Jester’s body jerked with each impact.
Then nothing.
The second gun slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a hollow clatter.
Silence swallowed everything.
“Holy shit,” Lark breathed.
My ears rang and my heart pounded.
Jude stood there, chest heaving.
Alive.
He was alive.
“Son of a bitch,” Jude said.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Jude grunted.“It’s not your fault.Just maybe next time don’t dump a container of ice cream scoops on the floor.”
I shrugged.“I mean, I’ll file that away to remember, but I really hope we aren’t in this situation again.”
“Now should we call the police?”Lark asked, her voice way too loud for what we were standing in the middle of.
A dead body.
A gun still echoing in my ears.
My hands were shaking, and I didn’t even realize I’d grabbed onto the edge of the counter until my knuckles went white.
“That’s an even bigger no,” Jude said.His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through everything.Sharp.Controlled.Final.“You both need to get cool about a whole lot of shit really quick.”
Cool.
Right.
I glanced down at the floor where Jesse/Jester lay unmoving, my stomach twisting all over again.The smell of gunpowder still hung in the air, mixed with grease and sugar and everything that used to feel normal about this place.
Before I could even process what “getting cool” meant, the sound hit.
Motorcycles.
Not one.
Not two.
A pack.
The roar built fast, loud enough to rattle the windows, and then headlights flashed across the front of the Dairy Bar as bikes surrounded the building.
My heart kicked back up into overdrive.
The door flew open.
Wrecker came in first, followed by Nickel, Boink, Kingston, and Basil.They didn’t hesitate, didn’t slow down.They moved like they already knew what they were walking into.
