Bree didn’t fight as Eric pulled her seatbelt across her chest and clicked the buckle into place. Her silence ratcheted up his anxiety another level. She hated it when he did shit like that, treating her like a child. Over a year wasted. He’d only had her back for a few days. It wasn’t long enough.
“He had to go somewhere. My brother was right behind me. He was blocking the road out of here,” Forrester said.
“Wilson? We found him. Fucker must have hit him. He’s alive, but out, and his bike’s in the ditch. No sign of the car.”
“Fuck!”
“Collingswood is with him. Ambulance isen route. We can’t move him like we can Bree. Do you want to stay with him, or come in with me and get your leg looked at?” He should encourage Forrester to get in the car; the guy probably saved Bree’s life. But he wasn’t going to waste precious seconds arguing with him.
“I’ll go check on Wilson and then ride back to the city.”
“Get yourself checked out at an emergency room. We’ll get a statement and description later?” Eric asked. Bikers and cops were on opposite sides, but the Ice Road Warriors wanted revenge. Eric did too. He hoped that this would be a “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” moment. Then he decided to bend the rules and sweeten the pot. “There are things you need to know about this guy,” he added.
Forrester nodded. “I’ll call you.”
Good enough. The man knew where to find him, and if he didn’t do it soon enough, Eric knew where to find him.
“Ready to get fixed up, baby?” he called over the backseat. “Bree?”
“I was born ready,” Bree countered. She managed a small thumbs-up, twisting the hand in her lap to make the gesture, but not spending energy trying to lift it over the back of the seat.
He still had her.
He did a hundred and forty back to the city limits.
