Chapter 55
Slade
For weeks, I’ve been wanting to leave this compound. To prevent anyone tied to me from being at risk, but also because I never intended to stay and have the heart-to-heart conversations with my brothers that I knew we needed to have. Back then, I didn’t want that closure.
But now that I’m leaving, the last thing I want is to drive through the gates. Instead, I want to curl up with Bane in his bed, ignoring the rest of the world.
“We’re going to get our happily ever after, Slade.” Bane’s hand wraps around my nape, and he kisses me deeply.
When he finally pulls back, I see several members of the MC standing in the yard, watching us.
Some, like Tats, Toxic, Mauler, and my brothers, look reluctant to let me leave.
Others, like the old-guard I recognize from my youth—made up of Ash’s uncle and others—look on with an air of mutiny.
Word has gotten out about the bounty on me and the threat I pose.
Bane twists my head back to him. “You drive hard, and you drive fast. I’ll be waiting for you at Rodeo Cove.” I nod, and he warns, “The Golden Gate Bridge has no exit once you’re on it. And once you get to the island, the roads are winding with dangerous curves.”
“Bane,” Granger says with exasperation. “Our girl here is like a rally car driver-slash-stunt driver-slash-getaway driver. She knows the drill.”
Bane glares at Granger. “She’s not our anything, you little prick. She’s fucking mine.”
I turn Bane’s face back to me because we don’t have time for this. “You be safe, too.”
He presses his forehead to mine. “Drive like you stole it to get back to me.”
“Knowing Badger, the car is stolen.” I chuckle, then add, “I love you, Bane.”
It’s the first time I’ve said those words to him, and his love for me is written all over his face.
“And I fucking love you.” He crashes his mouth to mine for one last rough, intense kiss, then he swings his leg over the seat of his big bike and fires it up. He puts on his helmet, then he’s driving away, and I force myself not to watch him leave the compound.
“Testing,” Digits says over my earpiece, pulling my attention back to what I need to do.
“I hear you loud and clear, Digits,” I reply. Then I turn to my brothers.
Sten pulls me in for a tight hug. “We still haven’t made it up to you, for all the shit that went down, so you need to come back here to us. Promise me.”
“I promise.” I fight tears.
Jaarl is next, then Tyr. “You’re not a crier, baby crow.” Tyr glowers. “Don’t start now.”
“You’re such a grumpy dick.”
“And you love me.”
“I do.” I look at the three of them; my brothers that I used to hero-worship and thought could do no wrong. Now I know that they’re just as flawed as the rest of us, and I love them all the more for it.
Ash steps closer, messing my hair. “I’ll see you back here soon.”
Then my friends are swarming me, giving me a pep talk about how to handle the car and not to get myself killed. I can hardly hold my tears back while I stand among them. “Thanks for always having my back.”
“Always,” Camber and Axel say.
“If you need me to tell my dad to put a hit out on Bane, all you need to do is say the word,” Granger tells me.
Sam thwacks his forehead. “Don’t be a dick.”
Granger shrugs with a shit-eating grin. “Just letting our girl know it’s always on the table.” Then he turns serious. “It’s clear Bane, the psycho, is obsessed with you, Slade.”
“Love,” Camber stresses. “It’s called love.”
He rolls his eyes at his sister but pulls her close. “You drive safely, too, little sis.”
Pix clears her throat and tosses Camber a short brown wig, and they both tuck their hair up into it. I catch Camber’s hand. “Be careful.”
“You, too. And once this is all behind us, I want all the juice.”
Axel drags her toward the car she’ll be driving. It’s not identical to my Subaru—neither is Pix’s—but they’ll do. He gives me a serious nod, then turns to speak with Camber.
“I’ll be coordinating oversight with Digits and Len’s team,” Sam reassures. “I’ll cover your back, just like always.”
“We got this?” Granger asks me, just like before when we did a job.
“Yeah.” My voice is raw. “We got this.”
But getting to Len’s team is only part of the equation. After that, we don’t actually have a plan, but Len’s team will take me somewhere off-grid while we figure it out.
“Slade, we need to move,” Digits warns over my earpiece.
Pix and Camber are already in their cars and speeding out the gate.
With one last look at my friends, I run over to the Subaru and hop in. Slamming the door, I buckle up and look across the yard at the shop. Badger leans against it, and he gives me a salute, which I return, then fire up the little race rocket.
“The police diversion is waiting for you, Slade,” Digits updates me.
We need the criminals hunting for me to get wind that I was outside the MC compound, and what better way than a good old-fashioned car chase with the police?
Also, Digits and Sam will plant some chatter and electronic surveillance that can be easily intercepted.
The Chamber allies are also pitching in to help.
With a final look at the people I consider family, I take off. Flicking a wave to the Prospects working the gate, I fly through, finally able to leave, but feeling now like I’m leaving my home and heart behind.
I turn sharply onto the road leading toward the freeway and away from the compound.
I refuse to look at the homes that line the road, protected behind gates, that belong to members of the Havoc Guardians.
I ignore the pang that hits me, wondering if Bane and I will ever own one of those homes.
If we’ll ever get our happily ever after.
I fly down the road and am almost to the freeway when Digits curses over the earpiece.
“I think you’re going to have company, Slade.”
I scan around me but see no one. “Coming from where?”
“Shit. You definitely have company. A group of crotch rockets just turned onto the road.”
Up ahead, I see the group coming toward me. We didn’t have time to put in bulletproof panels or glass, and I’d be an idiot to assume these riders aren’t carrying weapons.
I don’t hesitate. I crank my wheel hard and veer off the road, launching into the field, pressing in the clutch to downshift.
The car jolts violently as I bounce in the seat, gripping the steering wheel to stay in control over the rough terrain.
A quick glance over my shoulder tells me the riders are following me.
“They’re trying to angle and cut you off,” Sam warns as they monitor me from a drone. “Pin it.”
That’s easier said than done as my vision jumps and I bounce in my seat, only being held in place by my seat belt.
“Shit. They’re closing the distance between you,” Digits warns. “Keep enough distance so they don’t have a feasible shot.”
“I’m recalculating your route,” Digits says. “And your police diversion will become more of a police escort. As soon as you’re through the field, go up the ditch and get onto the service road, then get on the freeway and take your first exit.”
As the field ends, and I fly up the ditch, accelerating as I do.
“Yeah, ramp that bitch,” Sam shouts as I catch air.
As soon as my wheels touch down, I slam on the brakes and turn my wheel. If the car were any bigger or higher off the ground, I could’ve rolled it. Instead, I downshift to rev up the engine, causing my RPMs to jump, then punch the accelerator and slingshot forward.
I don’t waste time looking behind me at what the riders are doing as I fly down the, thankfully deserted, service road. When I maneuver onto the freeway, I bury the accelerator, playing a dangerous game of Frogger as I weave in and out of traffic.
“Take the first exit,” Digits reminds me.
I glance in my rearview mirror and see the four riders chasing me down. I decide to change my strategy and break and downshift.
“What the hell are you doing, Slade?” Digits demands. “Don’t give them a shot. Fucking go!”
“Just wait, buddy boy,” Sam assures him.
I’m taking a risk, but Randolph’s instructions for the contract were to show me the video, then bring me to him.
That means he wants me alive.
The freeway is open ahead with no other vehicles in sight for a stretch, so I take the middle lane. One biker whips past me and cuts in front while two more pull up alongside, and the last one stays behind me. They’re flanking me, pinning me in.
I glance at the one on my left, and he’s waving his gun but not aiming at me, just warning me to pull over.
The exit is coming up fast, and I’m still in the middle lane.
I wait until the last possible second, then crank my wheel, darting into the right lane and slamming into the rider.
Maybe I should feel bad as he goes flying, but, yeah, fuck him.
I accelerate down the exit, but there’s a T-intersection with a stop sign, not a straightaway.
“Go left! There’s no traffic, just go,” Digits shouts.
I trust him and turn my wheel, then yank on the emergency brake to swing my car around, fishtailing as I work the clutch and gearshift. Punching the gas, I move like a bullet down the street and weave around any cars I come up behind.
“Len’s team is working the traffic lights,” Digits reports. “Just don’t crash, and you should be golden.”
“Company’s here again,” Sam warns, and I glance at my rearview mirror to see two of the bikers coming up behind me.
“Where’s the police?”
“About four minutes out,” Digits replies. “Dammit, Slade, watch your left!”
I jerk the wheel in time to avoid being T-boned by a truck, but it clips my back bumper.
The world around me is a blur as the car spins.
Once I stop spinning, there’s another truck blocking my path, so I ram it with the push bar to hit its back corner to get it out of my way. Then I punch the accelerator again.
“Fuck, that was close.” Sam’s usual excited tone is shaky.
“The car is still operating fine. I think we just have frame damage.”