Hugo is never not carrying. I can remember so many times he would reach for hidden guns I never knew were there. The terror I felt every time he pulled one out never went away. Whether they be on his body or in his—

I snap up just as he looks to be typing something out, watching the road carefully through quick glances up and down.

I move without hesitation, and I thank god that he had the stupidity to trust me (and teach me how to shoot) as I flip open the glove box and find his .45 sitting in its usual spot.

Hugo drops the phone before mid-text and reaches for me, but I’m quicker than he is.

And I don’t hesitate as I flash the barrel toward him and pull the trigger.

That goddamn car can barely stay on the road. It’s been swerving from one guard rail to the other, across two lanes and nearly into the marshes. I keep looking at Ryder, hoping he’ll give me some fucking wisdom here on what we’re supposed to do now.

Savannah has every intention of putting that car in the water again, and we’re still a good eight miles away. I can’t let her get that far.

There’s the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. The car makes a hard right, and I watch in horror as it hits the guard rail, the embankment, and begins toppling before it finally comes to a stop two-hundred feet away from the road in a dry field.

Something snaps in my chest. Savannah is in that car, being whipped around, crashing in nothing but glass and metal. My Savannah is in there. Our bikes come to a halt on the shoulder, and I can tell that every guy around me is as horrified as I am. My mouth hangs open, and my body takes over for my brain, which seems to have stopped working completely.

I scream her name, my voice coming out harsh and pained as if I’m the one in the now-crushed car. I don’t register getting off my bike. Did I put down the kickstand? Is it still running? It could have ended up in the ditch for all I know as I take off toward the car.

The embankment is bigger than I expect, and it takes energy to climb through the wet grass. Thankfully, the adrenaline has kicked in. Running toward the wreckage, I feel the guys behind me, Rafe at my right side, pistol in his extended arm, just in case. If that mother fucker in the car is still alive, I hope I get to watch Rafe put a bullet between his eyes.

Ryder is on the other side, reaching out to grab my shoulder, cautioning me to watch for flames. But I don’t give a fuck about flames. If that car explodes, with her inside, I’m going with it.