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The crowd is ringing in my ears one minute and then next it’s not.

It’s too quiet.

We step outta the ring, blood still fresh on my knuckles, Sophie safe but barely, and I already know something’s off. Rye’s the first to see it, stormin’ toward the line of bikes like he smelled smoke.

“Fuck,” he growls, crouching down. “Tires slashed. Chains cut. They hit every goddamn one.”

I kick a can of Bud out of my path and stalk over, heart still thrashing from the fight. One look and I see it, our rides are wrecked. Deliberate. No way out fast.

What is worse, it was just a distraction. Sophie is long gone.

“They planned this,” I say. “They knew we’d win.”

Royal lights a cigarette like it might solve this shit. “What now, Prez? We hoof it?”

“No,” I say, eyes narrowed. “Or yeah. Maybe we do… We ride.”

Oaks snorts. “The fuck you mean? Everything here’s busted.”

“Not everything.” I point south. “Stables. Just over the ridge. Back of Paradise Falls. We take the horses. I know a shortcut through Crooked Creek Hollow. If we ride hard and cut through the riverbed, we can catch those bastards before they hit the highway.”

Royal speaks, “The fastest horse has nothin’ on a Harley.”

“That’s what the shortcut is for. Sinners don’t know Paradise County like we do.”

Oak’s eyes widen. “You serious?”

“You got a better plan?”

He shrugs. “Alright then, John goddamn Wayne.”

I ain’t ridden bareback in years. Not since I was just a rebel kid tryin’ to impress Sophie in a sundress at the state fair. But when I see that their filly that won the derby, my blood sings.

Ribbons, as Sophie calls her.

And she remembers me. Snorts, paws the ground like she knows we’re about to raise hell.

“I need you to run,” I whisper, stroking her neck. “Run like the devil’s on your tail.”

Then I swing up onto her back, boots tight, body low.

The Kings follow behind on whatever horse we can round up fast. At Paradise Falls, they’re all bound to be some of the best.

We gallop at full speed.

Through the creek. Over the hill. Past the old moonshine trails where my daddy used to run jars in the dark. The air stings my face, wind whipping my cut back like a black flag.

And then, I see them.

The Sinners’ taillights. They’ve got a van. Sophie’s in there.

My heart slams into my ribs. I don’t think. I just ride.

I leap off the horse mid-run, hit the ground rollin’, gun drawn before I even stop movin’.

“Kings!” I roar, gunfire already breakin’ the air. “Kill every one of those motherfuckers!”

The fight is chaos.

Lead rains.

Oaks takes one in the arm and keeps shootin’. Royal throws a goddamn hunting knife into some bastard’s eye.

But I’ve got one name in my head. One target in my sights.

Swagger.

The Sinners’ prez. Covered in ink, smilin’ like he thinks he’s untouchable. He’s draggin’ Sophie out of the van by the arm, gun to her ribs.

“You think you scare me, Legend?” he yells over the chaos. “She ain’t worth the blood!”

“No one fucks with the Kings,” I growl.

Sophie knees him, and she’s out of the way.

I don’t hesitate.

One shot.

Right between his eyes.

He drops like a sack of meat, takin’ his smirk with him.

The rest scatter. Cowards without a leash.

Sophie runs to me, falls into my arms, shakin’, dirt on her cheeks and fire in her eyes. “You came.”

I holster my piece, press my forehead to hers. “Always.”

Then I climb back on the horse, lift her up to Ribbons. Her arms tighten around my waist, and together, we ride out of the smoke.

Back home.

Back to Hell.