Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
“Hard to tell,” I say easily, though my gut’s knotting up real tight. “Could be they fell asleep with their heads on crooked.”
That flat stare doesn’t flicker. “Only one fighter walks out of the Cage. Those are the rules.”
I push in closer to the fence. “That’s fucking bullshit. It’s also against the rules to put in anyone who doesn’t pass your drug tests. This was a demonstration. The bastards were taught their lesson. We’re done.”
Victor’s jaw clenches. Everyone on the benches is absolutely quiet. But not the same silence as when Tusk killed Draft. Instead it’s a stunned, intense quiet—as if they can’t believe what they’re hearing, either. As if they figured the same as we did: two teams enter, one team leaves.
The bastard looks to the clock. “You’ve got eleven minutes, gentlemen.”
Fuck no. Oh fuck no.
“Bullshit!” With a roar, Handlebar lurches up halfway out of his seat, his chains clattering as he fights against them. “Fucking bullshit! They killed the fuckers, they got their win, so unlock the fucking door!”
Other fighters are joining in the cries of Bullshit! and Unlock the door!—except for Tusk, whose laugh booms out and doesn’t stop. The whole warehouse is suddenly filled with noise.
But it’s nothing. All of it’s gone. There’s only Crash, turning to meet my gaze. His right eye’s reddened and watering, the pupil blown, and isn’t focusing in on me like the left eye is. But the message in them is clear.
Hoarsely I tell him, “Don’t you say it.”
“I’m already—”
“Fuck your already-a-dead-man shit.” We’re all dead men, sooner or later. My time was already pushed out to ‘later’ thanks to Crash. “You remember Goat Ridge? Because I do. You saved my ass. It’s my turn to save you.”
He goes right for my jugular. Not with his fists or feet. With one statement. “They’ll kill Anna.”
Ah Christ. Ah fuck. The image of her bleeding flashes in front of my eyes. But I shake my head. “Gunner won’t let them near her.”
He’s crazy in love with her. Has been for years. He’d die before letting them hurt her again.
“You’d bet her life on that?” Face hard, Crash leans in and his next words stab a knife into my gut, releasing the poisonous rot. “They got past him once. They got past your whole fucking club.”
The sour poison boils up my throat. Jaw clamped shut, I stare at him. My brother. My friend. I won’t do this.
Except I will. We both know I will. Because Crash tossed Anna into the Cage with us.
“You goddamn fucking asshole.” It’s thick and raw, as if my throat’s bleeding.
“You know it’s right,” he says simply, then faces the fence.
Faces his ride partner, who’s still yelling at Victor to unlock the door. My chest becomes a black hole as Handlebar must see in Crash’s eyes what I saw. Every goddamn thing inside me feels as if it’s collapsing in on itself when Handlebar’s voice tears apart like steel through a shredder.
“Don’t you fucking do this,” Handlebar grates out. “Don’t you fucking do this. You fight. You can beat that bastard.”
I’m the bastard now. And he’s right. Only a bastard would let a friend sacrifice himself instead of throwing in with him and going down together. Only a disloyal piece of shit who deserves to be in that pile of corpses—and who doesn’t deserve to be called brother.
But they got to my sister once. And I want to believe that the Hellfire Riders are protecting her now. But for all I know, the Iron Blood never let her go after making the video. They might have her locked up in a stall somewhere, ready to kill her if I refuse to fight—or if I lose a fight.
Jesus, I can’t breathe. Crash is trying to say his goodbyes, but Handlebar’s in denial, telling him to shut the fuck up, to kick my ass, to fight. On her bench, Cherry looks from Crash to me, tears silently spilling from her emerald eyes, fingers laced tightly together in front of her trembling lips.
Suddenly I want those fingers touching me, because all I see is the memory of how she held Crash’s hand through Handlebar’s fight. As if she could make him feel better.
But her touching me couldn’t make any of this better. It couldn’t make what I’m about to do feel right, like Crash said it was.
Nothing will ever be right again.
And I can’t look at her now. Seeing her cry rips the hole in my chest open wider. I don’t even fucking know why. She’s nothing to me. Just some sweet girl I kissed in a bar. And that girl was a lie.
“Ready?” Crash says from behind me.
Never. A cluster of razors lodge in my throat when I face him. He looks resolved—and calm. Though his eyes close when Handlebar’s next hoarse words reach him.