LOKI

“There’s nothing here,” I say as we comb through all of Pixie Sticks property. “No one,” I say as I come out of the last room in the back. It was dark as night when we got here, no sign of life anywhere. No bikes, cars, nothing.

“Hang on,” Tryke says as he whips out his phone. I don’t know what he’s doing, but he moves out of the hallway and into the parking lot. Then he comes back in again. “There a basement here?” he asks.

“Not that I know of,” Cowboy adds. “There’s a storage area below the store, but we checked that.”

“Check it again. Look for any other doors down there. The phone is showing in this building,” Tryke says confidently.

“Come on,” I say to Cowboy and we go back into the store. We’re not inside the store three steps when my phone starts ringing. I look at it. “Hold up,” I tell Cowboy and I answer it.

“Yeah, Axel, what’s doin’?”

“I need an ambulance.” Tis voice is weak, shattered.

“What happened?” I growl.

“Shot…” Then I hear the phone crashing to the ground, it bounces off the pavement and I go tearing through the back of the store and down the hall.

“Axel’s down,” I scream as I launch through the back door. “Call the EMTs,” I shout as I kick over my bike, and take off toward the house.

Axel’s down.

This is not good.

I don’t bother to wait and see if anyone comes after me, I don’t give a shit. I blow every stop sign, stoplight and traffic law in Roswell and I make it back to my house in less than six minutes. The ambulance hasn’t arrived when I nearly lay my bike down. I notice my truck is gone from the driveway. Forgetting Axel, I tear into the house and go straight to the bedroom.

“Fuck,” I scream. The bed is empty, no sign of Kiwi. “Kiwi?” I holler. No response. “Fuck, fuck.”

There are sirens blaring and motorcycles roaring down the street when I bolt back out the door and find Axel.

He’s alive, breathing, but barely. “When?” I ask him.

“I don’t know…” His voice barely above a whisper. “Twenty, thirty minutes after you left,” he adds.

“Who?” I ask him.

“Gunnar,” he mouths.

“Fuck,” I growl. “Come on, Axe, say with me.” I smack the side of his face, firmly, but not to cause him more pain. His eyes flutter open again.

“Tryin,” he breathes. “I didn’t see…already in house…” His breathing is short and ragged. Finally, the ambulance pulls up and following behind them are bikes.

The paramedics take over and begin working on Axel. “Save him,” I growl before I return to my bike. Sticks is there. “She’s gone. He took her.”

“Who?” Sticks asks.

“Gunnar,” I breathe. “I’m going back to Tryke,” I tell him. “Find that fucking phone.”

Sticks nods. I notice Big Daddy talking to the paramedics who are loading Axel into the back of the ambulance.

I can’t seem to move. My mind fills with thoughts of Kiwi, Piper, Emily, us, them, her. Where the fuck is she? I ask myself, trying in vain to think of any place Gunnar may have taken her. “The phone’s a decoy,” I snarl.

“What?” Sticks says.

“The phone, it turned on, we went looking for it. Gunnar knew we were on to him. Hence the GPS on another bike. His phone turning on…” I pull my phone from my cut and pull up Tryke’s number.

He answers and I snarl, “Get out of there, now. It’s a trap!

I hear his bike fire up. “Location D.” he replies as he revs his engine and disconnects.

TRYKE

I’m barely on the street when the loudest noise I’ve ever heard explodes behind me. A massive blast of heat hits my back and I stop, turning my bike hard as Pixie Sticks goes up in a giant ball of flames shooting toward the sky. “Motherfucker,” I growl and take off before the cops show up. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I growl.

I call Loki back. “Code Red!” I scream.

LOKI

I answer the phone.

“Code Red!” comes across the line over the roar of Tryke’s engine.

“Fuck!” I shout as the ambulance fires up its sirens and takes off down the street.

“What the fuck?” Sticks asks.

“Tryke called a code red,” I say and every face glares at me.

“Why would he do that?”

That’s when something catches our eyes in the sky in the direction of Pixie Sticks. There’s a ball of flames flying into the air before dissipating. It takes a good fifteen seconds before we hear the resounding boom. “Shit,” Big Daddy growls.

“Call it,” Sticks orders.

I do exactly that, texting all members, Roswell, Tucson, Boulder, and the smaller charters – with three exceptions- Rooster, Gunnar and Opie. They were removed yesterday.

I hear Pixie, Sticks, Big Daddy and Cowboy’s phones go off. The call has gone out. “Let’s move,” I order.