“Seeley,” he said after a second, balancing the phone between his shoulder and ear so he had both hands on the wheel when he took another turn. “I need Ama. Yeah. No. Not me. Yeah. She’s shot. And something’s wrong with her ankle. Yeah. Okay. We’ll be there in… forty, give or take. No, no tail so far. Okay. Thanks.”
He reached for the phone, dropping it onto my lap.
“Ama is the doctor, right?” I asked, flipping through the mental files I had of his brothers and their women.
“Yeah. She runs a clinic in Seeley, Cato, and Levee’s old neighborhood. We’re gonna meet them there.”
“At this hour?”
“Trust me, baby, it’s not Ama’s first middle-of-the-night shooting. You okay?”
“No. But yes. What the fuck?”
“I know,” he agreed. “I’m gonna go over this car again to make sure Dixon didn’t miss a tracker. It makes no sense how he found us again.”
“We should just ditch it. Doesn’t your club have another car we can use?”
“Yeah. Might be the smart bet. After we get you taken care of.”
He didn’t take his foot off the gas until we finally made it to the main drag, forcing him to slow down if he didn’t want to risk getting pulled over.
When we hit a traffic signal, he flicked on the interior light and leaned over to inspect my arm.
“How bad is it?”
“Looks like it lodged in some fat or muscle. Not as deep as I’d been worried about.”
“Good.”
“How’s the foot?”
“I think it’s my ankle. And I’m not sure. It doesn’t feel good. But even a sprain can be dramatic sometimes.”
“Ama will figure it out.”
In my lap, his phone started vibrating.
“Huck,” I told him.
“Can you answer on speaker?”
I hit the button and heard male voices staticky in the background.
“Huck,” Caymen greeted.
“What the fuck happened?”
“We were sleeping and someone kicked the door in.” No preamble, right to the facts. “We hit the floor and scrambled to the door. Noa took a few shots at him. He took one at her. Got her in the arm.”
“Fuck.”
“It’s not too bad. We took off into the woods. Barefoot. Noa landed wrong and fucked up her ankle. Other than that, we’re alright. Got away. Noa shot out the back windshield of his car as we tore out.”
“I figured you could put feelers out to window repair shops,” I said. “Or that Arty can find a car on cameras with no back window.”
“That’s good, babe. You okay?”
“I’ll be fine.”
