“Blaze, that’s not a metaphor. Fuck, that isn’t even the same realm as a metaphor. Do you even know what a metaphor is?” Crash says.
“I might only have one good arm right now, but that won’t stop me from beating your ass if you don’t shut up, Crash,” Blaze snaps. Then he calms, and he smiles at me in a way he hasn’t since we fought. Even in this mess, surrounded by all this violence, it makes my heart bloom. “Tiffany, I am so sorry for doubting you. I should’ve listened to you earlier.”
“Blaze, it’s OK. We both should’ve listened to each other. And I should’ve taken into account how you felt and stopped trying to force you to do things my way.”
He chuckles. “Well, look what doing things my way has gotten me. How long have I been out?”
I shrug. “Not long.”
He looks at Stitch, who is still focused on Blaze’s wound. “Stitch, give me something for the pain and a little something extra as a pick-me-up. I’ve got work to do.”
“You are in no condition, Blaze,” Stitch says.
“My mom’s in danger. I don’t care what you have to do — inject me, give me pills, whatever — just get me fucking mobile. And you two — Crash, Razor — search the damn SUV. There’s some important shit in there we need to keep so we can get my mom out of this mess. There should be a laptop and a file folder. Find it.”
“What the fuck are you planning, Blaze?” Crash says.
“You know you can’t ride in your condition,” Stitch says.
I glare at Stitch. It’s time for me to take my man’s side whole heartedly. “You heard him. He knows his limits. Get him something for his pain.”
Stitch looks at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. And like he’s about to give me a fight for daring to speak out of turn.
But before he can say anything, Blaze sits up and grabs Stitch by the arm.
“I know I can’t ride, brother. But that sure as hell ain’t going to stop me from getting my mom back. I know where she is. And Tiffany is going to drive me there in my mom’s Volvo.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Blaze
My body’s on fire — an inferno of chemicals and rage courses through my blood as we scream down the road in my mom’s Volvo, half the club at our backs, the other half on their way to Anna’s father’s house, every single one of us with death on our minds and murder in our hearts; we will kill every single one of these sons of bitches and show the rest of the world what happens when you mess with family. Money, status, none of it will protect you if you cross that line.
Tiffany’s driving, her knuckles dead white from gripping the wheel so tight. From the second I asked her to drive and had Razor and Crash help my wounded ass into the front seat, she hasn’t said a word except ‘OK’. She knows this is serious, she knows the lives that hang in the balance and, though she doesn’t agree with it, she’s still here.
It’s just the two of us in this car — Crash and Razor are riding bitch with Sarge and Stone two bike-lengths behind us — and the unfinished business between us.
If I’m going to die in the next twenty minutes, I don’t want to go without saying my piece.
“We need to talk,” I say.
She looks over, disbelief and worry all over her pretty features.
“We do? You don’t think maybe we should do this later? Like, when I’m not covered in your blood and you’re five minutes removed from having your shoulder stitched up?”
“I don’t want to go into this without sorting this out. When I worked on the fire crews, we never held back. Because you need to trust the people you’re risking your life with.”
When she doesn’t answer, I reach over with my good arm and put a hand on her leg. It tenses beneath my touch.
“Tiffany, come on.”
Her knuckles pop from holding the wheel so tight. Then she turns, and the worry that was all over her face disappears, replaced by anger and fury.
“What do you want me to say, Blaze? That I forgive you? That I want you to forgive me for disagreeing with you? I am so far beyond knowing what I think. Just days ago, my primary concern was if I would have enough time to do some audits I was putting off because I was too busy trying to make my sales numbers. That’s it. My biggest worry was if I was going to have enough time to do math. Now my biggest worry is if I’m going to see you die and if the same people that kill you will kill me, too.”
I squeeze her leg. It’s shaking. “You’re not going to die. I will not let any of that happen to you.”
“Are you so sure? Because I seem to recall a point a few minutes ago where you were shot.”
“I’ve dealt with worse. Trust me, I will not let any of that happen to you. You’re going to be safe and back to worrying about spreadsheets in no time.”
“It’s not just me, Blaze. I worry about you. I don’t want to see you get hurt because I love you.”
That hits me like a punch in the gut.
“You love me?”
“I don’t know when it came over me; everything is such a blur of terrifying and exciting moments that I don’t think I could ever sit down and analyze when I started to feel this way, but it’s the only answer that makes sense. When your mom called the cops on you, all I could think about was getting to you in
