Page 58

I kept glancing in the rearview mirror, scanning for groups of headlights or the sound of bikes. Every car felt like a threat. A big pickup truck rode too close for too long behind us, and my brain started imagining a dozen different scenarios. Had the Wolverines employed someone not on a bike?
But then it passed, with the random guy flicking us off for no apparent reason.
“I doubt we’ll be followed, at least immediately.” Caroline’s voice had hardened too. Now she sounded clinical, as if she were giving a report to a hard-ass superior. “I shot some of their tires.”
“Good,” I said darkly.
Then another awkward silence fell between us.
But we made it back alive and unfollowed by Wolverine tails. But no Devil’s Luck tails, either.
I stopped the truck in the back driveway, killed the ignition, and got out. This time, I was a gentleman and opened the door for her. As soon as her feet hit the concrete, I wrapped my arm around her waist and tugged her tightly against me. I just had to do little things to make sure she knew it wasn’t her I was mad at.
“We’ll lay low here until they get back,” I told her, guiding her to the back door.
A spare key was hidden behind one of the wall hangings. Before I could move the stolen stop sign to the side, the door unlocked and flew open.
Grant.
Fuck.
Caroline spoke first, voicing my panicked thought. “You stayed behind.”
Grant was looking between us warily. He could tell something was off. “Yeah. Black Jack told me to stay here and guard this place in case Bates strikes while the others are out. We got Gabriel’s text. Where are the guys? I figured they would?—”
There was rumbling in the distance. I ordered Caroline to stay put so I could jog around the shop to see the Devils coming racing into the driveway.
One, two, three, four—thank fuck.
Jackson, Mason, Jameson, Abel, and Brody all pulled up. They looked like hell, their bikes not much better, but they were alive.
But…
I stormed up to them. “Where the fuck is he?”
They all ignored me.
Jackson stood at the end of the driveway like a sentinel, back to me, arms crossed. Jameson just sat there, forearms on the handlebars. Doctor Brody was tending to a wound Abel had with strips of his own shirt.
Mason, however, didn’t try to act tough. He stumbled off the bike and dropped into a crouch. His forehead dropped onto his seat, hiding his face. If he was crying, though, I couldn’t tell. Like the rest of us, he was just trying to hold it together.
I hated it. I hated it all. I hated that my insides were knotted so damn tight I thought I might snap in two. Grief sat heavy in my chest, pressing hard against my ribs, making it damn near impossible to breathe. I curled my hands into fists, nails biting into my palms, needing the sting to keep myself steady. Rage, I could handle. But this? This was worse. This was grief, gnawing quietly but savagely, and I didn’t know how to hold it off without coming apart.
Grant jogged around the shop to catch up with me. He already looked uneasy, but when he saw the others, when he counted one less head in the headcount… His eyebrows knitted, and his eyes flicked between me and Jameson, who was the only one who would make eye contact with anyone.
“Where’s Gabriel?” he asked.
I couldn’t bring myself to answer. I knew if I even opened my mouth, I wouldn’t be able to control the crack in my voice. So I just shook my head once.
That was all he needed to know to understand. Grant stumbled back a step as if I’d knocked the breath out of him. “No… No, no, no… Guys, where’s Gabriel?”
Mason’s hand smashed down on the seat of his bike, hard. “FUCK!”
The word burst out of him like it was ripped from his throat. He hit the seat again, then again, until Brody moved toward him.
“Mason,” he tried to reason in his best doctor voice, but Mason wasn’t hearing it.
The VP staggered to his feet, looking like he was drunk off his ass, muttering to himself as he wobbled toward the back door. His hands fumbled with his phone in his front pocket. I figured he was texting Suzie.