Page 96 of Texting the Wrong Bikers

The breeze changes direction, tenderly sweeping past us, carrying the unmistakable but faint smell of kerosine before disappearing again. My chest tightens. There are a million innocent reasons why I can smell that, but my gut tells me otherwise.

Trigger doesn’t say anything. He’s already off his bike before the engine has completely died, pacing like a caged animal, every muscle in his body coiled so tightly that I honestly wonder whether he’ll explode if somebody tells him to wait one second longer.

Dash arrives only moments after me, his expression stripped of every trace of its usual humor. I’ve known him most of my adult life, and I cannot remember the last time I saw him look this frightened. He keeps glancing toward the front door as though he’s willing Sadie to walk out of it.

Chief is the last to remove his helmet. He doesn’t speak immediately. He simply studies the house, taking in the same details I already have. The closed curtains, the neat, orderly yard, the garage door that is slightly ajar, as if someone closed it in a hurry.

When he finally looks at me, I know he’s noticed the same thing I have. “You smell it?” he asks quietly.

I nod.

Trigger spins toward us. “What?”

I don’t take my eyes off the house. “Kerosene.”

The single word is enough. The color drains from Dash’s face. Nobody says what we’re all thinking. We don’t need to. If Tyler knows we’re here… If he thinks he’s cornered… kerosene is the last thing any of us wanted to smell.

Chief pulls out his phone, checks the screen and swears under his breath. “The cops are still at least five minutes out.” His mouth presses into a firm line. “Maybe ten.”

Five or ten minutes, that’s if they don’t hit any traffic on the way. It may as well be hours.

Trigger laughs once, the brittle sound a man makes when he’s stretched so far beyond breaking that something inside him has simply snapped. “I’m not waiting.”

“We don’t know what we’re walking into,” Chief replies.

“I know exactly what we’re walking into.” Trigger’s voice is calm now. I’ve heard the same voice coming from my own mouth right before entering a firefight.

Dash voices our thoughts. “We can’t wait. Sadie’s in there.”

Nobody argues with him. Every second we spend standing on the driveway is another second Tyler has alone with her.

Chief closes his eyes briefly before making his decision. “When we go in, nobody loses their head.”

Trigger actually snorts. Dash mutters something under his breath that almost sounds like, Bit late for that.

Chief ignores both of them. “Shadow.” I meet his eyes. “If she’s alive…”

A sound more like a snarl escapes Trigger.

Chief doesn’t finish, he doesn’t need to. I’ve heard those unfinished sentences before. Too many times to count. If she’s alive—and I refuse to think of a situation where that isn’t the case—she’s my priority. I need to get her out of there safely while the guys focus on Tyler.

“I’ve got her,” I say simply.

We don’t dare to voice the thought of what might happen if she’s not. Tyler had better hope that she’s still alive if he wants to live long enough for the cops to arrest him.

Chief gives one short nod. The kind soldiers give each other when words become unnecessary. For a heartbeat, nobody moves.

I think about Owen and the promise I silently made to him the first night I sat outside Sadie’s house in the rain, keeping watch while he slept peacefully upstairs. I promised nothing would happen to his mom. I failed. Today is my chance to put that right.

Chief leads the way, boots creating only the slightest sound as gravel crunches beneath them. The time of day puts us at a disadvantage, especially in this neighborhood. It won’t take long before a concerned citizen calls 911. Luckily for us, we want the cops here. Although that might not be the case very shortly if we unleash Trigger.

I duck beneath the half-open garage door first, immediately sweeping the space with my eyes. The garage is spotless, almost obsessively organized. Shelves line one wall, every tool hanging neatly in its place. Plastic storage boxes are stacked in perfect rows, each one labeled in tidy handwriting. A silver hatchback waits nose-first toward the opening, the driver’s door standing open. Either Tyler was in a hurry when he got here, or he’s preparing to leave.

A voice drifts through the doorway: “It’s alright.” The words are soft and affectionate, spoken with the quiet reassurance of a man comforting someone he loves. If I hadn’t known what was waiting on the other side of that wall, I might have mistaken the scene for an ordinary conversation between a devoted husband and a sick wife.

“Don’t worry,” he murmurs. “We’re leaving now. We’ll go somewhere they can’t find us, somewhere they can’t fill your head with lies anymore. It’ll just be you and me. I’ll deprogram you, just like I promised. I can fix this.”

Chief catches my eye, and I give the smallest nod. Tyler’s with her. I can feel the energy radiating off of Trigger. The only reason he hasn’t gone barreling through that door is that he doesn’t want Sadie to get hurt. But even the slightest thing could spook him into acting rashly and inadvertently putting her in harm’s way.