Chapter 3 - The Highway of Scars
"Grab the backdoor," Gabriel ordered, his voice steadying the sudden madness in the room. He tucked Maya tightly into his chest, rising just enough to let Bones lay down covering fire toward the highway.
"Backdoor leads to the delivery alley," Dutch yelled, slamming open the kitchen doors. Cooks and dishwashers were already piled on the tile floor, trembling. "Bikes are out front, Gabe! We won't make it to the iron!"
"We take the delivery van," Gabriel snapped, not breaking stride.
He didn’t care about his custom chopper sitting outside in the sun. For the first time in his life, steel and leather didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was the warm, breathing weight pressed against his ribs. Maya was Sarah’s blood. She was his blood. The realization hit him not as a wonder, but as an ambush.
They kicked open the rear steel exit. A battered white van stood near the dumpster, keys miraculously hanging in the ignition for an afternoon produce drop. Bones ripped the driver's door open, hotwiring the starter before the keys could even be turned.
"Get in!" Bones yelled.
Gabriel tossed Maya into the rear bench, throwing his heavy leather cut over her small shoulders to shield her from any stray rounds. "Stay down, Maya. Don't look up until I tell you."
Dutch jumped into the passenger seat, his weapon aimed out the window. Just as the van tires screeched against the asphalt, Gabriel caught a glimpse of their pursuer stepping into the diner's front perimeter.
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It wasn't Blackwood. It was a man named Miller—Sarah’s estranged older brother, wearing the patch of the Dead Canyon Syndicate. Miller raised a carbine, locking eyes with Gabriel across the clearing. He didn't shoot to kill; he smiled, a sick, predatory smirk, and tapped his wristwatch.
"They're not trying to take her out," Gabriel breathed, his chest heaving as the van lunged into the open desert road. "They're tracking her."
