The bullet buries itself into my thigh, ramming straight through me like a white-hot fire poker. It pierces muscle and bone, and pain erupts in a fiery blaze reminiscent of the grenade from earlier.
I can hear myself release a guttural howl as I stagger back then drop to the ground.
For seconds that could even be minutes, all that exists is the pain radiating in my thigh. The edges of my vision have blurred as I struggle to breathe through it and process the fact that I’ve been shot.
It’s not the first time. But fuck if it doesn’t hurt like a bitch.
It’s only after I’m able to bite down on my jaw and suck down more air into my lungs that I catch up on what else has happened.
Wheels didn’t hesitate after Tom shot me.
He’s launched himself at Tom. The two men have crashed to the ground, grappling for the gun, cursing and snarling like animals.
I try to push myself up, but my leg won’t cooperate. Blood is pouring from the wound, soaking through my jeans and dribbling in the dirt.
Get up. Fucking get up, you son of a bitch.
I try to stand but fail. Then try again only to fail again.
The gun goes off.
I glance up in time to see Wheels go limp, a hole gashed open on his forehead. His body slumps sideways, eyes now vacant as he stares at nothing.
Tom struggles to his feet, wheezing and coughing. He’s somehow still alive, fueled by nothing but spite and adrenaline. He staggers toward one of the discarded Rebel’s bikes.
Fuck! I can’t let him get away.
I grit my teeth and force myself upright. The pain is indescribable, and I’ve lost so much blood, I question if he’s punctured my femoral artery, but I fight through it anyway.
One foot in front of the other. One foot at a time as blood trickles down my leg and I grind my teeth to hold in the pain.
Soon I’m hobbling forward in a desperate attempt to make it to Tom.
He’s almost to the bike when Big Eddie appears.
Solana’s uncle must’ve arrived after the reinforcements. He’s staring at Tom with confusion and horror, taking in the carnage and the bodies on the ground.
“Tom?” he asks, his tone incredulous. “What the fuck are you doing? Did you... did you help the Road Rebels attack the Kings?”
Tom doesn’t bother answering with words. He answers with a bullet, clearly deciding he’s done talking. He’s all about making a getaway.
Self-preservation as always.
Big Eddie jerks backward, clutching his chest, and crumples to the ground.
“NO!” I yell, then any concept of pain ceases to exist. I tune it out as I rush forward as fast as my body can humanly manage.
Tom mounts the bike and it rumbles to life, clearly planning to ride off from the chaos and disappear.
But I’m already jogging after him, shutting out the burning agony and operating off rage and adrenaline.
I spot Cash’s FXDB Street Bob lying on its side nearby and haul it upright, swinging my bleeding leg over the seat. The engine roars even louder than Tom’s had, ready and willing to take off.
The chase is on.
I speed after Tom, weaving through the insane battle still raging around us. Men are fighting and dying on both sides, Road Rebels and Steel Kings locked in brutal combat. The flames have spread, licking at the dry grass, sending plumes of black smoke billowing into the sky.
In the distance, I’m pretty sure I even hear sirens. Pulsboro PD and fire department finally on their way.
