about the Colony. Is that what the Satan’s Bastards will do to me? Send my head back to Spider as a message?
Bile burns the back of my throat. The inescapable truth hits home hard. Spider must know I’m gone by now, but he probably thinks I ran away.
Will he come looking for me? Or will he decide I’m too much trouble and write me off? The thought makes my heart squeeze. It should be a good thing if I never see him again, but instead, my stomach clenches.
I let my head drop against the steel wall. Even if he comes after me, he could be searching for days and never find me.
I’ll have to get out of here on my own, and fast.
I crane my neck, trying to see out the windows for a landmark, but they’re too high. The van’s moving faster now. It jostles and bumps along the road, rattling my head against the wall and causing me to sway sickeningly when it makes a turn.
I’ll have to find some way to get the driver to stop. If I can get him to open the back, I might be able to trick him into uncuffing me, but I have to do it soon. The further I get away from that truck stop, the harder it will be to find my way back. Or for Spider to find me.
One more time, I thump the floor and give a muffled shout.
Music plays faintly from the front of the vehicle, some sort of rock tune Seth would have said was a path to hell. As soon as I shout, the radio turns up until I feel the base pounding along with the engine.
He’s drowning me out. I have an absurd vision of him whistling merrily while he drives through the desert with a captive woman screaming from his back compartment. The thought makes my stomach roil.
I close my eyes, put my head back, and entertain a thought I never would have dreamed I’d ever think.
Spider, please find me. Please.
3
Betrayal’s Burn
We ride for about fifteen minutes, tearing up the road and pushing our bikes to their limits.
It doesn’t make a difference to me if Emma convinced the driver of that van to take her away from the truck stop. I don’t give a shit what story she gave him, or if he’s doing a good turn for a woman he probably thinks is stranded or trying to escape a dangerous man. Fact is, he’s taken what’s mine away from me. By drawing him into this, Emma just signed his death warrant.
Striker rides on my left, Rat on my right. Ordinarily, Rat would ride behind us. It’s protocol to ride according to rank, but right now? Fuck proper formation. Our priority is catching up to that van and for me to take back what belongs to me.
I’d guess the van has about a twenty-minute head start, thanks to Briggs. It’s not difficult to figure out which direction they’re headed, since there’s only one road running through these parts for miles.
We’re headed down the 93, back the way we came, toward Diamondback. But in about another twenty minutes or so—twenty minutes if you’re doing the speed limit, that is—the 93 will split into Sandturn Road going left, and Adler going right, a junction known as The Fork. At which point, Emma’s good Samaritan could choose either direction. If we choose the wrong road, we risk losing her. We need to catch that van before it hits The Fork.
Tough shit for that driver, we won’t be doing the speed limit. For us, it’ll be ten minutes to The Fork.
Pushing the needle on the speedometer until it’s practically jumping off the dial, now and again, I glance around me, keeping my eyes peeled for a glint of black metal, my ears perked for the roar of a gas-guzzling engine. I don’t see or hear any sign of the van that pulled out of the truck stop’s lot.
A little less than ten minutes after leaving the lot, The Fork appears up ahead. I glance at Rat to see if he’s picked up the signal yet. He checks at his phone and gives me a nod.
He’s got it.
A rush of determination sets in. She won’t get away from us now.
Weeks ago, when Rat put those cameras in my bedroom, he’d put trackers in Emma’s sneakers. He put another two in the heels I’d given her, just in case, one in each shoe. We’re within ten miles of the