Page 164 of Hell Breaks Loose

“We annihilated the old guard, destroyed the false idols sitting on their thrones of lies! I killed them, each and every one of them, taking back the power of their titles, unifying the voice of truth. And now I will set things right.”

A thought starts to form on the edge of my thoughts as she speaks.

“My own brother tried to hide our legacy from us. So tonight, we take it back. On his life. On his blood, I promise this to you, my children.”

Fucking. Raving. Whacko.

But her words spark a clue.

His life. His blood…

Me, obviously. But where would he hide something that he would only want me to find?

“And I swear on his grave that I will right this wrong.”

Click! The realization falls into place, right in front of me.

“Now bring her to me, the heir to Inertia! Hellena Michaels! My niece!”

Before I can utter the discovery I just made, Ora slams the car into reverse, gunning it back the way we came. Just as the horde of drug-addled Ghosts charges over the barricade toward us.

Cars skid into motion, screeching off after other members of our crew.

And in an instant, the rest of us are scattered, rushing in every different direction as fast as we can. Gavin manages to stick with us for a few miles but leads off two dirt bikes giving chase as we reach the lower hills.

Minutes zip by in frantic chase, adrenaline and dread driving us onward.

Hoping that our friends are safe.

Just trying to outrun the overwhelming pursuit.

“What the fuck do we do, Hell?”

“Get to safety. We told everyone to go to ground if they got attacked, right?”

“Yeah, but we cannot lead these jack holes back to camp!”

“I know that!”

“So does everyone else!”

“Fuck! It’s not good enough!”

We were supposed to fight back tonight. To take a stand. Do things on our terms.

My fist hammers into the dash once, my whole body filling with boiling rage.

No. I won’t let it go down like this.

Rachelle doesn’t get to call the shots.

The Sinful do not get to fuck me over. Never again.

Thinking on the fly, I start spouting orders over the radio.

“This is Hell on Wheels, anybody copy?”

A slew of chatter clips back, checking in one by one.

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