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Grim Gates
Flashes of green lit up as I gained on the bike ahead. I pulled a knife from my boot and swerved right then immediately went low and leaned left, and my knife flashed as it sliced through the tendons on the Stripe Back’s calf like butter. His body jerked at the pain, and I steadied my bike and kicked at him to send him off the road. I glanced over my shoulder to see him bounce and run headfirst into a cactus.
Bang! Bang! Shots came from somewhere. I pulled ahead and got between two trucks for protection. When one of the drivers started to use his radio, I pulled my gun and pointed it at him. He raised his hand, and his shoulders went high as he put his radio down and kept the truck steady. It took me a moment to settle my bike in the airflow between the trucks.
The other driver on the right caught my attention and indicated that there were two bikers in front of him.
I waited for the right time and jumped ahead of the trucks behind the bikers. I drilled a bullet into one guy’s head, and the other fired a shot at me. It just missed my shoulder.
I popped a couple in his direction, and he suddenly let go of the gas, and his bike was sucked under the truck’s massive wheels.
I spotted the exit up ahead and threw back my head and laughed. Exhilaration filled me. God, I loved this.
“They’ve turned off,” Trigger called through the speaker in my helmet, and I waved as he pulled onto a side road. I grinned and flexed my fingers on the throttle to drop my speed a little, and the trucker was suddenly on my tail. I cut him off as I swerved across in front of him and down another side road.
“There’s two ahead of you, Trig.” Brick’s voice filled my helmet. “Looks like you’re clear for now, Grim.”
“Any idea who has it?” I shouted.
“Not yet,” Brick answered.
The sun was setting, and it would be completely black soon. The desert had no mercy for those foolish enough not to pay attention to it. That was exactly why we’d lured them from the 15 freeway down onto a narrow road.
“I’m three miles ahead of you.” Morgan’s husky voice filled the radio. He’d been our decoy up ahead in a van. “I’ve got four following me, but they’re keepin’ their distance. My guess, they don’t have it.”
“Head home, Morgan,” Trigger ordered. “They’d never think you’d leave us alone out here.”
“Will do.”
Pfft! A bullet whisked past my ear.
“Shit, where’d he come from?” Brick cursed over the radio.
I ducked as he closed on my bike and whirled around in one fluid motion to whip my knife into the side of his throat that showed under his helmet. He went down in a puff of white. I laughed as the white powder filled the air.
“There it is,” I called into my mic as I shortened the distance between me and Trigger. He held up a fist as I moved to ride next to him.
“Brick and Rail are in position.” Trigger’s voice was thick with excitement. We started up the steep hill and our engines roared, filling the desert air with fumes and the stench of revenge.
Once at the top, we cleared the bend and could see the last of them. Four fuckers left. They were about to pay the ultimate price. No one stole from me.
My adrenaline ran high, and I grinned as the rush went through my body.
“My turn to play,” I called into my mic and sped up. I could hear Trigger’s dark laugh. He understood the need to get a fix. He had his own demons that fucking wanted to come out to play. I knew he needed to ease the darkness inside. We both had our reasons, and I was happy he respected mine.
One of the Stripe Backs took aim, but I shot his hand and made him swerve. He dropped his gun but gained control of his bike again.
Good.
His bike had nothing on mine. I straddled an MTT 420-RR which topped out at two hundred seventy-three miles per hour, making her the world’s fastest bike. She was slick, black and red in color, with a Rolls Royce Allison turbine engine and aerodynamic carbon-fiber fairings. They only made five of these bikes a year, and I had the very first one that hit the market this year.
I moved into position and hit the gas then swung my leg out to kick the side of his bike and sent him spiraling into the bushes. I breathed in the rush that came with the knowledge he’d feel his bones break before he came to a stop.
I slowed, dropped my foot, and swung my bike around. I headed back as Trigger and the others sped by. I cut the engine and leaned the bike on her stand, then angled it so the headlight lit him up. He moaned as I made my way toward him. My boots crunched against the packed dirt, and the sounds of scorpions as they scurried away made me briefly wonder if I should use one of them instead of my fists. Not a chance.
“Please,” he held up a hand as I pulled out my gun. “No, please,” he begged, and I noted his leg was bent to the side, obviously broken.
“This?” I held it up. “It’s too kind.” I tossed it on the ground and peered down at him. “I think it’s time we had a chat.” He flinched as I bent down to shine my phone on his leather cut. “Mm, seems I got myself a washed-up VP.” I took note his patch had been removed, but the evidence was still there. I raised my eyebrows at him. Though I’d known these guys from an earlier time, I’d been gone far too long to keep up with who was who anymore. Not that it mattered. They were all the same—stupid, reckless, and a pain in our fucking asses as they often crossed over territory lines and messed with other people’s business. I knew there’d been some changes in their ranks, and they’d gotten a new president, but until they sorted out their shit, I was going to deal with them my way.
