Page 102 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

I grit my teeth and toss it into the ravine below.

The explosion follows a heartbeat later, ground shaking, the shockwave knocking me back.

Hopefully it’s enough to scare away the driver—who’s probably racing to dial 911 now, that is, if the blast hasn’t alerted all the cops in the area.

I need to end this fast. Hawkins won’t take kindly to a West Coast mess—he might even put me down for good this time. I’ve got minutes, maybe less, to make it stop.

The pain in my arm sears down to my fingers, but as long as all my fingers work, I’m good.

“You okay in there, baby?” I call out.

“How the fuck should I know? I’ve got a huge hot weight pressing me down, I can’t fucking move, there’s glass and bullets and your bomb obviously didn’t work. How is that even—”

“You’re doing great then.”

Time to level the odds more.

Gunfire pauses and I glance through the shattered window to see the two bikers splitting off and heading off in opposite directions.

I see the move for what it is: they’re not retreating, they’re closing in. Smart. In seconds, they’ll circle back and trap me from both sides like a bug. One shot from either direction and I’m toast.

But they’ve made one mistake. Or maybe I’ve looked out at the perfect time. Because both their backs are turned to me.

Two seconds, maybe less, and they’ll move into position. It’s a narrow window, but it’s all I need.

Their weaving motion is classic—harder to aim, and with the vests and helmets, hitting anything critical is impossible. That doesn’t mean I can’t fuck up their day.

I pick the biker on my left and take aim, steadying my breath. He sways more and moves more erratically, but he’s also the bigger target. I squint, forcing everything else away, and wait for that half-second when his trajectory becomes predictable.

There. I empty my clip into his retreating back.

One of the bullets hit. His vest stops it from tearing through him, but the force jars him even at this distance. His arms jerk on the handlebars, bike veering sharply right as he overcorrects. For a second, it appears he might pull it off, but his rear tire skids on gravel.

Heloses control, his momentum sending him straight off the road’s edge. A brief silence before the tell-tale crunch of metal and bone on rock. Dust rises from the ravine.

Two down. One more to go.Only problem is, I’m out of bullets.

The third rider pulls up to a halt as his buddy disappears into the ravine. He kills the engine and dumps the bike, which he now realizes is more of a death trap.

I watch him swing his leg off, tear off his helmet, and angrily throw it on the ground. He’s older than I pegged him for. Which means he’s experienced.

He comes at me on foot with murder in his eyes.

Kill or be killed.

He advances, spraying everything in his path. The noise is deafening, each shot ringing like a death knell. I reach into my pocket for a spare clip but find nothing.

They’re in the center console.

The second I lean into the truck, bullets shatter the remaining windows. Luna screams as more glass rains down and I jerk back.

There’s no time to reload, not with him closing in and spraying death in an ever-tightening circle.

This is going to be bad.

My hand finds the combat knife in my belt. Steel vs gun is suicide but it’s either that or let that fucker near my woman.

I give a quick kiss to the blade, and then I vault onto the truck bed. The biker’s eyes lock on me, shock registering on his features at my unexpected move. Then he adjusts his aim

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