I barely hit my brakes when I saw the spikes laying across the road. My bike turned, screeching to a halt, and I fought like a madman to keep it from tipping over.
Three Deads punched their engines and raced forward, trying to surround me, keeping me from leaving the fuckin' state line.
My hand pulled a flash grenade off my belt. I pinched my eyes shut while the bastards around me went blind, buying me a few precious seconds to jump the fuck off, head for the trees, carrying my biggest semi-auto.
There wasn't any full proof way to keep my eyes from going halfway blind when that shit went off. I was still seeing dark green when I crouched down, taking aim at every mean, dark shape I could, firing and screaming like a fuckin' lunatic.
I must've dropped three of them, or maybe four, before the fire hit my shoulder. The round cut through bone, burning like it was ripping my goddamned arm off. Fought it all the way, straining every muscle through the blood pouring down my side, shooting at the assholes crouching on the road 'til the bitter end.
Had Piece lost this much blood before he died? I had about ten more seconds to wonder what the fuck went through his mind before they slashed his throat, or came in with a machete, separating his head in one clean blow.
Fuck, fuck. I had to keep going.
Keep shooting. Keep killing. Keep fighting.
Even though my fuckin' arm, for all intents and purposes, was gone.
If it was still attached to my body, I couldn't fuckin' feel it. Screaming, I fell back, firing wildly at the sky.
Boots crunched on the brush around me, cursing me like bloody murder. Closer, closer.
The gun fell against my chest. Reaching for my knife with my good hand, I swung for the leg closest to me, howling into the night, trying to kill, kill, kill.
For Summer.
For Alex.
For the brotherhood, blown to shit because Dust's lies had finally gone off like dynamite.
All gone. All fuckin' gone forever if I didn't force myself up, swing again, and execute the motherfucker trying to stomp my head in.
Another kick. Miss.
I swung the knife again, planted it in his leg, and heard a satisfying howl of pain.
Fucker went down. But there were too many others. Too goddamned many – these bastards always had numbers.
The shit-kicker smashing against my skull came from behind. A twig snapped, and I was too damned slow before I dropped the other asshole, pulling out my blade.
Never knew if the blood loss got me first, or the toe of his boot stabbing into my head.
Perfect, cold blackness put me down.
*
“Three men. Three good men ate fuckin' dirt because of you, motherfucker.” A sick, angry voice taunted me in the dark.
My eyes were open, but I couldn't see shit. I'd gone blind.
In the corner, somebody cried. A tiny, helpless voice I recognized, scared for his life.
Alex. My son.
I couldn't see a fuckin' thing, but I crawled on my hands and knees toward the sound, across what felt like a cool concrete floor, covered in dirt.
“Heh heh, look at this bastard, going around in circles like he's chasing his tail!”
“Shut up, Skelly. Shut the fuck up.”
Finally recognized that other voice. Hatch, the abuser, the killer, the demon who'd put my girl through the grinder and had my son out in front of me, like a carrot.
“Alex, Alex, don't be afraid. Don't let them fuckin' scare you,” I growled, laying in front of what I hoped to God was him.
“Father and son,” Hatch said softly, pausing for what had to be a puff. I could smell smoke swirling around me, sinister as a ghost. “I'd say it made me feel some shit if it didn't look so goddamned weak. Jewels, get the little bastard out of here. His fuckin' daddy can't even see him, so he ain't gonna be any use to us.”
“Right away,” a woman said. Probably the bitch with the neon purple hair I'd seen on the video.
I held in my fury, listening to my son cry. Couldn't see her pick him up, but I knew she did, cooing softly to him the whole damned time as they left the room.
Somewhere, a door closed. They were gone. Leaving me alone with who the fuck knew how many evil bastards. A heavy boot slammed down on my bruised ribs a second later.
I heard a gun cock, dangerously close, up against my temple. My teeth pressed together 'til I tasted blood, and I thought they'd fuckin' crack to pieces in my mouth.
“You fucked up, just like the bitch you left on her own,” Hatch said, breathing hot death in my ear. “All my boys are gonna get a piece of you, Joker. Fingers, asshole, ribs, sockets, I don't fuckin' care. Yeah, you heard me. Sockets.”