“American flight 1652 leaves at noon, and arrives in Orlando at 4:23,” Ironside said, then glanced at the clock in the corner of the computer. “That’s going to be tight, but we should be able to make it.”

 

“That’s fine,” Peyton said softly. She was torn. She wanted to get away and start fresh somewhere, but at the same time, something happened last night as she made love to Ironside. He’d touched her in a way no lover ever had. She smiled to herself. Made love as opposed to fucking. She’d never thought of it that way before.

 

Ironside rose and stepped out of his office. “I’m taking Peyton to the airport,” he said, sticking his head into Whiteshirt’s office.

 

“When?”

 

“Now. Her flight leaves at noon.”

 

Whiteshirt nodded.

 

“Good riddance to that bitch,” Honey added under her breath.

 

She and Whiteshirt had started hooking up after Ironside had washed his hands of her, and though she hadn’t been as mouthy as she had been, it was no secret she hated Peyton’s guts. Perhaps that was why they’d started fucking: their mutual dislike and distrust of Peyton drawing them together.

 

Ironside backed out, pretending he hadn’t heard Honey’s comment. The club was still smarting from the hit last night, but he had to ask the brothers for one more favor.

 

“I need a few brothers to ride with me to get Peyton to the airport,” he said to the men gathered in the clubhouse great room. The airport was outside of Saracens’ territory, which should make the trip safe, but the rules had changed last night and he wasn’t taking any chances.

 

“I’ll ride with you,” Dolch said, standing, five other brothers, then two more, doing the same.

 

Ironside nodded in gratitude. The club was divided, some blaming Peyton for their troubles, but others, like Dolch, realizing Peyton had put her ass on the line for them.

 

Peyton picked up her purse and the small gym back they’d purchased that morning to hold the two pairs of shorts and two new shirts, along with a few pairs of underwear they’d bought. Counting the fresh clothes she’d worn out of the store, that gave her three sets of clothes.

 

They paused by Ironside’s Harley. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of cash, peeling off ten bills and holding them out to her. “Take this to get you started in Orlando.”

 

She shook her head. “I don’t want your money.”

 

He took her hand and pressed the cash into it. “Take it. You earned it. Besides, how are you going to survive until you get on your feet?”

 

Her lips pulled down into a pout as she took the cash and slowly shoved it into her pocket. “Thank you.”

 

He nodded and began to put on his helmet. She was going to have it rough for a while, but the money would make sure she had a fighting chance.

 

***

 

They had to make a big loop, taking I-77 south before turning west on 480. I-71 would be the more direct route, but that would lead them through the heart of Saracens’ territory and he didn’t want to take that risk.

 

He was working his way to the right, preparing to exit I-77 onto 480, when he saw the group of bikes sitting on the side of the road. There were at least twenty bikes, the riders sitting on them and watching over their shoulders. It didn’t feel right. In fact, it felt completely wrong, and Ironside dipped his bike left and whacked open the throttle and began accelerate. The group of bikes pulled out, crossing traffic without apparent regard for their safety, accelerating hard as they passed.

 

Ironside flashed past and he could see the Saracens’ patch on their back. They were in deep trouble, outnumbered by at least two to one, and their only option was run.

 

Peyton had been daydreaming on the back of Ironside’s bike until she felt the Harley accelerate. As they blew past the riders giving chase she glimpsed the Saracens’ patch and her blood ran cold. Ironside hadn’t mentioned the notes and she pretended she hadn’t woken up and didn’t know the Saracens were after her. She twisted in the seat to look behind her, watching the Knights form up on Ironside as they carved through traffic, creating a shield the Saracens would have to punch through to get to him.

 

They continued south on I-77, riding far faster than the traffic, the Saracens hot on their tail. She held tight to Ironside, terrified of the high speed as he weaved and ducked through traffic. They were rapidly leaving Cleveland behind, the area becoming more and more rural. She didn’t know what Ironside had planned, if he had a plan, so she held on and hoped he was as good a rider as he was a lover.

 

She grunted as his bike decelerated hard, diving down a cloverleaf. She clamped down on the scream that tried to escape her lips and closed her eyes as the bike heeled so far to the right she was certain they would crash.

 

As the bike began to rise, she looked behind her again. Three Knights peeled off, going left, abandoning them to their fate. The bulk of the Saracens continued to follow, but a few broke away, giving chase to the three Knights. They roared down the road, Ironside’s Harley giving its all for their escape. She turned and watched behind them as one of the men signaled franticly with his hand, making fast chopping motions in the direction they were traveling.

 

They crossed a river, probably the Cuyahoga if she had to guess, before Ironside braked hard, his bike swerving on the edge of control before he dove hard right, the bike banging and scraping as he muscled it around the turn before blowing the stop sign at the bottom and making a right to race back under the bridge they’d just crossed. One man peeled off with him, the rest of the Knights continuing straight. She recognized Dolch’s bike, and realized he and Ironside were working to break up the Saracens.

 

The bulk of them continued on, giving chase to the Knights, with only five or six still on their tail. They had put some distance on their pursuers and were riding terrifyingly fast down the two-lane road. Traffic was sparse enough they had been passing with relative ease until they roared up behind a lumbering RV that was toddling along. Ironside took a peak, dodged back behind the RV as a pickup passed, then darted around in a gap, the elderly man driving gaping at them as they blew past and ducked back in front just as a semi roared past, horn blaring. She turned back and watched as Dolch made a daring pass on the right between the RV and the railing of the bridge, unable to get around on the left in the same gap Ironside used and not wanting to lose contact with his brother.

 

They roared away, the RV bottling up the Saracens a moment and allowing them to open an even larger gap. She began to relax, but then felt Ironside begin to slow. She looked behind again and saw Dolch was waving them on frantically as he fell farther and farther behind.

 

Ironside slammed the bike to a stop on the side of road. “Run! Into the woods!”

 

Peyton jumped from the bike and ran for the trees, dropping her helmet as she did. She stopped just inside the edge of the wood as Dolch skidded to a stop behind Ironside’s bike then leapt from it before the two men ran to where she disappeared.

 

“Go!” Ironside urged, grabbing her arm and dragging her along as they crashed through the brush.

 

“What happened?” she panted as they ran, the roar of motorcycles stopping on the road giving her feet wings.

 

“I must have picked up a nail when I passed the RV,” Dolch snarled. “You should have kept going!”

 

“I’m not—” two quick gunshots silenced him. “Fuck! There go the bikes!”

 

“Which is why you shouldn’t have stopped!”

 

“I’m not leaving you, Dolch, so shut the fuck up!” He pushed Peyton over a log then hauled her to a stop. “If something happens, you run like hell! Got it?” he panted as he turned, crouched behind the log and drew his weapon, Dolch doing the same.

 

She nodded frantically. “You still have that other gun?”

 

Ironside reached into his ankle holster, pulled out the small Glock, and handed it to her. “Wait until they’re close, then squeeze.”

 

She nodded, terrified, listening to the Saracens crashing through the brush. She jumped when Dolch’s weapon barked, a man crying out in pain before the echo died.

 

“Over here! This way!” men cried and a moment later she could see movement in the trees. She brought her gun up. “Not yet,” Ironside whispered. “Now!” Ironside snarled, opening up.

 

She held her fire as gunshots rang out beside, then in front of her. She wanted to cower, to crawl under the log and cover her ears, but she forced herself to watch. A man came running from their left, his gun out, firing as he ran. She screamed, and whirled, squeezing the trigger in panic, the Glock barking and jumping in her hand as the man tumbled to the ground.

 

“You okay?” Ironside gasped. He’d nearly shit himself when Peyton started shooting over his and Dolch’s head.

 

“Yeah, I think!” she gasped.

 

“Let me see,” he said, taking her gun from her hand, using the lull in gunfire. He ejected the magazine, then slammed it back in. She’d shot at the guy five times, but at least she’d brought him down. “Two left. Make them count.”

 

She nodded frantically, her eyes wide. Dolch fired. “Out!” he called, tucking the weapon away. She shoved her weapon into his hand. He ejected the magazine then banged it home. “Two,” he grated.

 

Ironside ejected his magazine then slammed it back. “Four.”

 

“How many do you think are left?” she whispered.

 

“Less than there were,” Dolch muttered.

 

“Let’s start to circle back around to the bikes,” Ironside suggested.

 

“I thought they shot the bikes,” she whispered.

 

“They didn’t shoot theirs,” Dolch said as he began to pull back from the log. They made it about ten feet before they were spotted and shots began to thud into trees around them.

 

“Run!” Ironside bellowed, pulling her along in his wake.

 

They ran deeper into the wood, trying to get enough space to turn back to the bikes without being seen. Dolch stopped, turned, and popped off his last two rounds. Peyton heard a man scream, then Dolch was running again. There was another shot, and Dolch tumbled to the ground.

 

“Keep going!” he cried as he tried to get up, but fell again.

 

“Stay with him,” Ironside snarled, pushing her to the ground before plunging into the wood.

 

She wanted to scream in panic, afraid Ironside was leaving them to their fate. She scrambled low to the ground until she reached Dolch’s side. There was a hole in his vest and she helped him out of it so she could see, his scream of pain making her grimace. She didn’t know anything about medical treatment, only that she had to stop the bleeding. His colors removed, she could see a large red stain spreading. She whimpered, panic taking her. Not knowing what else to do, she wadded his colors and pressed it to his wound.

 

Ironside hear Dolch shriek a second time as he curled around, staying low. He could see two men moving slowly in the general direction of Dolch and Peyton. He paused behind a tree and drew a bead on the nearer of the two men. His gun barked twice in quick succession, the man falling as he shifted aim to the other. His Glock barked twice more and the other man fell. He stayed behind the tree, wondering how many more men were left. Seeing nothing he began to make his way back toward Peyton and Dolch.

 

Peyton whirled at the soft crunch of leaves, her voice rising in her throat to scream before she realized it was Ironside. “How is he?” he asked as he crouched at her side.

 

“I don’t know! I don’t know what I’m doing!”

 

“Dolch! How are you, man?” he asked but Dolch was quiet. He pressed his fingers to Dolch’s neck but didn’t feel a pulse. He shifted his location and tried again, pressing in harder. He got something that time but it was weak and fast. “We’ve got to get him out of here,” he said softly as he rose to his feet, preparing to pick up his fallen brother and carry him.

 

“Moving him could kill him!”

 

“He’ll die for sure if we don’t!”

 

“Ironside!” Peyton screamed as she recoiled.

 

He twisted, seeing the man step around a tree some twenty feet away, and threw himself over her as his gun roared. He waited for the burn of the bullet entering his body, but it never came. He rose from her, the two men staring at each other, both in shock he was unhurt. He saw the gun twitch as the gunman tried to squeeze the trigger again, but the slide of the HK was back. He was empty.

 

Both men realized it was about to get down and dirty at the same time. The gunman backpedaled, drawing his knife as Ironside jumped to his feet and charged in. Ironside never carried a knife, not liking the feel of it on his side, and he’d always been able to handle any threat in close with his fists. The gunman wasted too much time trying to draw his blade, and by the time he had it clear, Ironside was there.

 

He hit the gunman hard, his left hand closing around the wrist of his opponent’s knife hand as he drove him back. The gunman dug in, trying to stop the rush, but his feet tangled in some limbs and they crashed to the forest floor.

 

Peyton stood, her hand gripping her mouth so she wouldn’t scream as the two men twisted and squirmed. Ironside was on top, his hand gripping the man’s arm to prevent him from plunging the knife into his back, the gunman’s hand under Ironside’s chin. The men’s teeth were bared in silent snarls as they strained, their muscles standing in stark relief.

 

The men rolled over, and the Saracen grinned as he tried to drive the knife into Ironside’s chest. His head no longer being forced back, he grabbed the hand under his chin and yanked it away. The brute, his balance upset by the sudden loss of support fell forward, his arm twisting up and behind him as Ironside maintained his grip. With a lunge of his hips, Ironside twisted and they rolled again. Ironside banged the man’s hand again a stick, once, twice, then a third time before the hand spasmed open and the knife fell into the leaf litter.

 

Now that he didn’t have to worry about the knife plunging into him, Ironside kicked away from the man, still holding his wrist and as he dragged him away from where the knife had fallen. The man lunged at him and they rolled, their hands going to their opponent’s face as their fingers dug in. Peyton watched as Ironside’s face twisted in agony. Both men were huge, and obviously incredibly strong, the muscles of their arms bulging as they strained to crush the other man’s skull. She looked frantically around and picked up a large stick, intending to bash the man’s head in, but as she drew it back, the rotted limb broke.

 

Ironside lunged with his hips again, releasing the man’s wrist and grabbing the man’s hair to pull him off him. The two men scrambled to their feet, turning to face each other. Ironside dove in, firing a hard right into the man’s body. The man grunted and stumbled back, Ironside giving chase to press his advantage. The man was far from out of the fight, and drove a hard left into Ironside’s stomach. Ironside grunted, the two men grabbing at each other, grunting and straining before Ironside picked the man up with a roar of effort and drove him into a tree.

 

The Saracen grabbed Ironside and powered out of the hold, grabbing his shirt as he whipped him around, trying to throw him down, Ironside’s shirt ripping away as he tumbled. He charged in as Ironside slid to a stop on hands and knees, whipping his torn shirt as a distraction before driving a kick into his side. Ironside bellowed in pain but grabbed the booted foot, locked it under a powerful arm, and jerked the man down. The gunman fell, kicking at Ironside, but he twisted, flipping the man to his stomach and jacked his leg up as he powered to his feet. He turned again, then fell to the side, holding the foot as he bent the Saracen’s leg across his own.

 

Peyton heard the bone snap an instant before the Saracen screamed. Ironside released him, then rolled the man over. All the fight had gone out of him when Ironside shattered his knee, but Ironside wasn’t done. He rolled over and sat on the man, batting his hand away as he panted, then drove a hard right into the man’s throat. The man gagged, his chest heaving as Ironside rolled off of him and stood, watching as the man’s hands alternately went to his throat or clawed at the sky and ground, desperately trying to draw a breath through his shattered throat. He struggled to get to his feet, Ironside stepping back as he reached for him, his movements becoming weaker and weaker until he finally collapsed.

 

“Is he…?” Peyton asked.

 

“Yeah.” He stared at the body a moment then moved to Dolch. He pressed his fingers into Dolch’s neck but felt nothing. “Fuck.”

 

He pulled out his phone. They needed help.