KNOW ME (DEFIANT Motorcycle Club)(3)

a stolen vehicle, all I felt was agonizing pain, for that memory was tied to the

terrible things that followed.
Crest had tried to put me up in a hotel but I wouldn’t have it, choosing instead one

of the sparse but comfortable back rooms of the clubhouse. He was reluctant but I

insisted, pointing out that I’d be gone in less than 48 hours. The hour was just past

midnight and I had already said my goodnights, changing into a more comfortable tank

top and shorts as soon as I had closed the door.  I lounged on the narrow bed and tried

not to consider what else had happened on its scratchy surface while I idly watched

YouTube videos on my phone and waited to feel sleepy.
The house was quiet for a Friday night, perhaps on my father’s orders due to my

presence.  Or perhaps for another reason.  Regardless, I didn’t believe there was

anything too terribly wrong.  I enjoyed being back.  No matter how long I was away,

this was my family.  This was home.   My eyes began to feel heavy as I clicked through

clips of movie trailers and outrageous marriage proposals.  
The first scream brought me to my feet.  It was a woman’s voice and I thought it

sounded like Tami, a blowsy blonde who for as long as I could remember belonged to

Talon, the current Warlocks Vice President. 
The scream ended in a disturbing gurgle and was followed by a series of pops which I

recognized as gunshots.  There was shouting, cursing, more screaming and in the midst

of it all my father burst through the door of my room.
“Kira!” he shouted in agony.  He had been shot through the right shoulder and a

jagged wound bled down the right side of his face.  Crest’s eyes closed with relief

when he saw I was unharmed. With a mighty lunge he kicked the door closed and folded me

into a desperate embrace.
I was terrified.  “What is it? Who are they?”
My father coughed.  “SF Outlaws,” he said simply.
I knew the name.  They were the boogeymen, the worst of the worst, the ones who would

slaughter not only whatever man offended them but the man’s family, his friends,

everyone who he might have loved.
“No time,” Crest gritted his teeth, pulling me to the small window.  The room was far

in the back of the building.  The SF’s might not have the perimeter circled.  At any

rate, outside seemed a better bet than inside.  I could hear the struggles.  And the

moans of the dying.
Crest wrenched the window open and picked me up as if I were a child.  He dropped me on

the other side and as I struggled to my feet my father looked at me sadly.  The blood

ran freely down the side of his face.
“Come on,” I whispered, glancing fearfully around in the darkness.
“No,” he said tersely.  “Stay low, Kira.  And get the f*ck out of the city, as far

away as you can go tonight.  The club is gone.  There’s not a damn thing here for you.

”
My heart was breaking. “Daddy.”
“Love you, kid,” my father said softly and closed the window.
It wasn’t a moment too soon.  I heard the door break open and I crouched beneath the

window sill in terror.
There was the sound of cruel laughter.  Ruger had a long, unpleasant history with my

father and he wouldn’t leave this task to anyone else.  “Crest Tolleson, cowering

back here like a f*cking woman.”
“Get on with it you shithead.”
More laughter.  “Oh, I will.  No bullet for you though.  I’m gonna bash your f*cking

brains in.  And you ought to know that after I finish I’m going on a road trip. 

Berkeley, right? That’s where you’re stashing that luscious little piece of ass you

fathered.  She and I are gonna have a good goddamn time before I stick her twenty ways

to hell.”
The primal roar which came out in my father’s voice was like nothing I’d ever heard. 

I knew he came at them with every grain of strength he could muster.  It wasn’t

enough.  They killed him easily.
The pain in my heart was more unbearable than any I had ever known.  When I was eight a

stray dog had followed me home.  He was obviously sickly but Crest gave in to my pleas

and allowed me to keep him.  The animal died of convulsions early the next morning,

before we could get him to a vet.  Crest had held me as I sobbed until it hurt to

breathe.
It hurt to breathe as I sat underneath that windowsill and listened to my father’s

death rattle.  And I thought for a moment I would die myself.
Then there were sirens, and the tense shouts of men as motorcycle engines roared to

life.  I raised my head and gritted my teeth, thinking of Crest.  No, this wouldn’t be

the end for me.  It couldn’t be.  I kept close to the building and found the alley

which ran parallel, removing my flip flops and running barefoot until I reached the

parking lot of a crowded bar.
The beat up Corolla was the first vehicle I found with an open door and I coaxed it

into starting, relieved to see there was a full tank of gas.  Because I would need to