Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Then it comes back to me. The dead guards. Tusk. The burning barns.
Stone hauling me into his lap so we can share a blanket.
We’re still in the back of the truck, though driving more slowly. I must have woken when we turned off the highway. No one’s talking now. Apparently Gunner finished telling Stone about tracking us down, though I don’t remember hearing the end of it.
I don’t remember Stone removing my gag or untying my hands, either. But the bindings are gone.
Despite everything, I must have fallen asleep. Or maybe it’s because of everything—my body’s defensive reaction to too much stress.
Though I was holding it together pretty well until I discovered that if I hadn’t mistaken Gunner for his brother, Stone would have never been in this mess. That I could have saved him, like I’d intended to. And then he’d probably have protected me, too. Found out what I knew about the Cage, and swooped in like his friends did tonight.
If I’d just looked a little closer at Gunner, Crash might still be alive—at least for a while longer. Stone wouldn’t have killed a friend, Handlebar wouldn’t have lost a brother. And Matt might have been free, too.
But could have and might have don’t help me now. And they don’t help Matt.
I don’t think the Hellfire Riders would help Matt now, either. Not while believing he’s a member of the Eighty-Eight. And I can’t tell them the truth. He was certain that we’d both end up dead if his cover was blown because so many other agents have been killed.
Maybe the Hellfire Riders wouldn’t do anything to him. They’re obviously ruthless killers but I don’t know if they’re like the Eighty-Eight. The way Gunner and the blond woman came into the barn, so fast and deadly, the way they all interacted afterward, they seem more…like a SEAL team. Scary. But also organized, efficient. If they all came out of the military, a part of me wants to believe that they wouldn’t jeopardize a federal agent’s life.
But Victor’s crew was military, too. So that’s not a risk I’m willing to take.
The truck slows more. Gravel crunches under the tires. The road roughens, jostling me against Stone as we bounce over a rut and then come to a stop. Immediately there’s a scramble of boots as the other Hellfire Riders unload.
I can’t pretend to sleep anymore. When I open my eyes, I’m sideways on Stone’s lap, facing the tail of the pickup. Everything’s dark except for the headlights from a handful of vehicles. The bright glare from one prevents me from seeing much of our surroundings, but I get the impression of tall trees, catch the gleam of a few RVs. A campground, maybe.
Gunner’s walking away from the truck. “You coming, brother? Your gear’s in the fifth wheel, your bike’s this way.”
“My kutte?”
“Never found it.”
“Fuck.” Stone’s hard fingers grip my chin, bring me to face him. In the harsh lights from the other vehicles, his face is all stark planes and angles, cut through by the white lines of his scars. “What’d they do with my vest?”
“I don’t know.” As soon as they loaded him into the van, Victor injected me with a sedative to knock me out again. “I don’t know when they stripped you—at the barn or somewhere before that.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “If my kutte was at the barn, it probably burned.”
“Probably,” I say softly.
His eyes close, throat working as if he’s grappling with a strong emotion. Then he says flatly, “I’m handing you over to Spiral and Scarecrow for a day or two. You’re not going to give them any trouble, are you?”
I might. “Don’t hand me over to anyone. Just let me go.”
His eyes harden. “Let you go?”
“Yes.”
“Why the fuck would I do that?”
Why the fuck wouldn’t he? “Because you don’t need me. I don’t have answers.”
“Bullshit.”
“I don’t. But even if I did, I don’t know anything that you won’t get from any of the other fighters who were imprisoned in the barns.”
His soft laugh is devoid of amusement. “And I’ll have maybe a day or two to ask them. Those fighters are going to get to their families and hole up as fast as they can. You think Papa won’t come for them? And for you?”
Fear shivers down my spine. “I can hide.”
His eyes narrow. “Or run straight to the cops.”
That’s exactly what I’d do. “I wouldn’t. But even if I did, I wouldn’t say anything about you or your club. If that’s what worries you.”
His gaze goes so cold. “To save your skin, you’d open your mouth the second they put a bit of pressure on you. But that’s not what worries me. What fucking worries me is that, after you tell them everything they want to know, they’ll get to Papa before I will.”