Page 40

Samantha

When my scream dies, my heart does, too.

As the rugged chug of the engine of this rust bucket car pounds like the last, fitful heartbeats of a man about to die, I stare at my brother in mute horror.

“I had to do it, Samantha. I had to. There was no choice.”

Jake’s hands shake as much as his voice; he’s had a lot of whatever’s flowing through his veins. Which doesn’t surprise me — until this moment, I never would’ve imagined Jake as a violent person. But now, I wonder, is he even my brother?

“No choice,” he murmurs as he shoves the gun back into his pocket. “I had no choice.”

Trees fly by out the window. Gravel gets kicked up every time — so often — that Jake’s unsteady hands guide the car onto the shoulder.

And finally, I find my voice again.

“Why?”

“I had to.”

“You had to shoot Diesel? The man that I love?” Just saying that makes my voice burn with fury and my heart squeeze in despair — he’s dying, maybe already dead, because I lied, because I betrayed him, because my actions made him come to this spot where my brother, in all his junkie madness, could gun him down.

We come to a stop sign and, miracle of miracles, my brother actually stops. Well, slows.

I reach for the door.

“Don’t do that,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“You need to stay in the car.”

“Are you threatening me? What the fuck is wrong with you, Jake?”

He slams on the brakes and turns to me, his eyes wild, his voice a sick, seismic scream. "You don't understand, Samantha. I had no choice." Tears stream down his face as he grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white. "Victor gave me the gun. Said if I killed one of those bikers and brought you back to him, he'd wipe out my debt. All of it."

My mouth falls open in shock. Victor put him up to this? I shouldn't be surprised, but the cruelty of it takes my breath away.

“He even gave me some stuff, said it would help take the edge off, make it easier to do what needed to be done." Jake lets out a choked sob. “He knew it would be hard for me. And it was. But I had to."

Rage boils up inside me, intertwines with the heartbreak until I can barely see straight. How could Jake agree to this? To murder the man I love, to hand me over to a monster, just to save his own skin?

“Pull over," I say through gritted teeth. "Pull over right now, Jake, or I swear to God-"

“No!" he shouts, slamming the accelerator. The tires screech against the asphalt. "I have to take you back to him. It's the only way to fix this."

I lunge for the wheel, fight to wrestle control of the car, but Jake pushes me back. Then he hits me. A punch that sends me slamming into the door; my head smacks against the window and pain turns my vision black.

“Jake, stop.” I shake my head and lunge again for the wheel. I can’t go back. Won’t. I’d rather crash this car and die than deal with whatever Moretti has planned for me.

My lunge stops dead cold when Jake, in one motion, draws his gun and points it at me.

“I don’t want to shoot you, Samantha. But I will, if that’s what it takes.”

My heart pounds in my ears as I stare down the barrel of the gun. My brother's finger trembles on the trigger. This can't be happening. It has to be a nightmare, a terrible dream that I'll wake up from any second.

But the cold metal pressed to my temple feels all too real.

“Jake, please. Don't do this. It's not too late. We can still go back, get help for Diesel. He could be alive. We can fix this the right way. You just need to listen to me. Please."

Jake shakes his head, a manic gleam in his bloodshot eyes. "No, no, it is too late. For him, for the bikers, for all of them. Don't you see, Samantha? This was Victor's plan all along."

A chill races down my spine at the mention of that monster's name.

"What are you talking about?"

“He set up a decoy, a trap to lure the MC away from their clubhouse. Right now, they're probably riding out, ready to attack some stupid fucking setup, with no idea that they've left their homes unprotected."

My stomach turns to ice as the pieces fall into place. "No. You’re wrong. He wouldn't..."

An unhinged laugh rips from Jake's throat. "Oh, he would. And he will. Once those bikers are away, Victor's men will hit the clubhouse. They'll slaughter everyone — the women, the children, anyone unlucky enough to be there. But that doesn’t matter. Don’t worry about that. It doesn’t concern you anymore."

A wave of nausea crashes over me as Jake's words sink in. The clubhouse, all those innocent lives, about to be slaughtered in cold blood. And it's all because of me. Because I betrayed Diesel, because I ran away like a coward instead of trusting him, instead of believing in us.

Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. I can't fall apart, not now. I have to do something, anything, to stop this nightmare from unfolding. My mind races, searching for a plan, for some way out of this hell.

That's when I remember — the burner phone Molly gave me, still tucked into my back pocket. If I can just get to it and call for help...

I inch my hand behind me, feeling for the hard outline of the phone. Jake is focused on the road, muttering to himself, the gun still clutched in his shaking hand. I slide the phone out, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear every thunderous beat.

His eyes flick toward me and narrow.

"What are you doing?" he says, and aims the gun in my direction. "What's that in your hand?"

"Nothing. I just—"

"I don’t fucking care. Throw it out the fucking window. Now!" He jabs the gun at me.

With no other choice, I do as he says — the phone sails into the dark at sixty miles an hour, while the car speeds down the dark road, hurtling toward the highway on-ramp that will take us back to Boise, back to Victor, back to hell. My heart pounds with a potent mix of fear and betrayal, but beneath it all, a fierce determination burns. I can't just sit here and do nothing, can't let myself be dragged back as a hostage to that monster.

As we merge onto the highway, the car speeds up even more; I glance over at Jake. His eyes are wild. They dart between the road and the rearview mirror. That's when I notice — he isn't wearing his seatbelt.

Suddenly, a loud honk blares from a passing semi truck. Jake swerves instinctively, cursing under his breath. In that split second, I decide. I act. I have to stop Jake, to save Diesel and the MC from the slaughter that awaits them.

"I'm sorry, Jake.”

Then, before he can react, I lunge forward and grab the steering wheel with all my strength.

“Samantha, no,” he shrieks.

But it’s too late. The car jerks violently as I yank the wheel to the side; tires squeal against asphalt, the vehicle careens wildly out of control; we spin, we shake, down becomes up, up becomes down, metal crunches, he screams, I scream.

Then a thud.

A heavy, bone-shaking, a burst of pain throughout my body, and an all-encompassing black swallows everything.