Page 40 of Claymore
I couldn’t see his face behind his dome, but he got a little too close for comfort. To my right, his buddy was closing in on me and it looked like they were planning a little victory of their own. I sped up, feeling the wind on my skin, rippling through my clothes. I overtook them with ease, catching the slipstream off the guy in front of me, my eyes glued to the finish line the entire time.
Our engines roared through the air, spitting, popping as I approached the end of the road. My heart was racing, my fingers squeezing the handles of my bike so tightly they were going white. Soon, the world around me faded and all I could see was my win. My wheels grazed the gravel beneath them, lifting slightly at the very end, and the flag girl declared me goddamn victorious.
“Number Eleven! Eleven! Eleven!”
The girls around me cheered, their boyfriends breaking beer bottles, wondering who the fuck I was. The bets they placed were a hard loss, and I knew if I wasn’t careful, I’d probably get my ass beat. I spotted Vegas in the back of the crowd, holding a beer of his own, chatting up some bright-eyed blonde in a leather jacket.Not what you’re here for, Vegas.
I slipped my dome off, relishing in the commotion, sharing subtle glances with the Lions who were glaring at me. I pulled my bike off to the side behind a hunk of American muscle, grabbing Vegas by the collar to get him away from his little distraction.
“Vegas, I need you to stay focused, man. They didn’t look too happy back there. You’ll have plenty of time for blondie when we’re done.”
“Sorry. Well, you did good out there. I’m sure it ruffled their fucking feathers,” he said.
“It did more than that. We leave now, they might just follow us,” I told him.
We both looked back over at the two Lions and they were glaring at us. There was real fire, real rage behind their eyes and I knew we were in for a fight. They whispered something to each other before splitting off. One of ’em tapped the other on the chest, like they just made a deal.
I collected my winnings from Vegas’s blondie of the hour, and we were on our way. I rode front, heading straight for the old bank when I heard the sound of a third engine roaring behind me and, just as I thought, we had some fucking company.
We pulled up outside the old Palmer Creek Bank. The brick walls were starting to gray as the heat and rain washed away what was left of their once bright red color. I pulled my dome off, spotting the Lion’s headlight flickering, coming toward us. Vegas snickered in the corner, fishing for the beer he took from the meet. He popped it open, taking a swig just as we heard footsteps approaching us.
“Who the fuck do you two think you are?”
“Come again?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“You two pull up to my meet, take my shit, and leave? I’m gonna be needing that cash back, buddy.”
“No can do. See I wiped the floor with your sorry ass. I’m gonna put this cash to good use.”
“Seems to me like you shouldn’t be putting up bets on games you can’t win,” Vegas said, taking another swig of his beer.
The Lion lunged toward us, his burly body barreling in my direction, but before he got too close, Vegas broke the beer bottle right over his head. He staggered back, snarling, going straight for the backpack. I grabbed him by the collar, slamming my forehead into his until blood started to trickle from his eyebrow. He was a big guy and he put up one hell of a fight, but Vegas was quick. He whipped around, pummeling him to the ground.
I kicked the shit out of him, driving my fists into his jaw, and again into his mouth. I bust his lip open and the blood pooled so quickly he spit it out. He groaned, his bruises blackening, his eye swelling shut.
“Who the fuck are you?” he spat.
“Rebels. This is our fucking territory. You can’t just roll into town and not know who the big boys in charge are. We’re gonna have some real fun with you,” said Vegas.
He held him down while I grabbed the gun from my holster. I hit the fucker so hard with its cool metal base that he blacked out. His breathing slowed, his fingers stopped twitching, and he was ready for us to haul right back home to Tank.
“I got this. Just watch my back in case his friend comes to check on him,” I instructed.
I hauled the hulking Lion’s unconscious body onto the front of my bike while Vegas slid a dome over his head. He didn’t do much as flinch when I started up my engine, riding through the night. His head bobbed around every time I made a harsh turn, and the extra weight wasn’t fun to maneuver. Once I spotted our clubhouse hidden among the trees, a few miles away from the main road, my eyes lit up.
Vegas and I dragged the body up the porch stairs into the foyer and all chatter came to a halt. Ripper and Archer stared at us confusedly, raising their eyebrows like they didn’t expect us to come back with a catch.
“You two just gonna stand there or are you gonna help us get this fucker in the basement before he wakes up?” I asked.
Ink popped his head over the couch, his beer bottle clinking on the wooden backing.
“Yeah. Hold on.”
They took him off my hands and I rushed into the garage for some thick rope and duct tape. Ripper and I secured the rope to the wooden beam in the middle of the room. We wrapped and wrung the rope until he was practically sitting up strong on his own. Vegas duct-taped his mouth shut, rubbing his hands together with a satisfying clap after a job well done.
“Someone needs to go tell Tank we’ve got ourselves a Lion,” I said.
“Leave it to you two to pull this shit off,” Ripper said, patting me on the back.
