I do not care who is watching. I step closer. “Are you going to live?” I ask him, my voice barely steady.
His gaze drops to my mouth for a fraction of a second before returning to my eyes. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m not that easy to kill.”
My chest loosens just enough to breathe. “Good,” I whisper.
Because if he had died and I stayed behind glass, I would have burned the entire world down with the guilt.
TEN
RIOT
I hitGhost’s number and the fucker answers on the second ring. “Yeah.”
“Bring the truck,” I say, keeping my voice level. “I’m down on County 12 about three miles past the turnoff to Miller’s field.”
A beat of silence. “Down how?”
“Someone took shots at me. My bike’s wrecked.”
He’s quiet for a moment before he asks, “You hit?”
“Grazed. But I’m still breathing.”
“Fuck. You alone?”
“Yeah.”
“Send me your exact location.”
I pull up my location and send it. “Ten minutes,” I say.
“Five,” he answers, and then the line goes dead.
I don’t sit still. I walk the edge of the road once just to make sure nothing’s bleeding heavier than it feels, and I flex my fingers to confirm everything still responds. The bike is twisted ten yards away, chrome scraped raw and one saddlebag torn clean off. Tank is going to lose his mind over it.
Headlights crest the rise faster than they should. First the truck. Then the bikes. Ghost rides in first, hard and straight, with Blade on his left and two prospects behind them. The truck pulls up behind my wrecked bike, and the driver door opens before it’s even fully stopped. Mason steps out. Dagger comes around from the passenger side, already scanning the tree line like he expects round two.
Ghost kills his engine and swings off his bike in one smooth motion. His eyes move over me quickly, cataloging the blood, the way I’m standing, the way I’m favoring my shoulder.
“You look like hell,” he says.
“Feel worse,” I answer.
“Where?”
“Arm.”
He steps closer and pulls the fabric back without asking. “Yeah. You’re lucky.”
“Don’t I know it.”
Mason approaches slower, deliberate. “Walk me through it,” he says.
“Black SUV,” I tell him. “No plates. Stayed back until the straightaway. Then they closed distance and opened fire.”
“How many?” Dagger asks.
“At least one shooter. Maybe two. I heard multiple reports but only saw muzzle flash from the passenger side.”
