I didn’t mean right now, but whatever. Something presses into my back. She must’ve wedged herself between Carter’s feet.
I press the accelerator to the floor, not as worried about the obstacles this time. My brothers—and my father—are under attack. They need our help.
“You ready?” I ask Murphy, concentrating on the grassy field in front of us.
Murphy twists and snags his bag from the back seat. “Yup.” He tugs a Glock out of one of the side pockets, then a few extra loaded magazines, stashing them inside his vest. “Go right.”
“What? Why?”
He leans forward and points the muzzle of his gun toward the tire tracks I left on our earlier romp into the grass. “’Cause that ditch is gonna hit a lot different coming at it from this way.”
I turn right and head for a narrow opening between a cluster of trees. Branches screech against the metal as we roar through. My headlights sweep over the scene in front of us, too fast to make out any details.
We hit a mound of dirt hard. The truck bounces and flies a few feet in the air. We land with a jarring thump, the engine screaming. The knobby tires dig into the broken pavement, spraying bits of rock and dirt everywhere.
I screech to a stop, dust billowing around us. The scent of burning rubber fills the air.
In the glow of my headlights, four Lost Kings MC patches stare back at us. By the height and shapes it has to be Grinder, Z, Rock, and Wrath.
Rock turns, shielding his eyes with a hand. Even though I doubt he can see me, I feel the weight of his stare telling me to hurry up and get my ass over there.
I flick the lights off. “Stay here, Carter. No matter what.”
“Trust me, I’m not moving a muscle.” He groans. “You’re lucky I didn’t puke all over your upholstery.”
“June, you all right?” I ask.
“Yes,” she squeaks.
Murphy and I jump out, boots grating against the gravel. He swaggers around the front of the truck, snorting like a bull. “Let’s end these motherfuckers once and for all.”
It better be the end.
And not the beginning of something worse.