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Me: Sounds like a plan. Gotta go. Break’s up.
Breanna: Be safe.
Be safe... I can hear her gentle voice saying the words and it wraps around my bones like a caress. Damn, this girl has me tied in knots.
Off in the trees crickets chirp, and to my right Eli and Pigpen scan the area with their backs toward the driver who’s repairing the tire. Pigpen has his fingers on the piece strapped to his side. Eli’s hand rests on the gun holstered to his back. Man O’ War is up near the front of the rig. We’re rotating watch every ten minutes to stay alert.
Am I safe? No. None of us believe we’re safe. We’re on borrowed time until someone strikes. When I explained to Breanna what I do part-time for the security company, her forehead wrinkled and she fell silent. I never miss how her eyes linger on the patch on my cut that informs law enforcement that I carry a weapon.
The patch is there as a warning to anyone who wants to fuck with me and it’s a calling card to police that I’m legal and papered up on my weapon and that I won’t draw unless someone tries to shoot me first.
It’s hard to witness Breanna’s struggles not to ask the million questions forming in her head or accept when I won’t answer. Some days, I think we’ll make it. Other days, I’m not sure.
The door to the cab of the truck shuts. Man O’ War and Pigpen hang near the front of the rig and Eli strides over to me. “Driver’s almost ready to go.”
I crack my head to the side in
an attempt to push away the growing unease. In the red taillights glowing from the back of the truck, Eli appears more like the devil than a friend. It’s too damn dark outside. Too damn quiet. Even the crickets have gone mute.
“Someone’s out there,” I say.
“Faster we get moving, the better. You’ve been a good man to have on this. We knew this trip could be trouble, and I picked you for this run because I knew you could handle it.”
It’s high praise coming from him and I savor the moment.
“Your dad misses you at home,” Eli says simply.
Dad’s texted a few times. Each message a reminder of business with the security company. Stuff he’s aware Eli already told me. Then there are times at the clubhouse when I’ve caught him staring at me from across the room with an expression that suggests he might walk over and talk to me—but he never does.
“Have you thought about moving back?” Eli asks.
“Yeah.” It’s an honest answer, but I leave out the rest—that I can’t return. Not until I know how Mom died.
“You’re letting what the detective said get to you, which means you aren’t trusting your father, the club or me. Each day you spend at Cyrus’s is a confirmation of that.”
“Would you prefer I go home and pretend?” I pretended before the detective and I’m not lying to myself anymore. Unlike Dad, I own some integrity.
“No.” He pauses. “Have you visited with the detective again?”
I straighten and my fists tighten at my sides. Barlow hasn’t contacted me. Either he’s listening to Pigpen’s warning and staying away or he’s trying me at home, not realizing I bailed weeks ago. And I promised to keep my distance from him. “Are you calling me out on my word?”
A stick snaps in the trees and adrenaline pumps into my system. Eli and I turn toward the sound. Instincts flare and my hand goes for my gun. A shadow of movement to my left and I’m throwing Eli to the ground. Bullets whistle past. I cover him as we smack the blacktop.
Two pings into the metal of the rig meant no bullets into skin. Those were so damn close that the air near my ear moved.
I’m rolling and so is Eli. We jump to our feet, crouched low with guns aimed and triggers pulled into the darkness. The vibration of each round fired jerks through my body, but years of practice keeps me strong and true. My shots are a deterrent, to warn them to stay away.
The rig roars to life and the vibration of the working engine rumbles through me.
“Get the truck out of here!” Eli yells. A motorcycle parked near the front growls. There should be two bikes and the idea of a brother down scares the shit out of me.
Leaves shake on the bushes in front of me. “They’re coming in!”
The truck lurches forward, the gears shifting with a whine. More shots ring out. Blinding pain rips through my arm and my entire body whiplashes with the impact. “Son of a bitch!”
“He’s hit! He’s hit!” Pigpen flies into view, gun drawn and on the prowl to kill.
Eli’s firing. Round after round into the darkness. The sound is deafening and white lights appear in front of my eyes as my damn arm screams in agony. Urge is to go down. To surrender to the burning torment, but the need to survive forces me to ignore the wetness running along my skin.
