"I'm just gonna use the bathroom really quick!" I yell to Ford, but he doesn't answer. Probably outside, packing up his bike. I hurry into the bathroom and pee. The raid must be winding up now. It'll be a long night ahead for the cops, doing all that paperwork to book the Death Dealers. I'm sure Tank will be furious to find out that Ford and I have escaped.
I don't even feel sad about my choice. I'll miss Candice, and Drew, but mostly I'm excited for my new life. I finally feel like me again, like I'm making choices for the person I am, not the person I think I should be.
I wash my hands and hurry into the bedroom. "Ready!" I call out to Ford. Again, no answer. "Ford?"
I head toward the hallway into the kitchen. Something catches my eye by the ground… the toe of Ford's boot, just visible around the edge of the doorframe. He's wearing them now, I know. My mind puts it together before my eyes fully process what I'm seeing. Ford is lying just out of view on the kitchen floor.
I tiptoe back into the bedroom, my heart racing. He must just be knocked out, he has to be. I grab my gun from my holster where I left it on the bed. I didn't intend on needing it anymore, and sure didn't want to get caught trying to take it over the border. I flip the safety off, and creep toward the kitchen. Someone's in the house, and it's not like I can call the cops.
I crouch low as I move along the wall. I listen for footsteps, or even breathing, but I don't hear anything. I get to the doorway, and watch Ford's foot for movement. Nothing. I take a deep breath, and swing around the edge of the doorway.
With a thwack, a baseball bat comes down on my forearms. I cry out and drop my gun. As I fall back onto the tiles, I see Taz reaching for the gun. I'm stunned with the pain in my arms, but I manage to kick my leg out and send the gun shooting across the floor to the living room.
Taz lets out a feral yell and raises the bat above his head. I see blood on it – Ford's. I roll out of the way as the bat flies down, and hear it crack down on the tiles. I scramble to my feet as Taz raises the bat again and swings for my head. I duck, and he takes out a corner of the wooden cabinets.
He leaves himself slightly off-balance as his arms jerk around, and I seize my opportunity, snapping a swift kick into his crotch. He yelps and doubles over slightly, so I kick upward and into his chin. He stumbles back, but doesn't let go of the bat.
I grab a cast-iron skillet from the stovetop and throw it at his head. It's heavier than I thought it was, so I don't quite get his head, but it slams with a thud into his chest. He gasps and drops the bat, and I make a run for my gun.
I scramble toward it, bending over. I can feel the metal against my fingertips. Just as I tighten my grip around the base, I hear footsteps and feel Taz slam into my back. I hit the ground with a grunt and the wind is knocked out of me. I'm still holding my gun, but there's not much I can do with it since I'm lying on top of it.
Taz snakes his arm around my neck and I bite down hard on it. He pulls it away slightly, and I tuck my chin down so he can't choke me out. Taz raises his hips to try to get a better angle on me. I can feel ragged breath on my ear, and the sour smell of his sweat is stifling.
I pull my knee under me, then kick back as hard as I can. He grunts as I make contact with his crotch again, then I fling my head back against his face.
"Fuck!" he yells, and his grip around my neck loosens. I scramble away. I feel him grab my ankle, and kick back again, hard. There's a crunching sound, and I leap to my feet, swinging around with my gun pointed at me.
He jumps to his feet and starts toward me, but stops when he sees the gun. His face is a wreck. I made contact a couple times, and now his nose is spilling blood over his mouth.
"Motherfucker," I hear, and steal a glance toward the kitchen. Ford is stumbling out of the kitchen, supporting himself on the island.
"It's over, Taz," I say.
"What are you?" he snarls. "FBI? ATF?"
"I'm a cop. I was," I tell him. "But it doesn't matter anymore."
"Course it does," he replies.
"Taz, the club is over. Tank sold us out to the FBI," Ford says.
"You're a fucking liar," he spits back.
"It doesn't matter whether you believe us or not, we're leaving," Ford says.
"You brought this bitch into our club. She's the reason all this is happening."
I walk over to Ford, keeping my gun trained on Taz. "You okay?" I ask him.
"Don't worry about me. I've been through worse," he replies grimly. "You?"
"Could use a stiff drink," I tell him.
"There's a beach waiting for us," Ford replies.
"What the shit? This is not happy couple time. You two are leaving over my dead body!"
"I really hope not, Taz, but I'll do what I have to do to leave," I tell him.
"I should have fucked you when I had the chance," he says. His eyes glow grotesquely over his blood-stained face. "And then passed you around to whoever wanted a taste."
Ford lurches forward, but I grab his arm and pull him back. "We don't have time for this," I remind him. "Soon he'll be in our rearview anyway."
Ford takes a deep breath. "You're no kind of man," he finally says.
"Let's go," I say, and pull him toward the front hallway. I wait until we're about to turn the corner to lower my gun and turn my back on Taz. I reach up to give Ford's arm a squeeze, when I hear movement from behind us.
Taz is running toward us, grabbing the bat from the floor in mid-stride. His face is twisted in anger. Without thinking, I raise my gun and fire.