I’d been overwhelmed with fucking feelings as I watched that tape, because I knew that though he might not have stuck a knife between the junkie bitch’s ribs, Ivy’s father was every bit as evil as these sick fucks, and no one had been there to save her. When I first met her, I’d thought it was a fuckin’ miracle that she’d survived even one night on the streets all alone. I remember thinkin’ it was mighty fuckin’ stupid of her to be turnin’ tricks out there on her own, but after witnessing the work of yet another sadist bastard it makes sense to me now. She’d rather take her chances being raped or even fucking offed on the streets than stay with the man who fathered her. I knew one thing—I had to find that motherfucker and put a bullet through his skull. And I would. If I couldn’t do anything else for her, I’d at least do that. When I got back to the house, I’d make her tell me his name, and I’d find him.

I slow as I crest the hill and my headlights bounce off of something in the middle of the road. It’s black and white, some kind of animal, maybe a dead calf. I rev the throttle, prepared to just drive right past, only it moves and I wind up slowing because animal or not, I can’t let it suffer when it could be put out of its misery.

The closer I get, the more I have trouble comprehending just what the fuck I’m seeing. It isn’t that it’s moving that’s the problem. It’s that it’s a woman lying on the middle of the road. And not just that, but a familiar woman, if the raven hair, the pale white skin and the strung-out expression on her face is anything to go by.

“Motherfucker,” I shout into the darkness around us. It seems to mock me with its silence. I don’t know who I expect to answer. There’s nothing here but a stupid fuckin’ junkie and the arsehole who keeps trying to save her when the bitch won’t save her fuckin’ self.

I pull the bike to a stop and toe the kickstand down. I swing my leg over and crouch down beside her. Tapping her face, I say, “Wake up, you stupid fucking bitch.”

She rolls over, lazily swatting at my hands as I grasp her jaw and punctuate each sentence by tightening my hold on her just a little more. Anger burns through me like acid. “How the fuck did you get out here all alone? Where is Killer? I’m gonna rip that fucker’s head off.”

She moans. Her hair falls away from her face, revealing several scratches over her cheeks and forehead. I slap her, perhaps a little bit harder than I need to. “Ow.”

“Jesus Christ.” I’m half tempted to leave her here in the middle of the road. I must be some sorry-arsed pussy-whipped bastard, because all I want to do is walk away and leave her here—the dumb bitch might finally get what she deserves—but I can’t. “What did you take?”

“Kick?”

“No, it’s not fuckin’ Kick. That bastard helped get you into this, and surprise, sur-fucking-prise, here I am cleaning up more of his fuckin’ mess.”

“You’re not Kick,” she says, as she opens her eyes and tries to focus her gaze. She frowns when she finally sees whose ugly mug she’s starin’ up at. “You’re the fun police.”

“Yep, that’s me. Sergeant Fucking-No-Fun. Now get the fuck up. I gotta get you home so I can kill that dumb-arsed motherfucker who was supposed to be watchin’ you.”

“He wouldn’t have sex with me.” She complains. The muscles in my jaw twitch and my fists ball at my sides. At least I don’t have to cut off his dick for touchin’ my woman, though I may just do it anyway for givin’ her drugs. “He told me what you did. You can’t claim me. I’m not your fuckin’ old lady.”

“Shut the fuck up and sit on the bike.”

“I don’t love you,” she whispers. “You make it hurt in ways it doesn’t have to. You make me remember when all I want is to forget. I could never love you.”

“I know.” I clench my teeth so tight my jaw aches. “And I don’t give a shit. Someone has to save you from yourself ’cause you’re too fuckin’ stupid to do it.”

“He’s looking for me. He’s always looking for me, and he’ll find me, and he’ll kill you because you were in the way.”

I still. At first I think she’s still spoutin’ off some shit about my club brother Kick, but he wouldn’t kill me; he doesn’t care enough about her to kill for her. And then the truth of her words dawns on me. She’s talkin’ about her father. For the first time since I became a man, I feel the icy cold fingers of dread creeping down my spine. I’m afraid. Not for my safety, but for hers.

“Not if I get to him first,” I promise

She laughs hysterically, and something in that stupid, senseless humour strengthens my fear. I’m afraid of losing her. I love her, regardless of whether or not she loves me. I think on some level I’ve loved her since she first sucked my cock under that bridge. I saw her broken pieces scattered there all over the dirty ground, and I just wanted to put them back together. She may not love me, she may never be able to love me because she’s a selfish, spoilt little shit, but I can’t be without her. I won’t be without her. Which means I need to find that motherfucker, and soon.

I manage to get her on the bike and I slip on behind her, sandwiching her skinny shoulders between my arms as my hands grip the handlebars. I have a hell of a time trying to get her to stay upright, and I wind up running off the road because Ivy’s a fucking mess and can’t keep her shit together. The second time this happens we both come off the bike, and she’s crushed beneath me and a half tonne of black metal and engine parts.

Fuck. That’s gonna hurt in the morning.

I pick her up and prop her back on the bike and drive slowly and very carefully to the cabin. Killer’s bike’s still in the drive, but the front door is wide open. I draw Ivy into my arms and carry her inside the house, shouting for that little bastard.

“He’s not here,” Ivy whines, attempting to cover her ears, but failing.

“Where is he, Ivy?”

“I shot him.”

“What?”

“He wouldn’t give me the drugs. I took his gun and I ran. He chased me. So I shot him.”

“Where?” I shout.

“In the woods.”

“Jesus fuck!” I lay her out on the couch and grab a bucket, setting it down beside her. Not that the rug hasn’t seen her vomit before. Detoxing is a bitch. But I got enough shit to clean up without her chuckin’ up all over my lounge room floor.

“You stay fucking put this time,” I order.

Ivy just mumbles and rolls away from me. Bitch is fuckin’ done for one night, and in the mornin’ when her head is aching like a motherfucker and her body’s goin’ through withdrawal all over again, her and me are gonna have ourselves a little talk.

I grab Killer’s hoodie and head outside. At lease the dumb fuck wasn’t wearing his cut after Prez has ordered us patch-free until we find that cop Kick’s lookin’ for. One more thing I don’t have to kick his arse for. Butch tears around the corner of the house and barrels into my legs. Fuckin’ idiot jumps all around like a spaz, even after I yell at him to knock it off.

“Find Killer,” I command, and shove the hoodie under his nose. He barks and runs off towards the house, but a whistle and a harsh command has him obeying. He sniffs the ground and then he darts around the side of the house and into the woods. I follow, armed with nothing but my gun. It’s close enough to a full moon that I can see my way in the dark anyway, until I enter the woods, and then all I can see are the branches in front of me, and all I can hear are the sounds of the dog running through the underbrush.

He barks, and I follow the noise I cock the gun and aim blindly ahead of me.

“Tank,” Killer whispers. Butch barks again and growls. “Call off your fucking dog.”

“You had one job, motherfucker,” I say, and I’m not shouting. I’m far too angry for that. I pull back my foot and kick him in the ribs, hard enough to bruise, not break.

“Ah fuck.” He gasps and rolls on the forest floor, still clutching a blood-soaked shoulder. He’s fuckin’ lucky I was the one to find her. If it’d been someone else, he’d be strung up by his intestines from a tree.