Free Rage's Story (Vanish Book 1) by Elle Michaels

sweeping past from the sheer speed.
    I pause on a breath.
    My sights align.
    He’s there.
    I hear a pop, I flinch.
    I fire.
    My heart races as we pass, the world rushes back into normal tempo, focus shatters. I pull the breaks and my wheels squeal until the bike stops. I just breathe for a moment, making sure I still can. I look down. I throw the gun to the side and pat my body. I don’t feel any pain, any wet place where blood leaks through a hole. He missed.
    I look back. Laid out across the pavement at the base of the bridge, Evin’s still body faces the stars. His bike smashed into the bridge, bits of it lay around him, the bike itself stopped against the side of the bridge where it leans now.
    My heart struggles to find its normal rhythm. I walk back, taking slow, conscious breaths to calm myself. By the time I reach him, my chest no longer feels like it’s about to burst.
    He’s still, frozen.
    My eyes trace his body until they find it, my single shot, found its way between two ribs on his left side.
    He coughs, blood spurts from his lips and falls back on them, dripping along his cheeks. It snakes through the lines. His head lifts like he’s about to check the wound, but then it drops again, bouncing against the pavement. “Shit,” he coughs.
    I lower myself onto my knees beside him.
    “Where is it?” he asks.
    “Left side,” I say. “Lung.”
    He looks into my eyes, terror.
    Now resigned.
    He closes his eyes, exhales. “Alright, Rage. Well done. That’s the end of it.”
    I nod. Then I think, he didn’t just mean our feud. “The end of what?”
    “The MC. Devi’s Right Hands. It’s all over now. You hear the shootout earlier tonight?”
    I think back to the sounds I heard while I raced Auna back to her apartment. “The brothers?”
    He nods as best he can. “All, dead. Shootout with some undercover cops, over this fucking stupid drug bullshit with the locals. And this girl, some dumb stripper, that fucking rich shit was hard over. Al, that dumb prick…” he tries rolling over, perhaps to stand, but it’s too much and he rolls back. “He’s dead, too. The cops, the dealers, our brothers, all dead. I walked through the carnage. I tripped over the bodies, got their blood on my shoes. I led them there, Wes. I did that. Sold to some little rich shit, then got involved with the local outfit running a game, should’ve stayed out of it. Should’ve stopped a long time ago.” He works himself into a fit, his breath grows short. He stares at me with fire in his eyes. “You killed dad. You killed our prez. If he were still here--”
    “He’s the reason this happened, Evin.”
    His eyes squint, but they fade. The red in his face recedes, leaving a pale white tone in his flesh. “Damnit, Wes. You could’ve come to me.” He raises his hand into the air.
    I grab it firmly with mine. “You know I couldn’t have.” I feel him squeeze. “You would’ve killed me right there, at that moment.”
    He scoffs. “You’re right.”
    “Why didn’t you run? When you saw the bodies, knew it was over, why did you come?”
    He looks into my eyes. “Finish.”
    I can’t stop the tear from spilling over my cheek and running through my stubble. Fuck. Damnit, Evin, it didn’t have to end this way. “Come on,” I tell him, pulling on his arm.
    His feet kick against the road, his heels scratching. I lift a little harder and he comes to his feet. He coughs again, blood dribbles off his chin. I half-carry him to the wreckage of his bike. I pull it off the wall of the bridge and steady it in the middle of the road. I stand Evin on his own two feet and hold his bike by the handle. “Ride,” I tell him.
    He takes a moment pulling one leg over the bike, but when he sits into it, a second wave fuels his posture and he holds his chin up. I start it for him. He looks into my eyes.
    “Don’t stop til the sun.”
    He twists the handle and rides off. His bike wobbles, but he finds his balance. I watch for a second,