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Deuce and Tank pulled to a stop beside Nine, while Hatchet and Tex made after the Chevys.
Ryder met Brick at the edge of the containers, and they walked toward their brothers.
“What the hell happened?” Deuce said.
Ryder pointed toward the top of a shipping container. “Smoke,” he said, his voice choked with emotion.
“No,” Tex whispered.
Brick made for the container, and was climbing up the rails for the top by the time his brothers caught up with him.
Ryder heard Brick’s boots pound across the metal. Then Brick’s face appeared over the edge. “He’s gone. I’m handing him down.”
And Ryder knew, while he listened to the shrieks of the women who’d survived, that he and his brothers were about to wade into blood.
*************************
Jenna
I dropped my keys into the dish on the buffet, locked the front door, and then leaned back against it, smiling into the dark.
Tonight had been asuccess.
City Market and the party of the year, all to celebrate academia’s crazy, wild response to my publication.
Layla, Gabby, and half the university faculty had met up for nachos and drinks. We’d all laughed and toasted, as much to President Howard being told to suck it by the approval of my peers as to the fact that the article was making the rounds of Hollywood.
My article didn’t just rock. It rockedbig. Headlines and potential movie rights were the surreal wave I’d been riding since the journal came out and nobody in academia, much less the entertainment industry, could believe the all access I’d been granted to a real live motorcycle club.
Apparently, bikers made research sexy, and several studios wanted a piece of the action.
So I kicked off my Frye boots and hauled my ass up the stairs, ready to soak in a hot bath and call Ryder to tell him how the party went.
I was mid strip when my phone buzzed, telling me that I had a voice mail.
Not surprised that I hadn’t heard my phone over the uproar of a bunch of professors loaded on tequila, I opened the icon and saw a missed call from Edward. I almost ignored it and went on with my bubble bath plans, but I swiped and hit speaker so I could listen while I let the water run hot.
“Might not see you and Cassie again….” The background noise behind the call was so loud I could barely make out his words. “Spider tattoo…. All I saw. Gunshot…. Surgery…. Tell her I love her.”
The call dropped, and I stared at my phone.
I listened to the message again and tried to call him back. Straight to voicemail.
Spider tattoo.
There was a name I’d heard often over the past couple months, all hushed tones and edges of conversations. Spider.
Surely not.
I hit Ryder’s number and held the phone to my ear while I turned off the water and stepped back into my jeans and boots.
He answered just before I hung up. “Babe, not a good time. We got some shit….”
“Spider tattoo,” I said. “Mean anything to you?”
Ryder paused a beat, and I knew.
I ended the call, dug through my jewelry box, and ran down the stairs, slamming the door behind me.
