“You both need to move back. This is an official investigation.”
Of course, I don’t move back. My eyes glance to the bike. I know my emotions are high, but something about this situation doesn’t sit right with me. I’ve seen a lot of things that lead to bikes going down. I’ve seen stupid mistakes, guys losing control from hotdogging, slick roads, and blown tires. This situation is a little different. The skid marks begin right in the middle of the road. It’s not raining or snowing. And both tires are still intact. However, the front brake lever is snapped, but the line running down towards the caliper looks off.
I lean over the bike to get a better look. The cop watches me, his eyes tracking every move. He’s clearly waiting for me to get up and leave like he asked. I’m too intent upon looking at the brake line; it runs along the frame. The outer sheath is scuffed all to hell, but there’s a spot near the connection that doesn’t match the rest. A thin, clean slice. My brain automatically realizes that his brake line was intentionally cut. My head jerks up to look at Rage, who’s patiently waiting for me to verify what he’s already seen. His now blank expression is tinged with fear. Someone targeted Rick. Was it because of his cut or was it because of Natalie?
Glancing back down, I have a strong urge to run my finger over the slit, to feel it and know for one hundred percent that what I’m seeing is real. I don’t, though, because I don’t want to destroy evidence. I don’t want to be the reason this potential evidence becomes a dead end. Instead, I quickly pull out my cell phone, open the camera, and zoom in before snapping several shots from different angles.
Rage murmurs quietly, “Good call.”
When it’s done, we come to our feet.
I ask with a jerk of my chin, “You comin’ to the hospital?”
“Fuck, yeah,” he replies harshly. “Siege is bringin’ Natalie. We need to talk about those pictures you just took and what it means for our club.”
Yeah, he’s thinkin’ the same thing I am.
“Alright, meet you there.”
I turn to leave, noticing for the first time that there are bystanders—a lot of them. There’s a cop with a phone filming the crowd. I know they do that on the off chance that someone related to the accident might be lingering among the onlookers. I pull out my phone and begin filming too, only I make a half-assed attempt to make it look like I’m scrolling. I capture the guy leaning against his car, pretending to be bored. A woman wrapped in a man’s jacket with tears running down her face. And some teens talking about the crash and making wild gestures with their hands, imitating the trajectory of the skid.
Rage steps up beside me. His voice is low. “They’re taking him to Mercy. I texted Siege to call our police contact to meet us there.”
I feel the controlled chaos around us shifting. The officers are paying more attention to us, eyeing us suspiciously. “We need to get the hell outta here before they try to keep us for questioning.”
Rage nods, sensing the same thing that I am. We start walking towards our bikes. Thankfully, they let us leave. I swing a leg over my bike, landing firmly in the seat. When I reach out to hit the ignition switch, my finger hovers over the button before going for my phone again.
I need to hear Natalie’s voice and know she’s okay, or at least not freakin’ out.
I pull up her contact information and hit call. She picks up on the first ring.
“Bear? Are you with Rick? How is he?” Her voice is hesitant and full of worry for her poor brother.
I close my eyes for half a second. Calling her was a mistake. The moment she asks about him, I see Rick strapped to that gurney again. I remember how listless his eyes were when they loaded him onto the gurney.
Forcing myself to respond, I tell her, “Listen,” I say. “Rick’s hurt. Siege is gonna bring you to the hospital. He’s in pretty bad condition, but I’m gonna make sure they do everything they can to save him. We’re not gonna let anything bad happen to him.”
There’s a pause, and I can hear her breathing change. She tries to keep it controlled. She doesn’t succeed.
“Oh my God,” she whispers. “They only told me he wrecked his bike. I was hoping it was a fender bender. How bad is he?”
“I don’t know yet,” I tell her. “He’s alive. He’s in good hands.”
She makes a small, distressed noise that sounds like a sob.
“Natalie,” I say, keeping my voice confident. “Rick will pull through this. He’s been through worse and survived. And no matter what happens, you’re not alone. I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll try to stop spiraling. Siege just walked in. I guess I need to go with him, right?”
“Yes,” I reply. “You go with him and do as he says. I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive at the hospital. We’ll talk to Patch and make sure Rick has everything he needs to get better. We’ve got this, don’t worry, darlin’.”
Her voice calms a bit. “Alright, it’s you and me against the world when it comes to saving my brother?”
Something I can’t quite identify snakes through my chest. I look at the road ahead as I try to work it out in my head. All the lights on top of the police cars are still flashing away as the cops mill about, doing a whole lot of nothin’. This might be just a job for them, but this is a life-or-death matter for the people I love. My fingers tighten around the phone as that feeling in my chest condenses into fierce determination.
“You got that right,” I tell her firmly. “I need to get movin’, and so do you.”
She goes quiet for a second and then says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic.”
