My hands trembled as I gripped the throttle. Not with fear, but with worsening pain.
The city opened up ahead as I wove into traffic, engine howling, wind shoving the adrenaline back through my veins. As I rode, I turned on the mic for my earpiece and shouted, "Viper, come in!"
There was a static pause before he said, "You sound like shit."
"I'm fine. There's a second party in play."
"For real?"
"I just got ambushed while trying to get to the mark."
"You? Got ambushed? Impossible."
"Tell that to the guy who just stuck me in the lobby."
Viper's voice sounded worried. "How bad?"
"Nothing major hit."
A beat. "Want me to run the cameras?"
"Yes. Someone in Bale Security is playing dirty."
"Motherfuckers," Viper cursed. "Want me to tell you the nearest hospital?"
"Don't be cute. Safe house."
He paused, checked. "Twenty minutes east."
I did the math. Twenty minutes with this wound on a bike was a bit of a Russian roulette situation. "Too long," I said.
"Then come back to the compound. Doc will check you out."
But the compound wasn't much closer. The only other place I could think of washerapartment. It was probably no further than ten minutes away.
"I'll handle it," I said. "I know a place."
"Do tell."
"Later," I replied and cut the line before swinging a hard right on the next street. Every signal screamed at me. The bike shuddered at every pothole. I gritted my teeth and let the pain ride shotgun.
What the fuck are you doing?
The thought hit, hard and clear.
Didn't Father tell you to stay away from the client?
But she wasn't a client. Not anymore. She was Kimmy.
My vision had already started to swim when her building came into view. I parked by the curb around the corner, away from the street light. I peeled the glove off and checked the bleeding again. My T-shirt under my jacket and the waistband of my pants were soaked. It was messy enough to scare a civilian, but not enough to kill me. Yet.
I was glad I wore black. You couldn't see blood on my clothes very well right now.
I got the bike, slowly walked toward the corner of the building while pressing my hand to my wound, and waited in the shadow of the awning for a beat, tracking the door to the complex and the windows.
I wasn't here because of the injury. It was just an excuse, I realized.
I could have gone back to the compound.
