Here Comes Revenge // Metallica

Guy

The wind presses against my helmet as I push my hog to its limits. The buzz of engines behind me fills the air, but I don't engage them. We haven't seen a single other driver on this road for a half hour. It's not unheard of to be this deserted at this time of night, now well past midnight, but it isn't the norm.

I should know. I've been using this very stretch of highway nearly my entire life. The road leads away from my anchor, and back to its depths. Never have I experienced the sense of doom heading in this direction as I do tonight. Even when Boulder or his henchmen held someone there, a sworn enemy, a traitor, or sometimes someone trying to steal drugs or women. Tormenting people is a team sport for the Death. I kept myself away from that part of it, but I'm far from innocent. I was the guy looking for the dirt against the accused. I usually found it, and even when I didn't Boulder would have at least one miraculous "witness" to cement their guilt.

Kangaroo fucking court run by the Death in the bowel of the clubhouse, overseen by a vicious, bloodthirsty leader. Obviously, it was never legal. Nothing they do ever is.

And now they have Mari. I know it's them. I can only hope it isn't too late.

"Guy." Grinder's voice somehow makes it through the insulation of my helmet and the drone of the engines. I glance over at him, now riding alongside me. He doesn't bother trying to talk to me after gaining my attention. Instead, he throws his left arm up to his shoulder, basically shouting at me in biker-speak to pull over.

I shake my head, pointing down the road, my way of saying, "No, I'm staying the course."

Even through my helmet I can tell I just pissed him off because he chops his hand down in front of him. That's a damn order I'm expected to follow. If I was patched into his club and disobeyed his command, there'd be hell to pay. I'm not patched in, never will be considering I've been with the Death as long as I have–that's biker treason–but I follow his order anyway. Something must be up and I'd rather know what I'm getting myself into before my life and Mari's is on the line, on the off chance that Grinder knows something.

I trail him to the side of the road and roll to a stop. Five other bikes follow behind us. Brax is one of them, but I don't know who the rest are. All of them are wearing leather cuts matching the one I saw hanging in Grinder's office all those weeks ago. The Bitter Reapers' ghost skull. One half of the skull is visible while the other is going up in smoke. Boulder hated their patch. He said it lacked an element of fear–no weapons included. I always thought it had depth. Poetic grace. Still do.

As everyone circles up, helmets come off–another thing Boulder would mock. The Death don't wear helmets. I never cared before. My life wasn't something precious I was trying to protect. But now I'm glad helmets aren't scoffed by the Reapers.

For the first time, I'm not ready to die. At least, not on the road leading to Mari. I'll die saving her if I have to. But it's not time for thinking like that. Not yet.

"Damn, Guy. I been trying to pull you over for ten minutes."

"Well, now we're here. Don't waste time we don't have calling me out for it." Talking back to the Pres is a risk, but he's not my official leader so I don't give a good goddamn. Grinder doesn't react, but he does narrow his focus. Dark energy engulfs him.

"We need a plan. And in order to make one, we need intel about layout, out buildings, possible barriers or any traps. What weapons will we be looking down?" He points his dark gaze in my direction. "And you're the one with the knowledge. So drop it on us before we walk into a bloodbath."

I run a gloved hand through my hair. He's right. We need a plan. More specifically, we need a distraction.

"I'll give it all, but you have to swear to follow my lead."

Grinder nods, looking around the group to enforce his decision. "Agreed. You know best who we're dealing with. We all share a goal: get Mari out alive. You tell us how to make that happen and we'll execute the plan."

I don't miss the double meaning in his words. But honestly, if Boulder ends up dead, the weight of my existence might finally end.

"The club house is set back off the highway. Blocked by thick tree growth and underbrush, same as the road. And there's a chainlink fence, ten feet high, running the perimeter. Barbed wire along the top."

Grinder grunts his disapproval.

"But I know the weak spot in the back. We can crawl under a section I cut a few years back so I could get some...people out."

I don't bother going into the details of who those people were. Women, some underaged, that Boulder'd talked into the club and then wouldn't allow to leave. I got him stoned off his ass, passed out for almost twelve hours, in order to let them out. He still doesn't know how they got out.

"Most of the club is off thugging. Rolling through towns wreaking havoc, looking for marks." I shake off the sick feeling. I was never tasked with those duties, always the intel guy who could hack a bit and remain in the shadows. "There won't be many members on site. Might even be empty without me there."

I was the sole permanent clubhouse resident. That was my first role with the Death when I ended up there as a kid. My mom had died. I had no where to go. Boulder and his dad, the former club president, made me the club caretaker. I did the chores and they let me live there. The clubhouse was many things to them, but I was the only one who called it home.

I continue describing the two main buildings–the house and the garage which had been used as a warehouse for their illegal paraphernalia–and the four sheds added over the years. Those served several purposes. One being beds for hook ups of various kinds, none I'd ever participated in. Another being a holding cell for a captured enemy, or for someone he intended to traffick. Boulder added them to the compound after Mari's escape, claiming he wanted a more secure spot than the back bedroom he'd been using. He sound proofed them, too.

Dark memories rush back in of things I'd seen or heard when the club members were partying or dealing with a traitor. I wipe them off by focusing on the men in front of me, waiting for more.

"If she's there, which I'm pretty sure she is, they probably have her in one of those sheds. Each one has a coded locking system. And Boulder changes it each time he uses it to hold someone. I can probably hack the code, but it will take time. I'll need you to watch my back while I work on it."

"Draw it out." Grinder reaches into his back pocket, pulling out an oversized pocket knife and snapping it open. "Scratch the layout in the dirt and we'll mark locations." He looks around at the rest of his guys. "Keep it clean. Locked and loaded only in defense, understood?"

Grunts and nods fill the circle of men, most who haven't seen action like this in a long time. Grinder'd put the club to rights years ago. They don't deal with this shit anymore. How are they going to have the upper hand with their senses dulled from years of playing by the rules?

I don't know and I don't have time to worry about it.

Instead, I kneel down, knife point sticking into the dirt, and start scratching out a map.

"Fence line here, garage and house here. The sheds are spread out on the east side."

"Tell me about the security system." Brax asks, the first words spoken by someone other than Grinder or me.

"You're looking at it. They didn't want cameras on them or their comings and goings. Boulder is paranoid about technology and evidence."

"They're right to be."

"So I'm the default security guard because I'm the one who lives there."

"But you haven't lived there for a while now. Who takes your place?"

"Depends on who's available. Sometimes, no one. Boulder thinks he's got it secure enough back behind the trees and up against the river. No one's just passing by. No one stumbles onto it, not with the fence around the perimeter." I glance at each man in the circle. "You've known about the Death for years. Did any of you know where this was?"

Grunts in the negative greet my question.

"And that's as secure as you can get, in Boulder's estimation."

"Guy, you take point. When you're confident we can get in, we follow your lead. I'll put four of my guys around the perimeter watching for anyone coming in, or sneaking out. Brax and I will guard you and provide back up."

I nod, swallowing the sudden rock in my throat. I don't say a word, can't, throw my helmet back on and mount my ride.

"Let's roll," Grinder says, following my lead as he promised he would.

I pull back onto the highway, six men on steel horses trailing behind.

Something unexpected hits me square in the chest, a sense I don't think I've ever had: purpose. Community.

I've been surrounded by thugs my entire life, never safe. Never myself. Never free to speak or think, to leave and choose. But here, with this defunct club bikers, I'm overwhelmed with a common goal. A fucking purpose that isn't selfseeking and destructive.

If anything is destroyed, it's going to be the evil we're riding toward, not each other. Not the innocent lives in our path. We won't be leaving despair in our wake. We'll be opening the door to freedom.

This is what my life's been missing. This is what I wanted to run to when my mom died, when I was left in the darkness. This is what my soul's been crying out for me to find.

If I could marinate in this a while, truly absorb it, I would. But we have more important tasks at hand at the moment. I'll be examining this when it's all said and done. Not going to ignore my past–or my dark present–any more.

It's well past time for a change to come.

We were twenty minutes out when we pulled over to plan it all out. Rolling down the road at high speeds, we close the distance sooner than expected. The familiar curve in the road ahead tells me we're about to hit the perimeter of the clubhouse territory.

I'm about to signal the team over to the left shoulder so we can stash our hogs and take the rest on foot when a bike comes toward us like a bat out of hell from around the curve.

"Shit," I mutter into my helmet. I recognize the low profile and squat tires, the lack of helmet and the black leather cut with the blood red presidential patch on the left side. Boulder. Exactly who I hoped not to run into, yet here he is. I circle my hand over my head, bringing the rest to attention. Then I swing my arm across the width of the road. The crew follows instructions to spread across the road in a line, creating a barrier in an attempt to block the rider.

It works. Boulder hits the brakes, his back tire skidding out as his bike slides toward us. He lays his bike in the middle of the road, not something a biker ever does willingly, and rolls out from under it.

Grinder's off his hog instantly, helmet tossed to the ground as he stalks to where Boulder lies on the ground.

"This ends now, motherfucker. Where the fuck is she?"

"It wasn't me, man."

"Fuck that." He grabs Boulder with two hands by the cut, pulling him off the ground and up to his face. "It's been a long time since I put my steel toe to good use, but I'll fucking kick the shit out of you if you don't start talking."

"You know we've got history to take care of, but I didn't pull that girl out of revenge."

My turn can't come fast enough. I pull Boulder out of Grinder's grip and cock a fist, shoving it right into his nose.

"Not playing with you tonight, Boulder. Call me a traitor, put a hit on me. I don't give a shit. You put your hands on my ol' lady. Now you're the enemy and I will kill you if I have to.

Boulder spits out the blood running into his mouth from the hit he just took. "Not me that you want. That lady is crazy."

"Shut the fuck up about her." I seethe. I'm seeing red for maybe the first time in my life. I've suffered in a fog of barely feeling greys and rust. The burning hatred is unfamiliar, but I lean into it anyway.

"Not the girl. The fucking bitch who had me take her. I left them there alone. That bitch's version of revenge is on her."

I stand up and look out onto the road ahead, blood draining from the top of my head right to the soles of my feet.

Grinder takes him back from my grip. "I'll hold him here. Y'all follow the plan, head out."

"The plan's changed. We're riding in through the front door," I say, grit filling my throat as I speak.

If the fucking crazy bitch is who I think it is, we don't have time to spare.

"Let's roll."

I'm certainly on a roll...and so energized that I'm finally getting there. I have so many revisions to make when I go back over this story, but I'm pretty happy with how it's going at this point.

So much will be revealed in the next chapter! But Guy's evolution is leading him out of the darkness he'd been surrounded by his entire life. He's learning to use his powers for good.

https://youtu.be/MTUC-zgzIxM