Buried Biker by KM Rockwood Read Free Book Online Page B

clenched teeth.
    I looked him over. I couldn’t see the backs of their leather jackets from this angle, but I had no doubt both he and Old Buckles showed club colors, just like the women. A leering skull of a saber tooth tiger with “Predators” embroidered above and street names below.
    Bikers had their own ideas about how a relationship was supposed to operate between a woman and her man. They weren’t exactly mainstream ideas, but they seemed to work all right for them.
    They’d never work for me and Kelly, though.
    “Kelly’s her own woman,” I said. “She don’t belong to me or nobody else.”
    He ignored that. “A man’s supposed to take care of his woman. Not let her get beat up.”
    Who was this guy? I would have understood if Old Buckles was bent out of shape. Kelly was his kid. But this guy?
    He wasn’t backing down. Looked like I’d have to handle this whether I wanted to or not. “What’s it to you?” I asked, locking my gaze on his.
    Old Buckles took a pull on his smoke and said, “Hey, Funk…”
    The guy raised his fist and took a swing at me.
    Since I’d been looking toward Old Buckles, I didn’t dodge quite fast enough, and the punch caught me in the face. My already battered nose spurted blood. Again.
    Reacting without thinking, I slammed my right fist into his gut, then caught him in the face with a left uppercut when he hunched over, and followed it up with a knee to the groin. He fell to the ground in a ball, moaning and clasping his privates with both hands.
    I started to raise my boot above his head when my brain started working again. In prison, the penalty for fighting would be a month in disciplinary segregation. Here, if it came to the attention of the authorities, it would be street charges. A one-way ticket back to prison.
    And if I seriously injured this guy, it would certainly come to the attention of the authorities. We were right outside a hospital, for the love of Hades. No better place for an injured person to come to the attention of the authorities.
    Reluctantly, I lowered my foot and backed up a few steps.
    Old Buckles hadn’t moved. He looked at the guy on the sidewalk and shook his head. “I was gonna tell Funky Joe to lay off and leave you alone, but looks like you took care of it, huh?”
    I shrugged.
    “You gonna go see Kelly?” he asked.
    “I was hoping to. Or at least find out how she’s doing.” I wiped my nose with the sleeve of my jacket. Not a smart move. How was I ever going to get all that blood out of the wool?
    He gestured toward the door. “Go ahead. Joe here’ll be okay. I’ll keep an eye on him. We don’t want no trouble. Not with the cops or nobody else.”
    “Thanks.” I rubbed my skinned knuckles.
    “Don’t be thanking me too soon,” he warned me. “I haven’t figured out what happened to my little girl yet, so I don’t know whose fault this is. But somebody’s gonna pay. And you’re definitely not off the list of possibilities.”
    I nodded. It was hard to think of the substantial Kelly as anybody’s little girl, but he was her daddy.
    “And go clean yourself up before you go see her,” he said. “You’d scare the devil himself looking like that.” He took another drag. A faint sweet scent mingled with the tobacco.
    I had to grin at the idea of me scaring the devil.
    As soon as I got through the front door of the hospital, I looked around for a restroom. My face had been pretty battered in the last few days and was undoubtedly still bruising up. I could feel the sticky blood all over my mouth and chin, and dripping down my neck.
    A gift shop was right near the entrance. Next to it was a big men’s room. I ducked in. In addition to the urinal, it had two stalls, one a large handicapped stall with a deep sink at wheelchair height. I went in that one and latched the door behind me.
    Using paper towels and some liquid soap that stung the raw spots, I scrubbed my face. Not too bad, I thought as I peered into the mirror. I