Chapter Eighteen #2
Too late, I realized the trap you’d fallen into; the final man, the one in charge, stood beside the controls of the hydraulic lift. Above you, a black SUV shuddered between its steel arms.
The boss’s hand slammed the emergency release. The lift dropped.
“Lai!” I yelled, too late; you looked up, but there was no time to escape completely.
The SUV crashed down, killing the other man as you dove away. The impact shook the entire garage so violently that glass burst from its windows and rained down to the floor. One lift arm snapped free and struck the concrete with enough force to carve a gouge into the floor.
Dust swallowed you.
I surged forward, shoving debris aside with my bumper.
For one terrible moment, I couldn’t see you, couldn’t see anything, until the dust thinned at last; you were on the ground beside the fallen vehicle, your upper body clear but your injured leg trapped beneath one of the twisted lift arms. Your cane lay several feet away.
Blood darkened your pants around the knee.
You didn’t care; you swore as the leader sprinted through the rear door, twisting to face me.
“Go,” you snarled through clenched teeth. “Ghost, go after him.”
I stared at the open doorway. The fleeing man who sabotaged the lift was escaping across the rear yard toward his truck.
“Ghost!”
Your face had gone pale. Both of your hands were wrapped around the steel lift arm, struggling in vain to make it budge while your breath came in tight, shallow pulls. You were trying not to show how badly it hurt.
Revenge for John waited for me outside. You were trapped here.
I didn’t even have to think about my choice. My shadow dropped from my hood and knelt beside you.
“Stubborn machine,” you hissed. “I gave you an order. Go after him.”
“No.”
“He’ll get away.”
I hooked my hands beneath the twisted lift arm. A mere shadow could not lift it, but I was not only the shape kneeling beside you; I was every single pound of steel that had gone into my construction, built to be powerful by design. “Keep your leg still.”
You glared at me. Even half buried beneath a vehicle, you had the audacity to look offended.
Ignoring you, I pulled.
Metal shrieked against metal. My tires slipped over oil and powdered concrete before finding traction, and slowly, painfully, the broken arm lifted; barely an inch, but enough for you to drag your leg free.
The moment you were clear, I let go. The steel crashed back to the floor as you rolled onto your back, breathing hard. Blood ran from a cut at your temple, and your damaged leg trembled uncontrollably.
I wanted to carry you, to take human form fully enough to lift you into my arms and put you somewhere safe.
Instead, you reached for your cane.
“No,” I said with a frown.
“Yes.”
“You can’t even stand.”
You planted the cane and forced yourself upright. Your leg nearly collapsed, but you caught yourself against my fender, leaving a bloody handprint on my white paint.
“There,” you breathed. “Standing.”
An engine roared outside, and the fleeing man’s truck shot past the rear entrance and turned onto the access road. Your head snapped toward the sound.
I opened my driver’s door.
You gave me a grim smile. “That’s more like it.”
You hauled yourself into my seat, dragging the injured leg after you. Pain twisted across your face when your boot struck the footwell, but you refused to make a sound.
I fastened the belt across you. “You steer,” I ordered. “I’ll handle the rest.”
“Controlling bastard,” you grinned, and I rolled my eyes.
◆◆◆
The getaway truck– a Ford F-150– stood no chance against me, even with a few minutes’ head start. I caught up with it on the highway, bringing the truck’s passenger window level with my driver’s side.
You turned your head as the man looked across at you. Blood covered half your face. Your hair streamed around your shoulders, whipping in the wind and rain blasting through the open window. One hand rested casually on my wheel while the other lifted in a small, almost courteous wave.
The driver’s terror was beautiful.
It was my turn, now; my engine snarled as I twisted and slammed myself into the truck, crushing its passenger door inward.
Metal screamed against my side, but I held steady and shoved the truck toward the shoulder.
The driver fought the wheel, tires throwing smoke as the truck bounced across the uneven road.
“Again,” you purred in delight, and it was truly my pleasure.
I fell back just enough to change my angle and then rammed behind the truck’s rear wheel.
The F-150 spun, its rear end sweeping across the road before slamming into the drainage barrier; its momentum lifted the passenger side off the ground. For one breathless second, the entire vehicle balanced on two wheels before it slid off the road and down the shallow hill below.
I hit the brakes, but an old tank like me wasn’t made to stop in a hurry. My tires screamed on the rain-slicked road as I lost traction, following the truck over the edge.
You braced against my wheel, injured leg trembling as we bounced and skipped to a stop. Mercifully, we hadn’t rolled, but a tiny snap sounded somewhere beneath my dashboard, and my every gauge died at once. My headlights vanished as power drained from my body like blood pouring from an open wound.
The world went black.
You straightened in my seat. “Ghost?”
Your hand struck my dashboard, searching through the darkness.
“Ghost.”
This time, there was fear in your voice.
I tried to tell you I was still there, but the impact had blown my main fuse. I was blind and mute, and you were stranded, injured, with a killer that was slowly climbing out of the cab of his Ford F-150.