I veered off the road, destroying the formation, causing a fucking shit show. Hadn’t bothered to connect my headset toanyone else, as it’s always connected to Garrett, and it just felt wrong.
I heard the honking of trucks and cars as the bikes behind me pulled over, and those ahead tried to use the shoulder to get back to me.
But, by then, I’d already seen the flames licking up the siding of Isla’s home and the man using Isla, placing a gun to her temple, to control a blood-soaked Garrett and get him into the truck that looked a lot like the one that ran Garrett off the road.
My heart had felt as though it was beating out of my chest.
Unable to speak, I showed Catfish because he was the one who got to me, first.
When Grudge arrived, panicked and wondering what had happened, Catfish used my phone to show him while I threw up on the side of the road.
Three. The number of hours since Wren sent me an enlarged and cleaned-up view of the asshole who wore a balaclava and hood to grab Garrett and Isla. A frozen frame where the gap between his gloves and the wrist of his jacket revealed ink I knew.
Black. Old prison work. A shape I know.
My stomach bottomed out then and there.
Jonathan Paltrow. Also known as Sidekick.
Once, one of my closest friends. A former Outlaw. And one I didn’t know hurt kids. Until his own little sister came to me, bleeding and terrified. Swearing she’d rather die than go back. She lifted her T-shirt enough that I could see a history of abuse etched into her skin and the bloom of fresh bruises.
And I believed her.
My sister took her in until she was old enough to go to college. College that I paid for.
He’d screamed when I put him to the floor using ropes tied through gaps in the metal of the mezzanine. The waythat fucking ink taunted me. I remember the way his bravado cracked when he realized nothing was gonna save him from me carving the tattoos off his skin.
Knox, my president, had told me I didn’t need to do it alone. But I wanted to. It felt personal, to be deceived by a friend into thinking he was a good person when he was really a monster.
I thought I knew him well enough to track him, but he knew me well enough to evade.
For a little while.
Until a credit card bill came to his house that I held the spare key to, telling me where he’d been spending.
I can still remember the way he screamed, and the grotesque smell of flesh burning as I used a blowtorch on his Outlaws ink.
What I hadn’t prepared for was three of the pedophiles he hung with staging a recovery. Realizing I was outnumbered, I used the blowtorch to set fire to his clothes so the guy could burn before he even got to hell, then, I retreated.
I searched for details of what happened to him for months. With his injuries, I was certain he’d appear at some hospital or another, but he never did.
The level of regret I felt about never finding him is almost matched to the regret I feel now, knowing that allowing him to live, or really, not ensuring he was dead, will be the cause of my own demise.
Because no one will be able to calm me if he’s taken Garrett and Isla from me forever.
My final number. Zero minutes. Because I’m now pulling onto the side road that has our homes on it. The ride back has been a blur of asphalt and fury. My brothers rode around me, like we were a singular unit. It was tight and fast. Nobody signaled for a break. And Grudge did something highly unusual. He moved me up next to him in formation. That way, if any newinformation came in, I could signal him to stop the column, so I didn’t kill us all by pulling off the interstate like I had.
The mess of tears and fear and panic returns when I see that Isla’s home is gone.
It’s decimated. No roof. No walls. Just a burnt-out ash footprint with weird sculptures left by the things that did not burn. The tall lamp stands in the office, the metal frame of the plastic table in the kitchen.
My poor sweet girl had been making her mark on that house. Worse, she’d been fixing her heart, processing her grief. And now, all of it’s gone.
It’s cordoned off. Lucy is standing in a suit, talking to the fire marshal.
Smoke is quick off his bike to join her. As a former firefighter, he might be able to help understand what the hell went on here today.
Grudge grabs my shoulder, squeezing firmly. “One foot in front of the other, brother.” He raises a hand to Lucy but doesn’t go to her. Instead, he walks me to the front door of my house. “We face it together, yeah?”
