2 comments/ 33505 views/ 6 favorites Biker Gang Captive By: Seattle Zack This is a story I wrote several years ago for a men's adventure magazine, but it folded before it got off the ground. No sex, but it has adventure and romance, and I hope you enjoy it. As always, feedback is encouraged. Thanks! * "Goddamn it, we don't have time for this!" The lieutenant's big fist slammed down on the desk, slopping the lukewarm coffee over the lip of the styrofoam cup. Nick rubbed his temples, the pounding ache of his hangover a spike through his head. The glare of the fluorescent lights off the table hurt his eyes, and the taste of the stationhouse coffee was sour in the back of his throat. "I told you, I don't remember anything after I got outside." Lieutenant MacGregor paced around the small room, arms crossed. He was a big man, thinning grey hair, a thick salt-and-pepper mustache. Missed a spot shaving, Nick noticed. He had probably been called in during the wee hours of the morning. MacGregor pulled out a chair (the scraping noise making Nick wince) and straddled it backwards. "Okay, let's go over it again," he said wearily. "You met her at Duffy's last night, we know that. The bartender said you were together most of the night. Her business card was in your pocket." "I don't remember much after that," Nick protested. "I told you I'd had a lot to drink ... I went outside to flag down a taxi, she was supposed to meet me out front in five minutes." "We found you passed out on the old couch in the alley around the corner. What did you do, decide to take a nap?" Nick struggled to clear the fog from his brain. "I don't remember." "Do you know who her father is? Richard Barlow, one of the richest men in Seattle. He owns Barlow Construction. We're getting a little heat on this one, Nick. His daughter didn't come home last night. Her cell phone and one shoe were found on the sidewalk." "I remember waiting for her," Nick mumbled. "Then ... nothing." MacGregor pounded the table angrily again. "Then a call to her house at four in the morning: 'We have your daughter.' She hasn't been heard from since. And you were the last person to see her!" Nick shook his head, not responding. Could he really have passed out in the alley? It had been just another night at his local watering hole -- until she came in. She'd taken a seat next to him at the bar and introduced herself. Allison had straight blonde hair and a quick smile with perfect even teeth. Her laugh was infectious. A short summer dress showed off her tanned legs and slim ankles. Those sparkling green eyes ... Flirtatious and a little tipsy, she had traded jokes and stories with him, the baseball game flickering on the TV set in the background. He told her about the new band he was trying to start, and she talked about the classes she was taking at the university. After last call, everything got a little fuzzy ... He remembered ... something. The sound of a motorcycle? A car door slamming? If only he hadn't had those last three shots of tequila ... MacGregor stood up disgustedly. "You're useless, Nick. Just a drunk." He fished a card out of his jacket pocket, tossed it on the desk. "Get out of here. If you remember anything else, let me know." *** Allison felt like she was swimming up from a great depth, laboring to reach the surface. Her eyelids were weighted, impossible to open. It hurt to even breathe. Slowly she became aware that she was lying on her side on a cold hard surface. Disjointed memories flashed in her brain -- stepping outside the bar last night, the cool air on her face, the screech of tires, powerful arms grabbing her from behind, nauseous fumes swirling through her as a smelly rag was pressed against her nose and mouth. She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs. "So, the little princess is awake?" It was a man's voice, deep and full of menace. She felt herself jerked to a sitting position by her upper arm, the sudden movement making her head throb. Opening her eyes, she quickly took in her surroundings. It was a big room, almost warehouse-sized -- a greasy cement floor, several motorcycles parked haphazardly about. A low table along one wall was piled with tools, an engine block suspended in midair from a chain overhead. There was a dilapidated blue van parked in the middle of the room. She remembered it from the bar, being lifted bodily and thrown inside the rear double doors as she struggled to remain conscious. The tang of oil and gasoline hung in the air. The man kneeling in front of her was bearded and grimy, his arms covered with tattoos. He grinned, revealing a blackened front tooth. Reaching forward he grabbed her jaw, turning her head from side to side. She pulled away, scrambling back against the wall. "Please don't hurt me," she whispered. She was handcuffed, cold steel encircling both of her small wrists. Her dress was ripped and torn, and she had lost one of her shoes. "You'll bring a good price," the man said, his sour breath washing over her. "Daddy's a bigshot." The other men in the room laughed. "Who are you?" She glanced around wildly. There were several other men in the room, four at a small card table and a huge bald man lounging on a dilapidated couch in the corner. A porno movie was playing soundlessly on the television set, an image of a young girl pinned on the bed while two men penetrated her simultaneously. Her heart was pounding. She had never been so scared in her life. The man crouching in front of her (the leader?) continued to regard her silently. Trembling, she avoided his gaze. He had FUCK and YOU! tattooed across his fingers. Where was she? She had to be brave, had to figure some way out of this. The man stood up. "Wolf, get the Polaroid," he called. The huge behemoth grunted as he struggled to rise from the couch. He had a patch over one eye, and his hairy white belly spilled over his jeans. He fumbled in a cupboard behind him, then tossed an object across the room. The pop of the flashbulb caught her by surprise, red flares sparking in her retinas. He took several pictures. I must look pathetic, she thought, chained up on this filthy floor. "What are you going to do with me?" she asked, her voice quavering. Only her will kept her from sobbing uncontrollably. "Well, I think we'll see how much Daddy's willing to pay to get you back." The man grinned. "He better pay up too, bitch. My boys aren't too patient. When we get back, they're liable to fuck you in every hole you've got." He turned away. "Wolf, string her up," he commanded. The big man grinned. "My pleasure, Drake." Allison began to scream as the huge one-eyed giant lumbered toward her. *** Nick shuffled through the deserted streets. It was a ten-minute walk back to where he had parked his MG the night before -- he hadn't even bothered to ask the officers at the station for a ride. The cool mist was helping to clear his head, easing the hammering in his skull. What had happened last night? There was something ... shimmering just beyond his grasp. He kicked an empty can angrily. The image of her at the bar was clear ... smooth tan skin, sparkling green eyes, breasts swelling beneath the flowery dress. At least his car hadn't been towed. The little convertible started on the third try, the ragged pop of the engine smoothing into a hum as it warmed up. A red warning light flashed on the instrument panel -- he was almost out of gas. Nick sighed. Did he even have any money left? That was it -- red. An image, a red figure. He held his breath, willing it to come to him. Wicked eyes ... fire ... what was it? He backed the car out of the slot and headed down the street, looking for an open gas station. It was just beginning to get light. The sound of motorcycles ... and a red ... devil? Could that be it? He eased the car to a stop and closed his eyes, willing his alcohol-fuddled memory to work. An abrupt honk of a car horn behind him started him out of his reverie. That was it, two biker types on the corner smoking cigarettes, red fiery devils on their jackets. They had been outside the bar last night when he left. He recalled standing on the sidewalk, swaying, before he stumbled around the corner and slumped on the sofa, only planning to sit down for a minute. Did it mean anything? Probably not. MacGregor would just laugh at him. Still, it was all he had. After putting his last four dollars into the gas tank, he drove across town to Terry Gallagher's house. Terry was an old-school biker who sometimes ran the soundboard for some of the local bands. Nick had known him for almost ten years. If anyone knew about the local biker scene, it was Terry. Nick pounded on the door for almost ten minutes before Terry finally opened it, dressed only in an old terrycloth robe. His unruly mop of hair was in wild disarray. "Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?" he grumbled. Without waiting for a reply he turned and walked away, leaving the door open. As Terry made coffee Nick explained the situation, as much as he remembered. Terry poured them each a cup and sat down at the kitchen table. Nick took a sip -- a thousand times better than the coffee at the stationhouse. "Probably the Diablos," said Terry after a few moments of silence. "I'd heard a few of them were in town, up from L.A." He shook his head. "They're bad news, Nick." "What do you mean?" "Hardcore criminals. Real biker trash. Car theft, drugs, rape. Even murder. Not anyone you want to mess with, Nick." Nick stood up. "Where are they?" His heart was pounding. If these were the assholes that had grabbed Allison, she was in real trouble. Terry rose slowly, grunting. "Let me make a few calls." Anxiously pacing the floor, Nick clenched his fists. He tried not to imagine what Allison might be going through at that moment. After what seemed like forever, Terry ambled back in from the other room. "Pissed a few people off," Terry chuckled. "Some of these guys aren't used to getting up this early." "Did you find out anything?" Nick demanded. "Supposedly, they're camped out at the old Larsen Junkyard down on Pacific Highway South. Owner's in jail, but the bank hasn't foreclosed on it yet. It's been deserted for months ... at least until these guys rolled into town." He looked soberly at his friend. "Everyone I talked to said the same thing Nick -- these aren't guys you want to fuck with. You should call the police, let them handle it." "You call them," Nick shot back, tossing the lieutenant's card on the table. "It might be too late already." Terry picked up the card and opened his mouth to reply, but Nick was already gone. *** "Please! Help!" Allison shrieked as the behemoth lifted her effortlessly. She began to struggle and cry, tears streaming down her cheeks. "HELP!" Wolf slapped her, leaving a bright stinging imprint on her face. "Shut up, bitch," he growled. "No one can hear you. We're out in the middle of nowhere." He dragged her, stumbling, to a chain dangling from the roof and, using a padlock, secured her handcuffs up over her head. Smirking, he stepped away and pressed a button on the wall, drawing the chain hoist up even higher. Allison gasped as she was stretched painfully, the tips of her toes barely grazing the floor. The tight metal cuffs dug torturously into her wrists. The awkward position lifted her tattered dress high on her thighs. She cried out again, a wavering wail of pure terror, knowing how vulnerable and helpless she was. "Wolf, shut that bitch up!" Drake called from the other side of the room. The big man grunted and tore a piece from a roll of duct tape. Pulling her head painfully back by the hair, he stuck the tape across her mouth. Now she could make no more than muffled pleading noises. She was left there for several minutes as the men conversed in low voices. Her arms and shoulders began to ache from the strain. Finally, they seemed to make some sort of decision. Everyone left except for the big man, Wolf, who slumped back down on the sofa. A few moments later she heard the sound of several motorcycles starting up outside, the noise receding as they sped away. Allison struggled awkwardly on tiptoe, trying to relieve the taut, stretched position she found herself in. She noticed the big man staring at her, enjoying her suffering, and she shook her head as he rose slowly from the couch. He picked up a bottle from the table and took a long swig, the amber fluid bubbling as he gulped it down. She began to tremble as he approached her. With a quick violent motion, he tore her dress open, exposing her bra and panties. She closed her eyes and sobbed as she felt his large sweaty hands roughly gripping her breasts. He licked the side of her face and she shuddered in revulsion. As he pressed his meaty fingers between her legs she made a muffled noise of protest and kicked at him, trying to push him away. Her knee caught him in the groin, only a glancing blow, but enough to make him release her and double over, cursing. Anger flashed in his one good eye as he straightened up. "You'll pay for that, bitch," he whispered menacingly. Reaching in a back pocket, he pulled out a switchblade and popped it open. Real terror flooded through her. Not a knife! Bright light glinted off the blade. She imagined what a knife like that could do to her body, as vulnerable as she was. Struggling to keep still, she pleaded for mercy with her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he used the knife to cut her clothing from her. Allison tried to remain absolutely motionless, shuddering as she felt the cool blade against her skin. When he was done he stepped close, running the point of the knife lightly across her breasts. The smell of the whisky on his breath made her want to vomit and she turned her head to the side. Wolf finally stepped back, a scowl on his face. "You need to learn some manners," he snarled angrily. He unbuckled his wide leather belt, wrapping one end slowly around his fist. Allison's eyes widened in horror. She tried to turn away but the belt caught her on the upper thigh, a bright bolt of pain that made her dance with agony. The belt struck again, this time curling around and stinging her back. Her wild screams muffled by the tape, she twisted helplessly as he continued to cruelly lash her naked body. *** Nick sped down the road, pushing the MG to its limits, as he gripped the wheel tightly. The junkyard was about five miles out of town. She could be dead already, he thought. Four motorcycles passed him going in the other direction, the distinctive low Harley rumble that he remembered from the night before. He glanced in the mirror as they passed, noting the red devils on the jackets. Yes, it was the Diablos. But where was Allison? Downshifting, he slowed as he approached Larsen's. It appeared to be deserted. A high chain-link fence surrounded it, with barbed wire at the top. He passed it without stopping, then pulled into a fast food restaurant about two blocks away. He got out and jogged to the back of the parking lot, working his way behind a small strip mall until he got to the junkyard. There was no one in sight, the huge lot filled with hulks of ruined cars and trash barrels. Nick pulled off his denim jacket and quickly scaled the fence. After laying the jacket over the barbed wire, he gingerly straddled it and scrambled down the other side. Crouching down, he cautiously made his way through the stacks of rusting cars. Quickly he circled the perimeter, making sure that there was no one about. Other than a small padlocked shed, the only structure on the lot was the large corrugated metal warehouse near the back of the yard. The big double doors in front of the building were padlocked shut. The small door at the corner was out of the question; he couldn't just waltz in as if he was lost and needed directions. He carefully made his way around the side. There were no windows on the high metal walls, and he could near nothing from inside. He eased his way past the debris that littered the ground -- broken glass, several old gas cans, rusted metal bars, some highway flares. Reaching the back of the building, he looked up. Yes, there were two small windows up there, just underneath the eaves, the glass long gone. As quietly as possible, he rolled an empty oil drum up to the metal wall but the window was still out of reach. Looking around, he found two wooden crates, which he balanced precariously on top of the oil drum. Stretching, he could barely reach the sill. Nick gave silent thanks to the pull-ups he did every morning as he eased himself up as quietly as possible. He pulled himself through the window and into the rafters of the warehouse. The large room was dark and he crouched there, waiting for his eyes to adjust. It took him a moment to identify the noise, but he could hear the sound of snoring. Almost directly below him, a huge man was laying on the couch, an empty bottle in his hand. The vast area was dim, the only light coming from a flickering television set. Then he heard another sound, a muffled sob, and saw her. She was naked, hanging from a chain on the other side of the room, her body covered with angry red welts. He sucked in his breath. Even as disheveled and dirty as she was, she was incredibly beautiful. She moaned and moved from one foot to the other, trying to relieve the tension in her body. As she threw her head back, her hands twisting in the tight metal cuffs, he saw the tape across her mouth. What had the bastards done to her? His fists clenched in fury. He wished he had a gun. There was no visible way down, but perhaps he could somehow release the chain holding her captive. Cautiously he began to make his way across the rafters to the other side of the room. He froze as the wood creaked noisily, but the giant's snore continued unabated. It was quite precarious, moving in an awkward low crouch through the spiderweb of wooden beams some fifteen feet from the concrete floor. Sweat dripped from his face. He heard a noise from behind him and glanced over his shoulder. The big man with the eye patch was sitting on the couch, yawning. Picking up the empty bottle he looked at it disgustedly, then flung it against the wall. He stumbled to his feet, a wicked grin on his face, as he began to approach his helpless captive. Nick gripped the beams tightly, hoping the biker didn't look up. Below him, Allison began to struggle futilely, twisting back and forth. Again she threw her head back and froze, catching sight of Nick in the rafters. Her green eyes widened as they made eye contact. As the man passed below him Nick took a deep breath and, without any idea what he planned to do next, dropped feet-first on top of the enormous biker's bald head. *** It was Nick! The cute musician from the bar the night before! How had he found her? Allison hardly had time to form the questions tumbling through her mind when she saw him release his hold and drop through the air. The impact made her wince as Nick landed on the massive Wolf, knocking both men to the ground. Nick rolled away, limping to his feet, and grabbed a wrench from the floor. Wolf turned over, shaking his head, catching sight of Nick brandishing the wrench. As Nick charged, Wolf drove up with his shoulder, underneath Nick's wild swing, catching the smaller man in the midsection and lifting him off his feet. Like a linebacker he pummeled Nick into the wall, as another frantic swing of the wrench caught him in the forehead. Nick went down hard, struggling to draw a breath. Wolf staggered away, the blood running down his face and into his good eye. Allison twisted in the restraints, wishing she weren't so helpless. Nick was clearly overmatched. Wolf had more than a hundred pounds on him, a vicious hardened criminal, and Nick was only a guitar player for a heavy metal band. Biker Gang Captive "Mmmph! Mmmph!" she tried to scream a warning, willing Nick to get up. Wolf wiped his head with his forearm and looked at the red smear curiously, as if he had never seen his own blood before. He seemed dazed. Allison squirmed desperately, wishing there were some way to get out of the cuffs. Nick staggered to his feet, swaying, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Wolf wiped more blood from his face and grinned, a sadistic grimace full of menace. He was a horrible one-eyed ogre, something out of a medieval epic. "So, you want to play, do you?" he growled. He pulled the knife from his pocket and snapped it open. "C'mon. Let's play, you little bastard. I'll fuck you up good." The two men circled each other warily. Judging by his labored breathing, Allison guessed that Nick had broken a rib, maybe two. Wolf was moving quickly, feinting with the knife, just out of range of the wrench. He was trying to get Nick to swing again, so he could move in. She had never felt so helpless in her life -- there was nothing she could do but await the outcome. She would belong to the victor of this brutal contest. Wolf rushed in, his dexterity surprising for a man of his girth, thrusting the knife underhanded. Nick desperately swung the wrench, catching Wolf's wrist. The knife spun away and struck the wall near Allison, clattering to the floor. The momentum of Nick's swing was too much and Wolf was inside the arc of the wrench, pounding the smaller man with his fists, driving him backward. Nick dropped the wrench as a blow caught him in the face. He tripped and went down, Wolf on top of him, the big man's hands tight around his neck. Nick pounded ineffectively at the giant's head as the massive hands tightened their grip. Allison stretched her foot, trying to reach the knife. She wanted to weep with frustration. Her toe barely grazed the blade. She stretched even further, the pain wracking her body, but it remained tantalizingly just out of reach. Wildly she glanced back. Nick's arms were flailing, his eyes bulging almost from their sockets. Wolf's grin widened as he bore down relentlessly. Desperately Allison stretched her leg, the muscles and joints in her body screaming in protest, trying for just a half-inch more. She flicked at the blade with her toe, spinning the knife around. The handle was now within reach. Slowly, she scraped it closer with her foot, until it was right in front of her. Allison knew she would only get one try at this. Holding her breath, she kicked the knife, sending it skittering across the concrete toward the two grunting men. *** The bikers cruised slowly through the neighborhood in two-man teams. Drake was pissed. That fucking Barlow had called the cops, no doubt about it. It had been easy to spot the four unmarked cars parked several blocks away from the house, the police surveillance van disguised as a telephone truck. No doubt the lines in the house were tapped. "No cops," he had said on the phone. Have to teach that fucker Barlow a lesson. He grinned. Yes, his little princess would pay the price for his betrayal. He saw the other two Diablos in a gas station parking lot and pulled in to join them, then cut the engine and fished in his pocket for a cigarette. "Fucking pigs everywhere," one of the bikers grunted. Drake nodded. "Yep, daddy done made a mistake. Now his little bitch is fucking meat. We can sell her to the Mexicans, get thirty, maybe forty grand." The other man laughed. "Long as we don't kill her, we can do just about anything we want." He licked his lips. "Like to see how tight that little ass of hers is." Drake started his bike, the heavy rumble echoing through the parking lot. "Let's get out of here," he said. "Stop at the liquor store on the way back." *** Nick's vision was going black, the blood pounding in his ears. The gigantic cyclops on top of him was too strong, he was getting the life squeezed out of him. The hot, fetid breath of the larger man washed over him as he felt the grip around his throat close even tighter. Frantically he reached out, hoping for something, anything to strike with. His hand closed around the handle of the knife, somehow instinctively recognizing it for what it was. He lifted it over his head with both hands and, using the last of his strength, drove it into Wolf's good eye. The monster gave an agonized bellow of pain as blood and fluid splashed onto Nick's face. Wolf rose to his knees, his body twitching, both hands on the hilt of the knife as if he wanted to wrench it free. Nick crawled away, gulping air into his lungs. A giant shudder went through Wolf's body and he flopped facefirst onto the concrete. Nick rolled over and vomited. His lungs couldn't get enough air. He willed himself to his feet, almost unable to stand. The sharp pain in his side made him flinch with every breath and he staggered, holding onto a nearby table for support, barely able to breathe. "Mmmph! Mmmph!" Allison's frantic muffled cries finally seeped into his consciousness. She was exquisite, even disheveled and filthy, stretched naked on tiptoe in the corner of the garage. He shuffled toward her, nearly falling again, then reached out and pulled the tape from her mouth. She cried out in pain, gasping for breath. "Nick!" she cried. "How did you find me?" Tears began to spill down her cheeks. "Oh my God, I thought he was going to kill you." Nick shook his head dully. All he wanted to do was lie down, go curl up in a corner. She had perfect breasts, he couldn't help but notice, beautifully formed with pert nipples jutting upward. She was the most incredible creature Nick had ever seen. Allison began to struggle again, twisting her wrists in the restraints. "Nick! Help me get out of these! They'll be back any minute!" He reached up, feeling the padlock with his fingers. "The keys?" he croaked. She shook her head. "I don't know!" she wept. "Please, Nick! Do something!" Nick looked around the garage. He had to clear his head. There must be something, perhaps a bolt cutter that he could use. "Nick! Maybe the keys are in his pocket!" The pool of blood was slowly widening around the inert bulk crumpled on the floor. Nick dropped to his knees, feeling for the man's pockets. Grunting with effort, he rolled Wolf onto his back, sending a sharp spike of pain from his ribs though his body. The knife still jutted at a crazy angle from Wolf's face, his mouth gaping open, the two front teeth shattered. Nick pulled a large ring of keys from the dead man's pocket. None of the keys were small enough to unlock the handcuffs, but there were several that looked like they might fit the padlock. Reaching up, one after the other, he tried the keys in the lock. He felt her body press against him, standing so close, and he shook his head. Had to concentrate. Her breath was hot against his shoulder. They both heard it at the same time, the distant rumble of the motorcycles getting closer. "Please, Nick!" she sobbed. "Hurry! They'll kill us!" Hands shaking, he tried the next key, then the next, then the next. The bikers sounded like they were pulling into the junkyard. Finally one of the keys slipped into the padlock, snapping it open. The tension suddenly released, Allison fell forward, trembling, into his arms. She groaned with relief. "Thank you, Nick," she whispered. He held her close. God, she smelled so good, her skin warm and soft. Wildly, he looked around. What could they do? There was no way out, except the front door. Wolf's body would be instantly discovered -- there was no place to hide, they'd be found in minutes. "Can you stand?" She nodded, but her knees bucked and she nearly fell. He lifted her in his arms, wincing, and tried to think of something. *** As they pulled up to the junkyard Drake smiled, thinking of the hours of torment awaiting the poor girl. He'd have her first, of course -- it was his prerogative as leader of the Diablos. After that he'd throw her to the boys. They could draw straws, whatever. Maybe use her two at a time. He and the other three bikers parked behind a line of junked card, out of sight of the road, and shut off their engines. As he got off his bike and walked toward the warehouse door, he wondered if Wolf had raped the little slut yet. Probably. Once Wolf started in on the Jack, there was no telling what he might do. There was still plenty of her to go around, though. Beautiful little piece of meat. The boys would have some fun with this one. Maybe after they were done with her they wouldn't sell her, maybe just strangle her and throw her in a river. When daddy saw her body, he'd wish he never called the cops. He heard a roaring noise from inside the garage and he looked over, puzzled. The double doors exploded outward, one flying from its hinges entirely, as the van roared out into the yard. The tires dug into the mud and it tilted crazily, two wheels up in the air before crashing down. Seemingly out of control, the van fishtailed crazily first one way and then the other, before straightening out and heading directly for Drake. He barely had time to register the image of the naked blonde in the passenger seat, her mouth wide, before the van's front grill slammed into him. *** Allison screamed as the biker's body flew through the air, arms and legs pinwheeling, crashing through the windshield of a junked car. Nick fought to keep control, steering through the stacks of twisted metal, trying to aim for the open gate that he knew was just ahead. The windshield starred crazily. It sounded like someone was pounding on the van with a hammer, and Nick realized they were being shot at. "Get down!" he screamed at Allison. He punched the broken windshield with his fist, sending shards of safety glass cascading over him. The gate was dead ahead and he shot through it, engine screaming, way too fast to make the turn onto the main road. The van flipped to its side, sliding across the highway and into the ditch, nearly upside down. Nick became aware that he was lying on top of Allison, on the roof of the van. He shook his head. It would only be moments before the bikers caught them. Allison was unconscious, a large bruise starting to appear on her forehead. Nick crawled out from the shattered front window, then saw the most beautiful sight he'd ever seen in his life. Cops. Hundreds of cops it looked like, screaming down the highway at top speed, lights and sirens blaring. Nick stood there, mouth agape, as two by two the police vehicles tore into the junkyard entrance. Terry must have called MacGregor after all. A SWAT van arrived from the other direction, screeching to a halt diagonally across the road. The team swarmed from the back of the vehicle, two peeling off to cover Nick, assault rifles at the ready. Nick raised his hands involuntarily. One of the men approached and threw Nick to the ground, expertly pinning his hands behind him. Nick groaned in pain. "You idiots, she's in here," he yelled angrily. "In the van. Get some medical help, goddamn it!" The EMTs arrived seconds later. The remaining biker gang members were led out in handcuffs -- apparently the overwhelming numbers of police had convinced them to surrender. The SWAT team would still not release Nick until Lieutenant MacGregor showed up and vouched for him. A few minutes later, MacGregor handed Nick a cup of coffee. Nick was bare-chested, his ribs being wrapped by a paramedic. "Pretty good shooting, Tex," McGregor drawled, shaking his head. "Go in unarmed, cap two, and rescue the girl. I have to say, nice work, Nick." Nick could see Allison's inert figure on a stretcher, being loaded into the one of the ambulances. "Please, can I go see her now?" he pleaded. "I'll give you a statement later." MacGregor considered briefly. "All right," he nodded, "we'll catch up to you at the hospital. Go." Nick grabbed his shirt and ran to the ambulance, forcing his way into the double doors just as they were about to close. "How is she?" he asked. The attendant nodded. "Just a little concussion. She'll be fine." Allison's eyes fluttered as Nick knelt down beside her. She saw him and smiled. "My hero," she said. At that moment he longed to kiss her. "Shhh," he whispered. "Pretty exciting first date, huh?" She surprised him by reaching behind his neck, pulling him close. "I usually don't kiss on first dates," she said softly in his ear. "And I never get naked." Her lips found his.