“Oh, lads, we are so fucked,” Mack screams.
“Mack, slam that panel back into place. We can’t leave any evidence. Blaze, you and I will grab the guns. And Snake, you will get the fuck out of my sight, right fucking now, before I shoot your fucking head off for being such an idiot.”
We scramble like our lives depend on it, racing to retrieve our weapons and cover up our stash while the sirens let loose their deafening screams. Guns in hand, heart pounding, I charge out of the auto shop, ready to get on my bike, get back to Violet’s bar for one last drink, and then do whatever I have to do to get the fuck out of Carbon Ridge — and away from Violet Cassidy — as soon as fucking possible.
There’s just one problem.
The second I shut the door to the shop behind me, I’m greeted by the bright flashing lights of half a dozen patrol cars.
Chapter Twenty-One
Violet
It sounds like a new World War is about to start. An unimaginably loud chorus of sirens cuts through the still Carbon Ridge night, echoing off every one of the innumerable mountains around town; it’s loud enough to pull me from my bar, where I’m sitting swimming in my dark thoughts, heartache, and sweet bourbon, to the window, where I look out just in time to see a bunch of sheriff’s vehicles go flying by.
I know where they’re headed. Just as sure as I know that, no matter how quickly Crash acts, he will be arrested. If it were yesterday, that thought would hurt, but now, I can only consider the selfish ramifications of his arrest — that it will be a lot harder for me to rescue Kendra from Switchblade and the rest of the Death’s Disciples without his help.
Crash is nothing more to me than a tool to effect the release of my friend.
A tool that I need.
And a tool that I will have to fuck up my life even more to retrieve.
It just isn’t enough for him to hurt my heart and get my best friend in danger, now he’s got to make me deal with getting him out of jail. What a cold son of a bitch.
But I’m not surprised. Because this really is the only way things could end between us: with me hurt even more and the sheriffs getting involved.
The sheriffs have hardly whizzed by my house before I’ve downed the last of my bourbon and hopped behind the wheel of my truck. There’s only one place I can go to find the help I’ll need to get Crash and his biker brothers out of jail, and he lives all the way on the other side of town. With my pedal to the metal, I fly out of the parking lot of the Timberline Tavern and chug my way down mountain roads until I get to the single-wide that BD Cooper calls home.
I leap out of my truck and fly up the walkway to his front door.
“Bowen Dale,” I shout as I pound my fist on his door. “Bowen Dale, I need your help.”
The door flies open and I’m greeted by one red-cheeked and ornery-looking old man.
“Violet fucking Cassidy, what the hell are you doing banging on my door when I’m in the middle of watching my shows?”
I peek around his shoulder to see the original MacGyver playing on his enormous flat screen television. Wearing an old bathrobe, slippers, and holding a glass of what smells like cognac, Bowen Dale looks to be right in the middle of celebrating some ‘me time.’
“I am so sorry to interrupt. I just have nowhere else to turn and I need your help,” I say. My voice is going about a million miles a minute and my heart is going even faster than that.
He sips his cognac. “Is this about saving your friend Kendra from the Death’s Disciples, or is this about getting your biker friends out of jail?”
“How do you know about that?”
“I play poker with the president of the Death’s Disciples, Roger Deacon, every so often. And he’s part of a WhatsApp message group that I’m in for like-minded people in the Carbon Ridge and Aspen area. He hasn’t come right out and said what happened to your friend but, from his hints about Switchblade and the fact that you and your friends have been picking up Josie from school the last few days, it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. As for your friends being arrested, well, you’ve showed up at my door just minutes after the biggest commotion I’ve heard in years. That can only mean one thing.”
“Can you help me?”
He laughs, swishes his cognac in his cup, and nods. “Of course I can. So, what would you like my help with?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
Isn’t it obvious why I’m here? I need help with Crash.
“Well, it seems to me like you have two problems: your biker friends getting arrested, and Kendra being in the hands of Switchblade.”
“And?”
“So, pick one. Do you want my help to get your friends out of jail? Or do you want me to get your best friend back for you?”
“You could do that?”
“Without breaking a sweat.”
Surprised, I wobble on my feet and have to catch myself against the door frame to keep from falling over. This could be my chance; I could let Crash deal with his own mess — that ‘business’ that he’s always going on about, that he prizes above anything else — and I could get my best friend back and try to forget the
