Chapter 33 Silver
SILVER
“Looks like the one you least expected is the one that’s gonna come out on top after all.”
Tom stands a few feet away, swaying like a dead tree in a storm, a gun clutched in his trembling hand. The barrel wavers between me and Wheels, making it unclear which one of us he’s going to shoot.
He’s a horror show.
Half his face is raw and glistening, the skin hanging off in strips like melted wax. His clothes are charred tatters, fused to his body in places where the flames licked at him too long.
Second- and third-degree burns. Maybe worse. There’s no amount of grafting or plastic surgery that could ever repair the damage.
He’s a dead man walking—he has to know that. The only question is how many of us he’s taking with him…
“Get off Jack,” Tom commands, his ruined mouth twisting into something of a lopsided grin. “I want a clear shot of both of you.”
Wheels hesitates, obviously reluctant to take any kind of orders. Certainly orders from a man he tried blowing up moments ago.
“Now, Nate. And lose the knife too.”
Slowly and begrudgingly, Wheels pulls back. He climbs off me and tosses the knife aside, where it lands in the grass with a soft thud. I stay where I am, flat on my back, my chest heaving as I suck in air.
Both of us remain still as Tom points the gun at us.
In the distance, gunfire crackles like fireworks. The battle is still raging—my men against his, Steel Kings against Road Rebels. Engines roar and men shout at each other in between the bang of their firearms.
The flames from the earlier explosion are still going, the air stinking of smoke and burning rubble.
But right now, the world has shrunk down to three men and one gun.
“I know I’m not looking so hot right now,” Tom says with a raspy laugh. “But even if I’m gonna die, it’s a pleasure to take you two bastards down with me.”
“The grenade was meant for Silver and his men,” Wheels snarls. “Not you. You weren’t supposed to—”
“Bullshit,” Tom interjects at once. His eyes—one of them swollen nearly shut, the other bloodshot and wild—fix on Wheels with cold fury.
“You think I don’t know your MO, Nate? How fucking vindictive you can be?
After the years in prison we served together?
Let me guess. You were pissed about me and Silver meeting up.
Pissed I was about to take his deal and walk away. ”
Wheels’s jaw tightens. “You’ve got no spine. No loyalty.”
Tom laughs again and then spits a glob of blood onto the grass. “Loyalty to who? Your ass? Face it, Nate. We were always strange bedfellows. It was always going to wind up with one of us backstabbing the other. You just got there first.”
I see my opening.
“Tom,” I say, slowly holding up my hands. “Let’s just... calm down. The three of us can talk this out. Come up with an agreement we all like. Nobody else has to die today.”
Tom’s ruined face swivels toward me. For a second it’s like earlier, where contemplation flickers in his eyes and he’s obviously thinking over what I’ve said. It’s almost like he’s the old Tom again. The man who used to be my best friend.
Like a brother to me.
Then it’s gone.
“None of your reverse psychology crap is going to work on me, Jack,” he says flatly. “I’ve made up my mind what I’m going to do.”
“Then shoot me already if you’re going to do it!” Wheels barks, his patience snapping. “I ain’t got all day, and I’m not here for victory speeches either!”
Tom tilts his head and redirects the gun further to the left, pointing directly at Wheels’s chest.
“Alright,” Tom says simply. “If you insist, Nate. I’ve got no problem with that.”
Turns out, he’s fucking with us.
Because, after he points the pistol at Wheels as if about to shoot him, at the last possible second, he switches it up. He swings the barrel toward me and pulls the trigger.
The bullet buries itself into my thigh, ramming straight through me like a white-hot fire poker. It pierces muscle and bone, and pain erupts in a fiery blaze reminiscent of the grenade from earlier.
I can hear myself release a guttural howl as I stagger back then drop to the ground.
For seconds that could even be minutes, all that exists is the pain radiating in my thigh. The edges of my vision have blurred as I struggle to breathe through it and process the fact that I’ve been shot.
It’s not the first time. But fuck if it doesn’t hurt like a bitch.
It’s only after I’m able to bite down on my jaw and suck down more air into my lungs that I catch up on what else has happened.
Wheels didn’t hesitate after Tom shot me.
He’s launched himself at Tom. The two men have crashed to the ground, grappling for the gun, cursing and snarling like animals.
I try to push myself up, but my leg won’t cooperate. Blood is pouring from the wound, soaking through my jeans and dribbling in the dirt.
Get up. Fucking get up, you son of a bitch.
I try to stand but fail. Then try again only to fail again.
The gun goes off.
I glance up in time to see Wheels go limp, a hole gashed open on his forehead. His body slumps sideways, eyes now vacant as he stares at nothing.
Tom struggles to his feet, wheezing and coughing. He’s somehow still alive, fueled by nothing but spite and adrenaline. He staggers toward one of the discarded Rebel’s bikes.
Fuck! I can’t let him get away.
I grit my teeth and force myself upright. The pain is indescribable, and I’ve lost so much blood, I question if he’s punctured my femoral artery, but I fight through it anyway.
One foot in front of the other. One foot at a time as blood trickles down my leg and I grind my teeth to hold in the pain.
Soon I’m hobbling forward in a desperate attempt to make it to Tom.
He’s almost to the bike when Big Eddie appears.
Solana’s uncle must’ve arrived after the reinforcements. He’s staring at Tom with confusion and horror, taking in the carnage and the bodies on the ground.
“Tom?” he asks, his tone incredulous. “What the fuck are you doing? Did you... did you help the Road Rebels attack the Kings?”
Tom doesn’t bother answering with words. He answers with a bullet, clearly deciding he’s done talking. He’s all about making a getaway.
Self-preservation as always.
Big Eddie jerks backward, clutching his chest, and crumples to the ground.
“NO!” I yell, then any concept of pain ceases to exist. I tune it out as I rush forward as fast as my body can humanly manage.
Tom mounts the bike and it rumbles to life, clearly planning to ride off from the chaos and disappear.
But I’m already jogging after him, shutting out the burning agony and operating off rage and adrenaline.
I spot Cash’s FXDB Street Bob lying on its side nearby and haul it upright, swinging my bleeding leg over the seat. The engine roars even louder than Tom’s had, ready and willing to take off.
The chase is on.
I speed after Tom, weaving through the insane battle still raging around us. Men are fighting and dying on both sides, Road Rebels and Steel Kings locked in brutal combat. The flames have spread, licking at the dry grass, sending plumes of black smoke billowing into the sky.
In the distance, I’m pretty sure I even hear sirens. Pulsboro PD and fire department finally on their way.
But I don’t give a fuck about any of it. All I care about right now is catching Tom.
He’s ahead of me, hunched over the handlebars, pushing the stolen bike as fast as it’ll go. We rocket down the cracked and broken road, engines vibrating, the wind blowing through our hair.
He swerves around debris and fallen bodies and the burning wreckage. I follow every move, matching him turn for turn, navigating like the pro I am.
He won’t outride me; he never has and never will.
My thigh is on fire. Blood is streaming down my leg, spattering against the hot engine. But it’s physical pain that can be ignored when your mind is strong enough. When you’re determined enough and have enough sheer force of will.
I won’t go down ’til Tom goes down first.
I push Cash’s bike harder, gaining ground. Tom glances back and sees me coming. Fear flashes in his eyes, his face so mangled he can’t properly make expressions anymore.
Good.
Let him be afraid. He has every reason to be.
I told him I’d kill him if I had to, and the moment has finally come.
I surge forward and ram the front of my bike into the back of his.
The impact jolts through both of us. Tom’s bike wobbles, and he’s so injured and exhausted he can’t even fight against it. He loses control completely, going down hard.
The bike flips end over end. Metal twists and bends then grinds against asphalt and creates bright sparks.
I crash too—no way to avoid it at this speed—but I manage to turn it into a controlled tumble, eating the fall with my shoulder and rolling through the momentum.
I scramble up, drenched in sweat and blood, my leg barely able to hold my weight.
Tom’s lying in the middle of the street. He’s not getting up this time. His body has given up on itself.
I limp over to him, heaving ragged breaths, glaring down at the man who used to be my best friend.
He’s broken beyond repair now.
His body’s twisted at odd angles from the crash, adding fresh injuries to his burns. Blood bubbles at his lips with every labored breath.
But he’s still alive. Still conscious. His eyes find mine, and he’s back to the man I once knew. He’s looking up at me as if he’s thinking about our friendship and how regretful he is it’s come to this.
I am too. Though there’s no turning back now. Not after everything that’s happened.
“Your friendship meant a lot to me,” I admit solemnly. “It always will, in a way.”
Tom sputters up more blood and spittle. Otherwise, he doesn’t respond. Maybe he can’t even if he wanted to.
No use dragging this on. Better to put him out of his misery.
I raise the gun. “But it’s time to say goodbye.”
I look him in the eye as I do it, registering the fact that I’ve known this man for over forty years. From the time we were small kids running up and down our neighborhood street playing tag to the times we were young prospects at the Steel Kings working our way through initiation.
I still vividly remember the night we were inducted into the club. How we’d grinned at each other and worn our cuts for the first time.
Never did I imagine the man laying at my feet would become the piece of shit he turned into.
All choices he made, and now he must pay the consequences.
My finger wraps around the trigger and squeezes hard.
The gunshot echoes for seconds to come. The bullet hits him in the skull, and he’s gone before he can even process it’s happened.
I stand there for a long moment, gun slowly lowering to my side, pointing at the ground. The pain from my thigh rushes back in spades, reminding me how fucking agonizing it is to even be upright right now. My lungs ache as if they’ve permanently run out of air and are out of order.
But it’s finally done. It’s finally over, and that’s all that matters.