Drifter’s eyes narrow in on the grip, his jaw tensing. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he says quietly, his voicedeadly.
He slips a hand into his kutte, and it’s as if time fractures. I see it before I really understand it, the slow, deliberate withdrawal of the gun, metal glinting in the light.
Everything narrows to that single movement. My breath catches. The world tilts. And then a gunshot tears through the room.
It’s deafening. The sound splits the air apart, ringing through my skull until everything else disappears. My ears scream, and the world goes muffled, like I’m underwater.
Reaper’s fingers twitch in my hair, then his grip slackens. His weight drops as he hits the floor in a heavy, lifeless thud.
For a second, I just stare, because the silence after the shot is louder than the noise itself.
I look up and see Clay and Gears in the doorway, blocking us from whatever chaos will fill the room now that shot’s gone off.
Drifter’s mouth is moving, but I can’t hear him. He scrambles behind me, untying the ropes. I flex my wrists as circulation returns in painful waves.
He gently takes my arm, but I rip it away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” I snap.
He groans like I’m being unreasonable, and the urge to punch him is strong. “We don’t have time for this,” he says. “Let’s just get you home.”
“Home? Where the fuck is that?”
He reaches for me again, and I throw my hand up as he keeps stepping away. I shove past him and storm out into the car park.
Slayer is on his bike, his engine idling, keeping watch. He jumps off as I approach.
“Are you okay?” he asks, taking my hand.
I jump as more gunshots explode behind us.
Then I turn my attention back to him. “I think you’re needed inside.”
Drifter bursts out through the doors. “Get her out of here now,” he shouts.
Slayer doesn’t hesitate. He pulls me onto the bike, the engine roaring to life beneath us, and I’m too numb to fight him.
As we ride out, rain soaks through my clothes. The streetlights blur into streaks of white and gold. My skin is cold, but my heart feels colder, detached and shattered, and I have no idea how to work through any of it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DRIFTER
Iknock back the whiskey, the burn doing nothing to soothe the ache in my chest. I flex my knuckles, the grazes and swelling evident from fighting our way out of the Steel Delinquents’ compound.
It wasn’t supposed to go down like that, but I saw the marks on Hell’s neck and lost my shit.No one touches what’s mine.
And, yeah, I might have fucked it up, and yeah, she hates me, but she’s still my ol’ lady, and I intend to do everything I can to win her back. Although, since we got back a few hours ago, she’s been locked away in our room. It’s frustrating as fuck to have her ignore me still, but at least she isn’t running anymore. She’s here, safe.
A thunderous bang erupts from the staircase, and the entire bar goes silent. Conversations cut off mid-word as heads turn in unison. Something crashes down the steps, bouncing violently from stair to stair.
I shove through the crowd as a suitcase comes hurtling down the stairs towards me. I barely sidestep it before it slams into the wall beside my shoulder, the impact rattling the room.
I look up to find Hell standing at the top of the stairs. Rage radiates from her, sharp and uncontained.
She drags another bag to the edge, her movements rough, deliberate. For a split second she holds it there, staring down at me.
Then she kicks it. It pounds down the staircase, each thud echoing like a warning shot. And every single one of them feels aimed at me.
“Hell, what the fuck?” I growl as the bag skids to a stop at my feet.
