If we ever got there.
I opened my mouth to rein Folk in. “Brother?—”
A gunshot shattered the night.
Loud andclose,zipping through the air and splintering a nearby tree.
I grabbed Mateo, wrenching him from his hog.
His instincts led him to do the same to me, and together we went tumbling down.
I hit the dirt, aware of nothing but the spooky quiet left behind, the impact of Folk’s approaching boots, and the deadly thud of my stampeding heart.
Folk crouched beside us, hands roaming my body and Mateo’s, checking us for bullet holes without words.
“I’m fine. Mats?”
“Me too.”
Mateo moved to rise.
Folk shoved him back down.
“Wait.”
We waited, obeying Folk without question, waiting for another shot, but it didn’t come. Silence rang out instead, heavy and loaded, and the longer we stayed put, the sharper the wave of panic crested over me.
Locke.
Fuck.
Locke.
Fear lanced my heart. Had that bullet been meant for him?
“I can’t hear anything.” Folk snagged his helmet from his handlebars and tossed it in the air. It fell without incident. “Feels like a potshot.”
Mateo scrambled to his knees. “From who?”
“From someone who wanted to keep us here.” Folk stood, swinging a leg over his bike.
I was already in motion, lurching towards my hog.
He grabbed my arm. “Weapons first. We can’t burst into a gunfight with hammers and pipes.”
“Fuck that.” I revved my engine. “Nearest stash is five miles away.”
Folk shook his head, jabbing a finger back the way we’d come. “No, it isn’t. Follow me.”
No.
And if it had been anyone but Folk, I might’ve listened to the rebellious idiot in my heart who’d abandoned common sense years ago. But it was Folk. And he was right. If we had any chance of impacting whatever was going on up the road, we needed firepower, and we needed it now.
Folk roared away.
We zipped after him, eating up a couple of miles before he peeled off-road.
He disappeared into the undergrowth so fast I missed him leaping from his bike again.