But I don’t give a fuck about any of it. All I care about right now is catching Tom.
He’s ahead of me, hunched over the handlebars, pushing the stolen bike as fast as it’ll go. We rocket down the cracked and broken road, engines vibrating, the wind blowing through our hair.
He swerves around debris and fallen bodies and the burning wreckage. I follow every move, matching him turn for turn, navigating like the pro I am.
He won’t outride me; he never has and never will.
My thigh is on fire. Blood is streaming down my leg, spattering against the hot engine. But it’s physical pain that can be ignored when your mind is strong enough. When you’re determined enough and have enough sheer force of will.
I won’t go down ’til Tom goes down first.
I push Cash’s bike harder, gaining ground. Tom glances back and sees me coming. Fear flashes in his eyes, his face so mangled he can’t properly make expressions anymore.
Good.
Let him be afraid. He has every reason to be.
I told him I’d kill him if I had to, and the moment has finally come.
I surge forward and ram the front of my bike into the back of his.
The impact jolts through both of us. Tom’s bike wobbles, and he’s so injured and exhausted he can’t even fight against it. He loses control completely, going down hard.
The bike flips end over end. Metal twists and bends then grinds against asphalt and creates bright sparks.
I crash too—no way to avoid it at this speed—but I manage to turn it into a controlled tumble, eating the fall with my shoulder and rolling through the momentum.
I scramble up, drenched in sweat and blood, my leg barely able to hold my weight.
Tom’s lying in the middle of the street. He’s not getting up this time. His body has given up on itself.
I limp over to him, heaving ragged breaths, glaring down at the man who used to be my best friend.
He’s broken beyond repair now.
His body’s twisted at odd angles from the crash, adding fresh injuries to his burns. Blood bubbles at his lips with every labored breath.
But he’s still alive. Still conscious. His eyes find mine, and he’s back to the man I once knew. He’s looking up at me as if he’s thinking about our friendship and how regretful he is it’s come to this.
I am too. Though there’s no turning back now. Not after everything that’s happened.
“Your friendship meant a lot to me,” I admit solemnly. “It always will, in a way.”
Tom sputters up more blood and spittle. Otherwise, he doesn’t respond. Maybe he can’t even if he wanted to.
No use dragging this on. Better to put him out of his misery.
I raise the gun. “But it’s time to say goodbye.”
I look him in the eye as I do it, registering the fact that I’ve known this man for over forty years. From the time we were small kids running up and down our neighborhood street playing tag to the times we were young prospects at the Steel Kings working our way through initiation.
I still vividly remember the night we were inducted into the club. How we’d grinned at each other and worn our cuts for the first time.
Never did I imagine the man laying at my feet would become the piece of shit he turned into.
All choices he made, and now he must pay the consequences.
My finger wraps around the trigger and squeezes hard.
