Dust hung in the air like ash, thick and acrid, mixed with the smell of burnt metal and oil. Everything was going according to plan, at least for a short while. Jax stopped the van exactly where he was supposed to. Tig opened the door and dropped the bags of weapons at Alvarez’s feet, who nodded, signaling to his man. Then came the first crack. Like someone cutting the silence with a knife. And then more quick, sharp bursts of automatic weapons. Nines.

From behind the rusting trailer, from dark corners like ghosts, without warning. They cut through the air with bullets. It all happened too fast. Alvarez went down first a shoulder, maybe a rib, no one was sure. His men returned fire, but several were already lying in the dust of concrete. Chibs shouted something indistinct, leaning out and sending a burst toward the attackers.

You froze for a moment. Instinct learned, painfully familiar told you to step back, glue yourself to the wall of the building, and reach for your gun. Cold steel in your hand. Familiar heaviness in your fingers. You fired your first shot in the direction of movement you saw out of the corner of your eye.

And then everything stopped. Not the bang. Not the pain. First came the warmth. As if something had spilled inside you, slowly, stiflingly, thickly. As if someone had poured boiling water under your skin. The shock hit your ribs, then paralysis. Your body bent without your consent. You sank to your knees, and your hand with the gun dropped, your hand limp and trembling.

There was chaos all around, but it sounded like it was from behind thick glass. Voices stretched and muffled, as in dreams meaningless screams, the sounds of gunshots muffled, as if coming from another world. You could hear your own breathing, heavy, irregular. You looked down. Red. Spreading widely, with every heartbeat. The searing wound in his stomach throbbed, and blood soaked through his clothes. Each drop on the concrete was loud as a drum. Everything was spinning.

Tig appeared suddenly. Hands strong, brutal, pulling you from under the wall as if you weighed nothing. You felt the hard floor of the van hit your back, then his face above you blurred, quivering. He said something. His voice was distant, but warm, nervous. He knelt down next to you, trying to press on the wound, but all you could feel was the heat leaking out. Jax moved immediately. The tires dug into the ground, and the interior of the van shuddered.

Clay was on the other side. He was searching for something, cursing under his breath. His hand grabbed a piece of gauze he’d torn from the first aid kit. He knelt down and pressed the material against your stomach, with all his strength, but you already knew that there was no stopping this heat.

Tig held your face. He mumbled something quietly. He saw you drifting away. Your vision went black, and you tried to remember the sound of the engine that roar that usually meant freedom. Now it was all that kept you conscious.