One Mans Heart

There is no explicit description of sex in this story.

*****

On the eleven o'clock evening news the weather forecast called for a severe winter storm to arrive late the next day. The storm was predicted to pass well to the north of where I lived. Tomorrow might be the last chance for a bike trip before the onset of Winter would shut down all riding until Spring. I decided to get up early and take a ride over to Bentonville, a small village some sixty-five miles away, have some breakfast and then take a leisurely ride back home.

Saturday morning arrived bright and cold. Donning leather chaps over my jeans and and zipping up my heavy leather motorcycle jacket with a woolen scarf around my neck I strode through the combination mud and laundry room into the garage. Fastening my helmet and slipping on my gloves I threw a leg over my Harley and the big fuel-injected v-twin cranked right up.

Of my many toys this one was my favorite. It's a '04 Harley Heritage Classic Softtail, special edition blue with orange flames paint job, special chrome and leather handle bar grips with a chrome front end. A stage II exhaust system gave it a satisfying throaty rumble, not to mention improved performance.

Easing out of the garage I activated the remote closing the garage door and opening the wrought iron gates guarding the entrance to my driveway from the street. Once on the road in front of my home the gates closed behind me.

The morning was cold and crisp and I was thankful for my heavy leather chaps and motorcycle jacket. The road to Bentonville was through a national forest. Lots of curves and hills made for a pleasant, interesting ride. This early on a Saturday morning there was hardly any traffic on the road which made the ride even nicer.

A little over ninety minutes later I arrive at my destination the quaint little town of Bentonville. As I stopped to fill up my Harley's gas tank across the street from the diner where I planned on eating breakfast I noticed a line of nine

choppers parked in front. Just before I finished gassing up I saw ten guys exit the diner. I guess one was riding double. They appeared to be the typical biker gang displaying the club name on the back of their jackets . . . 'Wildcats From Hell'.

Eight of the bikers took off down the direction I came from. The remaining two seemed to be having a rather animated discussion. The smaller of the two had a full face helmet with a heavily tinted visor which I thought was odd. Most biker gangs just wear the smallest helmet the law allows. The bigger of the two got on his chopper and gestured for the other to follow. After a moment of indecision he got on and they left tearing out from the parking lot just missing a passing car.

I finished fueling my bike and rode over to the diner. Parking and locking the front forks I went inside. Taking a seat at the counter I picked up the one page menu. The waitress came over and asked if I wanted coffee and if was I ready to order.

Sounds good I told her. "Coffee . . black, no sugar, no cream. I'll have the two egg special over easy with bacon, hash browns, wheat toast, no butter just some orange marmalade."

"Coming right up." She said turning to put the order slip on the pass through counter to the kitchen and then pour my coffee.

The television, mounted up on the wall in front of me, was tuned to ESPN so I watched clips of the previous night's college basketball games. Before the end of the first commercial break she returned with my breakfast. It was just as good as I remembered from the last time I was here.

As I finished the last bite of toast a severe weather alert bulletin broke into the broadcast. The winter storm that was forecast to pass to the north had intensified and was now moving rapidly toward us. Heavy rain and sleet followed by a snowfall of eight to ten inches was now the prediction. So much for last night's weather forecast.

I decided it would be in my best interest to turn around and head back home. Hopefully, I would be able to make it before the storm broke. Paying the bill and leaving a healthy tip for the hard working waitress I picked up my helmet and gloves and headed out.

Firing up my bike I headed back the way I had come earlier. The only bad part of the route back was the fifty miles of nothing through the national forest. If you were to have a breakdown, get stuck and not get some help you'd most likely die in this coming storm.

As I headed back out of town I saw the dark storm clouds building in intensity behind me. The temperature had already dropped a good ten to fifteen degrees from earlier in the morning and with the storm behind me I hoped to be able to out race it home.

Twenty miles into the national forest and I had not seen another car or truck coming toward me. I hadn't noticed any headlights behind me in my mirrors either. Rounding a curve I saw a solitary figure walking along the road. It was the same guy I saw at the diner, the one with the full face helmet.

Rolling up to him I killed my engine and shouted for him to get on. "There is a bad storm coming. I'll give you a lift to the next town."

He shook his head no and kept walking. "If you don't get on you will die out here!" I yelled at him.

With that he reluctantly climbed on behind me as I re-started the bike. With the noise from the exhaust pipes and the roar of the wind in our faces it was impossible for any kind of communication.

Twenty miles from the village, where I intended to drop the fellow off, a cold, drenching rain began, forcing me to slow down considerably. I decided to just go to my home. It was much closer and I already felt my passenger, sitting closely behind me, begin to shiver from the cold.

Coming down the road I lived on I thumbed a remote by my left handlebar grip and the gates to the driveway opened. Thumbing it again, as I made my way up the driveway, the gates closed and the garage door opened. I rode inside, killed the engine and we dismounted.

Listening to the popping and sizzling sounds of the rainwater as it dropped from the frame of the bike and hit the exhaust pipes I made my way to the door to the mud/laundry room.

"Follow me," I said opening the door. "We'll go inside, warm up and wait out the storm before I drive you into town."

Removing my helmet and gloves I then took off my jacket and chaps. My jeans were still dry but my shirt was wet from where the rain had gotten down through my jacket collar. So I threw it into the washing machine.

Turning around I saw that the guy hadn't even bothered to take his helmet off.

"Hey, what's the matter with you? You're already shivering. Get that helmet and those wet leathers off before you freeze."

When he unstrapped his helmet and removed it I discovered he wasn't a guy. He was a she and a very pretty she at that.

"Okay, now the jacket and pants." I said.

"I can't. I'm not wearing anything underneath my riding gear." She whispered, obviously embarrassed.

Opening one of the cabinet doors that lined the wall opposite the washer and dryer I removed a pink sweatshirt and matching pants.

"Here, these belonged to my wife. You are about the same size. Put them on. And here," I said handing her a towel with which to dry herself off. "When you finish dressing come inside. I'll make something hot for us to drink. What would you like coffee or hot chocolate?"

"Coffee will be fine," she replied still trembling from the cold.

Closing the door behind me, to give her some privacy, I made my way upstairs to my bedroom and found a dry shirt before heading back to the kitchen. I have one of those machines that grinds the beans and brews one cup at a time in less than a minute. Removing two coffee mugs from the cupboard I just finished brewing the first cup when she emerged wearing the pink sweat suit.

As the second cup started brewing I asked her if she took sugar and/or cream.

"Black will be just fine," she answered.

Removing my cup from the counter I picked up a bottle of Napoleon brandy and poured a healthy amount into it. I held the bottle up and she nodded her head yes.

Handing her a mug of the fortified coffee I said. "Let's go into the sun room. Its comfortable in there and you can relax and tell me a little about yourself and why you were out on the highway alone."

"By the way my name is Scott, Scott Mueller," I offered.

I led the way to the sunroom which also doubles as a greenhouse. One of my wife's passions was roses. There are almost thirty varieties growing in there and there are always flowers in bloom. I keep the temperature at a constant seventy-eight degrees year around and the humidity is adjusted as needed to prevent diseases and fungus. The air was filled with their scent.

Just as I offered her a seat my German Shepard, Gunner, wandered in to sit by my side. He looked at her and began to growl.

"Gunner . . . No . . . Friend." I said to him.

He immediately stopped, went over to her and sniffed her hand before licking it. Returning to me he sat by my side and I began petting his head and scratching his ears.

"He's beautiful," she said. "How old is he?"

"Gunner is about two years old. We . . . I got him when he was just an eight weeks old puppy."

After taking a sip of her coffee she said. "Where do you want me to begin?"

"Why don't you start with your name," I replied.

She told me her name, Tracy Bennet, and then gave me a brief history of her life. I found out she was twenty-four years old and had her younger sister living with her after the death of their father. Her mom had died giving birth to her sister, Pamela, eighteen years ago. Pamela was finishing her last year in high school having to repeat the year she lost helping to take care of their dad while he, unsuccessfully, tried to recover from a severe heart attack.

Tracy told me everything was fine until she lost her job. She continued on telling me she was out job hunting one day while her sister was in school. One of the neighboring apartments caught fire and the entire building was consumed with flames and had to be condemned.

She and her sister had no place to go. Then a friend of a friend of hers, Frank Stilton, offered to let them move in with him. She said it was okay for a few weeks until he bought that damn motorcycle. He changed becoming more demanding and wanting to control all aspects of both their lives.

He told her that he found a motorcycle club that he wanted to join and that they would be going to meet up with some of the club members that morning. She continued telling me that they rode to a diner in Bentonville and met up with eight of the club members. It was then she was told that price of his admission into the club was dependent upon her having sex with each of the members.

"Either put out or get out," she said Frank told her in the parking lot before they left. "What was I going to do? I had no choice. So I got on behind him and we left."

"We rode out of town and before he could catch up with the others I made a decision not to do what he wanted." She continued explaining to me.

"We were in a really desolate area when I began to poke him in his back. He stopped and I told him I had to pee really, really bad. I walked into the forest and just kept walking away from him and the road until I found a place to hide."

"I could hear him yelling for me to get my ass back," she said. "I didn't move from my hiding place until I heard him re-start his motorcycle and leave."

"Then I waited another ten or fifteen minutes to be sure he wasn't going to come back before making my way to the road. I walked in the direction he had left knowing that if I saw him returning I could escape back into the woods before he could see me. Then you came along . . . and you know the rest of the story," she finished.

"What about your sister?" I asked. "Is she still at his place?"

"No," she answered. "She was going to spend today with one of her friends and then stay over tonight with her."

"I'd better call Pamela, she should be at her friend's house, and tell her what's happening. Do you have a phone I could use?"

"Sure," I replied handing her my cell phone. "Want a re-fill on the coffee?"

She nodded her head and I went back into the kitchen to re-fill the two mugs. Just as I finished rinsing out the coffee mugs Tracy came into the kitchen and handed me my cell phone back.

"I have to get home right now. Pamela's friend told me that Frank picked her up thirty minutes ago. Frank told her that I had sent him to bring her back to the apartment. Please say that you will take me, please," she said almost hysterical.

Grabbing my jacket and a blanket for Tracy to wrap around herself we went into the garage.

"Gunner . . . Come . . . Ride." I called to my dog. He eagerly jumped into the back seat of my Ford F150 FX4X4 extended cab pick up truck.

"Get in and wrap up in the blanket until the heater kicks in," I told her. The rain and sleet had stopped and now just a gentle snow was falling. It appeared that the forecast for heavy snow might not materialize. Being sure that the garage door closed and the driveway gates did as well we headed down the road.

Asking for Frank's address I punched it into the on-board GPS and forty minutes later we pulled into the parking lot of a large apartment complex. I had no sooner found a parking spot when Tracy flung open her door and ran to a ground floor unit with Gunner right on her heels. Finding the door unlocked she barged in yelling for her sister.

A man almost my size appeared carrying a small suitcase. "She's not here, bitch. She's going to take your place at the clubhouse," he yelled stepping toward her menacingly with his hand raised as if to strike her.

"Gunner . . . Protect." I commanded.

Gunner immediately pushed past Tracy and attacked Frank. One hundred and twenty pounds of snarling and biting dog hit Frank right in his chest. He collapsed onto the floor and attempted to cover up his throat.

"Gunner . . . Stop." I called out.

"Where is she, where is she?" Tracy kept asking. "Where is my sister?"

"I'm not gonna to tell you," Frank responded.

I walked over to his prone body, grabbed him up from the floor by his shirt, threw him on the sofa and said. "If you don't answer her right now I'll release my dog. Make it quick, answer her."

Gunner stood in front of him, bared his teeth and growled ominously. Frank quickly gave up the location of the clubhouse where Pamela was being held.

"The clubhouse is at the end of Wildcat Road. They're waiting for me and one other guy before anything happens," he told us.

"Tracy, go gather all of the belongings of you and your sister," I instructed her.

While she was gone Frank and I had a 'Come to Jesus' moment.

"If anything happens to that girl you are a dead man. Do you understand me? When we leave here you stay in this apartment until I come back. My dog will be outside watching. If you even so much as stick your heard out the door he will attack and I don't think you will survive."

Just as I finished telling Frank what would happen to him Tracy re-entered the room carrying two large black trash bags.

"We don't have much. This is all of it," she explained.

"Let's go get your sister," I told her.

Walking out the door I looked back and said. "Remember what I told you. Step outside and you're a dead man."

After putting the two bags in the covered truck bed we got in, Gunner taking his place in the back seat, when Tracy said to me.

"I thought I heard you tell Frank that Gunner would be outside to make sure he didn't leave."

"I did." I replied to her as we left. "He won't take the chance to check and see if I was telling him the truth."

Punching in the coordinates of the gang's club house in the GPS we left the apartment complex. Then activating the the truck's cell phone link I made a call.

Explaining the situation I said, "Dave, I want you to round up several of the men and meet me at the end of Wildcat Road ASAP."

"You got it, man. See you in less than forty."

Thirty-five minutes later I stopped in front of the gang's clubhouse. I told Tracy to wait in the truck as Gunner and I got out and started toward the front door.

Stopping about twenty feet from the door I yelled. "In the house! Send the girl out and there will be no trouble."

The door opened and eight men stepped onto the front porch. One of them yelled back. "Who the Hell is out there?"

"Your worst nightmare if you don't send the girl out right now," I replied.

I took one more step forward and a motion activated flood light came on bathing Gunner and me in its glare.

"There's only one of you and a dog. It ain't gonna happen," the leader yelled at me.

"You had better count again, asshole," a voice from the darkness shouted.

Just then Dave and ten other guys stepped into the light. It didn't go unnoticed by the eight gang members that all of them were armed.

Taking a T-shirt, that I had removed from the bag of clothes belonging to Pamela, I gave Gunner the scent and commanded him 'Find'.

Gunner raced by the eight men and into the house. A minute or two later I heard him barking furiously. I went inside and located Pamela huddled in a corner of a closet gagged and blindfolded. Her hands and feet were bound with duct tape.

I dropped to my knees and gently removed her blindfold and gag. She looked terrified. As I removed the tape from her hands and feet I said to her. "Let's get out of this place. Tracy is waiting outside for you."

It took several minutes to coax her to finally leave with me. I'm sure she thought I was going to hurt her. Eventually, she listened to my calm voice assuring her that no harm would come to her and we walked slowly out of the house with her clutching my arm.

Stepping outside we were greeted by a half dozen sheriff cars with their blue lights flashing. They, evidently, had arrived while we were still inside. As soon as Pamela saw Tracy standing by my truck she broke away from me and rushed to her sister's open arms. Tracy quickly wrapped the blanket I had given her earlier around the both of them against the bitter cold temperature.

I immediately recognized the Sheriff, Don Paterson. He was a good and honorable man. He, also, was my former father-in-law. Shaking my hand he walked me away from the assembled deputies and my employees.

Looking into my eyes he gently asked, "How are you doing, son?"

"I'm doing better, pop," I replied. "Some days are still rough. But all-in-all I'm doing better."

"Scott, Emma and I are still worried about you. I hear-tell that all you do is go to work and then home to rattle around in that big old house of yours. That's not good for you. You gotta let her go, son."

"Please do me a favor. Give Emma a call sometime soon. Will you do that for me? It will help her feel better, too."

"Now, Scott, tell me what's going on here?" He asked.

"Well it all started this morning when . ." I then quickly told him everything that had happen since I picked Tracy up from the side of the road. I finished by telling him where he could find Frank, the guy behind the kidnapping of Pamela.

As I finished explaining the events to him I saw one of his female deputies talking with Tracy and Pamela.

A few minutes later the three of them walked over to us. "Hello, Susan." I said to the female deputy. Susan was the Sheriff's daughter and my wife Barbara's older sister. "How are you?"

"Doing good, Scott, doing good. How about yourself? You're looking a whole lot better than the last time I saw you." She replied smiling at me.

Susan took her dad aside and spoke a few words with him for a minute or two.

The Sheriff then ordered his deputies to arrest all eight of the bikers.

"Read them their rights. Charge them with kidnapping, unlawful restraint and conspiracy to commit sexual battery. Then lock them all up."