But Rabid is calling to the others.
And Breaker is already leaving.
“I’ve gotta move,” he says. “Stay with the rest of the club until I get back. Alessia, Claire, and Molly, they’ll look out for you while we take care of Randall Pike and make sure he never bothers you or anyone else ever again. I’ll see you soon, Sparrow.”
Then he turns, and just like that, Breaker mounts his bike. His engine roars and his body tense with purpose. He speeds off into the distance alone, and within moments, the street and the crowds swallow him up. The rest of the MC is still getting ready, gearing up, gathering intel, and preparing to leave.
The crowd swells around me again — children laughing, floats rolling forward, the brass band starting a new song. I stand there, surrounded by balloons and laughter and the distant echo of motorcycle engines, and I feel more alone than I ever have.I wait for the tremors in my hands to stop, and for the fear to subside.
It doesn’t.
Instead, it settles in deeper, curling around my heart, squeezing the breath from my lungs. After a time, my voice finally breaks loose, barely a whisper.
“Who’s Randall Pike?”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Breaker
The engine howls beneath me as I rip through town, the streets of Ironwood Falls a blur of gray-black and flickering neon and the shimmer of rain on asphalt. I don’t feel the cold, and I don’t feel the wind knifing my jaw. Only the white-hot, animal certainty in my chest: Randall Pike is somewhere ahead, and the universe has finally, mercifully, lined up a shot at his skull. The rest of the world drops away. All that’s left is the hunt. The target. The son of a bitch who’s going to die at my hands.
Every mile I close feels like vengeance tightening into a sharper edge.
This ends now.
Viper waits where he said he would be. He’s a shadow propped against a streetlight, face lit sharp by the cherry of his cigarette. He looks up as I cut the engine, flicks the butt onto the ground, and grinds it out beneath a boot. His mouth is a flat line, but his eyes gleam with something almost like excitement, a feral anticipation I’ve seen in him in the service, in those moments just before the bullets would fly. Whatever’s coming, Viper’s ready for blood.
“You got here fast,” he says.
“Where is he?”
Viper jerks his chin down the block. “Few buildings down. Old jewelry store. Been shut since a robbery ten years back.He’s holed up inside. Real twitchy. Saw him pacing by the front window. Weapons unknown.”
“Backup’s on the way,” I tell him, stepping off the bike. “Club got intel from Officer Alvarado. Pike’s name just popped up on one of her alerts.”
Viper’s eyebrow flicks up, but the rest of his face is stone. “So we’re the first boots on the dance floor?”
I smirk. “We are. Let’s go. I’m not missing a chance to take that bastard myself. Neither are you.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he rolls his shoulders, a silent signal that says, “locked and loaded.” I’ve always trusted him in these moments; always trusted his instincts and his ice-cold focus. We fought side by side in dirt and blood a hemisphere away, and there’s no man I’d rather have watching my back. But for one heartbeat, a pulse of unease worms its way up my spine. I shove it down deep.
“You sure you don’t want to wait?” Viper asks, but we both know I’ll say no.
“Not a chance,” I growl. “I want to end this right now.”
He grins again, wider this time, and for just a second his eyes flicker away from mine, down the street, then dart back. “After you, brother.”
We move, smooth as muscle memory, covering each other’s blind spots, boots silent on wet concrete. The jewelry store’s front is a cave of rotten plywood and flapping police tape, and inside, the darkness is thick as old oil. I scissor my flashlight beam around—shattered counters, empty racks, a carpeted aisle strewn with yellowed newspapers and little piles of broken glass. The stench of mold and dust, and the sweet, cloying aftertaste of old perfume choke the air.
Viper glides behind me, pistol up, breath so soft I barely hear it. We make the back of the store in seven silent strides. A hallway splits off, leading to the manager’s office. The battereddoor hangs open, just an inch, just enough to bait us in. I know Pike is behind it; his panic practically radiates through the walls.
I want to look him in the eyes as I finish him and see the light go out inside.
Pausing, I take a breath to steady my pulse, and Viper leans close, his lips almost at my ear. “He’s got nowhere to go. Don’t get sloppy.”
“You either,” I bite out.
Then I move, fast and low, shoulder to the door. My hand reaches for the knob.
