Page 121 of The Heart We Guard
The truck brakes suddenly, and a man jumps out of the passenger seat.
An angry ball of fear knots in my stomach when I realize it’s Gauge. He’s not wearing his cut, but I recognize his face from the photograph Butcher showed me the previous evening. Worse, I see my brother’s necklace hanging around his neck. The leather is more weathered than the last time I saw it, and for a second, I’m distracted.
“You’ve caused me enough trouble, Greer,” he says. “Just like your fucking brother.”
He wraps his arm around my waist and drags me to the truck before I can even begin to process what’s happening to me.
“No,” I shout, but it’s not loud enough. Not angry enough. “No!” I yell. “Help! Please!”
“Shut up, bitch,” he says against my ear. “Shut up or I’ll kill you.”
But his threat means something altogether different. If I go with him, I’m dead anyway. What have I got to lose, beyond shortening the timeline?
My lungs burn like they’re filled with shards of broken glass. Every breath comes out on a ragged, painful sob.
But I fight. I’ve long since dropped the lingerie bag. It lies in a puddle on the sidewalk. I toss my head back and catch him in the nose.
“Fuck,” he shouts, and, on automatic reflex, moves one of his hands to his face.
A pair of elderly women down the street grapple with their phones. I’m hopeful they’re calling for help. But I know I don’t have time to get back to Butcher’s truck.
The driver pushes the rear door open before Gauge drags me to it and tries to shove me in it. His hands dig in to my skin as the strong scent of body odor hits me.
But amidst the terror, a fury rises inside me.
“Put me down,” I scream, and manage to get my feet up, to shove hard against the doorframe of the truck, sending us both stumbling backwards.
Gauge loses his balance and topples over, taking me with him. For the baby’s sake, I’m grateful he’s there to break the worst of my fall. Because it’s jarring when my hip hits the ground.
My knees shake as I stumble to my feet, the bitter tang of fear coating my mouth. My knees and hands are wet from the water on the sidewalk. Running feels like my safest choice. If I go into a store, they may kill bystanders. And the one thing worse than dying, is someone else dying in my place.
I run to the other side of the street, just as Ember steps out of the side street by the bar. She smiles when she sees me but quickly realizes what is happening when the crack of a gun being fired is followed by the sound of a bullet whooshing past her.
“Truck, Ember. Now.”
“Quick,” Ember yells. “This way.”
By the time I catch up to her, she’s already started the truck and pulled it to the middle of the road. She also has her phone to her ear.
“Come on, Atom, pick up,” she mutters when I climb inside. Tires shriek as she floors it, gravel spitting out from beneath the truck when it fishtails onto the main road. “What the hell happened?”
“He tried to take me,” I gasp, staring through the rear windshield. “Gauge. The Rebels’ enforcer. Big guy. Black hoodie.”
She swears violently and punches the accelerator. “Try Dad, I’ll keep trying Atom. I’ll leave a message… one second… Babe, it’s me. Greer and I are in trouble. Headed toward the club in my truck, but we’re being chased. She says it’s Gauge with the Rebels. Dad will know. I love you.”
As the speedometer climbs, I realize I’m not wearing my seatbelt. I can’t remember the last time I ever rode without one, but in the panic and juggling phones, I forgot. With shaking hands, I grab it and put it around my middle.
“I’ll keep calling,” Ember says. “Just in case he doesn’t see the message.”
“I think they’re in church,” I say, even as I dial Butcher’s number. “Butcher had some things he needed to discuss with them.”
“Fuck. They’re not allowed phones in church. Keep trying Dad’s phone while I drive. Open the glove box. There’s a gun in there. Grab it.”
I dial, and as the phone rings, I twist in my seat to watch the dark truck attempt a U-turn. While the street is quiet, it’s not completely empty, and I can only hope that there has been enough commotion forsomeoneto alert the police.
“Quinn,” Ember says suddenly, tossing her phone to me. “Call Quinn, too, and see if she’s home. Smoke’s place is close to the clubhouse. If she’s there, she can ride over and tell them we’re headed that way.”
I do as she asks.
