8
Somehow, Jude did manage to sleep. He only realized it when Emilio’s hand grabbed him by the shoulder and gave him a gentle shake. His heart leapt into his throat as he sat up, his breath catching in his chest, and he stared around with wild eyes.
“What…”
“It’s time to go,” Emilio told him.
The room was dark save for the light above the stove, and it was cold. Jude regretted not having anything warmer than the jumper on his back, but he didn’t have much choice in the matter. He figured Eliah would have enough to tide him over, then he’d go home. Or he’d go back for his things before he took off again.
Or something.
Swallowing down the ache in his throat, Jude scrubbed his hands down his face, then glanced around the room before he followed the other man to the door. Emilio left it as unlocked as they’d found it, and he marched across the gravel to his bike. The air was biting cold past midnight, and the moon hung fat in the sky with a slight haze of ocean fog settling around it.
He shivered as he watched Emilio check around, then he took a few steps closer when the other man motioned for him to start walking.
“One of the Prospects called me earlier,” he said, shrugging into his leather jacket. “He said they tracked a couple guys heading south right around the time I took off, but they lost them in Daytona. I think if they were gonna make a move, they would’ve tried some shit by now, but we need to be careful.” He went quiet, patting his side, then he looked at Jude across the dark driveway. “Can you shoot?”
“Can I what?”
“Shoot. Like a gun,” he clarified, sounding irritated.
Jude groaned. “No, I can’t bloody shoot a gun. I know I’m not the most pious man, but…”
“Simple no’s good enough,” Emilio interrupted. “I’m gonna need you to keep your shit together if this goes sideways.”
Jude pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “Right.”
“Don’t fuckin’ run unless I tell you to run. Don’t try to bail off the bike if we’re moving unless I tell you to. Don’t…”
“Do anything unless you order it, right?” Jude snapped.
Emilio’s brows rose, but instead of arguing, he shrugged. “I like a man who can follow orders.”
Jude took a step closer. “So do I—as you have already seen.”
Wisely, Emilio said nothing, but Jude knew if it had been light out, he would have seen faint pink on his cheeks. And what he would have given for that moment. Anxiety settled over him after that, though. The pressing need to get this drive over with so he could feel some semblance of safe. He didn’t know what the hell was going on with Eliah, and how it was all going to end, but something felt wrong in the pit of his stomach.
“Let’s roll,” Emilio said, and he held out a hand for Jude to take. Being back on the bike reminded him of how uncomfortable it had been the first time, and how uncomfortable it was going to be again. When it roared to life under them, the vibrations shot up his spine, and he let out a trembling breath.
“This isn’t going to end well,” he muttered, wrapping his arms around Emilio’s middle.
“What was that?” the other man shouted.
Jude didn’t bother repeating himself, and Emilio didn’t wait for him to do it. Instead, he revved the engine, then headed down the driveway and onto the main road.
It was freezing cold—Jude wasn’t sure when the last time he’d ever been that cold. His jumper was nothing against the frigid wind, and his lips were stiff only fifteen minutes in. He had no idea why the hell people found joy in riding out in the open like that, but Emilio didn’t seem bothered at all.
He wished he’d had literally anything besides the small helmet Emilio had shoved at him to help brace against the wind whipping in his face. They had hours to go, and though the road was dead, he swore they were being watched. Another fifteen minutes passed, and he could see faint lights showing a gas station and a couple of stores. They were near some little town in the middle of nowhere, getting closer to their destination, but not close enough.
Bowing his head, he pressed his face against the rough patch on the back of Emilio’s jacket. It was an intricately drawn green carnation with the words Broken Chains over the top. He’d seen it on the drive to the safe house, but he hadn’t actually noticed the details before. He hadn’t stopped to consider what it meant—though even now, he didn’t fully understand the point.
He rubbed his nose along the edge though, where the soft leather met the seam, and he felt Emilio jolt a bit, though the bike stayed steady. The trees whipped by, the lights bright as they headed past the gas station.
He took a breath, feeling his limbs start to relax in spite of the cold…and then he heard it. Another motorbike. The rumble was slightly louder than Emilio’s, and he felt a prickling along the back of his neck.
Moments later, Emilio stiffened, and he turned his head slightly, shouting above the wind. “We got a tail. Hang on.”
Jude had just enough time to grip harder before Emilio pushed the bike faster, and he swore for a second the tires were going to leave the ground. And after a moment, he thought it worked. The roar of the second bike faded, and though he wasn’t brave enough to look back, he glanced in the little circular mirror and saw the headlamp start to shrink.
“Bloody hell,” he started to mutter, and that’s when he heard the first shot. The bang and the sound of a bullet hitting the metal on the bike were almost simultaneous. His heart jolted in his chest as Emilio’s voice rose with a shout, and the bike began to waver.
He could smell petrol—the acrid scent making the inside of his nose sting and his eyes water. He felt the bike beneath them start to sputter, and then two more shots rang out.
Emilio wrenched the bike off the side of the road, and it tipped before Jude could brace himself. He hit the ground with a heavy thud—his breath ripped from his lungs, and he rolled several feet into a ditch filled with water.
He couldn’t draw air in as he scrambled for the bank, and his ears were ringing, but he heard Emilio’s voice rise above it, and then a third shot pierced the still air of the late winter night.
His ears rang even louder, but he swore he heard the sounds of a bike as he clawed his way up the embankment. When he managed to lift his head, he saw Emilio was the only one left. The bike was on its side and the engine was dead, the smell of petrol overwhelming. The biker was crouched on the ground holding his side, but even in the dim light, Jude could see blood seeping from between his fingers.
“Bloody hell,” he gasped. He scrambled to his feet, and in spite of the ache, he managed to reach the biker’s side. As he knelt down, Emilio’s hand moved, and he saw more blood pooling, which meant his injury was absolutely not from the crash. “Oh fuck! You were shot.”
Emilio looked up, and Jude’s breath caught in his throat when he saw his left eye was pinched shut, and a massive scrape was dripping blood from his forehead to his chin. “Got the fucker in the chest before he took off,” he said, his voice raspy and quiet. “It’ll be a miracle if he survives it.”