“Well, that’s one promise you may get out of if we don’t do anything. Motherfucker.” King swore a blue streak. I glanced at the patches on the jackets as we edged closer to the high-speed madness, and finally realized the two on the outside were the same and the one in the middle was different, with a skull that reminded me of the Kings’ patch. We were getting close enough that I could see long scarlet hair blowing all around in the wind from under a sleek, shiny red helmet that matched the petite middle rider’s bike.
“A woman?” I asked, surprised, and couldn’t help but gasp as the man on her right tried to grab her handlebars. Something flashed and shone in the air as she swiped at him, and he snagged his hand back. I thought maybe she’d sliced him with a blade she was somehow holding while riding at these outrageous speeds, but he didn’t back off like any sane person would.
“Red’s a Harlot,” Hunter murmured, and I couldn’t miss the impressed gleam in his eyes as he nudged me over so he could get a better look. “She’s the one we talked to. Won the car race, remember?”
“Oh.” I was embarrassed because we’d done a few deals with their president, Sapphira, and I hadn’t recognized their colors.
“Those other two assholes are Warriors, and they’ve been doing their damnedest to piss off every person with a brain in this town for years,” King said and hunched forward in his seat, bracing his arms on the dash.
“Everyone hates the Warriors, even the cops,” Hunter assured me with a nod. “You have to help her.” He patted King’s shoulder. “Red’s always really nice to me. She gives me cookies.”
King froze and turned to glance at Hunter, who was looking up into his face with those wide bluish-green eyes that I’d not yet been able to say no to if he asked for something. I wasn’t fully surprised when King straightened his shoulders and nodded.
“Yeah, we should. If nothing else, the Warriors have it coming. They’re the reason we had a fed in our club.” King slapped his hand on the dash as if he was trying to psych himself up for whatever heroics were breezing through his mind.
“We could just shoot ’em?”
“Too much traffic,” Hunter said, and King grunted his agreement with that assessment.
“Are you fucking Hunter now?” Undertaker took his eyes off the road for a second to glance at me as he asked, tone dry, and my stomach dropped.
“So what if I am? Let’s go ruin their day.” I pointed forward because the man on Little Miss Red-Riding Helmet’s left was trying to kick at her bike, which didn’t seem very smart at all.
Undertaker laughed and the eerie, high-pitched sound raised goose bumps along my skin.
“Hold onto something,” King ordered, and Hunter immediately grabbed the seat in front of him for all the good that would do if we wrecked. I hooked my arm around him and nearly vibrated out of my skin. He flushed and glanced at the grungy floor of the van, and I felt enormously pleased with myself for no good reason.
“What the feck are ya going to do?” I asked King, and if my voice was higher than usual, who could blame me?
King and Undertaker were sharing looks, which meant Undertaker didn’t really have his eyes on the road once again, and that was dangerous—especially without Hunter in a seat belt—but they seemed to come to some unspoken conclusion. Undertaker focused ahead with grim determination hardening his jaw. King grabbed the door handle at his side.
“What the bloody fuck are ya doing?” I asked and latched onto his arm. He shook me off.
“Get closer to that moron on her left,” King said to Undertaker, while he wound down his window. He unbuckled his seat belt. “When I get him—”
“Oh, I know what to do,” Undertaker said, and then he let out a long breath I would have thought of as meditative in another situation. We were moving so fast that cars in front of us were pulling out of the way and honking their horns. It was only a matter of time before the police became involved at this rate. I held Hunter tighter.
King reached out of his window as the van took the lane beside the bikes. This was a terrible situation. There were cars all around. Then it finally happened. There was a car too slow ahead of us, and with a loud “Fuck!” Undertaker was forced to slow abruptly and swerve to the right, directly behind the bikes. People were speeding home from their long days at work, or perhaps hoping to start their weekend early, but not fast enough. Someone was going to get hurt, and it might be King, or us, or all three of the bikers.
“Are ya sure—”
“Let him concentrate,” Undertaker snarled, and I shut my mouth as he punched the gas and once again moved the van closer to the bikes. Hunter gave me a reassuring smile that did the opposite of settle me, mostly because he seemed to think his father walked on water, and that sort of blind devotion would only end with a drowning.
The van pulled up beside the Warrior and I held my breath. King grabbed the roof handle with his left hand and stood, leaning out the window.
“Bloody fucking hell,” I barked.
King stretched himself out as if he’d been born hanging out of windows. His body shuddered as it was buffeted by the wind from the road.
“He’s used to it from riding,” Undertaker said, and he was all perky, like a schoolboy on his way to a party. I squeezed Hunter tight as King slapped the half helmet off the head of the Warrior closest to us and then grabbed the bottom of his leather riding jacket, managing to pull it up over his head.
My heart nearly stopped as Undertaker jammed on the van brakes, and the rider on the bike fell on his left side, in what seemed like slow motion, directly ahead of us. The bike sparked as it dragged along the road, and then Undertaker sped up again. I closed my eyes as we thumped over either the body or the bike, but I supposed it didn’t particularly matter which one we’d hit. The man was very likely dead already.
When I forced my eyes open again, it was to see that the other biker on the woman’s right-hand side had backed off and was far behind us along the berm. Somehow, miraculously, the woman in red was still riding. Undertaker gassed the van and pulled up near her. She waved at King. He saluted back as she shot ahead of him at speeds that were more than dangerous but likely meant no cop would bother her because she would be too much trouble.
King let out a hoot that had me grasping my chest in shock, and Hunter giggled out a Christmas-morning laugh that did not match the situation. Hell, how much had I underestimated him?
“Christ on a cracker. Okay, I understand now why ya ran into that firefight the way ya did.” I pecked a kiss onto his cheek.
