Page 6 of Vandal Unbound

Of course it fucking is.

How the hell am I supposed to keep that straight in my whiskey-addled state?

“Are you coming?” she asks, and the hope in her voice is like an adrenaline shot to the heart.

“Yeah, Elsie. I’m on my way.”

I grab my keys and head to the rear door of the building. The fewer people I see, the better this will be. Although, using the wordseetakes on a whole new meaning when the input from one of your eyes is utterly fucked.

“Where are you heading off to?”

I recognize Havoc’s voice before I turn. Our rooms are opposite, and he’s wearing just his jeans, smoking a cigarette, as he shoves the door open and Steffi dips beneath his arm, clutching half her clothes to her chest.

“That was fun, Havoc,” she mutters, but he simply nods once, his eyes on me.

“I gotta go,” I say, thinking about the guy banging on Elsie’s door. That little kid was scared, and I sure as fuck know what that feels like.

Havoc’s face lights up. He knows this is a big step for me. “I’ll come with you. Give me two seconds to grab a shirt.”

He doesn’t remind me I’m not supposed to be driving, but I don’t have time to wait. Not even for my best friend. “I can’t wait. Catch you later.”

It’s a mistake to turn down his help when I don’t know what I’m walking into. But if I fail, if I get there and I can’t bring myself to engage, if I find I can’t ride anymore, I don’t want my best friend to witness it.

Reaper took me to a guy he knows, got me into the hospital system where we told everyone it was a bike accident, that I wasn’t wearing a helmet.

No one believed me. My injuries were too severe, and it’s hard to hide the burns of a cattle prod, but they took one look at the leather cut and didn’t ask any more questions. Especially when Mom arrived and took over advocating for me.

Only the surgeon who put my skull back together asked if I was having dreams in the days after the attack.

I told him no. What would it do to the Iron Outlaws’ reputation if it ever got out that any of their men were scared?

So I kept it to myself. And when Mom begged me to come stay with her while I recovered, I refused.

My walk turns into a jog, and before I know it, I’m racing down the stairs like Alvarez is on my fucking heels.

“Fuck,” I mutter. My truck is blocked in given I haven’t driven it since before that night. So I can’t get my truck out, but my bike…

It’s right there. By the garage where it’s sat since Knox told me it was repaired and encouraged me to get back on it. At first I had good excuses. Ribs that were thankfully only finely cracked and bruised were the biggest. But even those don’t hurt as much today.

Someone has placed a new helmet on the seat, Havoc or Knox would be my bet, making sure I have everything I need for the first time I sit on it.

I stop walking but then remember I’ve known Havoc since we were both six years of age. Thirty years of brotherhood. If I know him, he’s pulling on a shirt and will be right behind me.

I make the split-second decision to pull on the helmet, get on my bike, and ride. Which means my body is steering me out of the parking lot on muscle memory, long before my mind has caught up with the decision.

I blow out a breath as I try to orientate myself. I can’t get comfortable on the seat, and there’s still the itch beneath my skin. My ribs burn, and unused muscles pull as I try to keep my center of gravity in the correct place.

When I take a turn in the direction of their apartment building, a car pulls out of a parking lot and pulls into the road behind me. My heartbeat is so loud, I hear it, a whooshing sound echoing through my helmet.

The headlights reflect in my mirrors.

Are they coming closer? I can’t tell.

No one has been attacked by Alvarez sinceIwas. He’s been quiet since the club bested him. But that doesn’t mean the peace is permanent.

Constant thoughts of hypervigilance flood my skull. Who’s around me? Who could be following me?

The lines on the road are a blur.