chest. Every breath he took was agonizing.
As he tried to get to his feet, he heard the sound of an approaching engine. Right away, he knew it for what it was: a motorcycle engine.
He managed to get to his knees, but that was it. He rested against his bike, feeling its reassuring weight beside him. The motorcycle engine drew closer and within seconds, its headlight illuminated the area in front of Jameson’s bike. It quickly drew up by Jameson’s bike and within seconds, Alex was there, kneeling beside him. To Jameson, it all happened in weird jerking movements. He realized then that his shirt was soaked with blood, the shot in his chest perhaps more damaging than he had originally assumed. He saw Alex’s face, but it was blurry and nearly translucent, as if he were seeing a ghost.
“What the hell happened?” Alex asked.
“Marco,” Jameson said. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he tasted blood in the back of his mouth.
“Here?”
“Yeah.”
“We need to call a doctor,” Alex said. “There’s blood everywhere.”
“No. Go after him. He can’t be but thirty seconds ahead of you. He took a left out of the lot. Black car.” Each word was like hot iron in his shoulder. The pain wound through him and seemed to plummet through every inch of his body.
“Jameson, I—”
“Now!” And with that, he was sure there was blood in his throat. He felt it thick and gummy on his tongue now.
Jameson watched something happen in Alex’s eyes then, some deep thinking that made him look like a truly haunted individual.
“Okay,” he said. He then pulled out his cellphone, and Jameson watched as he pushed in 9-1-1. “Get to a hospital before you bleed to death. I’ll get Marco. And after that… well, after that, I need to have you gone.”
Jameson chuckled, and it sent a flare of pain through his body. “We’ll see,” he said as he put the phone to his ear.
Alex waited until someone on the other end picked up before turning his back on Jameson. As he mounted his bike, he heard a sharp whistling noise. He turned and saw Jameson with a gun. He lobbed it at Alex and he caught it deftly.
Listening to Jameson tell the dispatcher where he was and what had happened, Alex kicked his bike to life and headed left to deal Marco O’Brien a beating for the second time in less than a week.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It had been about eight months since Alex had given chase to anyone on his bike with the intentions of hurting them. Every time he had done it during his time with the Unknowns, it had been on those vast and seemingly endless roads out in the Nevada desert. But now, in the darkness of a city that he was unfamiliar with, it was a completely different scenario.
He picked up the headlights of the black car easily enough, coming up on them in less than a minute. He sped up, running a red light in the process, grateful that the streets were empty. Jameson’s Glock was tucked away in the interior pocket of his jacket, and as he neared the car, Alex fought the urge to pull it out. The last thing he wanted was to fire several shorts that would do no good. There was no sense in giving people reasons to call the cops. Adding the police to this situation would only makes things so much worse.
Not wanting Marco — or Marco and his companions (that was another thing; Alex had no idea how many people were in the car) — to discover that he was tailing them, Alex slowed his speed a bit, hanging back, and waiting for an opportune time.
The car seemed to be in no real hurry to get anywhere. It broke the speed limit by only a slightest amount and stopped at the appropriate lights. By the time Alex had managed to get to within two hundred feet of them, he was able to faintly see the interior of the car with the aide of the dim streetlights. There were two people inside…one at the wheel and the other in the passenger seat.
Only two of them,
As he tried to get to his feet, he heard the sound of an approaching engine. Right away, he knew it for what it was: a motorcycle engine.
He managed to get to his knees, but that was it. He rested against his bike, feeling its reassuring weight beside him. The motorcycle engine drew closer and within seconds, its headlight illuminated the area in front of Jameson’s bike. It quickly drew up by Jameson’s bike and within seconds, Alex was there, kneeling beside him. To Jameson, it all happened in weird jerking movements. He realized then that his shirt was soaked with blood, the shot in his chest perhaps more damaging than he had originally assumed. He saw Alex’s face, but it was blurry and nearly translucent, as if he were seeing a ghost.
“What the hell happened?” Alex asked.
“Marco,” Jameson said. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he tasted blood in the back of his mouth.
“Here?”
“Yeah.”
“We need to call a doctor,” Alex said. “There’s blood everywhere.”
“No. Go after him. He can’t be but thirty seconds ahead of you. He took a left out of the lot. Black car.” Each word was like hot iron in his shoulder. The pain wound through him and seemed to plummet through every inch of his body.
“Jameson, I—”
“Now!” And with that, he was sure there was blood in his throat. He felt it thick and gummy on his tongue now.
Jameson watched something happen in Alex’s eyes then, some deep thinking that made him look like a truly haunted individual.
“Okay,” he said. He then pulled out his cellphone, and Jameson watched as he pushed in 9-1-1. “Get to a hospital before you bleed to death. I’ll get Marco. And after that… well, after that, I need to have you gone.”
Jameson chuckled, and it sent a flare of pain through his body. “We’ll see,” he said as he put the phone to his ear.
Alex waited until someone on the other end picked up before turning his back on Jameson. As he mounted his bike, he heard a sharp whistling noise. He turned and saw Jameson with a gun. He lobbed it at Alex and he caught it deftly.
Listening to Jameson tell the dispatcher where he was and what had happened, Alex kicked his bike to life and headed left to deal Marco O’Brien a beating for the second time in less than a week.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It had been about eight months since Alex had given chase to anyone on his bike with the intentions of hurting them. Every time he had done it during his time with the Unknowns, it had been on those vast and seemingly endless roads out in the Nevada desert. But now, in the darkness of a city that he was unfamiliar with, it was a completely different scenario.
He picked up the headlights of the black car easily enough, coming up on them in less than a minute. He sped up, running a red light in the process, grateful that the streets were empty. Jameson’s Glock was tucked away in the interior pocket of his jacket, and as he neared the car, Alex fought the urge to pull it out. The last thing he wanted was to fire several shorts that would do no good. There was no sense in giving people reasons to call the cops. Adding the police to this situation would only makes things so much worse.
Not wanting Marco — or Marco and his companions (that was another thing; Alex had no idea how many people were in the car) — to discover that he was tailing them, Alex slowed his speed a bit, hanging back, and waiting for an opportune time.
The car seemed to be in no real hurry to get anywhere. It broke the speed limit by only a slightest amount and stopped at the appropriate lights. By the time Alex had managed to get to within two hundred feet of them, he was able to faintly see the interior of the car with the aide of the dim streetlights. There were two people inside…one at the wheel and the other in the passenger seat.
Only two of them,
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