Chapter 53 – WHISKEY
Chapter
Fifty-Three
WHISKEY
I'm wedged with zero legroom behind the wheel of our compact rental SUV like a goddamn trout in a sardine can, watching the hospital entrance through binoculars I bought at a gas station twenty minutes ago.
They're shit quality—everything looks like it's underwater—but at least I can see Valek when he finally emerges from those automatic doors.
And holy fuck, does he look pissed.
His white hair catches the afternoon sun like a beacon, but there's a storm cloud hanging over him that's practically visible from here. He's arguing with some big brown-haired dude in a baker's apron who's following him out, gesturing with his hands like he's trying to calm down a rabid wolf.
"Is that his brother?" I mutter, adjusting the binoculars. "They look nothing alike. Talk about polar opposites."
Plague shifts in the passenger seat. "Adoption exists, Whiskey. Not everyone shares DNA with their family."
"Yeah, but look at them." I hand him the binoculars. "Valek's looking at baker bro like he wants to stab him to death and stuff him in a fucking pie. That's not exactly brotherly love."
Plague's nose wrinkles in disdain. He looks more irritated than usual without one of his trademark surgical masks. That's one part of the reason he's in a bad mood. He has to breathe in rental car germs.
"You really have a way with words," he mutters, taking the binoculars with his usual prissy precision like I might've contaminated them with my peasant germs. He adjusts them until they're perfect before finally focusing on our target.
"Their body language is... interesting," he admits. Interesting in Plague-speak means what the fuck.
The brown-haired guy—a beta pastry chef named Caleb, according to the fan posts we've been stalking, who have declared him "Baker Daddy," whatever the fuck that means—throws his hands up in clear frustration and stalks toward a beat-up Honda that's seen better decades.
Valek watches him go with those silver eyes narrowed to slits.
Caleb's Honda coughs to life and putters out of the parking lot, leaving Valek standing there like an ice statue. After a minute or so, he stalks off toward his own car, a sleek black sedan. A rental, judging from the Carl's Rentals frame around the plate.
Call me fuckin' Sherlock Holmes.
"He's moving," I say unnecessarily, already starting our SUV. The engine turns over with a rental-car wheeze that makes me miss my bike. Poor Hogzilla, may she rest in pieces thanks to Thane and Wraith's parking garage WWE match.
"Stay back," Plague instructs, like I've never tailed someone before. "We don't want him to—"
"I know how to fucking follow someone, Mom."
"Given your subtlety in all other areas of life, forgive me for doubting."
I pull out of our spot, keeping three cars between us and Valek's sedan as we merge into traffic.
The afternoon sun glares off everything, making it hard to see, but I can track that black car easy enough.
It moves through the normie cars that make up the rest of traffic like a shark through brightly colored fish.
"Where do you think he's going?" I ask, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.
"How would I possibly know that?"
"I don't know, use your big brain. Make an educated guess."
Plague gives a tired sigh. "Based on the direction, either back to the airport or—"
"Wait." Plague's entire body goes rigid, his pale eyes tracking something I can't see. "He's checking his mirrors. Repeatedly."
"So?"
"So he already knows we're following him. Why else?" Plague's voice drops to that icy tone that means shit's about to get real.
"How could he possibly—"
Valek's brake lights flash for a split second, then the black sedan rockets forward, cutting across two lanes of traffic in a move that has horns blaring and tires screeching.
"FUCK!" I slam the accelerator, the SUV lurching forward with all the grace of a drunk rhino. "Hold on!"
Plague grabs the oh-shit handle. "Don't lose him!"
"What do you think I'm trying to do?" I growl, wrestling the wheel as we take a corner too fast. The SUV tilts dangerously, and for a second I think we're gonna tip, but somehow we stay on four wheels.
Valek's sedan is already three blocks ahead, weaving through traffic like he drove out of the womb and onto a racetrack. He clips through a yellow light with no chance of staying yellow by the time we reach it.
"Run it," Plague says.
"Are you serious?"
"RUN IT!"
I switch gears and slam on the gas and the SUV blows under the traffic light just as it turns red. Pretty sure that isn't a legal maneuver in Canada, and judging from Plague's stiffness and the muscle ticking in his jaw, he didn't enjoy that.
Goody two-shoes to the end.
"He's heading for the mountain road," Plague observes, his voice unnaturally calm for someone in a high-speed chase. "Less traffic. More dangerous."
"Perfect," I mutter, taking another turn so sharp the tires scream in protest.
The buildings start thinning out, replaced by trees that blur past in a green smear. The road narrows, winding up into the foothills. Valek's sedan disappears around curves only to reappear further ahead, always just out of reach.
"This is insane," Plague says, but there's something in his voice that sounds almost... excited? "We're literally in a car chase with our own teammate."
"Former teammate if I have anything to say about it," I grunt, fighting to keep the SUV steady as we hit a patch of loose gravel. "Fucking psycho. Who runs from their own pack?"
"To be fair, Whiskey, we did stalk him all the way to his home town from another country. What exactly are we going to do with him when we catch him, anyway?"
"Interrogate him, obviously. This is our only shot."
"It might not be. We could find him again—"
"No way, dude. If it were just me in the car, maybe.
This is Canada. I'd blend right in with all the other big white dudes in red plaid," I say with a snort.
I glance at Plague out of the corner of my eye, taking in his flowing waves of near-black hair, glaring blue eyes that stand out like diamonds against his dark lashes and bronze skin, his gloves.
"You look like a goddamn vampire prince.
Not exactly subtle. There's no fucking way he doesn't know who we are if he spotted us. "
"I'm not wearing a mask," he points out.
"Oh yeah. You've really pulled a Clark-Kent-to-Superman move with that one," I snort.
He growls.
The road gets steeper, tighter. Each turn is a gamble. Too fast and we'll fly off the mountain, too slow and we lose him. My forearms burn from gripping the wheel like our lives depend on it. Guess they do.
"There!" Plague points ahead where Valek's sedan suddenly swerves off the main road onto what looks like a fucking logging trail. "He's trying to lose us in the forest."
"Like hell he is." I yank the wheel hard right, following him onto the narrow dirt road. Trees press in on both sides, branches scraping against the SUV like skeletal fingers. The path is barely wide enough for one vehicle, let alone two.
"Whiskey, this is insane—"
"I know!"
The SUV bounces over roots and rocks, the suspension protesting every impact. I can barely see through the dust cloud Valek's kicking up, just flashes of black metal between the trees. My teeth rattle in my skull as we hit a particularly nasty pothole.
The trail curves sharply left, then right, then left again in a series of switchbacks that would make a snake dizzy.
I'm pushing the compact SUV way past what it was designed for, the engine roaring in protest. Every instinct from my military training is fucking roaring at me that this is a trap, that we're being led somewhere we don't want to go.
And then, suddenly, Valek's brake lights flare red through the dust.
The sedan slides sideways across the narrow road in a perfectly controlled drift, blocking the entire path. There's nowhere to go. Trees on both sides, his car in front, and no room to turn around.
"FUCK FUCK FUCK!" I slam on the brakes, the SUV sliding on the loose dirt. We're gonna hit him, we're gonna—
I manage to stop maybe three feet from his bumper, close enough that I can see Valek's eyes, silver and cold as winter.
"Reverse!" Plague shouts, but Valek's already out of his car.
I throw the SUV in reverse, but the wheels just spin in the dirt. "Come on, you piece of shit!"
Valek's alongside us in three strides. Something flashes in his hand. Metal catching the filtered sunlight through the trees.
Holy fuck, does he have a switchblade?
"Drive!" Plague yells.
"I'm fucking trying!" I snarl.
The wheels finally catch and we lurch backward, but not fast enough. There's a loud BANG as Valek drives his knife into the sidewall of our front tire. The whole vehicle lurches violently to the right as the tire explodes.
"Hold on!" I try to control the slide, but with one tire gone and the road this narrow, physics becomes a real bitch real fast.
The SUV spins, the blown tire grinding into the dirt. We're sliding sideways now, the world tilting at an impossible angle. Through the passenger window I see nothing but sky, and through mine, nothing but dirt and rocks rushing up to meet us.
"Brace!" I yell, though there's fuck-all to brace against.
The world goes sideways.
Then upside down.
Then sideways again.
The SUV flips, metal screaming and glass exploding. My head cracks against the window and my shoulder slams into the door hard enough that I see stars. Everything's spinning, tumbling, chaos and noise and the taste of copper in my mouth.
We hit the ditch with a final, bone-jarring crunch, landing on the roof. I'm hanging upside down in my seatbelt like a thoroughly beaten pinata, blood dripping from my throbbing lip and a bunch of other cuts instead of candy.
"Plague?" I croak, blinking through the haze.
He'd better be okay.
He'd better—