The fingers gripping my collar loosen. His eyes round as I walk him back until he hits the wall, slide the knife out, and then stab into him again, and then again. I keep stabbing; I can’t stop. The pent-up aggression takes over. The anger and fear that swamped me the moment I heard her on the phone. He chokes, his throat gurgling, lips stained red, body slumping. But I keep going until I’m covered in his blood and he’s deadweight.
Deep. Fucking. Breaths.
Closing my eyes, I let the body drop to the floor. I stretch my neck left, then right, forcing the tension to drain from my body. It’s only when I’m calm that I turn.
With another big breath, I shuffle for the bed. I drop my knees to the mattress and pull her into my arms. My hands tremble as I take her face into my hands, assessing the damage. Split lip, bruises forming on her cheeks. Black eye, maybe. A cuton her forehead. I kiss her. Gently. Tasting blood on her lips as she shudders and sobs.
She pulls back, tears flooding her eyes. “You came for me.”
“I’llalwayscome for you, Gracie. Where are the keys? We’re not out of trouble yet.”
Grace jerks her head at one of the bodies on the ground. “Front pocket.”
The moment I get her unchained, she pulls me into another embrace. I let it go too long. Let myself simmer inthisrather than the rage that’s been storming inside me for the last half-hour. Breathe her in. Settle into the crook of her neck. Feel her skin. God, we need to fucking go. Get to safety. But this feels too damn good.
For a long minute, I thought I might have been too late. That she was already dead. Or that they’d already gottentoo muchtime with her. That maybe they did more than slap her around. I can’t think of it. Not right now. Because if she so much as alludes to it, I won’t leave until every single one of them is dead. And I’m not sure I have enough bullets to come out of that alive.
I break away, hold her at arm’s length, and do a final check of her injuries. Then I pull her to standing.
Voices sound from downstairs. “No sign of them! Check on the girl.”
Shit. I pick up my gun, give her the second from the holster at my ankle, and then lead her from the room. We silently pad down the short hallway and into one of the bedrooms overlooking the front yard. I yank a rotten board from the window, test the sturdiness of the roof, and then step out. Once I’ve found solid footing, I turn and help Grace out behind me. It’s a good ten-foot drop to the ground, but I manage to hang from the roof and then drop to the overgrown grass easily.
“Careful,” I tell her as she twists around and lowers herself.
I catch her when she drops, then pull the spare keys for my bike from my pocket and rush over to my machine.
“Get on.”
She mounts quickly, wrapping her arms around my middle, her hands trembling.
The front door blasts open just as I crank the engine and peel out. A shot echoes in the night, and Grace’s body tenses against mine as I maneuver the uneven driveway. Another shot, but then I’m on the road, gunning it down the straight stretch. Picking up speed, my focus on Grace. On her body pressed tight to mine. I squeeze her fingers, and she squeezes back.
Cool rain splatters against my face, a sprinkle that quickly turns into a full-on downpour. The dark pavement turns slick, the water soaks through my clothes, seeping into my skin. I don’t slow. I can’t. I check my mirrors again and again. Waiting for them to follow. Searching for signs of a bike. That single headlight following me. Nothing comes, but my heart doesn’t calm, even when I’m rolling up to my driveway.
I kill the engine as I reach the small laneway between my house and garage, and we dismount my machine. Grace is quiet, sombre.
“How did they hurt you? Did they—” I take a breath, unsure of how to comfort her.
She folds her arms around her body. “No. They didn’t do that.”
Thank fuck. Heart hammering, I bridge the gap between us and tug her into my chest, angling up her chin, feathering my fingers over her bruised face. I’m gonna fucking kill them all. Every last one of them.
Tilting her head, she says, “You’re angry.”
No fucking shit, I’m angry. The fear is dissipating, the knot in my stomach untwisting. What’s left is this burning need to putanother bullet in someone’s head. And yell. I definitely need to yell.
“Angry isn’t the word for it.”
“I’m sorry I took your bike. I?—”
“That’s what you think this is about? I don’t give a shit about my bike. What the hell were you thinking leaving me that damn note? I thought you left. I thought you fucking…” Deep. Fucking. Breaths. “Instead you decided to take on a biker gang? By yourself? You’re smart. You know those men. What you are to them. You had to know how that would end.”
“I had a plan, okay? They’re not as loyal as the Sinners. I was gonna cut them in on what I stole in exchange for a head start out of South Bay. Get them away from my family. From you, from?—”
“It was a stupid fucking plan, Grace.”
She grunts, face tilted up in defiance. “I didn’t have a choice.”
