Chapter 18 #3
Our motorcycle traveled through the night like a black steed, our dark hair whipping into the air like manes.
Dipping temperatures flattened my body closer to Warwick’s.
My thighs clutched against his. My breasts pressed into his back, seeking the warmth, and I had to fight the urge to curl into him like a cat.
My chest cracked every time I took in a whiff of his rich woodsy scent.
I couldn’t describe it, but it was all Warwick, and it felt like home.
I hated him.
No, I wanted to hate him. So much. But even without us reaching out, strumming the cord between us, I felt him buzzing inside and outside of me, pulsing at the edges.
I didn’t ask him how he knew I needed help or how he found us. I already knew. And deep down, without even reaching out, if he were in trouble, I would feel it, and nothing on this planet would stop me from finding him.
With Ash and Maddox behind us, the two motorcycles entered the city, the smell of the impoverished filling my nose.
It had grown familiar, a scent that told a thousand words of the harsh life in Savage Lands.
The smoke from the factories still clung to the air like heavy fog.
The decaying buildings covered with graffiti rose high on either side of us.
My gun was ready to put a bullet into any threat. The city was full of depravity, looking for trouble in the witching hours before dawn. And Warwick and I attracted it like bees to honey.
Tonight was no different.
Pop!
Hoots and hollers rang out, and I whipped my head around to see men on horses ride out from a side street. With hats on their heads and bandanas over their faces, they had guns aimed at us, like a cowboy posse.
Fuck. My gut sank with terror, recognizing the group, though there were more of them today. The memory of our run-in with them last time slammed back into my mind.
The horsemen of the apocalypse. The Hounds. A gang of thieves who would slice anyone’s throat for a coin. They had no conscience or any hesitation about who they attacked. Anyone passing by was fair game, and they would collect payment from you—through your pocket or life.
“Kurva anyád!” Warwick spat, punching the gas, his gaze snapping to Ash.
A bullet pinged off the building right by my head, spewing debris into the air. Shooting back, I watched the horses galloping toward us, gaining on us far faster than I liked.
Warwick snapped the handlebars, squealing the bike down another road, Ash right behind us. Maddox fired back at them.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The sound of gunfire shrilled the night air, bouncing off the buildings, exploding in my eardrums. With every breath, I tensed, ready to feel a bullet sink into my skin.
Warwick made a gesture with his hand, his head darting back to Ash. The friends understood each other with looks and simple gestures after so long fighting together.
Warwick gave Ash a nod when his bike came even with us. Ash responded in kind before peeling off down a side alley while we spun the opposite way, hoping to split or falter the gang.
I twisted, firing back at the four horsemen who came after us, the other three going after Ash. My legs clung to Warwick for life, dread shimmering under my skin, terrified this would be the night our number was up.
Bullets pinged off our bike, scraping close to my body, the heat of the slug sizzling my clothes. Warwick’s muscles tensed. I sensed his need to pull me in front of him, shield me like he was also afraid the next shot would embed itself into my brain.
The clops of hooves on the concrete vibrated my spine, the hollers growing louder, icing my veins with panic.
“Hold on tight,” his voice hissed into my ear, my arms constricting around him right as he snapped the bike to the left, the wheels slipping on the damp cement.
His foot struck the ground to keep us upright as he spun us down another street, the engine revving as he tore down the road.
Just a few yards later, three men on horses tore from an alley right as we passed, shooting at us.
I yelped in shock, realizing they were the ones I thought went after Ash and Maddox.
Instead, they had gone around, coming at us from another angle, boxing in their prey.
It was smart. Cunning. Like they knew we were important targets, coming for us as if we really did call out to danger like a siren song.
The horses galloped up next to us, one of them getting right next to the bike.
A Hound reached out for me, his fingers wrapping around the strap of my backpack, yanking on it.
With a cry, I struggled to keep my balance on the seat, almost falling off.
To thieves, the bag might hold something of value—money, drugs, items to sell or trade, but it held nothing of worth in the conventional sense.
But to me, it possessed everything: Opie and Bitzy and the last thing I had of my father’s.
His words, his thoughts, his writing, and possible knowledge of what I was.
There was no way I would let it go.
Twisting to my assailant, I pulled the trigger right as he wrenched the pack from my shoulders. Bang! The bullet hit its mark, sinking into his side. His body jerked. A grunt huffed from his chest, his frame sliding off the horse.
Slamming into me.
A scream caught in my throat as his weight knocked me off the bike, plunging us to the ground.
Bones crunched, smacking the stone. The bike was shoved over by the force of our weight.
All of us skidded across the pavement like scattered cargo.
The shrill sound of metal scraping over stone pierced my ears.
My head spun as I tumbled, not even comprehending any pain yet.
The clip of hooves on the road echoed in my head like an alarm, telling me to get up. Run.
“Kovacs!” I felt Warwick’s call in my soul more than I heard it.
My lids fluttered, and I turned my head to the gang.
Their horses pranced and huffed as they took in the body of their fallen comrade a few yards from me.
Then one of them leaned over, swiped up my bag, and without a second glance, steered their horses around and rode off.
“N-n-no . . .” I cried out, struggling to sit up. The need to run after them had me on my feet, picking up a gun and opening fire.
The shots ricocheted off the stone walls, mocking me with their empty threats as the gang continued to ride away.
“Nooooo!” I tried to run after them, limping, my arm twinging in agony as I continued to shoot, panic blanketing me with the need to not let them out of my sight.
“Kovacs!” Warwick wrapped his arms around me, yanking me back, ripping the gun from my hands. “Stop!”
“No!” I tried to wiggle from his embrace. “Let go! We have to go after them!” He didn’t relent. “Do something!” I thrashed harder. “Or get the fuck out of my way!”
“No.” He grunted when my elbow dug into his gut.
“They have Opie and Bitzy. They have the journal,” I heaved, knowing they were too far to catch by now anyway, but logic didn’t matter. Tears prickled at my eyes. “Let me go! You fuckin’ pussy!”
He didn’t surrender his hold or move, but I could feel him explode around me, his anger and violence scraping and scratching against my skin, pushing in deeper, halting the air in my lungs. It only pissed me off.
“Get off me!” I kicked my heel into him.
I heard a soft groan and, at first, I thought it was Warwick, until the noise came again.
A louder grunt came from the man lying on the ground. Warwick’s arms dropped, clicking the gun he took from me, strolling over to the man and raising the weapon to his head.
I reacted on instinct.
“No. Stop.” I moved quickly to him, ignoring the pain streaking down my muscles. I pressed my palm on the weapon, forcing him to lower it. Warwick’s brows furrowed in question. I peered down at the gang member, still barely holding on to life, then back to Warwick. “He could be useful.”
“Don’t think for a moment they care about this asshole enough to trade him.” Warwick snorted. “That’s not how they work. He’s better dead.”
“No.” My voice was firm, my gaze telling Warwick this was not a question, but an order. “He can lead us to their hideout.”
“He’d kill himself before he’d tell.” Warwick shook his head, annoyance flickering on his features.
“It’s worth a shot.” I gritted my teeth. “I am not stopping until I get my bag back.” I didn’t fear for Opie and Bitzy, as I knew they would get away. They could vanish in front of my eyes, but my father’s journal was worth everything to me. To find it, I would flip over this city if I had to.
Warwick watched me for a while, probably seeing the determination on my features. He sucked in a deep breath, irritation twitching his eye.
An eerie growl-like howl cried out into the night, followed by another, his head jerking up.
“Faszom . . .” Warwick tensed, his head moving, trying to pinpoint the location of the noise.
“What?”
“Hyenas.”
“What?” I sputtered, whirling toward the icy shrieks, my mouth parting.
“They’re coming.” He twisted to run. “We’ve got to go.”
“Like real ones?”
“Shifters, and even more dangerous. They sniff out blood and come running to pick off the corpses left in the street, taking whatever scraps remain. They’re scavengers . . . deadly ones.”
“Then we can’t leave him here!” I motioned to the dying man, his breathing getting worse.
“Are you kidding me? I’m not in the mood to fight a clan.” Warwick glowered down at me. “Hyena clans have no problem picking off the living as well, especially those weakened by a fight.”
“We are not leaving him,” I snarled back. Not a question, not an option.
His jaw clamped, a nerve thrumming along it.
“Bassza meg!” Warwick spat, slapping the Glock into my palm as he stomped over toward the thief. He leaned over, lifting the bleeding man over his shoulder. “Once again, I’m picking up your rescues.”
More eerie howls, sounding just a block away, scoured over my body, shivering my bones.
“Let’s go.” Warwick spun around.
“How far are we from the base?” I was good with directions, but I hadn’t spent enough time in Savage Lands to really gauge where I was.
“Too far on foot.” He looked over at the bike. Fuel leaked onto the road, and the back tire was popped. He set the dying man down, grabbing the terrifying weapon from the back, blood crusted into the claw blades and attached it to his back.
“What is that?”
“A wolf blade.”
“Wolf blade?” I snorted, though I could see, with its many claws, how it could resemble a wolf’s talons.
“Had it designed specifically for me.” He tossed the man on his other shoulder. “Come on.” He veered around and strolled off, the man limply hanging off his shoulder.
“Where?”
“To the only place we can go.”