Part 7 – The Betrayal
What happens when the man you trust to guard your dying dog is the first one to turn against you?
Morning broke gray and heavy, the storm’s leftovers crawling east. The barn smelled of wet wood and smoke. Rosie lay against me, chest rising slow but steady, her head pressed into my palm. She hadn’t moved all night except to breathe, and each breath felt like a gift I didn’t deserve.
I unfolded Mary’s second note again, the three words burned into me like brands: Trust the kid.
I kept staring at Jake across the fire. He was asleep, face smeared with road grime, hair stuck in damp curls to his forehead. Young. Unscarred. But Mary had seen something in him. Something I hadn’t yet.
Joe stirred first, joints popping as he stood. He reached for his shotgun like he always did, casual, automatic. But something in the way he looked at me was different. Colder.
“You read that letter again?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
His eyes flicked to Jake, then back to me. “And?”
I hesitated. “Mary said to trust him.”
Joe’s mouth curled into a bitter smile. “Mary always had a soft spot for strays.”
Something in his tone made my gut tighten.
We packed up slow. The brothers kicked dirt over the fire, tightened straps, checked guns. The storm had left the road muddy, but the sun was peeking weakly through the clouds. Rosie stirred at the sound of engines, lifting her head. Weak. Tired. But present. Always present.
“Today,” I said, loud enough for all of them, “she touches the sea proper. We ride to the shore, no matter what.”
They nodded, but Joe didn’t. He just stared at me, jaw clenched, like he was chewing something bitter.
We rolled out, twenty bikes deep, the sound like thunder returning to the earth. Jake stayed tight on my flank. Joe hung back a little. Watching.
I should have noticed sooner.
By midday, we stopped at a rundown diner. Rosie needed water. So did we. The place was nearly empty—just a tired waitress and a couple truckers at the counter. We slid into a booth, Rosie curled beside me on the bench. She licked water from a bowl, then rested her head against my leg, sighing.
That’s when Joe spoke.
“This is madness,” he said, voice flat. “Dragging her across half the country, through storms, through fights. She should’ve been put down days ago.”
Every head at the table snapped toward him.
“You watch your mouth,” Jake snarled.
Joe leaned back, arms crossed. “I’m saying what everyone’s thinking. Look at her. She’s dying. And Grizz here is too blind to see it. He’s chasing ghosts while that dog suffers.”
My fists curled. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
He slammed his palm on the table. “Don’t I? I was there when Mary was buried. You weren’t. You ran. And now you’re dragging us all on some fool’s errand because you can’t bury another thing you love!”
The diner went dead quiet. Even the waitress froze.
Jake stood, knife flashing in his hand. “Say that again.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. “Put the knife down, kid. You’re out of your league.”
I stood too, the weight of the room pressing in. Rosie stirred at the tension, whining low.
“Enough,” I said, voice low but sharp. “Joe, you don’t want to do this.”
But he did. I saw it in his eyes. He wasn’t just angry. He was scared. Scared of watching me throw Rosie’s last breaths at the road.
“You’re not the man you used to be,” he said. “And if you won’t let her go, I’ll do it for you.”
Before I could move, he reached for the shotgun.
The world slowed.
Jake lunged across the table. The brothers shouted. Rosie barked, a broken, ragged sound.
I caught Joe’s wrist before he could raise the gun. Our eyes locked, thirty years of brotherhood and betrayal burning between us.
“You put that down,” I growled, “or I’ll break you.”
For a moment, I thought he’d back off. Thought the weight of the years would pull him back into line.
Then the diner door banged open.
Scarface.
And half his crew behind him.
The room erupted.
Scarface grinned wide, busted wrist still wrapped in bandages. “Well, isn’t this a pretty picture? The cripple, the mutt, the traitor, and the kid.”
His men spilled in, guns drawn, faces wild with hunger.
The brothers scrambled. Tables flipped. Truckers dove for cover.
Scarface pointed at Rosie. “Take the dog.”
Jake was already moving, shoving Rosie into my arms, knife flashing as he blocked the first swing of a chain.
Joe hesitated, shotgun half-raised. His eyes darted between me and Scarface.
My blood went cold.
“You called them,” I said.
His silence was answer enough.
The fight tore the diner apart. Plates shattered. Chairs splintered. Gunfire cracked against the walls.
I shielded Rosie with my body, swinging a broken chair leg at the nearest man. Jake fought like a demon beside me, knife biting flesh, his face twisted in rage.
“Go!” he shouted. “Get her out!”
I stumbled toward the back door, Rosie pressed tight against me. The rain had started again, drumming the roof, the smell of ozone thick in the air.
Scarface cut me off, his scar splitting wider with his grin. “Leaving so soon?”
I lunged, but Joe stepped between us.
“Don’t,” he said.
I stared at him, betrayal burning hotter than the storm. “You’d stand with him? After everything?”
He looked down at Rosie, at her weak, trembling body. “She deserves peace, Grizz. Not this.”
“Peace?” My voice cracked. “Peace doesn’t come from a bullet or a needle. Peace comes from keeping the damn promise.”
His jaw clenched. He didn’t move.
Scarface laughed, savoring it. “Looks like your family ain’t so loyal after all.”
Jake roared, slamming into Scarface from the side, driving him into a booth. The scarred man howled, fists flying.
The brothers poured in from the parking lot, engines still rumbling outside. Gunfire, fists, steel—all of it clashed in the storm.
And Rosie, pressed to my chest, whined once. Weak. Fragile. But alive.
I pushed past Joe, eyes locked on the back door.
This wasn’t the place. Not for her. Not for me.
We burst into the rain, the storm swallowing us whole. The brothers fought in the doorway, holding Scarface’s men back long enough for me and Jake to reach the bikes.
Jake’s face was bleeding, his shirt torn, but his eyes burned. “Go!”
I strapped Rosie into the sidecar, her breaths shallow but steady. I kissed her head once, whispered into her fur: “One more mile, girl. Just one more.”
Engines roared. Tires spun on wet pavement. The night swallowed us.
Behind, I saw Joe still standing in the diner doorway, shotgun slack in his hands, torn between the life we’d shared and the line he’d just crossed.
Scarface’s voice thundered through the storm.
“You can’t run forever, Grizzly! She’ll die before the ocean takes her!”
Rosie’s chest rose, then stuttered. Her paw twitched, pressing weakly against my arm.
“Stay with me,” I begged, the storm howling like hell itself around us.
Her eyes closed.
For one terrifying moment, I thought she was gone.
And then the sidecar filled with a sound I hadn’t heard in months—
Rosie humming, soft and broken, in rhythm with the roar of the engine.
Part 8 – The Final Chase
How far would you ride into hell if the only thing keeping your dying dog alive was the engine’s roar?
The rain fell sideways, needling my face, but I didn’t slow down. Couldn’t. Rosie was slumped in the sidecar, head pressed against her blanket, breaths rattling like loose bolts in a dying engine. Every second counted.
Behind me, headlights swarmed. Scarface’s crew had poured out of that diner like roaches, engines howling, tires spitting water. Their bikes glowed mean in the dark, a wall of fury chasing me down the slick highway.
Jake was at my side, blood still dripping from the cut on his cheek, knife tucked back in his belt. His eyes burned through the storm. “Don’t let them take her!”
“They won’t,” I growled. “Not while I’m breathing.”
The brothers formed up around us—Big Jim to my left, Phoenix to my right, Spider and Dutch covering the rear. Twenty bikes, thundering as one. A wall of steel between Rosie and death.
Scarface’s laugh cut through the rain, carried by the storm. “You can’t run forever, Grizzly! She’ll die before sunrise anyway!”
I didn’t look back. My eyes stayed on the road, the promise roaring in my ears louder than any thunder.
The chase tore down the two-lane highway, tires hissing on wet asphalt, exhaust screaming. Trucks swerved to avoid the pack, horns blaring. Rosie stirred with every vibration, her paw twitching against the sidecar wall. She wasn’t gone yet. The engine was keeping her here, tethering her.
And I wasn’t about to cut that tether.
Gunfire cracked. Bullets sparked against the road. One slammed into Dutch’s saddlebag, tearing leather. He swore, firing back with his pistol, muzzle flashing bright in the rain.
Phoenix kicked his bike sideways, blocking two riders that tried to flank. His flames tattoo glowed under the lightning, his face a mask of fire and fury.
“Hold the line!” Big Jim roared, his voice thunder itself.
But Scarface broke through, his bike cutting close to mine. His eyes gleamed through the rain, his grin twisted.
“This ends tonight!” he shouted, raising a pistol.
I yanked the Harley left, tires skidding. The shot went wide, slamming into a road sign. Rosie yelped, pressing deeper into the sidecar.
Rage burned through me hotter than the storm.
“You don’t touch her!” I roared, swinging my boot out. My heel caught his bars, jerking his bike sideways. He cursed, barely recovering before slamming back into line.
“You can’t save her,” he spat. “She’s already dead!”
I met his eyes, my voice low and steady even through the chaos. “Not tonight.”
The road twisted, climbing into hills slick with rain. The brothers fell into tight formation, engines snarling like a single beast. Scarface’s crew pressed closer, headlights bleeding into one blinding mass behind us.
Rosie stirred again, and for a heartbeat I thought she was slipping away. But then—through the storm, through the roar of the chase—she did something I hadn’t expected.
She hummed.
Soft. Broken. But steady, in rhythm with the engine’s rumble.
Tears blurred my vision. “That’s it, girl. Stay with me. Ride with me.”
Jake glanced down, heard it too. His face twisted, part smile, part grief. “She’s singing with you, Grizz.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “She always did.”
Then chaos.
Scarface’s men surged forward in a wave, chains swinging, guns flashing. One rammed Spider’s rear tire, sending him fishtailing into the ditch. Another clipped Dutch, nearly throwing him.
“Hold them!” I bellowed.
Jim swung his massive frame, clotheslining a rider clean off his bike. Phoenix fired two shots, sending another skidding into the guardrail.
But Scarface kept coming, his pistol aimed dead at Rosie.
“No!” I swerved, putting my body between him and the sidecar. The bullet tore into my shoulder, white-hot pain exploding down my arm.
Jake screamed my name, but I didn’t slow. Couldn’t.
Rosie whined, nose nudging my leg like she knew. Like she was telling me to keep going.
The promise was bigger than the pain.
We hit the ridge road, cliffs dropping sheer into black waves below. Wind screamed, rain slashing sideways. One wrong move and we’d be gone.
Scarface rode up again, his grin savage. “This is where you die, old man!”
I bared my teeth. “Not tonight.”
I slammed my bike into his, metal screaming against metal. Sparks lit the storm. He fought back, shoving, engines roaring like monsters locked in war.
Then—Jake.
The kid leapt from his bike onto Scarface’s, knife flashing in the lightning. They grappled, the bike wobbling hard on the slick pavement.
“Jake!” I shouted.
But it was too late.
Scarface lost control. His bike skidded sideways, tires screaming, sparks trailing like fire. Jake leapt clear at the last second, rolling hard into the mud. Scarface wasn’t so lucky. His bike slammed the guardrail, flipped, and vanished into the waves below.
The ocean swallowed him whole.
Silence followed, broken only by thunder and the roar of our engines.
Jake staggered up, mud and blood streaked across his face, chest heaving. He raised his fist. “He’s gone!”
The brothers roared in triumph, engines echoing like victory drums.
But I didn’t celebrate.
I looked at Rosie. Her eyes were open, but barely. Her breaths shallow, her body still.
I pulled to the side, heart breaking, rain pouring down my face like tears. I lifted her from the sidecar, cradling her against me.
“Stay with me, girl. Just a little longer. The ocean’s waiting.”
Her paw twitched against my chest, faint as a whisper.
And then it stilled.
“No!” My cry tore through the storm.
The brothers fell silent, engines idling low. Jake stumbled to my side, eyes wide with horror.
“She’s… she’s gone?”
I couldn’t answer. I pressed my forehead to hers, sobbing into her wet fur.
For a moment, the storm itself seemed to pause.
Then—her chest rose.
One more breath. Fragile. Shaking. But there.
I gasped, holding her tighter. “That’s it, Rosie. Stay with me. Just a little further.”
Her eyes fluttered, cloudy but steady, locking on mine.
And in them, I swore I saw Mary.
We reached the overlook at dawn, the storm breaking into a pale sky. The ocean stretched below, waves glowing in the first light.
I carried Rosie to the edge, her body trembling, breaths shallow. I set her down where the wind could reach her, where the sea could fill her nose.
Her tail tapped once against the sand.
“She made it,” Jake whispered, voice breaking.
The brothers stood in silence, heads bowed.
But I knew it wasn’t over. Not yet.
Rosie’s paw nudged at her collar again, the one where Mary’s first letter had been hidden.
My fingers found another seam. Another fold of leather.
Inside—another scrap of paper, Mary’s handwriting blurred but clear:
If Rosie makes it here, tell him the truth.
My stomach dropped.
What truth?