“Do you think you’ll ever forgive him?”
That was the million-dollar question. Could I forgive him? Maybe if he’d shown any remorse. Maybe if he told me the truth about why he left. Maybe if the world ended tomorrow.
I saw Smokey looking in the mirror again, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking out the back window. I turned and saw at least a dozen bikes coming up fast.
“They aren’t ours, are they?” I asked, causing Sully to look behind us.
“No, they aren’t. Call Chasm, Morgan.”
Smokey hit the gas as I pulled my phone out. The roar of the bikes was getting louder as the bikers descended on us. I saw the cut on the back of someone who passed by, and I knew we were in trouble.
I recognized that cut.
Satan’s Angels had descended on Rosewood a few years back. They’d made a targeted strike on multiple clubs throughout the country.
The phone began to ring, and Sully grabbed my hand. I heard a shot ring out and watched as Brian’s bike spun off the road and he flew through the air.
The call connected as another shot was fired, and Pardon lost control of his bike. Smokey barely missed hitting him, as Sully screamed, “STEPHEN!”
“Morgan!” Jude shouted into the phone.
“Jude, it’s Satan’s Angels.”
“Baby, where are you?” he asked, his voice shaky. I knew he was running. I heard someone calling out orders on his end.
“We’re on 30 headed toward North Little Rock. Brian and Pardon are both down.”
“Were they hit?”
“I-I’m not sure. I think they shot Brian’s tire, but he went off the road. I don’t know if they shot him.”
“Pardon?”
“He lost control and Smokey just barely missed him.”
“Okay, baby, put me on speaker.” I hit the button, and he called out, “Smoke?”
“Yeah, Prez.”
“Do not stop that fucking car,” Jude growled. “Help is on the way.”
“They’ll figure out pretty quick that shooting the windows out won’t do shit. Then they’ll go for the tires. I can only go so far on rims, Prez.”
“If that happens, you don’t fucking open those doors. You have a gun?”
“What the fuck do you think?” Smokey said with a hint of anger in his voice.
“Morgan, there’s a gun in the glove box and a rifle under the back seat, baby. Don’t roll that window down any further than you have to.”
“Okay,” I said, taking off my seat belt. My mother opened the glove box as I reached under the seat.
“Sully?”
“Yeah?” Tears ran down her cheeks, but I didn’t have time to comfort her.
“Get on the floor, baby,” Jude told her. “As flat as you can. I’m on my way.”
“St-Stephen,” she stuttered.
