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I pull back on the throttle, my front wheel lifting with the acceleration. I pull back a little, my tire falling down, but then I hit it again, smoother this time to increase speed. My chest hurts with how hard my heart is racing.
Weaving through the cars, Bayou is beside me, and City is approaching close behind. We are riding hell for leather to get to our women. Grit and Hurricane pull up close behind, the other guys following as we dart in and out of cars. They honk, some civilians throwing their hands out their windows and waving their fists as we zoom past their cars.
We pull onto Pontchartrain Boulevard, riding dangerously to get to the bunker. As we arrive, it’s clear the Baroness’ men have been gunned down around the perimeter. Their bodies lie on the grassy knoll, the bunker hatch open, but nothing is happening outside, though I see some cars driving off in the distance.
I skid my bike to a halt, the other guys doing the same. I don’t even turn my bike off before I’m off and running for the bunker. My feet feel like lead as I jump the stairs, taking multiple steps at a time, the other guys hot on my tail. Then I slide down the ladder on the inside, taking off as soon as I hit the bottom, and run down the hall, seeing another bunker door and a man walking in with a machine gun.
“Fuck!”I think as he walks inside the bunker.
Pulling out my gun, I bolt as fast as I can, making it to the entry to hear him say, “Anton told me to come finish the job.” He clicks off the safety and raises the machine gun, aiming at the girls in the room.
Without thinking, I raise my gun, aim at his head, and pull the trigger twice. His head explodes, blood splattering all over the nearby wall as the girls scream with fright while I step through the door to see the chaos inside, with my brothers following behind me.
“Everyone all right?” I yell, my eyes desperately trying to find Ingrid.
She stands, her watering eyes meeting mine, and my heart leaps into my throat, seeing a line of blood trickling down her face. “No. We have women with injuries. We need help.”
The boys file inside, taking in the disaster zone surrounding us.
“Areyouokay?” I ask Ingrid flat out while rushing over to her, where she stands with Novah and Lani, who seem to be passed out on the sofa.
She weakly smiles. “I’m fine, honestly.”
I reach Ingrid, my hand moving to her hip, just needing to touch her, my breathing fast and frantic. My other hand gently touches the wound on her temple.
“You sure?” I reiterate, and she glances down at Novah and Lani. “They need help, and Kaia, and surprisingly the Baroness too.”
“Sha!” Hurricane calls out, running in and rushing straight for his Old Lady, who is trying to hold it together, even though her hand is a mangled mess.
“Novah?” Bayou screams as he frantically searches the bunker.
“She’s over here, darling,” Ingrid calls out, and Bayou rushes to Novah, who’s in a ball on the floor.
Bayou slides onto the floor, cradling her into his arms as she cries against his chest. “What the fuck did they do to you?”
Ingrid kneels beside them, tears in her eyes as she rests her hand on Bayou’s shoulder. “They roughed Novah up, Bayou. Hit her in the stomach. Hard. She’s been in pain ever since.”
Bayou’s face drops.
My skin prickles at what it could mean, my eyes meeting Ingrid’s.
Bayou picks Novah up into his arms. “I have to get you to the hospital right fucking now. It’s gonna be okay. They’re gonna be okay, baby. I promise.”
Novah remains quiet as she clings to him, and they rush out of the bunker.
I lean down to support Ingrid, but Grit races in beside me, his eyes landing on Lani. “How long has she been out like that?” His voice is laced with fear.
Ingrid clears the tension in her throat and looks down at her watch. “She stopped convulsing maybe a minute ago, but she hasn’t woken, and I couldn’t get her to rouse. I didn’t know what to do, and so much was happening. I’m sorry, Grit.” A tear slides down Ingrid’s face.
Grit shakes his head, leaning down and gently placing his hand in front of Lani’s mouth. “She’s breathing, but I think she’s still in seizure… look at her hands,” he says, and I glance down, and so does Ingrid.
Lani’s hands are clenched in a weird way.
“How long has she been like this?” he asks.
“At least five minutes,” Ingrid replies.
Grit scowls. “Fuck, we gotta get her to the hospital…now. That’s too long. She could be going into brain damage territory.” He takes off with Lani in his arms, leaving me with Ingrid.
