The terror in those seconds where the car was spinning was something I couldn't even describe properly. I was sure I was going to slam into a tree and it was all going to be over.
It didn't matter how well you handled your car. They were dangerous machines. They killed people every day. They killed professional racers on occasion. No one was safe.
"I managed to correct and stop. I think I was blind with panic for a minute, or maybe just dizzy from the spinning. But I never saw them approach until the back window was shattering, and someone reached in to snatch the package. It was right then that I finally snapped out of it. Just in time. Because the gun was already out. And the bullet would have gone through me instead of lodging into my passenger door as I peeled off."
"Did you see any faces?"
"No."
"Did you tell the Triad?"
"I couldn't find them," I told him, voice rising, making me need to stop to take a breath, calm myself down.
"Do you think they fucked you over?"
"I don't know. I have no idea. All I know is someone is after me. A whole crew of someones, in fact. And they are fucking everywhere. They tracked me all across Florida, up through several states. I can't shake them. Even after abandoning my car. Stealing that piece of shit at your clubhouse. They still found me. They're still after me. I don't know what to do," I admitted, the weeks of stress, the helplessness, the sleeplessness, all starting to weigh down on me at once, making humiliating tears start to pool in my eyes.
"Hey," Che called, voice soft, hand reaching across the table, covering mine, curling to give me a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay. I will help you fix this."
"If your president lets you," I grumbled, wiping impatiently under my eye, not someone who liked tears. My mother might have been a dumpster fire of a human being, but she used to remind all of us that crying about things wouldn't make them any better. It was a mindset I carried with me into adulthood. And when you were working in such a male-dominated world, it served me well to come off as emotionless.
"Huck comes off like a dick sometimes, but he's not going to stand by and let someone put a bullet in you. Not even if we weren't married."
"Even if it involves some sort of organized crime?" I asked, pushing my plate away, suddenly nauseated.
"Alright. He's going to bitch about that a lot more. But the end result will be the same. We will figure this out. No more bullet wounds," he added, giving me a small smile.
"Thank you," I told him, slowly snatching my hand away. Because I liked the feel of it too much, and the last thing I needed was my old girlish crush to come back, further muddying an already messy situation. And with how delicate I was feeling, I knew it was an easy hop, skip, and jump from appreciation to actual feelings.
Nobody wanted that.
"You don't need to thank me. I owe you."
"Right," I agreed, hoping the bitterness hadn't slipped into my tone. I felt it in my chest, a coiled, ugly, inexplicable thing.
Of course he felt like he owed me.
He did.
That was why I had shown up in the first place.
It made no sense to be mad that he felt that way.
"You alright?" Che asked, brows drawn low.
"Fine. I'm just... I'm so tired," I admitted, feeling it right down to my bones.
"Okay," he said, nodding, starting to slide out of the booth. "Come on. Let's get you back to the clubhouse. You can get some sleep."
I was going to bargain with him for a shower, too, but not until we got back there.
Of course, it would end up taking a lot longer than either of us originally anticipated.
Because as soon as we stepped out of the front door of the pizza place, the bullets started to ring out.
Chapter Five
Che
Admittedly, I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the entire situation.
Not just the shit with the Triad.
But the whole thing.
Saskia coming back after so long, asking for help, having made that kind of name for herself without me even knowing.
I'd thought about her more than was probably normal through the years. She'd been such a big part of my life for a while, then the person I was most grateful to in the world. And then... a complete stranger. A story I couldn't share with anyone else, but one I played over and over in my own head.
I don't know what I thought she might be up to.
I guess I figured she'd eventually gotten her wild out, that it had simply been the product of a neglectful mom, absent father, scarcity, and desperation to get away from it all. I figured she would eventually settle down, find a career, maybe even find a man.
Maybe I'd always figured the next time I would see Saskia was when she was serving me divorce papers, so she could marry the man she loved, raise babies, have a normal life.
How the hell had I missed the fact that she'd gone and become good enough of a wheelman to gain the attention of the Triad?
I'd been too wrapped up with my own shit, I guess.
And since none of the other guys knew about my connection to Sass, they wouldn't know to relay information about her to me.
But she was back.
In trouble.
In need of help.
Yet all I could think about was the way she'd changed. How good she looked with shorter hair. How much the years had ironed out a lot of the loud false confidence she'd had when she was younger, but had replaced it with a quieter sort of genuine self-assurance.
But then those tears had appeared, letting me know just how bad things were. Because Sass hated crying. She'd been trying to loosen a bolt once, had her grip slip, and ripped the shit out of the skin on the back of her hand. The tears had flooded, and she'd refused to let me take her to the urgent care until she'd 'pulled herself together.'
If she was crying—in public—then she really had to have hit her wall. And that was no doubt exacerbated by the lack of food, the lack of sleep, the way all the weight had fallen on her shoulders.
I would shoulder some of that weight.
I'd gotten some food in her.
Once she got some sleep, she would feel better about the whole thing.
While she slept, I would have to have to relay all this shit to Huck, who was not going to be happy.
But I didn't need to drag the club into it yet. I could maybe go see Arty, get his genius ass on the case, see if he could figure out who was after Sass, then try to handle it on my own. If that didn't work, then I could drag the other guys into it to handle shit once and for all.
I couldn't help but wonder what would happen then, though.
Would Sass just up and leave? Not to be seen for another decade, or ever again?
That thought troubled me more than it should have.
It was what was on my mind as we stepped out onto the street.
That distraction was why I hadn't been able to notice the bastards on crotch-rockets parked on the next corner until it was too late.
Until their arms were raised.
And bullets sliced through the air.
"Fuck," I snapped, grabbing Saskia, tossing her down on the ground, my body going down on top of hers as my arm reached for my own gun.
It was too late though.
They were gone already.