Page 27 of Bullet

“Where are you going?” he says.

I give him a puzzled look, “With you.”

“The hell you are! You don’t know what you could be getting into, you need to stay at the clubhouse,” he growls back.

“The hell I am!” I retort. “That’s my sister in danger, I have to be there.”

For a moment it looks like he’s about to start arguing, but then he shrugs. “Okay, but keep back, let us take the lead.”

I guess that’s sensible. I nod and roll up my window, then once they’ve all pulled out of the compound I follow at what I hope is a safe distance.

I say to Willa, “There’s a biker bar on the outskirts of town. I guess we’re going to drive past it, and some other men will join the ride, but there are six already.”

“With guns?”

“Christ. I don’t know. I hope not.”

“We’ll just get to see some good old-fashioned beatings, then. Good. I hope whoever is back there in that car catches one. Maybe that would send a message to that judge.”

“That judge?”

“He’s the one who sent them, isn’t he?”

That thought never crossed my mind. “I-I don’t think so. He doesn’t have to. I’ve already been fired and probably blacklisted from ever getting another job. He doesn’t have to risk himself by doing something like this. It’s the club’s lawyer. Bullet thinks he’s responsible for burning down his gun range here in Hart.”

“What?” Willa screeches. “What the fuck?”

“I didn’t know about it until right before you called me. I had no idea how deep into this I was going to get us.”

“I’m sorry. I never would have asked you to take that job if I knew it was going to lead to this.”

It scares me, hearing the tears in Willa’s voice. She’s sensitive, but she hides it well behind layers of confidence and bravado. She’s outgoing, but some of her tough cheerfulness is a shield against getting hurt again. She was so young when our mom died. No matter how safe I kept her or how well I looked after her, having your parent murdered does something to your brain.

“You’re all fight when it comes down to it. You’re never flight.”

“You’ve told me a million times that’s a bad thing.” At least she laughs.

“I know I have, but not this time.”

Hart is what anyone would probably call a sleepy little city. It’s one of those storybook places where everyone has a nicely manicured yard, and every house, from large to small, is well kept.

We pass street after street, roll through an industrial area—and even that is fairly pretty at night, all lit up—and finally make our way to the edge of town. I do recognize the sprawling diner from when I drove in. It’s fairly non-descript, a family looking place from the outside, with huge red letters, all of them lit up except for the R, mounted to the roof that give it an old-fashioned feel. We don’t stop, but several minutes after we pass by, the road fairly shakes beneath me, the low roar pulsing through the car, from the tires up into the metal like an earthquake happening deep underground, sending up shockwaves.

I drop back, allowing them to pass me on the dark stretch of road to join up with the other men.

“I don’t know how many more just joined,” I tell Willa. “I think I see eight, but there might be more coming.”

“Oh my god! Are they going to grab these guys and torture them for information?”

“We both know that would be inadmissible in court.”

“Not in the court of life,” she snorts.

It makes my hands a little less white knuckle on the wheel to hear the snark come back into her tone.

“Oh my god! They’re dropping off!” Willa’s scream rattles through the speakers, distorting both because I have the volume cranked and because she’s just that loud.

“What do you mean?”

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