Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
One second, everything was normal. The next, a roar of an engine cut across the air, too fast, too reckless, too damn wrong. A pickup barreled from the right side, blasting through the red light like it never existed.
Time slowed.
I saw Tiny and Lyric in front of me, his head snapping toward the danger, his arm instinctively coming up as though he could shield her with nothing but his body. Her scream tore through the air, high and sharp, before the impact silenced it.
The truck plowed straight into them, steel on steel, flesh and bone caught in the middle. Tiny’s bike lifted, crumpled, and spun out like a toy in a kid’s tantrum. Lyric flew—no, fuck—she thrown like a rag doll. Her body twisting before it hit the asphalt with a sickening thud. Tiny’s body followed, skidding across pavement, cut and mangled by the unforgiving road beneath us.
“FUCK!” I roared, heart in my throat. I yanked the handlebars, jerking the bike hard left, instinct telling me if I didn’t, me and Melody were next to barrel into the truck. My Harley shook and the back tire got swirly under the sudden maneuver, tires squealing, and I knew I didn’t have control.
“Hold on!” I barked back at Melody, though there wasn’t time. I laid the bike down, steel screaming as it ground against asphalt. The force ripped us sideways, slamming my leg, my shoulder, the side of my skull against the pavement. Pain shot fire through my nerves, but adrenaline kept me moving. Melody hit the ground beside me, rolling once before she came to a stop, her helmet skidding sparks across the concrete.
Everything was chaos.
Engines braking hard behind us, brothers yelling, the screech of rubber, the wail of someone’s horn in the distance.
I scrambled up, body aching, helmet hanging loose by its strap. Melody was next to me, groaning, trying to push herself onto her hands. My gut twisted at the sight of blood smeared along her arm.
“You good, baby?” I rasped, voice hoarse. My hands were already on her, checking her over, running along her limbs like I could will her whole.
She nodded, dazed, tears clinging to her lashes. “I-I think so.”
Relief damn near buckled me, but it was short-lived. My head snapped up.
Tiny. Lyric.
I stumbled forward, ripping my helmet off and tossing it aside. Tiny lay crumpled on his side, his bike a mangled wreck a few feet away. He wasn’t moving. His chest heaved shallow, ragged breaths, blood seeping from a cut above his temple.
Lyric… fuck. She was worse. Her small frame twisted wrong, one leg bent at an angle nobody should be in. Her skin looked pale even against the blacktop, lips tinged with blue. She gasped like a fish out of water, hand weakly pawing at her stomach where blood soaked through her shirt.
“No, no, no—” Melody dropped beside her, my voice breaking. “Lyric, stay with me. You hear me? Don’t you close your eyes. Stay with me.”
Her gaze rolled toward her, unfocused, glassy. She tried to speak but coughed, blood bubbling at her lips.
“Call nine-one-one!” I barked.
Brothers had already scattered—phones out, traffic blocked, curses flying. Somebody shouted they had EMS en-route.
Thank fuck.
I pulled my cut off, then my shirt and pressed it against Lyric’s stomach, putting all my weight into it. She whimpered weakly, tears leaking down her temples. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.
“Stay with me, sweetheart. You’re tougher than this, yeah? Tiny needs you. You’re his whole fuckin’ world. You hold on.”
Behind me, I heard another groan. Tiny shifted, his hand twitching like he was trying to reach her. He couldn’t even lift his head. His breaths came shorter, jagged, wet with something wrong in his chest.
“Fuck!” I snarled, torn between them.
Sirens wailed in the distance, the sweetest, ugliest sound I’d ever heard.
The next half hour blurred. EMS swarmed the scene, pulling Tiny and Lyric onto stretchers, strapping oxygen masks to their faces. Melody and I both got checked—cuts, bruises, road rash. They wanted us to ride in too. I didn’t argue, though every instinct screamed to fight them, to stay by my fallen brother and his girl.
I left Frootloop at the scene to wait for the tow truck to come pick up the mangled pieces of my bike and Tiny’s while the rest of the club followed the ambulances hauling us.
The hospital lights were harsh, sterile. They took Melody and me into a bay, cleaned us up, stitched a shallow cut above my brow. My arm throbbed where the pavement had chewed into it, but I didn’t care. Melody sat on the bed beside me, pale and trembling, her hand clenched in mine.
“They’ll be okay, right?” she whispered. Her eyes were wide, rimmed red from crying.
I wanted to tell her anything but the truth. I wanted to tell her yes, of course, everything would be fine. But I wasn’t a man built for pretty lies. “I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice low.