2. Hawk #2
The table with the guns gets knocked over, weapons scattering across wet concrete.
I look for the woman.
She’s out of her car now, crouched behind the open driver’s door, hands over her head. Her phone is on the ground, screen glowing. She’s screaming something I can’t hear over the gunfire.
I run toward her, keeping low. A bullet zips past my head close enough that I feel the air displacement. Another one sparks off the concrete near my boots.
“Razor!” I shout into my radio. “Shadow! Cover!”
Razor’s bike roars past the ATF agents, drawing their fire. Shadow leans on his horn, creating chaos. Beautiful, stupid bastards.
I reach the Honda.
The woman looks up at me, and her eyes go even wider. She’s young. Late twenties, maybe. Pretty in a girl-next-door way, even soaking wet and terrified. Dark hair plastered to her face, green eyes huge with fear.
“We gotta move!” I shout over the noise.
She shakes her head, backing away. “No! Stay away from me!”
“Lady, you stay here, you die. Those are your options.”
Another volley of shots tears through the night. The van’s windshield explodes, safety glass raining down in a glittering cascade.
Someone from the Ruthless Saints is screaming orders I can’t make out over the roar of engines and gunfire. An ATF rifle barks three times in rapid succession, the sound sharper and more controlled than the wild shooting around it.
“Come on!” I reach for her arm.
But she starts, kicking and clawing and screaming. She’s small, but she’s strong, and scared people fight dirty. Her fist catches me in the jaw. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to piss me off.
“Listen!” I grab both her arms, forcing her to look at me. “I’m trying to help you!”
“You’re kidnapping me!”
“Correction. I’m saving your life. Kidnapping comes after.”
Wrong thing to say. She screams louder, trying to knee me in the balls.
I don’t have time for this.
I pick her up and throw her over my shoulder fireman-style. She’s lighter than I expected.
“PUT ME DOWN! HELP! SOMEONE HELP!”
“Yeah, good luck with that,” I mutter, running back toward where Razor’s holding position on his bike.
She’s beating on my back, kicking her legs, making it really difficult to run in a straight line while bullets are flying.
Razor sees me coming, and his eyes widen. “The hell are you doing?”
“Plan B!” I shout. “Move!”
Shadow roars up on my other side. “We’re not leaving her?”
“She’s a witness! We can’t leave her!”
“So we’re kidnapping her?”
“You got a better idea?”
Shadow looks at the woman thrashing on my shoulder, then at the chaos behind us. ATF agents are advancing. Ruthless Saints are scattering. Two of our guys are already on bikes heading for the exit.
“Fair point,” Shadow says. “Let’s go!”
I swing onto my bike, the woman still over my shoulder. She’s still screaming, still fighting. I manage to get her positioned in front of me, her back against my chest, my arms caging her in as I grip the handlebars.
“If you don’t stop moving, we’re both gonna crash and die!” I shout in her ear.
She stops struggling for about two seconds, just long enough for me to get the bike in gear.
Then she starts screaming again. “MY PHONE! MY PURSE! MY CAR!”
“Not my priority right now!”
I gun the engine and we take off, Razor on my left, Shadow on my right. The woman is rigid in front of me, hands gripping my forearms like she’s trying to bend steel. Behind us, there’s more gunfire, and I can hear the sounds of sirens in the distance, getting closer.
We blast past the Ruthless Saints bikes. One of them tries to cut us off, but Razor clips his front tire and sends him sprawling.
Then we’re on the road, engines screaming, rain pelting us like needles.
The woman is sobbing now, her whole body shaking. I can feel her heart racing against my chest, rabbit-fast and terrified.
“I’ve got you,” I say, not sure if she can even hear me over the wind, rain, and engines. “I’ve got you.”
She doesn’t respond.
We ride hard for five minutes before I risk looking back. There are no lights behind us, no bikes, and no ATF. Just darkness and rain.
Razor pulls up alongside me. “Where to?”
“The cabin,” I shout back. “We need to regroup.”
Shadow appears on my other side. “We just kidnapped a civilian.”
“I noticed.”
“Reaper’s gonna lose his shit.”
“Yeah, well, Reaper’s gonna have to get in line.”
The woman lifts her head, looks around like she’s only just now realizing we’re moving. She sees the road flying past, sees Razor and Shadow flanking us, sees nothing but trees and darkness ahead.
Then she looks up at me. Rain streams down her face, mixing with tears. Her eyes are accusatory and terrified and furious all at once.
“Who are you?” she asks, voice barely audible over the engine.
“Name’s Hawk.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I don’t blame her. But I don’t have a better answer.
She looks down at my arms still locked around her, keeping her secure on the bike. Looks at Razor, all scarred and dangerous. Looks at Shadow, who, despite everything, manages to look apologetic even at seventy miles an hour in a thunderstorm.
Then she starts struggling again.
“Stop! Let me go! STOP!” She twists violently, trying to throw herself off the bike.
I tighten my grip, pulling her back against me. “Can’t do that.”
“I need to—people are waiting for me! I have to—” She’s hysterical now, thrashing hard enough that the bike wobbles dangerously.
“We’ll figure it out,” I tell her. “But right now, you need to hold still or we’re gonna crash.”
She doesn’t hold still. She twists, trying to throw herself off the bike. I tighten my grip, pulling her back against me.
“You got a death wish, lady?”
“Better than whatever you’re going to do to me!”
Razor’s voice crackles over the radio. “Hawk, we got a problem. Headlights. Two miles back.”
I check my mirror. Sure enough, headlights.
“How many?”
“Can’t tell. At least two vehicles.”
“Take the service road at Miller’s Creek,” I order. “We’ll split up, confuse them.”
“What about her?” Shadow asks, nodding at the woman.
“She stays with me.”
We hit the turnoff at eighty miles an hour, bikes leaning hard into the curve. The woman screams and grabs onto me tighter, which is probably the smartest thing she’s done all night.
Behind us, the headlights follow. But they can’t match our speed on these roads. We’ve been running this territory for twenty years. We know every turn, every shortcut, every place to disappear.
Three miles later, the headlights are gone.
We slow down, engines dropping to a rumble. The rain is letting up finally, down to a steady drizzle instead of a deluge.
The woman stops struggling after the first mile and goes limp against me, either exhausted or smart enough to realize fighting on a motorcycle at seventy miles an hour is suicide. Her hands stay locked on my forearms, nails digging in through my jacket, but the fight’s drained out of her.
Three miles out, I feel her take a shaky breath.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Somewhere safe.”
“Safe for who?”
“For everyone. Now shut up and hold on.”
She’s quiet for another minute before she speaks. “I need to—people are expecting me. If I don’t?—”
“Lady, I don’t give a shit who’s expecting you. You’re coming with us.”
“I have a name.” Her voice is sharp now, cutting through the rain and engine noise. “It’s Jade.”
I don’t respond immediately. Let the silence stretch.
Jade.
Sharp-edged. The kind of stone that looks delicate but cuts if you’re not careful.
Yeah. It fits.