Page 84 of Making Choices

Isaiah makes his way back to us.

He wipes his face and refastens his bandana around his neck.

“All clear?”

The prospect nods in response to my question. “The truck’s got a police escort.”

“Fuck.”

This is the second time the cops have come to the rescue of an enemy.

Joseph Kingsley is going above and beyond for his father-in-law.

Before I can comment on this, Hunter joins us. When he slings an arm over Cub’s shoulders and, breathing heavily, leans against him, I run a frantic gaze over him to check for injuries. My brother isn’t exactly tactile. He picks and chooses who he touches, and I’ve never figured him to be especially close to Cub—not close enough to initiate contact like this.

With uncustomary affection, the two younger men high five, then break into matching grins. A second later, the smell of smoke invades my nose. Turning back in the direction of the storage units, I can’t believe my eyes.

“How did you manage that?”

“Gas tank,” Hunter explains. “Took a few bullets, but it went up without much effort.”

“Smart thinking.”

Cub’s smirk widens. “That’s our job.”

I pull my helmet on, quipping as I tighten the chin strap, “Figured there had to be somethin’ you two were useful for, ’cause neither of you can shoot for shit.”

“I can’t believe you winged Toker,” Wyatt comments. I scan his face to make sure he’s holding up all right after what just went down. The quiet man’s gaze is bright, and he seems more energised than I’ve ever seen him. “I can shoot better than you two with my eyes shut.”

“Is it too late to take his nom back?” Cub asks with a frown. “’Cause I’m considerin’ it.”

“Let’s worry about that once we’re back at mine.” Holding my hand out, I take their rifles, one at a time, breaking them down so they’ll fit in my pannier. When Wyatt hands me the Steyr HS, I tell him, “Think Venom would’ve been impressed as fuck at how you handled this today. If it wasn’t for the cops, you would’ve been our best chance at gettin’ Toker back.”

Wyatt closes his eyes and nods. When he reopens them, I see the same determination that his sister faces the world with glimmering from the blue depths. “Next time, cops or no cops, I won’t fall back ’til the job’s done.”

Although, I itch to tell him that the Shamrocks will beat that attitude out him, I bite my tongue. He’ll learn. Probably at the business end of Venom’s fist—if he ever returns.

For today, Wyatt can live in his delusions.

The outlaw world isn’t easy.

Finding your place within the hierarchy is harder still.

But that’s a lesson for another day.

“We’re going to see if we can track the truck once the cops back off,” Hunter tells me.

“Make sure you touch base regularly.”

The pair of grinning knuckleheads salute me before they take off. I jerk my chin to silently tell Isaiah to follow them. He jogs off after them, leaving me with Wyatt. With cop sirens wailing and a fire truck coming from the opposite direction, the five of us duck down a side street, riding slowly to remain off their radar. At the next T-junction, Hunter, Cub, and Isaiah go left while me and Wyatt head right. As Cherub’s brother rides next to me, on Fret’s Harley, I split my attention between the road in front of me and my rear vision mirror. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end and my skin prickles with awareness. I can’t identify anyone following us, no matter how hard I look.

The feeling trails me all the way back to my house.

I pull into the garage and hit the button to lower the door.

The sensation remains.

And that’s when it hits me.

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