KNOW ME (DEFIANT Motorcycle Club)(5)

his own club now.”
“Oh,” I’d said, blinking with surprise that the question had been answered at all.
Crest Tolleson looked me straight in the eye.  “Kira,” he said, “I pray like hell

this never happens but if you ever find yourself in a spot where there’s no one left

to turn to, go to him.”  
Mojave desert, outside Quartzsite.  Go to him.



Chapter Three


Quartzsite would be easy enough to find.  It was a straight shot on the I-10, just on

the other side of the California/Arizona border.  As to where exactly I could find the

former VP of the Warlocks was another matter but I supposed I could tackle that problem

when I’d cleared the distance remaining between me and possible safety. At any rate, I

would feel better if I got out of California altogether.
Though it was only early April the heat of the desert seeped into the car as I drove

deeper into the brown landscape of Death Valley.  When I tried to turn on the air

conditioning a hideous noise from somewhere in the vehicle’s bowels forced me to

switch it off quickly.  I figured I had another hour or so of driving ahead.  I could

only hope that the police weren’t ardently scouring the state for a battered Corolla.
But they might be actively searching for the sole survivor of a bloody motorcycle club

massacre.
I took a deep breath and prepared to cross the border into Arizona.  I still couldn’t

allow myself to grieve properly.  Right now I needed to focus on getting to Orion

Jackson.
The state border turned out to be only nominally attended and I was waved through

without a second glance.  I breathed with relief and looked ahead.  Arizona greeted me

in all its barren glory.  To me it was the possibility of safety.  It was beautiful.  I

squinted into the morning sun and saw a crookedly painted white Q on the side of a

small mountain.  I was closing in on Quartzsite.
As I reached what I presumed to be the center of town I saw a lot of dilapidated

trailer parks.  A few white-haired residents lounged outside leisurely.  What buildings

there were all looked old and many were run down.  None looked any more likely than the

other to host the former Vice President of the Warlocks.
A slight sense of panic began to bubble in my stomach.  I’d counted only on getting to

Quartzsite.  How did I mean to find a man who didn’t necessarily want to be found?
As I piloted the car through the sandy side roads of the town, I worried further.  It

seemed to be a haven of snowbirds mixed with a handful of hardy residents who eyed me

suspiciously.  Just as I started to think I’d become hopelessly lost on the winding,

narrow streets, I braked hard.
The one story building was low-roofed and unassuming.  A larger, sprawling stucco

structure lay just beyond the place which was identified with a crooked sign as

‘Riverbottom Bar’.  And lined up in front were at least ten motorcycles.
It was the first hint that I might have come to the right place after all.
As I parked the car crookedly I had the prickly, unpleasant feeling that I was being

watched.  I crossed my arms protectively across my chest as I walked to the door,

feeling very self-conscious about my meager attire.  It couldn’t be helped.  I had

nothing else.
The interior was very dark and covered in a thick haze of smoke.  I squinted into the

dim room and saw that a few hulking shapes at the bar had swiveled around at my

entrance.
I cleared my throat.  “I’m looking for Orion Jackson.”
The silence which greeted me seemed deadly.  It might have just been my nerves which

were understandably shot to hell but I didn’t think so.  The stares seemed distinctly

hostile.
“Who the f*ck are you?” growled a low voice at the bar.
I saw no point in being coy.  “Kira Tolleson.”
Somewhere a fork clattered to the floor.
The man at the bar who had spoken to me rose from his seat.  His voice hadn’t grown

any friendlier.  “You related to Crest Tolleson?”
I beat back the sob in my throat.  “He was my father.”
“Was,” the man nodded.  “Yeah, we heard.”  He pointed to me.  “Sit the f*ck down

and wait.”  He disappeared down a hallway.  I noticed he wore a cut with large red

lettering spelling out ‘DEFIANT’ across the back. A few seconds later I heard a door

slam.
There was little choice but to do as he had ordered.  I placed my hands on the table

and stared at them, willing them not to shake.  After a moment a lovely black-haired

woman brought me a beer and a shot glass full of amber liquid.
“Oh,” I stammered.  “Thank you, but I’m actually not twenty one.”
She smiled at me pityingly.  “Drink it anyway, hon.”  She glanced toward the dark

hallway.  “You’ll need it.”
I closed my eyes and took the shot, chasing it with a swallow of beer.  It burned going

down.  My eyes were still closed when he reached my side.