Chapter X: Helmet Wars

One minute of silence followed my realization, only to be broken by Rowlett just as our group entered another display room. "You really shouldn't have bailed on us."

"We'll see," Ashton said, stopping momentarily to examine an artifact. To any bystanders, we could have appeared normal—okay, save Fern's bizarre outfit and Rowlett's tattoos—but I was becoming increasingly aware of the tension.

Rowlett slowly turned and inched closer to the same display that Ashton was observing. When he was within a foot of us, he warned in a hushed voice, "You should mind your words, Savvonski."

"I'm sure I should." I still wasn't sure if it was Ashton's intent to egg the man on or not, but he was doing an excellent job of it either way.

Leering, Rowlett said, "It's that attitude that got you in trouble last time."

"Is it? That's too bad."

Suddenly Rowlett reached out with his massive hand and closed it around my wrist—yes, my wrist, not Ashton's. His touch was icy and severe, a harsh contrast to Ashton's.

Gripping my wrist roughly, Rowlett pulled it up so that it was in full view of Ash. I struggled not to wince at the pain searing through my bones. What was even more alarming was that this man could undoubtedly squeeze tighter than he was at the moment. What effort would it take for him to snap my neck?

As if reading my thoughts, Rowlett sneered down at me. Then, looking back at Ashton, he commented, "You could learn something from your girlfriend. She's very compliant."

Not appearing fazed at all, Ashton smiled up at Rowlett's gruesome face. "I suppose you're right," he agreed in that same complacent tone.

His calmness seemed to upset Rowlett even more, but Fern leaned forward quickly to mutter in her boyfriend's ear, "We should move on, Dane. This audience is far too quiet."

Raising one eyebrow, he looked about the room before assenting, "Indeed."

I found momentary relief when Rowlett lowered my wrist and led us down another deserted hallway. But it was only seconds before we came upon a shadowy alcove and he was holding my wrist up in Ashton's face again.

I was the only one who flinched.

Rowlett smiled in response, but his eyes stayed glued on Ash. "Now, where were we?"

"The part where you take lessons from your girlfriend and put on some nice black eyeliner?"

Rowlett bristled. "You've got some serious nerve, boy."

"Thank you," Ashton smiled right back.

The pressure on my wrist suddenly increased, and I bit my lip in pain. As if feeding on my torture, Rowlett hissed, "I'm not joking around anymore, kid."

Ash smirked. "Good. Are we compromising or not, Rowlett?" Glancing at his watch, he added spitefully, "I haven't got all day."

I felt like punching him for saying that since it only heightened my pain, but alas, both my hands were occupied.

Rowlett was not impressed by Ashton's jabs either. "That depends."

Scoffing, Ashton muttered, "On what?"

"On what you're willing to do."

"I still don't know what you're offering."

"Right, right," Rowlett chuckled without humor as he shook my wrist a bit. "I was just getting there."

Silence.

"And?" As Ashton said the word, I inched closer to him.

"You do one last job…or your girl's wrist snaps."

My heart stopped for a moment in horror. I didn't know what 'one last job' meant, but it didn't take a genius to figure it out. But…my wrist.

For the first time since we'd entered the museum, I felt a trickle of sweat form between Ashton's and my hands. The perpetuated silence told me that Ashton was truly conflicted this time.

But then he spoke, and his words were not the ones Rowlett—nor I—was waiting for. "I don't do jobs for gangsters."

I expected Rowlett to explode on the spot, but instead his face morphed into an acid smile and he said coolly, "Your mom did."

It was then that the scale tipped. My wrist suddenly felt like it was on fire, and despite all my efforts, a sharp cry of pain rose from my throat. I felt as though my wrist really was about to break, and I threw my head against Ashton's chest in an attempt to divert my focus.

Finally he acted. As soon as my head hit his chest—or maybe it was before—his free fist flew right smack into the jaw of Dane Rowlett.

Whack!

It was the most satisfying sound I'd heard all day. But my main satisfaction came when the pressure on my wrist finally abated and then disappeared altogether.

Time was limited. No sooner had I brought my arm back to my side, than Ash was yelling, "Run!"

There was no time to think. With our hands clasped between us, Ash and I took off running down the dark passage, as if for our very lives. I'd never had such a thrill in my life as I did fleeing from that gangster and his Goth girlfriend.

Rounding bend after bend in the half-lit, dizzying hallways, we raced faster and faster. I was even more confused by the labyrinth of passages now than I'd been before, but I found that my trust in Ashton had also increased.

It was both terrifying and electrifying, running from a crazy dude who undoubtedly could kill me, but at least Ashton was by my side. At least we were in this together.

And then there was the fact that Ashton, amid all of this, was grinning.

He was crazy, absolutely crazy. And part of me loved it, even as we ran with our lives in our hands.

To say it was easy keeping up with the athletically fit Ashton would be a lie. Embarrassingly, I kept getting my lefts and rights mixed up, but it didn't help that Ash liked making his turns at the absolute last second. I probably crashed into ten walls just trying to follow his ridiculous running habits.

The wall crashing was nothing though, compared to the ever present threat of Rowlett behind us. Ashton must have sensed this too, for he increased his pace suddenly, wrenching me forward painfully but necessarily.

Muscular as he was, Rowlett appeared to lack the same level of speed that Ashton and even I had, for it wasn't long before I glanced back to find him nowhere in sight. That is, unless he had found some sort of short cut, but as far as I'd seen, there were no other reasonable routes—not that I knew this museum well at all.

Rowlett wasn't the only threat though—Fern was still hot on our heels.

"Faster!" Ashton shouted.

Though my muscles protested, I somehow followed Ashton's command. By now, we'd probably run down ten hallways, each of which twisted erratically, giving me the impression that the building was spinning. How come I'd never explored this place before?

Probably because I would have gotten lost immediately. Just like I seemed to be right now.

But suddenly it was there, right ahead of us. The light! Practically tripping over myself in relief, I finally allowed my nerves a moment to relax—foolishly. For he was waiting for us right at the opening of the hallway.

"Rowlett—"I exclaimed, but Ashton had already seen him. Ash tried to pull us out of the way, but the tattooed man was nearest to me. Fear gripped me with its icy hold.

"Duck!" Ashton's voice was the only thing I could hear as I, in utter terror, flung my torso forward and let go of his hand.

I felt an arm skim my back as I practically stumbled past Rowlett, but the man's fingers clumsily missed my shirt. Then, hardly believing that I would actually achieve freedom, I regained my footing and glanced behind me.

All I caught was a flash of black leather as Fern barreled onto the scene. She suddenly let out a cry of pain as if she'd hit something. Before I had the chance to see what happened next, someone was suddenly grabbing hold of my shoulders and shoving me toward the revolving door.

Panicking, I struggled against whoever the person was, clawing at the hands that were clutching me. When his grip tightened, I turned my elbow into a weapon and jabbed it at his ribs.

But it was Ashton's voice that fell on my ear, "Maine! Stop it!"

Realizing only a second after we'd stumbled out the door and into the blinding sunlight just who had his hands on me, I squeaked, "Sorry!"

He just laughed—a preposterous sound at the moment. "You're okay; just hurry up!"

"Yeah, okay," I mumbled, heart racing almost as fast as my legs.

Rowlett's angry roar almost vibrated through my veins as he exited the building a moment after us. "I'm gonna kill you, you little—"

Somehow I got the impression he was serious. But I didn't really start freaking out until we got to Ashton's motorcycle. I wasn't a bike wizard, but I knew for a fact that we wouldn't be able to get on the bike, start it, and leave before the murderous Rowlett reached us. We were so dead.

Even so, I scrambled to grab my helmet and started shouting. "Hurry up! Hurry up—" The helmet was ripped from my hands, only to be replaced with keys. Motorcycle keys.

"Start her up!" Ashton shouted before suddenly whipping around the way we'd come. With a violent swing, he slammed the helmet directly against Rowlett's head.

I could hardly stop the surprised yelp from leaving my lips when Rowlett's whole upper half swung back from the impact. That must have hurt. I must have been standing there frozen, because Ashton glanced back at me and exclaimed hurriedly, "I said start her!"

Huh? Oh, the bike. "S—start her—but Ash—" I struggled to find words, my fingers shaking as I looked down at his beloved motorcycle. What do I do?

Glancing from the bike back to Ashton, I looked just in time to see the now-recovered Rowlett land a blow to Ashton's ribs. My hands flew to my face in horror as I watched him heave forward in pain. Again, what do I do?

But the fight wasn't over yet. Mending unbelievably fast, Ashton was soon arching his own punch toward Rowlett. I took that highly inopportune moment to ask shakily, "H—how?"

It took Ash a moment to respond, for he and Rowlett were clearly in the midst of an aggressive encounter. After dodging a somewhat poorly aimed punch, he said over his shoulder, "Put the—ugh—key in the—oomph—ignition!"

I was hyperventilating by then, but somehow I managed to shove the key in and turn it. When the engine replied with silence, I continued in a panic, "Now what?" Instead of a coherent response, all I heard was a series of knuckle cracks and grunts. What. Do. I. Do?

I tried to think of all the movies I'd seen that had motorcycles in them, but even in those, I simply could not think of how they had started their bikes. They'd just…started them. A loud whack behind me caused me to jump. We're going to die here, aren't we? And it's going to be my fault because I couldn't figure out how to start Ashton's stupid bike!

It then dawned on me that I had no choice—no choice but to join the fight myself.

I had never considered myself impulsive, but this situation required impulsive actions—hardcore impulsive actions. That was my only excuse for my subsequent deeds.

Flinging aside the warnings my nerves were sending me, I allowed my adrenaline to domineer me as I reached for the remaining helmet—Ashton's—and turned rashly on the two brawling men.

Charging at Rowlett and Ashton, I let out a feral battle cry, and, with all the strength my muscles could afford, I smashed the helmet against Rowlett's abdomen. Regrettably, although my fervor may have surpassed Ashton's when he'd executed a similar blow just minutes earlier, the effect of mine was certainly lacking. Rowlett did not go flying back, nor did he look damaged at all except, perhaps, in the areas where Ashton had already hit him.

Even so, what I'd aimed for had been accomplished—I'd most definitely distracted the tattooed man. Before Rowlett could mentally recover, I found myself spitting at a shocked Ashton. "Start your own stupid bike!"

Then, with the helmet still in my hands, I leaped at Rowlett again, despite knowing that my blows probably wouldn't inflict much pain on him.

"Maine, what are you—" Ashton yelled at me, but I just groaned in frustration as I shoved Rowlett forcefully.

"Turn on your bike!" I shouted back, my anxiety running rampant.

By now, Rowlett had figured out what we were doing—or, at least, what I was trying to do—for he suddenly shoved past me in an attempt to reach Ashton. Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I scrambled after him, shouting, "Oh, no, you don't!"

Now that we were facing Ashton, I could see what he was doing. Somehow the thickhead had wrapped his head around what I wanted him to do, for he was running toward the motorcycle. Unfortunately, Rowlett was hot on his heels. But I could still do something.

Just as Ashton reached his bike, I leaped onto his pursuer's back. Clamping my arms around Rowlett's neck, I held on as tightly as I could. At the same time, I used my legs to kick him in the thighs and groin. Jerking violently, Rowlett attempted to dislodge me from his back, but I clung on stubbornly. He tried to reach back to hit me with his arms, but our position was too awkward to allow him much of an advantage.

"Argh!" he grunted, bending his back at bizarre angles.

I responded by clinging on even tighter. Then, just because I could, I leaned forward and bit down on his shoulder. In a monstrous voice, he yelled, "Get off me, you whore!"

As the words spewed from his mouth, I heard Ashton's motorcycle roar to life, and relief flooded me. At last, we were saved!

Then again….

"Ah—Ash?" I choked the words right before Rowlett suddenly lurched so pugnaciously that my arms lost their hold around his neck. Crashing down onto the sidewalk, my back collided painfully with that hard, grainy cement. For a moment, I was confused about my blurry vision, until I realized that my glasses had fallen off. As I rolled over achingly, I found them to be lying about two feet away.

A panic sizzling in my veins, I hurriedly crawled over to them, not caring that the sidewalk was tearing at my already enflamed skin. Before I could retrieve my glasses, a foot came down with a brutish force onto my back. "Argh!" I groaned in agony.

The pain did not last long, for Ashton was suddenly ramming into Rowlett, and the two tumbled to the ground beside me, narrowly missing my glasses. My glasses!

Reaching out, I wrapped my fingers around the precious frames and pulled them to my face. With my vision restored, I somehow found the strength to rise to my feet once again. Then I turned my attention on the two squabbling men. What a disaster.

Bracing myself, I raised one foot and slammed my heel down as hard as I could on Rowlett's arm. For once, it had an impact—my legs must have been stronger than my arms. Then, as Rowlett stopped to clutch his injury, I grabbed Ashton's arm and pulled him up. His face looked awful, which was only understandable, considering the circumstances. But somehow he still cracked a crooked grin as he snatched up my hand and we ran back to the bike.

"Get on!" he shouted, swinging his leg over the seat. Following suit, I jumped on the back and flung my arms around his waist. I didn't even think about our helmets until Ashton was zipping out of the parking space.

Glancing back, I reveled in what a close call we'd had. Rowlett was on his feet, and now Fern was by his side as well, glaring after us. She looked as if she'd suffered some sort of head injury, with dried blood smeared across one side of her face. She also looked as if she'd sauté my heart for dinner if given the chance. Shivering, I refocused my gaze and pressed the side of my face against Ashton's back. Did that really just happen?

Street after street, stop sign after stop light, I slowly began to regain my composure. I was still at a loss as to what had just transpired, but at least my heart wasn't threatening to jump out of my chest at any moment now. The ride was giving me time to think about the museum, Rowlett, Fern, and even the person whose bike I was riding.

Just who was Ashton Savvonski? Should I have been surprised that some gangster was asking him to do "one last job?" Should I have been surprised that Ashton had "unfinished business" with said gangster?

No.

But I was.

Once again, Ash had made a fool of me. And I wasn't nearly upset enough about it.

When his bike slowed to a stop at the next red light, I didn't question him as I probably should have. Rather, I pulled my cheek from his back and teased, "Whatever happened to staying calm back there?"

He turned his head sideways, grinning sheepishly. "It wasn't supposed to go that way."

I snorted. "No doubt. So why were you egging him on the whole time?"

Ash sighed, caught. "Instinct?"

"I'm glad I don't have your instincts then!"

"Are you sure you don't?" he questioned, laughing.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, today—I had no idea you were that crazy," he admitted over the sound of cross traffic.

"Crazy?"

He laughed again. "You jumped on Dane Rowlett's back and started biting him! Who does that?"

I choked out a laugh at his words. It was funny, but at the same time, it wasn't funny at all. "I was doing that to save both of our butts.��

"Whatever you say."

"Well, why else would I do that?" I exclaimed in indignation.

"Maybe because you like biting people?"

Groaning, I used one of my hands to punch him in the abdomen, but all he did was laugh harder. "There you go again—looking for any and every opportunity to hit somebody. Admit it, you secretly have anger management issues."

In frustration, I hit him again, before realizing that I was only feeding into his stupid theory. "No! I—Ash!"

His chest lurched forward in a fit of laughter, and it took all I had not to smack him for it again. "You're such a butthead!"

"I'm so very offended!" he yelled just as the light turned green.

All I could do was roll my eyes as the motorcycle accelerated underneath us. Oh, Ash…

For the next few blocks, the ride went on without a hitch. However, at about the fifth intersection, trouble sat waiting for me in the form of a royal blue Subaru.

I had been riding along on the highs of an adrenaline rush, feeling as if nothing could get me down. Until we came to a stop at the next stoplight and my eyes landed on the Subaru in the lane next to us.

I glanced at it once, then twice. It took all of three seconds for me to recognize that it was indeed my parents' car. My panic returned, as if it had been lying in wait just for this. Horrified, and not thinking clearly, I nudged Ashton.

"Dude, it's—" I tried to explain, but my heart was pounding so loudly that I could barely hear my own words. Dane Rowlett was one thing, but this was a whole different kind of bad. "Ash—" I tried again, but nothing else came out of my mouth.

"What?" he said impatiently.

"It's my parents."

"What?" He said again, half a question, half an exclamation.

"My parents are in the car right next to us."

When Ash's head turned in the direction of their car, I whipped my own head in the opposite direction. "Wow, your dad's got the lumberjack look down," Ash commented, impressed.

"Don't let them hear you!" I squeaked, cowering behind him.

Ash scoffed at my iterations. "And you're not acting suspicious at all."

I frowned at his sarcasm and hissed back, "I'm trying, okay? This doesn't happen to me every day."

He glanced down at me from the corner of his eye before muttering blithely, "Clearly. What would they do if they do if they caught you?"

"I don't know. And I don't want to find out." He didn't say anything, instead opting to refocus his gaze ahead. Tentatively, I leaned closer to him and wondered aloud, "Are they looking?"

I never got to hear his response, because we were suddenly whipping forward at an uncomfortable speed. I took that as my opportunity to glance back and check for myself. To my great relief, I found that my parents had taken a right turn instead of following us. I still wasn't convinced they hadn't seen me, but I had to hope.