Chapter 17
CATCHER
It’s late afternoon by the time buses line up, then roll out one by one, diesel fumes curling in the hot air.
Kids pour through the doors, laughing, yelling, dragging lunchboxes and backpacks while teachers shepherd them with tired smiles and firm voices.
Parents pull through the loop, waving, calling names, leaning over seats to open doors.
Normal life moves in front of me like a film.
The noise slowly thins, the lot empties, and one by one, faculty cars leave, but there is still no Ruby.
I light another cigarette outside the car, keeping an eye on the entrance. A few more minutes pass, then I see movement near the doors. Not her yet, just another teacher stepping out. She glances my way, eyes lingering on me, on the cut, on the car, then gets into a compact SUV and leaves.
I check the time. Ruby should be out. My phone stays quiet—no text, no call, and my jaw tightens.
I flick the cigarette to the ground and grind it under my boot, then climb back in the car.
I’ll pull up to the entrance and wait for her there now that most people are gone.
I put the car in gear and eased onto school property.
I’m halfway into the turn toward the front entrance when the world explodes sideways.
Metal screams, glass bursts, the driver’s side takes the full impact, a violent slam that snaps my body hard against the belt and knocks the air from my lungs.
The car spins half a turn, tires shrieking, something crunching deep under the frame before everything stops with a sick, grinding jolt.
For a second, there’s no sound, just high, sharp ringing.
My vision blurs at the edges, and I taste blood.
The windshield is spiderwebbed, the driver’s window is gone, and there is glass scattered across my lap, seat, and floor.
Hot air rushes in where the side window used to be, carrying the smell of burned rubber, gasoline, dust, and busted radiator fluid.
My hearing comes back in pieces—horn blaring, the tick of a ruined engine, the hiss of something leaking, my own breath dragging rough through my chest. I look out the busted driver’s window at a black SUV, front end crushed into Ruby’s car, but there’s no movement inside.
My hand goes for my weapon as my brain catches up.
I shove at the driver’s door, which is jammed, and the frame is folded in.
Pain flares across my shoulder when I throw my weight into it and get nothing but metal groaning back at me.
I unclip the belt and climb over the console, shoulder screaming, ribs tight, forcing myself out the passenger side.
My boots hit the pavement. I barely straighten before something cracks against the side of my head.
White light bursts behind my eyes before the pain splits hot across my skull, and I stagger, one hand catching the roof of the car.
Then a blunt hit drives into my kidney, hard and precise.
My body folds before I can stop it, pain ripping through my side so sharp it steals my breath.
“Not so big now, are you, motherfucker?” A boot catches my ribs, and I hit the ground on one knee.
I spit blood onto the asphalt and push one hand under me. Another kick slams into my shoulder, knocking me sideways.
The man crouches just enough for me to see him through the blur, dark beard, scar near his mouth. “You and your club done fucked with the wrong people.” He kicks me again, this time in the stomach. “My brother’s in the hospital because of you.”
I cough, laugh low, even though it hurts. “You won’t be so lucky.”
The scarred man’s face twists before he grabs my hair and yanks my head up. “We’re gonna do to you what you did to him.”
I look at him and two other men through one eye, the other stinging from blood running down my temple. “You can try.”
His fist slams into my mouth, then he jerks back for another swing, and the guy to my left steps closer.
My hand moves fast. I roll to my side, ignoring the lightning bolt through my ribs, and draw my weapon from where my body shielded it.
I fire once. He screams and drops as blood bursts from his thigh, spilling between his fingers when he grabs at the wound—femoral if he’s unlucky.
The other men scatter back half a step. I use it and start to push up, but my head swims, and the ground shifts under me.
The scarred man curses, reaching under his shirt.
I bring my gun up again, but my arm doesn’t move as clean as I need it to.
Blood runs into my eye, and my ribs feel like broken glass.
Then something slams into the back of my head, and the ground tilts.
Ruby’s image flashes through me before anything else.
I try to lift the gun again, but my hand doesn’t listen.
The world narrows to nothing more than heat, asphalt, and the sound of someone shouting from far away.
Then everything goes black.