“No time like the present…” Johnathon mutters, unbothered by the threat riding our flank.
“Think I see you.” He huffs out a laugh. “Fucking slowpokes.”
A motorcycle screams into view, engine snarling.
Then another.
Gunshots crack—fast.
The black SUV fishtails violently, tires losing traction before it slides off the road, bundling into a ditch. A horn blares in wild, broken protest as we speed away, its red taillights shrinking into the rain-soaked distance.
The finality of it steals my breath.
I scream, body shaking uncontrollably.
Two motorcycles pull alongside us now—one on each side. The rider closest to me turns his head, visor open, eyes locking onto mine.
He nods once.
Then flips the visor down and vanishes into the dark, the other following close behind.
Silence crashes in.
The SUV keeps moving.
Time loses its shape.
Minutes stretch into something hollow and unreal. My body trembles as the adrenaline drains away, leaving devastation inits wake. Every breath hurts. Every thought circles the same name.
Trey.
My voice shatters.
“Is— is he dead?”
I swallow hard. “Tell me. Is my husband dead?”
Johnathon’s jaw tightens as I watch him in the rearview mirror.
“Don’t know,” he says coolly. “But if he’s alive, he’s weak. It’s not safe for you to be near him.”
The words land like a sentence being passed.
“There’s a chance?” Hope claws up my throat, fragile and desperate.
“You’re his weakness.”
“W-what?”
“My boy’s gonna die if you stay with him.”
You’re wrong.
The words hurt—but they don’t ring true.
If Trey is alive…
No.
