside. I heard the clanking of glassware and the sweet scent of beer in the air. I slid onto one of the bar stools, ordering myself up a foamy cold one, then downing it in one go.
It felt good to get out of my head a little, give myself a break after another long, successful run. It’d been a whole month without trouble, no sign of Ray anywhere. I wondered if the fucker finally bit the dust. I sat there for a half hour, listening to the jukebox going, the regulars chatting up a storm. Just when the place was starting to fill up, I knew it was time to head out.
I made it round back to where I parked my bike, fresh out of the shop and looking as clean as ever. I got on, pulling out my cell phone to try Ella again. She screened the first two calls, and if she dodged another one, I’d have to make it down to Sedona tonight. I pressed my lips together, tapping my fingers on my bike handles.
“Claymore. What do you want? You’ve been calling me my entire shift.”
“I want to make sure you’re okay. I don’t know if you remember, but your big bad brother is still out there, along with his band of lunatics,” I quipped.
“Why don’t you just leave me alone, Claymore? Look, I said I’ll help, but you can’t be—”
I felt a sharp pain hit the back of my head, my cell phone falling out of my hand, and the world around me faded to black. I didn’t even know how long it’d been when my eyes finally fluttered open, the pain settling into the back of my skull, throbbing. I stared up at two grizzled, burly men. They reeked of cigarette smoke and whiskey like they grabbed a bottle of the good stuff off of some rich guy, bathing in it.
One of ’em had a mouth full of gold teeth, glinting in the warm streetlamp lighting behind the Tavern. The other was younger, taller, but just as goddamn hulking. I clenched my jaw, trying to push myself onto my feet, but they kicked me right in the gut.
“The fuck do you want?” I asked, and that’s when I saw it.
I stared at the emblem etched into the sides of their jackets, and I rolled my eyes.
“Goddamn Freeway Fucks.”
“What’d you say? Hear that, Ron? This guy here’s got a big mouth. I’m gonna need information, Rebel. Give me what I need, and I won’t have to knock your fucking teeth out,” he spat.
I patted my holster at my back, but my weapon was gone.
“Tossed it. You ain’t getting it back.”
I raised my eyebrow at him, feeling a cough coming on, and I spewed some blood out onto the pavement. He smiled, grabbing me by the collar and slamming me up against the brick.
“Where the hell is Ray?”
I stared at him blankly, watching his eyes dart around. With every passing second, he only grew angrier. I glanced down to see a gun stuffed into the holster in his jeans, and with every last bit of energy I had left, I lunged forward. We both fell to the ground, and I managed to slip it out, pointing it at him. The other biker barreled toward me, and I hit him with the butt of the gun so hard blood spewed from his lips.
I pummeled them both, beating them to a pulp until they lay groaning on the ground. I stumbled to my feet, brushing the dirt off my jeans and I chucked the gun into the bushes behind the fence.
“Good luck finding that. If I see any more of you fucks around here, I’ll just have to take out what’s left of you.”
One of ’em crawled toward me trying to get a hold on my leg, but I bolted. I spotted my cell phone on the ground, and I grabbed it. I rushed over to my bike, feeling the pain really starting to set in, and my head was hazy. The engine hummed while I pulled out of the lot, gritting my teeth as I drove away. It sure as hell wasn’t how I wanted to be spending my night. My eyelids grew heavier the further I got, but halfway through my trip back, I couldn’t make it anymore. I pulled off to the side of the road near a deli shop, fishing my cell phone out of my pocket, and I dialed quickly.
“Tank. We’ve got a problem.”
“Claymore? Where are you?”
“Was down at the Tavern. You know, the only other place that’s supposedly as safe as the damn clubhouse? Two Fucks were there. They beat me shitless. I beat ’em pretty good too,” I said, coughing hard, feeling the pain in my stomach.
“They’re here?”
“Yeah. Look. I’m by the deli on the third. Send a savior?”
“Ripper will be there. The fuck they do to you?”
“They shredded my gut with those clunky boots. I’m pretty sure this shit hurts more than a shot to the shoulder.”
“Hang in there, Claymore.”
