Without Forever (Babylon MC Book 5) by Victoria L. James & L.J. Stock

Author:Victoria L. James & L.J. Stock [James, Victoria L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Victoria L. James & L.J. Stock
Published: 2019-06-17T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

AYDA

Sending the SOS out through the phone-finding app was a risky one. Slater had walked me through it a dozen times. After the last couple of confrontations with our enemies, and after having been isolated, it had been a good call. Now, I hoped this worked as quickly as Slater had said it would because I knew they were up to their eyeballs in shit, too—a whole other kind than we were experiencing.

I stayed quiet as Drew drove, hating that we couldn’t talk, that everything we said and did was being scrutinized.

My eyes moved between Drew and the mirror that reflected Walsh’s face. The mayor had his hand pressed against his bullet wound, his face creased in pain, but it was hard to avoid the smug smile that curved the corner of his mouth when he dropped his head back on the leather and stared up at the roof of his car. I was sure he knew what was about to go down.

My heart was flip-flopping between fear and impotent rage. I felt so helpless.

Like Chester Cortez, Travis Gatlin had a mean streak as wide as Texas. Unlike Chester, Trigger was, in all actuality, batshit insane in the most clinical sense of the word. The memory of him shooting his half-brother Jacob, without so much as a blink of an eye made my stomach roll. Travis was volatile, feral, and hungry for something he couldn’t see. He was searching for that high that would sustain him. He had nothing to lose, no conscience to speak of, and was a vindictive son of a bitch to boot.

We turned onto FM fifty-five and saw four Nav bikes and riders sitting on either side of the road, on the shoulders, like sentries, just as Travis had promised.

Four.

“If I remember rightly, you guys never travel anywhere in big numbers because you prefer to slip into the background and shoot people in the back of the head rather than fight them up front.” Those were Drew’s words spoken to Travis on that fateful night at Rusty’s, and I remembered them then. Four, we could probably handle.

I glanced at Drew, noted the rigid line of his jaw, and hoped to God he had a plan.

“Our escort,” Walsh started and broke off to drag in an exaggerated panting breath that ended in a sardonic laugh.

Drew’s face was still, his eyes drifting to each rider and their bikes. Ever the tactician, he was fascinating to watch. I just had to wonder how many more times we were going to have to see each other this way, on the frontline, about to go to war.

“This is too rehearsed,” Drew muttered in a barely-there whisper, his attention jumping from Nav to Nav. “It’s been planned for a while. All of it.”

“You should have been dead a long time ago,” Walsh croaked through his pain.

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Drew sighed.

Once the Navs spotted us, the lead rider, who was sitting atop of a Chopper, turned his bike around, and the others stayed in place until Drew had driven through the middle of them.

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