“What the hell, Sandman!” Snake yells down at me.
“Crazy asshole. Just because you got a tattoo of a bird on your neck doesn’t mean you can fucking fly.”
“Shut the fuck up, Cricket!” I stand, ignoring the sharp pain just under my left pectoral and sprint to the SUV, determined to catch up with Spider.
I hop into the driver’s seat, fingers tightening on the wheel.Just as I’m about to floor it, the back door swings open. Snake and Smokey climb inside. Cricket dashes around the front and slides into the passenger seat.
I smirk. “Decided to jump?”
“Can’t let you go off and be stupid by yourself,” Cricket says dryly.
“Psycho motherfucker,” Snake mutters under his breath.
“You’re a God baby, bro. Psycho is in your DNA too,” I quip, then slam my foot down on the gas.
All four tires squeal on the asphalt as I peel around corners and blow through red lights. The streets are mostly empty, so it doesn’t take long to find Spider. He has a good head start, but his luck is about to run out.
“Blast that fuck,” I tell Cricket.
“With pleasure.” He rolls down the window and serenades the night with gunfire.
Up ahead, warning lights begin flashing at the railroad crossing. Within seconds, the blaring horn of an approaching train cuts through the air. Spider makes it across the tracks moments before the gates drop. I press forward, refusing to let victory slip through my grasp. The leader of the Lawless Disciples dies tonight.
“What the hell you doing?” Snake snaps, leaning forward between the driver and passenger seats. “You got eyes, so I know you see that fucking train coming.”
“We can make it,” I growl.
“No, the fuck we can’t,” he argues back, his eyes locked on the locomotive barreling full steam ahead. “We’ll get Spider another day.”
“Snake’s right,” Smokey says, panic rising in his voice. “It’s coming too fast.”
“You know I’m usually down for whatever, but this is some insane shit,” Cricket adds, shaking his head at me.
I click my seatbelt into place. “Buckle up. It might get a little bumpy.”
They all strap in under protest.Tough shit.I’m too close to ending this piece of dog shit to turn back now.
“If we die, I’m gonna spend the rest of eternity whooping your ass in Hell,” Cricket grumbles.
“We ain’t dying tonight.” I have Zilphia and our unborn child to live for now, and neither will be safe until Spider stops breathing.
We’re nearly clear of the tracks when the train clips the rear panel, sending the SUV into a violent tailspin. My head slams against the window, and everything blurs as I fight to stay conscious. Blood pours down my face, filling my vision with crimson red.
We crash sideways into a tree. My head hits the window again—then everything goes black.
Five and a half months later
I bite into my peanut butter–covered, sweet-and-sour-flavored pickle and hum in gluttonous ecstasy.
“Calm down, girl,” Meela quips, dropping into the chair beside me. “Are you going to ask the pickle to marry you?”
Leah, who sits across from me, unsuccessfully tries to hide her laughter behind her hand. I give her my best death glare, but that only increases her laughter. I roll my eyes and turn my ire on the instigator instead.
“Shut the hell up, Meela,” I say around a mouthful of the savory sweetness. “I’m seven and a half months pregnant with twins. I’m allowed to be greedy.”
“That you are,” she replies in her usual cheeky manner. “You’re as big as a goddamn house.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Sure there’s only two in there?”
“Fuck you very much,” I deadpan and dunk my half-eaten pickle into the jar of peanut butter in front of me.
