Noise exploded.
Gunfire and shouting.
I didn’t look back.
The truth was, I didn’t really care. If those two made it, it would be without my help.
Stain was behind me now—watching our backs, gun up, covering angles I couldn’t.
I hit the front door with my shoulder, taking care not to jostle Taryn, and stepped through.
My bike sat where I’d left it. For the briefest second, I almost went for it. Then I looked down at her. No way I could keep her safe on a bike in this condition.
I turned away without hesitation and began analyzing my choices. The prez’s old truck sat crooked near the edge of thebuilding. He hardly ever drove it, and it wasn’t in the best condition, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
I glanced at Taryn in my arms and knew I needed to set her down for a moment.
Stain motioned for me to hand her over to him, and I shook my head. He was a friend, but I didn’t fully trust him with Taryn’s safety. He’d chosen me, but that could change at any moment. Stain’s dad and grandfather had been lifers, so I knew that disobeying Nash was messing with him.
I laid her gently at my feet, and my arms immediately felt empty.
Max whined and stood over her, growling at Stain.
“Good boy.” I got the rusty door open and lifted her again fast, laying her across the seat, adjusting her so her head didn’t roll.
Max jumped into the cab, planting himself between her and the open door.
“Watch her.” I dropped under the steering column, ripping the panel free.
I grabbed two wires, stripped them, and twisted them together.
The engine coughed, then roared to life.
Stain climbed into the back without being told, already turning to scan the lot.
“It’s clear for now,” his eyes narrowed at me. “You'd better hope Nash dies in there, or there’s going to be hell to pay.”
I gave him a brief nod. I’d deal with that situation when the time came.
The streets blurred.
Stain called out directions from the back. “Left—cars blocking the road ahead. Keep straight—go to the right.”
He didn’t waste words. All of his instructions were clear and precise.
Max stayed pressed against Taryn, bracing her as we hit the turns.
We’d barely driven ten miles when the engine started spitting and sputtering.
“Fuck!” I banged the wheel.
Why in the hell didn’t I check the damn fuel level?
Stain leaned in the back window. “Don’t tell me?—”
“It’s fucking empty,” I growled.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked sarcastically. “It’s not like this night has been fucked right from the start.”
