Stone-gray eyes met his. A rictus of a smile appeared on Razor’s mouth. “You’ve never shot anyone before, have you?”
“Fuck you,” he whispered. His hands shook as he pointed the gun at Razor’s head. “Stay back.”
Razor raised both his hands, but those eyes were mocking him. By some miracle, Skid got on his motorcycle. He tucked the gun into his belt and managed to get the engine going.
“Bye, sucker,” Skid yelled triumphantly. He sped away, maniacally grinning, only to feel a sharp pain on his side. Skid looked down and gasped when he saw a neat bullet hole the size of a nickel on his left side.
“Tell Vulture I’ll be waiting for him,” had been Razor’s parting words.
A chill went down his spine. Razor missed on purpose because he wanted Skid to send Vulture a message. Skid rode out of Grace as fast as he could. Once he left the vicinity of Grace, he stopped at the side of the road. The wound on his side hurt like hell. Skid stumbled off his bike and swayed slightly on his feet.
“Call for help, idiot,” he whispered to himself. Skid started to become dizzy, so he sat on the side of the road. Desperation pushed him to call Vulture.
“Help,” he said when Vulture answered. “I found her.”
“What the hell do you mean? Natalie?” Vulture demanded.
“Please. He shot me. I’m bleeding. I’ve got proof she’s alive,” Skid said.
Vulture had more questions, but he didn’t have the energy to answer them. Skid fell on his side, waiting for his brothers to arrive. By the time he heard the familiar and comforting sound of motorcycle engines, blood practically covered his entire shirt.
Two bikers got off their bikes. One took out his phone and turned on the flashlight function. Skid groaned, shutting his eyes at the bright glare. Another took his phone and looked at it.
“This must be it,” said the second biker. Skid couldn’t quite identify them. His vision started to fail him. Their voices sounded warped as well.
“Help,” Skid whispered, but they both kept talking.
“What about him?”
“Vulture said to leave the trash behind. We got what we came here for.”
No, Skid thought, but his consciousness was leaving him. “Wait,” he said. One biker knelt, and Skid repeated what Razor told him.
“We’ll be sure to pass that message on to Vulture,” the biker said, laughing. Then they rode away, leaving Skid to the pain and the darkness.