The spot that Annika and Justin have chosen for their engagement photos is out in the country, south of Tanner Springs in an area I’ve never been to before. On the way down, I drive through a couple of towns of around the same size as Tanner Springs. It’s beautiful country down here, hillier and greener. As I drive, I make a mental note to ask Hawk to take me riding down here. I imagine it would be even more beautiful to experience on a motorcycle.

By the time I get to the location Annika gave me, my spirits are lifting and the nightmare of last night feels a little less real. Annika and Justin are already there when I arrive, and I pull in behind their car in the driveway of a rustic farmhouse that almost looks like it’s a movie set, it’s so perfectly charming.

“Isn’t this place cute?” Annika enthuses. “It was Justin’s grandparents’. His grandma died a couple of years ago, and it’s just been sitting vacant ever since.”

Annika introduces me to her fiancé, a tall, tow-headed guy who, like Annika, looks like he’s about eighteen. He doesn’t talk much — clearly, Annika is the more extroverted of the two of them. Annika and Justin are both wearing jeans, matching flannel shirts, and cowboy boots. We walk around the property for a few minutes, scouting locations for photos, and then get down to business. I take photos of them sitting on the ramshackle front porch, on a large log in the yard, out in a clearing filled with tallish grass and wildflowers. The two of them are beaming at each other the whole time, and I’m incredibly happy for them. They’re so young and in love, and I silently root for them to be one of the couples who makes it and has a long, happy marriage.

After a couple of hours, I’ve shot hundreds of photos and we’re all starting to get tired. I tell Annika I’ll be in touch once I’ve had a chance to put a gallery together, and we walk back to the cars. Justin’s parents live close by and the two of them are going there for dinner, so I say goodbye to them and wave as they pull out of the drive and head south. I stow my equipment and climb in my car for the trip back north.

Since we were going to be tromping around in the grass, I had decided to leave my phone in the car during the shoot so I wouldn’t lose it. As I pull my seatbelt on and start the car, I take it from the cup holder and check it for messages. I’m surprised to see that there are over a dozen texts, all but one from Hawk, and three voicemails from him. The first text I see is in all caps, and sends my heart racing in sudden fright:

I don’t take the time to listen to his voicemails — instead, I choose one and hit “return call” with suddenly shaking fingers. The phone rings once, twice, three times, and I’m preparing to leave a message when Hawk picks up. At first I think the connection is really bad, but then realize the crackling and whooshing sounds I’m hearing are wind and road noise. Hawk must be on his bike.

“Samantha!” he yells into the phone. “Where are you? Tell me you’re okay!”

“I’m fine!” I cry. “My God, what’s wrong?”

“You’re in Iron Spiders territory!”

“What?”

“You’re on the turf of the club that did the drive-by last night! You need to get out now!”

My mind races to keep up with him. Hawk hasn’t told me much about any of this, and now he’s telling me I’ve driven right into the territory of people who tried to kill us. Trying not to panic, I cry, “Hawk! What should I do?”

“Drive north!” he shouts. “Back the way you came! Do it right now! Don’t stop anywhere! I’m coming to meet you!”

I slam the car into gear and floor it so fast I almost lose control on the gravel drive. “I’m driving back the way I came!” I yell into the phone.

“Don’t hang up!” he insists. “Drive, but put the phone on speaker and leave it on the seat!”

I don’t know whether the threat is immediate, but I’ve never heard Hawk sound like this. Even last night after the drive-by, he was calm and in control. Right now, he sounds like a man possessed.

It’s terrifying.

For a few minutes, I just concentrate on driving, and remembering how to get back the way I came. I’m speeding, but I’m afraid to go too fast because I’m shaking and don’t want to run off the road. On the seat, the phone ticks off the seconds of our connection, the sound of the wind and Hawk’s engine like a lifeline.

I drive into the city limits of one of the small towns I passed on the way here, and have to force myself to slow down. I don’t want to get a ticket, I think, and then laugh crazily at myself. The police are the last thing I should be worried about right now.

“What are you laughing at?” Hawk shouts from his end.

“Nothing!” I call out, and feel a surge of momentary relief. It feels good to laugh, even at my own stupidity.

I’m starting to feel a little better now. Maybe Hawk is just overreacting, I tell myself as I pass through the town. Soon, I’m driving through the last traffic lights and accelerating back up to highway speed. “How far away am I from getting back into Lords territory?” I ask Hawk, hoping it’s soon so I can relax.

Just as I finish my question, I glance back in my rear view mirror and see four motorcycles pull out of a parking lot at the edge of town.

“Hawk?” I begin uncertainly. “Are you guys behind me?”

“What? No.”

“H—how far away are you?”

“Looks like we’re about five or six miles out, on the same road as you coming in the opposite direction.”

My stomach goes cold. “There are four guys on bikes behind me about half a mile or so,” I tell him. My voice rises in fear. “It looks like they have leathers on.”

“Fuck!” hisses Hawk. “Floor it, baby! Drive as fast as you can. Don’t stop for anything! We’re on our way!”

I do as he says, gripping the steering wheel hard as I push down on the accelerator. Glancing in the mirror, I see the motorcycles behind me are getting larger, beginning to close the distance between us. I let out an involuntary shriek and push down harder, praying I can outrun them but knowing I probably can’t. My only hope is if Hawk gets to me in time, and if he’s not alone. The thought that he might not have brought men to help him brings on a wave of acute nausea, and I try to fight it back as the horrible realization hits me that we might both end up in the hands of the other MC.

What do they want?

Will they hurt us? Hold us hostage? Or…

A loud sob rips from my throat as I push down further, my foot to the floor now. Up ahead, there’s an intersection, with a pickup truck about to pull onto the highway. I press down on the horn and pray he won’t misjudge my distance and speed and pull out in front of me. I know I won’t be able to avoid hitting him if he does.

My car barrels past the pickup, the bikes ever closer. By now I can see flashes of white and red on their vests that I know are club patches. One of the men gestures to the other, and they move into a different formation. They’re getting ready to do something. To me.

We come to a fairly steep hill, so steep that I can’t see over to the other side. If the bikers behind me are planning to overtake me, they probably won’t do it until after we’re over it. I jam my foot down to the floor, desperately trying to get more speed out of the car. I’m driving far too fast now, it’s not safe and I know it but I don’t have a choice. I pray fervently that nothing will be there on the other side for me to hit. The more I consider the possibility, the sicker I feel, as I imagine the crash of metal and the instant death it would mean for me and whoever could be in front of me.

I fly over the hill, my stomach dropping like I’m on a roller coaster, and miraculously there’s no one in my path. But now the men behind me are almost on me, and as I glance wildly at them I see one of them is pulling out what looks like a pistol. If he shoots me, or my tires, I’ll lose control and I’m going too fast to survive it. “Hawk!” I scream. “Help me!” There’s another hill coming up, and as the man with the gun holds it out and levels it at me, I do the only thing I can think of.

I let up on the gas and slam on the brakes.