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Unlocking the small compartment under the rear seat, I pull out my leather jacket. Taking off my backpack, I shrug my jacket on, zipping it up before slinging my backpack back on, tightening the straps. Grabbing my helmet off the seat, I pair the bluetooth and slip it over my head.

Then a sharp crack splits the night, and my heart slams into my ribs.

Gunshots.

I flinch as another burst of sound echoes out in the silence of the night. The sound unmistakable, causing a chill to race down my spine.

My stomach threatens to expel everything I’ve eaten in the past couple days, as I picture Nicholas waking up to chaos. The clubhouse erupting into confusion, shouts, and violence. There’s no going back now.

Starting up my bike, I twist the throttle, taking off down the dark streets.

I pray Lennox will take me in. I have no one else.

Nervous, I tell Siri to dial Lennox, it rings once before he answers groggily. “Hello?”

“Hey, Len,” I say softly, emotion clogging my throat at the sound of his voice.

It’s been three years since we spoke.

“Tatum?” He pauses. “It’s 3:30 in the morning. What the fuck?”

His concern fills my helmet, and I blink back tears, trying to find the right words.

“Tatum…Tate? Hello?”

“Hey, Lennox…” I try to keep it together, eyes on the road to get out of this city before it swallows me whole.

“Oh, fuck. Tatum? What’s going on? Are you okay?” All traces of sleep vanish from his voice.

“No, I’m not.”

My grip tightens on the throttle as I switch lanes.

“Lennox, it’s all so fucked. I fucked up. I—” Gathering my courage, I try to find the words to explain it. “I’ll be in Portland in about two hours or so. Just me and my backpack. Can you meet me at Dad’s house? I need your help.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line, the kind of silence that means everything just shifted.

“You’re serious,” Lennox says finally.

I swallow hard, merging onto the empty stretch of highway. The wind cuts harder now, biting through my jeans, clawing at any exposed skin as if it’s trying to pull me back.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I’m not playing, Len. I need you.”

Another pause, but shorter this time. Thank God.

“Are you safe right now?”

I let the silence sit between us, telling him everything I can’t right now.

“Jesus, Tate…” He exhales sharply. I can practically hear him running a hand through his hair, pacing like he always used to when things got bad. “Okay. Okay. I’m getting up. I’ll be there.”

Relief hits me so hard it almost makes me dizzy.

“You will?” My voice cracks despite how hard I’m trying to hold it together.

“Yeah,” he says immediately, like there was never another option. “It’s still Dad’s place, no one’s there. I’ve got a key. You remember how to get in?”

A weak breath leaves me, something between a laugh and a sob. “Yeah. Window sticks. Back door lock jams if you don’t⁠—”