Page 39 of Raiden

It’s the best bet right now. I have to reach it before they do.

They might be fast. They might catch us. They might try and shoot at us whether they want us alive or not. Maiming and stopping us might still count. I have to try. I can’t just stop and let them load us into their car.

I was almost raped. I trusted someone I should never have trusted and I stabbed him in the leg with a pocketknife I very luckily happened to be carrying. That day changed my whole life. It taught me fear and mistrust. It taught me that some men will take anything they want. It proved to me just how little saya woman has in the world. I paid the price for that bastard’s transgressions against me. I’ve been so much more careful and far more guarded since then. I trained myself on how to use a weapon. Meeting my dad and getting involved with his club helped me in that area. I’m not a powerless woman at the mercy of a stronger, more powerful man anymore.

I promised myself I’d never let that happen to me again and if it did, I’d fight back.

It takes me a second to realize the screaming isn’t the bike’s engine or the car coming after us, even though it is. It’s Lark. She’s shaking behind me so hard I think that her hands might dislodge.

I reach down even though we’re going so fast that I can barely keep the bike under control as it is, and squeeze her hands, telling her to keep them tight together. She can’t let go. I can’t let anything happen to her.

I’m a fighter, but she’s not. I refuse to cower. I know she wants to be brave, but she’s not trained like me. She hasn’t lived through what I’ve been through. She doesn’t know what I know.

Even if she was another warrior, I’d still keep her safe. She’s Raiden’s sister. If anything happened to her, it would kill him. I’d rather die protecting her than come back to him and tell him I failed.

I force myself to breathe as we go screaming down the road, the scenery flashing past us so fast I can barely make out what anything is.

I still know the second we pass the golf course.

Hold on, Lark. Almost there. We’re so close.

We’re not close. We still have over a mile to go before the range.

Lark’s one hand releases and beats at my shoulder. I don’t break my focus. I know what she’s trying to tell me. That the car is either right behind us or that they’re coming. Getting closer. If I let them get beside us again, they could drive me off the road. That would kill us surely as any bullet.

I push the bike as fast as it can go. I’ve never heard an engine make a sound like that before. The wind rushes at me, whipping into my eyes and blurring my vision.

The only thing protecting us is dumb luck and the fact that whoever is back there wants either me or Lark or both of us, and not riddled full of bullets.

I never knew that out-of-control adrenaline could also feel like certainty. I trust in the rapid fire beating of my heart, gulping in great breaths of the razor-sharp air. I narrow my eyes, focusing on the horizon.

I can see the range. It gets closer, alarmingly fast. If I pass it, we’re as good as finished. I’m going too fast. I can’t slow down. I don’t know how close that car is, but if they’re riding us like before, they’ll hit us and at this speed, a crash would be fatal.

I have to change it. I glance behind us. They’re there but giving us just enough distance that they won’t hit us if I brake. They’re pursuing us but being so careful. It’s not natural.

Please don’t let my dad be the one behind this. Please.

I slow down just enough that we careen into the parking lot. The bike twists madly beneath me, bucking like a wild animal, but by some miracle, I keep hold of it. The car has aneasier time. I hear their tires leaving the asphalt and skidding into the gravel.

I’m off the bike, grabbing Lark by the forearm, running, dragging her with me, without even shutting the bike off. It crashes to the ground, but I have no time to feel the sharp, horrible pang that tears through my insides. That bike is as close to me as a friend, as family. I hate treating her that way.

She can be put back together. Repainted and repaired.

We can’t.

A loud roar of another bike followed by a popping noise that can only be gunshots is loud in the background, just behind us.

Lark screams.

I force her in front of me, shoving her with all my strength towards the chain link gates surrounding the office.

Bullet is there, whipping out the front door. I push Lark into his arms, keeping my body behind her to shield her until she’s being wheeled into safety. I don’t turn around until the metal door slams just in front of me.

That bike either means Gunner caught up with us, or it’s someone else from the club. I’m not leaving him out there to die.

I whip out my H&K as black clad bodies spill from the car. All four doors are open, used as shields. Gunner is there, still straddling his bike. He’s got his hands curled around his own pistol, but these men have rifles. He stands zero chance of coming out of this alive.

I don’t know he got separated from us, but the way he’s risking his life right now to see us in safe—and his distraction isprobably the only reason we made it—I know it has to have been something that wasn’t his choice. Some kind of problem with his bike and I was the stupid one who didn’t notice him drop behind.

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