NATASHA

Banta City seems bigger tonight as I leave the engagement party. The city's lights sparkle in the starless night. Yesterday's heavy storms left the city smelling clean and dewy.

I stare across Petra and watch the bikers idle at a light. More than once, Bear rolls past our SUV and up to his club brothers. He keeps an eye on them as we move from the hotel on our way back to the mansion.

Petra wraps her hand around mine and shares my grin. Though she's excited about the wedding, I sense her happiness right now is related to her daughters' impending move to Banta City. Earlier today, she spoke to Shari and Vica, who are eager to see her again. In a month, everything will be different for my sister and me.

The convoy idles next to the Jefferson River. My SUV is the fifth out of seven vehicles. My parents are located in the vehicle in front of us. Security and support staff are behind us.

Getting stuck in Banta City traffic is how I've spent a decent chunk of my life. I settle in my seat as vehicles honk and motorcycles rev.

I swipe through pictures on my phone and imagine Bear in Key West. Our honeymoon is planned for six months from now. We'll only be gone for a few days to keep the kids' stress levels low.

Bear rarely leaves Banta City. This place and the club are all he knows. A part of him doesn't want to try anything new. For me, he'll spend a few days in Key West.

As the convoy continues to idle near the bridge, I suffer a growing awareness of trouble brewing outside. First, a motorcycle races past our SUV. I look forward between the seats to see what's holding up the convoy, but the other large black vehicles block my view. Glancing out my window, I find the river. Petra's side faces a side street.

Another motorcycle flies past our SUV. Car tires screech. The gunman in our SUV exits with his rifle. I shove my phone in my bag as dread builds hot and toxic in my chest.

Sensing danger, I wonder about those police who tried to arrest me at my bachelorette party. Are they holding us up now?

As the third motorcycle races past our SUV, the driver says in Czech, "Get down on the floor."

I don't ask questions. As children, my father trained us to obey security. That's why despite wearing heavy gowns, Petra and I unsnap our seat belts and drop to the floor. The driver speaks to someone on his radio.

The gunshots don't sound real at first. They're coming from the front of the convoy.

"Natasha," Petra whimpers.

Just then, the night explodes with noise. Holding Petra's hand, I'm too scared to cry. I think of Bear out there with the other bikers. My family is in the crosshairs. This isn't a simple ticket from the cops. Someone is trying to kill my father. Everyone else will become collateral damage.

The chaos grows. I hear more gunshots. A few bullets collide with this SUV's reenforced shell. I grip my sister's hand and pretend Bear is safe at home with his cats. I don't dare picture him facing the madness outside.

"Fuck," the driver says, sounding panicked. "Get out of the SUV."

The words have barely left his lips when something slams into our vehicle. The SUV's airbags deploy. The side bags slam Petra and me together. Our heads collide. As darkness grips me, I feel the world tip over and come slamming back down.