Chapter 65

• Bellamie squeezed her eyes shut as Gala twisted the throttle, the motorcycle surging forward with a roar. She gripped him tightly from behind, arms around his waist, whispering prayers under her breath. The helmet she wore—somehow—projected images inside: men aiming weapons directly at them.
• The sound of gunfire and screeching engines filled the night. Their escape was anything but smooth. Uneven ground, tangled roots jutting from the forest floor, jagged rocks threatening to knock them off course—none of it slowed Gala down. His focus was razor-sharp.
• And then the explosions started.