Page 13 of The Good Girl

I pull through the gates and into the warehouse, parking and turning off my bike, surprised to see a few brothers gathered around.

“What’s going on?”

Midas turns to look at me. “Check out Circus’s new artwork.”

I climb off my bike and walk over, letting out an impressed whistle. The gas tank has a dark, gothic-looking big top painted on it in grays and purples with blood spattered across it. Standing right in front of the entrance is a little girl holding a raggedy-looking stuffed bear. But she’s clearly not just any girl, she’s a zombie, judging by the dead eyes and the blood staining her lips.

“That’s creepy as fuck. Who—” My cell phone rings, cutting me off. I pull it out of my pocket, glancing at the screen, and answer it when I see it’s G.

“G?”

“Havoc!”

“Who is this?” I frown at the woman’s voice.

“It’s Amity. I need help.”

“What happened?” I ask, heading back to my bike, a sense of dread washing over men

“A truck hit us. We both got thrown off G’s bike, but G wasn’t wearing his helmet, Havoc. And now he’s bleeding and won’t wake up,” she says in a rush, fear clear in her words.

“Where are you?” I ask loud enough to grab the guys’ attention. They all turn to look at me, and I lift my free hand, making a circular motion in the air, signaling for them to round up the others and get ready to ride.

“I don’t know. We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere,” she curses.

“Where were you heading? What did you pass? Think, Amity. I’m on my way, but I need an idea of the direction.” I hear her take a breath as I climb on my bike.

“We came from the movie set. We were heading to the Harley shop to get a new helmet. He made me wear his, Havoc. He’s hurt because he’s so fucking stubborn,” she sobs.

“If you had been hurt instead of him, it would’ve been worse. Trust me. He knew the risks, and he’d do it again, even knowing what would happen. I don’t know you, but I don’t need to. The way he looks at you says it all. I doubt there’s much he wouldn’t do for you, and that means risking his life to keep you safe.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

I pull the phone away slightly and cover the microphone. “It’s Amity. She and G were hit by a truck. She doesn’t know where they are, but they were on their way to the Harley shop,” I tell the men around me. “Probe, go get the truck—we’ll need it to bring them and G’s bike back.”

“You got it.” Probe jumps off his bike and runs over to the truck.

“How bad is it?” Hannibal asks, and I remember that he used to be an EMT or something.

“Not sure. G’s unconscious. He wasn’t wearing a helmet,” I tell him, putting the phone back up to my ear as he curses.

“We’re on our way. I have a rough idea where you are, but I want you to stay on the line with me, okay? I have Bluetooth in my helmet, so you can just keep talking, and I’ll keep riding until I find you,” I tell her as I switch to Bluetooth, pulling on my helmet, and firing up my bike.

“Okay, Havoc. Should I have called an ambulance or the police? I didn’t know what to do.”

“Is he breathing?” I ask.

“Yeah, I… I’ve got my fingers on his pulse. It’s strong and steady. I’m scared to let go in case it stops.”

“You’re doing good, Amity, real good,” I reassure her, tearing out of the warehouse and through the gates, which are already open. Probe must’ve told the prospect what was happening. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine,” she replies, but I can hear the pain in her voice.

“Alright, you keep your fingers on his pulse. If anything changes—he stops breathing or the bleeding gets worse—I’ll call an ambulance for you. You just focus on our boy, okay?”

“I can do that,” she says.

I head in the direction I think she is, breaking the speed limit to get to them and not giving a flying fuck.

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