Of course it was. A Norse female warrior. Fitting.
We spilled out onto the second floor through another door, then cut through ahalf-awake ward. Nurses stared. One opened her mouth like she was going to say something, then clocked the look on Valkyrie’s face and thought better of it.
A side exit took us into a service hallway that smelled like industrial detergent. At the end of that, we went through another door and exited out into the early morning light.
The parking lot looked different now. Less calm. A couple more cars pulling in fast. A security cart angled awkwardly near the main doors where two guards were arguing with a woman who clearly wanted to get inside and clearly didn’t give a damn about their “lockdown procedures.”
Between the rows of parked vehicles, a blacked-out SUV peeled out of a far space. Big, high ride, dark windows, no visible plate. It took the corner too hot, tires squealing, then shot toward the exit like the driver couldn’t get away fast enough.
Might’ve been our shooter’s ride. It left a bad taste in my mouth.
Valkyrie didn’t hesitate. She sprinted toward her bike.
“On yours,” she called over her shoulder. “We move together.”
I ran for mine, every movement reminding me of the weight on my back. I stole one last glance at the hospital entrance, at the row of windows that concealed Miami’s room somewhere above. Then I swung my leg over the seat and turned the key.
Engines roared to life almost in unison.
She pulled out first, smooth and aggressive, cutting through the lot toward the exit opposite the one the truck had taken. I followed, staying on her back tire.
We hit the street just as a squad car screamed past in the other direction, lights spinning, and headed for the main entrance. Nobody gave us more than a glance. Just two more bikers on the road.
Valkyrie leaned into the turn, heading away from the hospital, away from the immediate mess, north.
I edged closer, enough to shout across the wind.
“Where the hell are we going?” I called.
“Back to the clubhouse,” she yelled without looking at me. “Liberty needs to hear what just happened. Plus, whatever you have in that bag on your back. I can see you guarding it more than yourself. She needs to know what you told your President.”
“I didn’t even finish telling him,” I lied. “Phone ate a bullet.”
“Then he’ll just have to trust you’re not dead until we sort this out,” she said. “We’ll get word to your people once we’re on our own ground. In the meantime, you keep that bag close and your eyes open.”
“What about Miami?” I asked. It came out harsher than I meant.
She finally glanced at me, just long enough for me to catch the steel in her eyes.
“He’s under our roof now,” she said. “We’ll call in a favor, put one of our girls on him likeI said before. Nobody gets through her without losing teeth. Nobody tries to do a hit on our turf and gets away with it.”
She faced forward again and rolled on the throttle.
I matched her speed, heart still pounding, brain still replaying the image of the man in the suit walking calmly toward 417 with a gun in his hand.
Somewhere behind us, in a locked-down hospital, my best friend lay under thin blankets, fighting to heal from injuries from going down. He had no idea about the war we had just stumbled into.
Somewhere ahead of us, behind whatever walls the Shore Vipers called home, a woman I had only ever heard about in stories waited to decide whether we were allies, problems, or both.
The backpack dug into my shoulders with every bump, a constant reminder of the storm I was now carrying on my back.
But at least I wasn’t alone. We rode forward together, patches on our backs, engines loud, and wildfire licking at our heels.
Seven
Jersey Boy
Riding behind Valkyrie felt like chasing a bullet.
