Page 91 of The Riders’ Reign

She doesn’t stop, and now Bear is moving. He pounds across the ground, racing after Megan, and the cop waves his gun between Bear and Megan then pulls the trigger.

Boom.

Bear crumples and hits the ground hard.

“Nooooooo!” Shelley screams.

She straightens from behind the bike, and I realize, in shock, that she has a gun, too.

The cop is now aiming at Megan. She’s no longer running but is staring down at Bear, her eyes wide, and her jaw slack as she sucks in air. He clearly wants to shoot her, but with half of his department watching, and with her now clearly posing no threat, he must understand he won’t get away with it.

From the corner of my eye, I see Phoenix also has a weapon raised, as has Zoo. They’re also behind the bikes, and the cops wouldn’t have been able to see easily that they’d not laid their guns down.

I can’t even breathe as the milliseconds tick by so painfully slowly.

A shot rings out.

Just one.

Loud and whistling, the sound seems to herald very bad things.

The bullet hits the cop in the neck, and he staggers back as a red bloom appears on his skin.

The cops’ view of Phoenix and Shelley might be obscured by the row of bikes between them, but from my vantage point I can see them clearly. Phoenix does something odd. He rushes to stand right beside Shelley and takes her gun, giving her his.

Shouts come from the deputy. “Officer down, officer down! We need paramedics here ASAP. Nobody fucking move.”

“Hold your fire.” Ace waves his arms. “Everyone, fuck, hold your goddamn fire.”

The deputy points at Shelley. “Arrest her. Now.”

“Your man shot her husband,” Jack states. “For no reason. Bear wasn’t armed. This isn’t right.”

“She’s got to face the music.” Deputy Dawson strides from his response vehicle toward Shelley.

“She didn’t do it.” A voice cuts through the stunned silence. “I did.”

It’s Phoenix. He’s taking the blame for shooting the cop.

What’s he playing at?

Shelley’s legs have buckled and she’s slumped on the ground, sobbing. Then she crawls over to her man and cradles Bear’s head in her lap. It’s unbearably sad, and my heart breaks for her.

“Fuck.” Ace watches the scene.

One of the cops has been checking out the injured officer. “He’s alive, pulse is strong but rapid. Are paramedics on their way?”

“ETA five minutes,” another cop confirms.

The man tending to his fallen colleague stands and races to Bear. He skids down on the ground beside him and puts two fingers against his throat.

“He’s alive, too,” he shouts. “Got a pulse.”

“If my officer dies, that’s murder,” Dawson points out, magnifying the seriousness of this and of Phoenix’s position. It’s as if he doesn’t quite believe what Phoenix is saying, and with good reason, too.

Phoenix pales but he still stands stoically, waiting as two cops descend on him, taking the gun from him that he didn’t fire.

Won’t evidence show that he didn’t do it? Things like gunshot residue? Then again, if he confesses and pleads guilty, they’ll just be happy to have someone to lock up and most likely won’t investigate too deeply. Why is he doing this?