Chapter 55 #2
My heart pounds with adrenaline. I’ve forgotten how much I love this—not specifically being chased by assholes who want to hand me over to a psychopath’s brother, or if they’re part of the Mambo Posse, who would traffick me, but the thrill of the race and getting away is hard to ignore.
“Take your next right,” Digits orders. “Next left.”
I have no idea the route he’s taking me on, but the traffic lights all work in my favor and instantly turn red when I’m through, as Len’s tech team creates chaos and traffic jams behind me.
“These guys are goddamn will-nots,” Sam grits.
When I glance in my mirror again, the two riders are whizzing through the mess behind me.
Among the chaos and danger behind, there’s a sight that during my carjacking days would’ve made my heart stop: police vehicles. Three of them have joined in the chase, and they force their way into position between me and the bikers.
“They’re with us.” Digits reassures me that the Havoc Guardians have sway with the upper echelons of the SDPD. “Now listen to your man and drive it like you stole it, girl.”
The cheeky bastard.
But I do just that, zooming down city streets, following their directions.
“Turn left and aim for the tunnel,” Sam instructs. “Pix and Camber are waiting.”
As I enter the long tunnel, the lights on the side of it go out, and only my headlights illuminate the way.
Digits says, “Slow down and whip into the tight alcove on your left. The girls will take your place in front of the police.”
The bikers are far enough behind that this just might work, and they won’t see the bait and switch. I see Pix and Camber take off into traffic.
“The alcove is in fifteen feet,” Digits warns.
Mercifully, there’s no oncoming traffic right now.
I turn off my headlights and don’t brake, so my taillights won’t give me away.
Yanking hard on the E-brake, I crank my wheel to swing the small car around and pull into the alcove, then slam on my brakes before I hit the concrete wall in front of me.
My breathing is labored, like I just sprinted the distance rather than drove the hell out of a little car. The high sidewall hides me as I sit and hope that this works; otherwise, I’m a sitting duck.
In my rearview mirror, I watch as the police vehicles speed by without braking. My heart hammers as I sit in anticipation and fear.
“We have allies close by in case they’re needed,” Digits reassures me.
The whine of the bikes echo as they get closer, and I hold my breath, twisting in my seat to watch out the back window. My fingers twitch on the gearshift, my left foot pushes in the clutch, and I’m ready to slam the car into reverse.
I tense in anticipation as the echo of the bikes escalate, but they fly past me without slowing.
My breaths come in short, shallow pants as I continue to watch to ensure they don’t circle back.
“You’ve got the all-clear, Slade,” Digits reports. “Traffic is entering the tunnel again, so back out of the alcove before it reaches you, then head back the way you came.”
With my heart hammering against my ribs, I back out of my hiding spot and follow Digits’ instructions as he guides me toward the Golden Gate Bridge.
As I approach the iconic bridge with its Art Déco towers rising high with the galvanized carbon steel wires, my heart thunders.
Not in appreciation of the majestic bridge, but because there are almost two miles with no escape options.
And because the universe clearly likes to fuck with me, just as I have that thought, Sam curses over the earpiece.
“Where the hell did he come from?”
Behind me is one of the riders from earlier.
“Fuck.” I quickly accelerate, dodging and weaving through traffic again.
My car is small and nimble, but the crotch rocket bike is more so.
“Tell Bane I’m going to be coming in hot.
” Sweat beads my brow as I grip the wheel and barrel through traffic, pushing as fast as I can without killing anyone, myself included.
Horns blare, but I don’t pay them any attention; my sole focus is on navigating this little car through the minefield.
I finally reach the other side of the bridge and take the exit.
I blow through the stop sign, cranking my wheel to turn left, and almost get broad-sided by a large truck.
My pursuer has to stop, though, and I use the window to gain some distance between us as I veer left and fly up the road to merge.
Here, I open it up, ignoring the stunning views of the ocean and bridge, burying my accelerator when I can, braking hard and wildly, taking the curves of the winding road as fast as humanly possible.
“Turn left,” Digits shouts, and gravel spits and dust flies as I hit the shoulder and nearly go off the road to accomplish the turn and travel down the hill. “Take your next right. Bane and Len are there waiting for you.”
Shortly after I turn right, I can hear the rhythmic thump of the helicopter rotors. I crest a small hill, catching air as I fly over and slam back down with a jarring thud. Up ahead, I see the sleek black helicopter with the blades rotating, ready for lift-off.
The sound of the bike behind me grows louder. I envision them opening up the throttle, trying to intercept and stop me from getting on the waiting chopper.
Suddenly, a fireball blooms in my rearview mirror, the sound of the explosion follows, and I gasp and instinctively duck. Slamming on my brakes, I skid and fishtail to a stop twenty feet from the helicopter. There’s a blonde-haired woman sitting in the pilot’s seat with a headset.
And standing beside the sleek black machine is Bane.
Holding what looks like a rocket launcher.
I spin in my seat to stare at the burning wreckage of the bike and rider.
Then my door is yanked open, and I’m hauled into Bane’s arms. He doesn’t set me down; he throws me over his shoulder, clamping his hand over my legs to secure me while he grips the weapon in his other hand and sprints for the chopper.
I’m unceremoniously tossed in, and Bane jumps in behind me, slamming the door. “Go, Len!”
Immediately, the helicopter lifts into the air and starts flying us to God knows where. But I don’t care.
Because I made it.
Bane made it.
And I can go anywhere and face anything with him by my side.