Page 167 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
In reality, it’s just smoke. I can’t even see the north gate from where we’re at. Normally, I’d be able to see right past it, across the street, and into the woods on the other side. It feels like we’re lost in time, surrounded by such a thick blanket of white. And still, ash keeps falling, falling, falling.
It’s coated the entire world in grit.
Oddly enough, it doesn’t feel like such an unfamiliar place.
Sin leads the way and out we go, moving like a flock of birds. It’s actually quite pretty, the way the ribbon of bikes turns and leans with the shape of the road, moving at a quick clip but a reasonable one.
We’re going to arrive at the Artefact about an hour and a half too early to run into Grey. I have to admit that in some cases, discretion really is the better part of valor. Cat is making the right choice. For himself, for me, for the club as a whole. Even if he wants Grey and Alvise’s heads on pikes beside Giulia’s, this makes more sense logistically speaking.
There’s always time to track them later if we don’t die today.
We continue on, bypassing the road that would take us straight through the middle of town. I see Grainger’s point: there’s no safe way to send an entire army of motorcycles down a small two-lane street with high rise buildings on either side. It’s a recipe for disaster, like shoving soldiers down a funnel. We’d be sitting ducks.
The woods disappear briefly as we weave through empty suburban streets, but they return fairly quickly on the other side, thickening as we approach the pothole strewn road that passes in front of the Artefact and then hooks a sharp right, essentially giving the house a corner lot. Once upon a time, the city had planned to turn this into a thriving downtown area. They ended up losing their battle against an environmental group, and so the Artefact remained frozen in the middle of the woods—but not until after they had that pretty little plaque made and placed beside the door.
The city still owns it, but they have no use for it out here, so it just sits and festers into glorious decay. I keep my eye out for it as we pass, spotting it just ahead, this strange blight in the woods, like an old witch’s cottage. From afar, it’s still an impressive piece of architecture, but the closer we get, the more it seems like the Jensen Manor is losing its shine. An aging beauty lost to the trees.
As we approach that sharp right turn, Sin slows down and takes it wide. It’s impressive. Not only does he have a keen eye for politics, but he can also plan routes in real time and anticipate difficult maneuvers while in the thick of things.
What he can’t predict—what I don’t think any of us predicted—was that we would run straight into a motorcade of black Cadillacs.
Holy shit!
The way their tires screech as they slam on their brakes makes me wonder if they aren’t just as surprised as we are. What happened to the timeline, Grey?! I wonder, but even if he hadn’t given me any information at all, I’m pretty sure Cat and the boys would’ve made the same choice. The fire changed everything. We couldn’t just sit around and wait to burn or get blocked in with flames on one side, mafia on the other.
So here we are.
Three of the cars immediately try to maneuver around the others as they come to a stop more or less in the center of that T-shaped intersection. I can only imagine that the Don is in one of those vehicles.
Beast stops his bike so quickly that we skid to the side, but we don’t go down. My heart leaps into my throat as flickers of trauma scatter through my brain like knives. Turning the corner, seeing the Cadillacs, crashing and bleeding and suffering. I make myself breathe through it as Cat barks orders through the radio.
I know everyone in the club has Bluetooth in their helmets; they can hear him through those, too. I’m sure I’m not the only old lady who wasn’t given one of those. But it doesn’t matter. My husband not only has a radio attached to his belt, but we’re only about three feet away from the president.
“Don’t let those fuckers get out of here!” he shouts as several motorcycles—including Sin, Crown, and Grainger—whip through the mess of Cadillacs and take off after the other vehicles.
Beast hauls me off the bike and shoves me in the direction of the Artefact.
“Go.”
I don’t argue; I listen. I’m determined to do every goddamn thing my husband tells me. I have a feeling that if I don’t, I’ll die out here today.
He unloads the two rifles strapped to his bike, tossing both over his shoulder and then jogging to catch up with me. Beast kicks the front door in just as shots begin to ring out through the woods. A quick glance over my shoulder shows me that most of the Cadillac doors are open and men are crouching behind them for cover, bullets pinging off the bulletproof glass.
