Page 88 of Ride or Die

He tucked the phone against his shoulder and hauled the bay doors closed.

Riley dragged in another breath, and he felt it in his throat.

“Hi—sorry, could you, um, come get me?” Her voice was fading in and out, and he kept his breathing silent.

“Of course. Where are you?” He grabbed a set of keys to his truck and snapped his fingers at Cookie, pointing him upstairs.

“If you’re not too busy.” Her laugh was broken and hoarse. “If you are, I’ll figure something else out. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not busy.”

He finished locking up the shop, movement quick and efficient.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay… thanks.” Something hurt low in his chest as he got in his truck.

The gravel pinged against the shop as tires found the road.

“Riley?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t hang up. Okay?”

“Okay.”

The truck picked up the call, and her breath rasped under the roar of the engine.

“Are you hurt?”

She made a choked sound. “No.”

“Can you tell me where you are?”

“Work. I don’t know which floor—I’m sorry. I’ll meet you out front.”

“Can you stay where you are?”

“I—I don’t want to.”

He wound through traffic and shut out the honking. The man from the loading bay flashed through his mind. How many people like that did she work with? He should have—

What’s done is done. Just drive.

“You don’t have to… I know you have stuff going on…”

“Ri—I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“Stay on the—”

The line clicked, and he floored the truck, weaving too close to civilian vehicles. It was a long ten minutes to get downtown, and it should have taken twenty.

The delivery lane was empty. He got out of the truck and left it running. People pulled their jackets tighter in the breeze and hurried down the street. No yelling. No screaming. No smoke. No gunfire.

He made himself stay where he was and wait. He didn’t grab the gun in the glovebox. He took deep breaths and touched his thumb to each finger, counting slowly in his head. One per breath. The wind smelled like salt and rain, and crows tore garbage apart in the alley.

His heart hadn’t thundered like this in four years. Not since that last day in the field when everything—he’d gotten out of practice.