Jet

by Vivian Gray

  But he did need the man to carry back a message. “Tell him we’ll be at the quarry. I’ll be on my bike. It’ll be the one he helped fix up all those years ago, the fucking asshole. Tell him that I’ll have the girl back, and he won’t have the Choppers, but if it helps him feel like less of a pansy prick, then he can have his race.”

  He nodded to Brass and Brick, who both stepped back and let Elliot go. The man seemed to take a minute to register that he wasn’t being held anymore, and then he ran for it, as fast as he could. His boots skidded on the ground for a minute, he almost went down, and he had to catch himself on his fingertips.

  It was so ridiculously slapstick that Jet couldn’t keep himself from laughing again. And then, once the doors had closed, it all became deadly serious again.

  “What happens next?” Brass asked.

  Jet checked his phone for the time. “We have two hours. Get the racer bikes ready, tuned up, good to go. You, me, and a couple of other guys you choose will head out to the quarry. I want more just outside of the area, ready to head in if needed. I don’t believe for a second that Kane will fight this clean, and I can’t be clear enough. I am getting my girl back. She will not be harmed, or I will rip Kane limb from limb.”

  “Got it.”

  For a moment, Jet considered going back to sleep for an hour. But no, he was awake enough now, and adrenaline would keep him flying until after the race. If he slept now, he’d sleep too hard, and he’d wake up groggy. Keeping going was the right choice. Not the good choice or the comfortable one, but the right one.

  What he did need to do was shower and get dressed in clean clothes. They’d be racing through an old road that traced through the old marble quarry; he and Kane had cut their racing teeth there when they were teenagers. It made sense for that to be the place they settled their old rivalry.

  It would be on bikes that were souped-up, but not the kind of bikes you’d use on a formal track, the kind that you could take parallel to the ground without spilling. But it would be enough that wearing a leather vest that could flap in the wind, for example, would be a bad idea.

  So clean denim. A tightly fitted shirt. A leather jacket that would be fastened up tight because neither road rash nor windburn was fun. And a whole hell of a lot of luck.

  When he was outside of the view of his men, his hands started to shake. Kane was a better racer than him; Jet had only won against him a handful of times. Kane had to remember that; no wonder this was his chosen field. Jet had gotten better at race riding over the years, but better wasn’t the same as good. He had to remember that. Kane had the upper hand here. And that was a problem because it didn’t matter how the race shook out; Jet was leaving the quarry with Bree.

  It didn’t matter how many people had to die to make it happen.

  Chapter Nineteen

  At some point, someone came into the room and dropped some garage station sandwiches, sodas, and chips on the floor in Cat’s old room. Bree briefly considered refusing to eat like some sort of prisoner on strike, but she knew how fast she got sick these days, especially if she let herself get too hungry. And it wasn’t just herself that she was thinking of, after all.

  So she ate, and so did Cat.

  They hadn’t talked much once they’d realized that their situation was pretty futile. Bree was furious at the idea that she was a damsel in distress needing rescuing. She’d worked so hard never to be in that position with anyone, ever. This was crap, and she wanted someone to know it.

  Cat wasn’t baited into her fury, however, and Bree couldn’t exactly blame her. The woman had enough on her mind. At the same time, if they were going to get out of this, they were going to need to get out of it together. And, as much as she hated everything that was happening here, there was no chance of her intentionally leaving Cat behind in this nightmare. She’d do everything possible to get Cat out of here, too, and then she’d figure out what happened next.

  Her head ached. She’d tried to ask someone for Tylenol when they brought sandwiches, but they’d ignored her. Now, she was sleepy. She couldn’t remember if a person with a concussion was supposed to sleep or not sleep, and there wasn’t really any way to check. If she could, she wasn’t sure she’d really be able to take in the information. Which was really just a cruel trick.

  She’d finally decided to lay back down on the bed and try to sleep some more when there was a series of loud noises from downstairs. The thump of a slamming door, then loud voices, then the sound of things being thrown. Glass shattering.

  Cat curled up even tighter, and Bree spared just a moment to wonder what the past few months had been like for her. Cat was usually the one throwing things and breaking them. She was so clearly afraid. Bree wished there was a way to offer her friend some comfort.

  But there was something more important to do. She heard the heavy footsteps away from the bedroom door as whoever was watching the door went to check out what was happening. She went to the door and cracked it open, ready to leap back if someone noticed. But no; there wasn’t anyone outside the door.

  She snapped her fingers until Cat looked up at her, then gestured for Cat to come closer. It took a moment for her friend to react, and then Cat collected herself enough to stand and creep closer. Bree took Cat’s hand – she wasn’t sure the girl would be able to keep moving under her own power – and slipped into the hallway.

  Cat’s room was on the second floor. There was a bathroom down the hall to the left. She and Cat had each been able to visit it a few times, which was great – since Bree’s bladder was roughly the size of a pea these days. Down the hall to the right, however, was Cat’s parents’ room. If Bree remembered properly, she and Cat had once spent a very, very drunk night on the balcony off that room, drinking scotch and being stoned. She was pretty sure there’d be a way down from the balcony. Cat’s parents were hyper worried about everything; there was no way they wouldn’t have some kind of fire ladder.

  Tugging Cat along behind her, Bree snuck down the hallway. She could hear shouting downstairs, but she couldn’t easily make out the words. It didn’t matter, not really; if she could get them out, then nothing downstairs would matter at all.

  The house was on the rural edge of the suburbs, Bree remembered. A big plot of land, enough that a few people coming and going weren’t going to be noticeable. But two girls climbing down off the house, that might get some attention. And, frankly, it might be the kind of attention that helped them stay safer.

  There wasn’t anyone in the hallway all the way to the master bedroom. Bree opened the door as carefully as she could,

  When the arm came around her shoulders and picked her up again, she was so shocked she didn’t have the air to scream. Her hand was yanked free from Cat’s – conveniently, Cat was willing to take care of the screaming for both of them.

  It was the same bastard who had picked her up and then hit her the night before; she recognized his thick, heavy grip. She couldn’t make herself fight again, not while her head was still throbbing with pain. Being upright and not falling over had taken more strength and attention than she’d thought it would.

  “Sneaky little bitch,” the man said. His voice was higher pitched than she’d expected, somehow, for such a big guy who seemed to be built like a tree trunk.

  “Bring her down here,” she heard from the stairs.

  Kane. Fuck.

  “And the other one?” the guy called out.

  Bree could almost hear Kane laughing. “My little kitty cat knows better than to run away, doesn’t she?”

  There was that same sag to Cat’s shoulders. As furious as she’d been with Cat over the last few months, seeing that change, seeing Cat’s fire put out so entirely, was absolutely terrifying.

  “Downstairs,” the burly guy said.

  “Put me down,” Bree said, and the guy just laughed. He carried her as far as the stairs just like that, her body aching from the extra weight suspended from her spine, and then set her down so hard she lost her balance. Wh
ich put her right into Kane’s arms.

  She wanted to push back, hard, but she didn’t dare to do it. Overbalancing on the stairs and falling wouldn’t be good for her, or the baby, or anything else.

  “Don’t make me force you downstairs,” Kane said. He wore a smile, but there wasn’t anything friendly or kind about the expression. “I’ll do it, and you won’t like it, and neither will your little bundle of joy in production.”

  She winced. As soon as he stepped away from her, her arms wound around her belly, always protective. “I won’t make you force me,” she said, keeping her voice as level as possible. “Downstairs?”

  He stepped to the side, leaving her just enough room to squeeze past him. She made herself go. She didn’t allow herself to shrink to the sides, but she did take the next few steps just a little faster than were strictly necessary.

  When she hit the ground floor, she saw that she had a clear shot to the door. Running would be easy.

  And potentially fatal.

  She turned and looked at Kane to see what he wanted next. Cat was walking down the stairs in front of him, his hand on her neck. She looked so cowed; it made Bree ache all over again.

  “We’re going to the old quarry in about fifteen minutes,” Kane said, with no lead-up. “We’re going to watch your man try to fight for your honor. And when he fails, he’s going to give me everything he owns, including you. Good plan? I thought so.”

  Bree half expected him to let go with a full-on evil villain laugh. He seemed the type of person who might enjoy a good cackle now and then. It twisted her stomach up to think of it. “There’s the part where Jet fails; I feel like that’s a sticking point that you haven’t really thought through.”

  Kane scoffed. “In twenty years, he hasn’t managed to beat me on the racetracks even once. He isn’t going to change that today.”

  He wasn’t fighting for me and his baby for those past twenty years, Bree thought to herself, but saying it out loud seemed like a foolish move. Best case scenario, Kane would laugh at her and tell her to shut her mouth. He might end up slapping her or worse. She didn’t remember a super huge amount about concussions, but she did remember reading that it wasn’t a single concussion that was usually a huge issue; it was repeated blows to the head, like boxers or football players got, that started to cause real damage. That was why the most important treatment for a concussion was rest; so you could avoid hitting your head a second time.

  Bree kept her mouth shut.

  Kane’s grin got wider. “I like the way you talk,” he said. He grabbed her arm, twisting it just enough that she didn’t have enough leverage to go anywhere or do anything. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter Twenty

  The quarry was the same as it always was. Jet fought off a wave of uncomfortable memories as he looked around. He and Kane had spent so much time here when they were teenagers. This was, in many ways, the place where their friendship had been forged. It was somehow appropriate that this was the place where it would end. One way or another, he didn’t think it was likely that both of them were going to walk out of this quarry alive.

  Several of the Choppers, including Brass, were there with him; others were just outside the area of the quarry, ready to charge in if things got wild. Before they’d left the clubhouse, Jet had taken a few quick spins around the lot on the racing bike. His skills were rusty, but he was sure he was competent enough to handle this. He hoped he was, anyway, because there was too much on the line for him to lose this.

  Not that he was naive enough to think that the race would be the end of it. If he won, he knew without a doubt that Kane would draw down on him. And if Jet lost... No, he wasn’t leaving the quarry without his girl.

  It was a dishonorable plan, and he disliked that, but not enough to consider doing anything else. Bree and his unborn child were at risk. He’d take care of what was his. He always had, and that wasn’t going to change.

  It would be rough for Brass – for Jet to pull something like this and then immediately step aside. It would look shady as fuck, and give him an uphill road with the other organizations in the area. He’d put it to Brass, just as blunt as that, and his old friend had shrugged.

  “There are more important things to worry about,” he said. “Let’s go get your woman.”

  He didn’t deserve the friends he’d made over the last few years of his life.

  There was a certain sense of tension as they waited, but when the sound of another group of motorcycles came up the old quarry road, the sensation became electric. Jet stood a little apart from his men, leaning on the bike and crossing his arms, doing his best to project that he had all day.

  Three motorcycles were riding in a column, and then an SUV behind. They pulled in slow, not spinning tires or kicking up rooster plumes, just doing their work.

  That wasn’t a good sign, really. Jet had it in his head that he was fighting a man who was desperate, who was looking at losing things he’d spent a long time building. If that wasn’t the case, if Kane was calm and collected, this was going to be an awful lot harder than if he was falling apart.

  Still, no matter how it felt like his interior world was tensing up, it was very important that his exterior world remained calm. Jet didn’t move a muscle. Not even when the SUV pulled in at an angle and the rear doors opened. His heart jumped in his chest when Bree was brought out, and he had to push hard to keep all those feelings tight in their box. His heart screamed that the woman he loved was right there, right in front of him, and he could reach out and hold her. But to do that now would put her in more danger than he could afford.

  He caught her eye as Kane took her arm and shoved her to a spot across from Jet. He kept his face smooth but hoped she’d see the misery in his eyes. The way that every hour without her had left him desperate to have her back with him again. He saw tracks of tears on her cheeks, and he knew then that there was no way Kane was leaving the quarry alive. It didn’t matter what he had done; it had been enough.

  “Glad you could make it,” Kane said, breaking the silence.

  Jet ignored him. With Kane having spoken first, he had just a little more leeway. “You good?” he called to Bree. His beautiful girl, she gave him a sharp nod before glaring at Kane so hard that the man jostled her, yanking her arm up and making her cry out.

  The urge to threaten Kane was intense, but the man had to know. He had to be just as intent on murdering Jet as Jet was him. The two of them had crossed paths for a lot of years; this was enough. They were done now. The world wasn’t big enough for both of them, etc., etc.

  Behind Kane, another one of his mooks hauled another girl around. It took Jet a minute to realize that the girl was Cat, Bree’s friend back when all of this had begun. The girl had gone from skinny to scrawny, and her eyes were wild, terrified of what was around her. His heart squeezed, just a little. He didn’t know what role Cat had played in Bree’s abduction, but as strung out as she looked, he didn’t think she’d likely been willing to do it.

  If he could get her out of this too, he would. Bree could either slap her senseless for what had happened or let her get out of town. Or, if she really wanted to, try and repair the friendship. It would be hers. But no one deserved to look like that, cowed at the hands of another person. Kill someone clean if you had to, but terrorizing anyone was the work of a weak son of a bitch.

  Kane called back, “I said something to you,” and his voice sounded like he was trying to pack some sort of warning into the sound.

  Jet didn’t scoff, not exactly. “We going to small talk or we going to race?”

  Kane’s mouth spread into a wild grin. Yes. There was the fear, and adrenaline, Jet was looking for. Good. “Race, you son of a bitch. Race so you can give me everything you have.”

  Jet held back the insults he wanted to hurl and let all that anger and nerves turn into the most vicious grin he’d ever worn. “Then let’s go.”

  Kane’s racing bike was brought around, and both sides made a big show out
of checking out their bikes and making sure everything was in working order. Then they crossed teams and looked to make sure that nothing illegal had been installed on the other side. The men shook hands and stepped back. Kane and Jet mounted up.

  As the throttles roared, Jet reached back for that same, peaceful calm that he’d used every time he needed to head into dark, tight situations. Where he was all reactions and the nerves were irrelevant.

  He dropped his bike into gear at the mark and tore out. Kane took an early lead, which was fine. He was going too fast for the first corner. He always had; he’d never been convinced that the first turn was as sharp as it was, and he’d always pushed to the outer edge of the road to make it. Jet hadn’t ever known how to take advantage of that when they were younger; now he knew to go just a little bit slower, hug the inside corner, and come out ahead.