44. Chapter 44
Rosalina
Nico pushed up out of his chair, tall and unrepentant.
Fucking asshole.
I didn’t want to admit it, but the warmth radiating from the bloody mark on my neck was a pleasant sort of burn.
Under normal circumstances, I might even have enjoyed it.
But not when it was from my fucking mortal enemy.
Who I hated with every fiber of my being…
even when he made my body sing and took care of my every need and made me feel safe during my heat.
Even when his pack cared for me, fought for me, defended me. But they still kidnapped me.
I hated them. Probably.
Cruz’s voice rose in a snarl. “You were supposed to stay with her so she wouldn’t wake up from her heat alone. You were supposed to feed her. You were NOT supposed to force a bond on her.”
Welp, he only kind of did those things in the most half-assed way possible. Why am I not even a little surprised?
Nico threw his hands up, facing off with his packmates. “You both wanted this. Begged even. Now you complain when you get your way? I’m risking my life for this—everything I’ve ever worked for—and this is your reaction?”
A heart-stopping growl radiated from Cruz’s chest as he locked eyes with Nico. Oliver’s attention was equally pinned on the offending alpha, his chest heaving in poorly restrained aggression. All parties oozed a thick sort of menace that I wanted nothing to do with.
Distracted as they were, none of them noticed as I slowly backed toward the kitchen door.
If I tried to run down the side of the house, my intention would’ve been too obvious, but I managed to slip inside just as hands started flying and the thud of fists on flesh filled the evening air.
The pounding of my pulse drowned out the worst of it.
I didn’t have much time before they noticed I was gone, but I was going to need more than a hoodie to get out of here.
I ripped open the kitchen drawers searching for anything…
a fork? A knife would be better. As I reached the end of the island, a gleaming set of blades stared back at me from inside the drawer.
Most of them were for cutting meat, but my eyes fixed on a sturdy metal-handled utility knife. That would work. I snatched it up.
Adrenaline was surging through my veins, pushing me to hurry.
There was no way I was outrunning them. I already knew that much, but there had to be a way to slow them down.
The giant gas stove seemed to wink at me, with more burners than I had time to count scattering its surface.
Did I dare? They were going to kill me. It was the least I could do to return the favor.
I turned every knob just past the ticking of the igniter and sprinted toward the back hall as gas began filling the space behind me.
The doors were all locked. I’d already established that.
I was going to have to risk breaking out a window.
The massive sheets of glass in the living room flew past. They’d make too much noise and bring those assholes running no matter how bad their fight was, but there was that bathroom in the hall with a smaller window.
It was on the opposite side of the house from where the alphas were brawling.
It might work. It was my only chance of getting out of here with a head start. I had to try.
Skittering across the hardwood, I bolted down the hall and into the bathroom. The transom window above the luxurious shower was my best bet. Assuming it didn’t have some kind of bulletproof nonsense or something equally ridiculous and inconvenient.
Pristine white towels hung on black racks along the greige walls, so I grabbed one, wrapping it around my hand and the butt of the knife.
This had better work.
I hopped up on the edge of the freestanding tub and swung the towel-wrapped knife handle against the window. The glass thudded hollowly at the impact, but remained whole. I paused, listening for the sound of pursuit.
Nothing yet.
There was still a chance.
Spurred on by the muffled sound of my first attempt, I swung the butt of the knife against the window with more conviction.
A louder thud, and the sharp ting of glass cracking were my rewards.
My confidence growing, I hit the glass again, right where a spiderweb of a break was forming.
This time, the sound was louder, but the glass shattered into a confetti of shimmering cubes, and I pushed my wrapped hand through it, knocking the sheet of fractured glass out into the planter bed outside.
My heart raced in my throat. I couldn’t tell if there were footsteps coming or if it was just more blood rushing to my head. Using the towel to protect myself, I hoisted myself through the window, narrowly avoiding some stray shards I’d neglected to knock clear.
I was out.
Now what? I hadn’t really thought this through, but here I was, half-naked and barefoot in a flower bed.
The sun was sinking over the horizon, and a bank of fog was rolling in across the hills, eerie white fingers of mist creeping through the oak trees on the other side of the valley.
The fading light sparkled off the fancy cars in the driveway, reminding me why I was here and why I had to get the fuck away.
The knife in my hand was begging to be used, and those cars were going to be a problem.
There was no way I’d be able to bypass the fancy security shit they put in new cars, so they were useless to me.
I hurried to the Bentley and jammed the knife into the sidewall of one tire, then made my way to the next, doing the same.
I glanced back at the house. It didn’t look like anyone was coming yet.
I rushed to the matte black BMW and made quick work of its tires, too. Now they wouldn’t be useful to anyone.
Even with that done, I was still stranded. I doubted I could make it out of here on foot after what Nico said. Especially not if alphas were chasing me.
There had to be other vehicles at the barn they’d mentioned. Hiding away on the hay truck had been a fleeting thought before Nico dashed it, but surely there was a truck or car that the caretaker used.
My feet slapped the pavement as I ran until it gave way to packed dirt and the barn came into view. A dusty, old powder-blue farm truck was sitting beside it.
Could I hot-wire it? Probably not, but it was worth a look.
I’d seen my brother do it once a million years ago, but actually doing it myself was unlikely.
The truck door was unlocked and squealed in protest as I pulled it open and jumped onto the vinyl bench seat.
Frantically, I looked around in the fading light.
I’d heard that sometimes you could turn these on with a screwdriver or… I looked up.
There.
A key ring dangled, half-hidden above the visor.
It was a fucking Christmas miracle. I snatched it down, shuffling through until I found the one that was the most car-like, and jammed it into the ignition.
With barely a hope, and a heart about ready to explode, I turned the key, and the truck roared to life.
I couldn’t believe it. It worked. How? How did that work? With no time to think too hard about my good fortune, I put the truck in gear and let it coast down the driveway.
Dusk had fallen, and thick fog wrapped its clammy, gray grip around everything.
I didn’t dare turn on the headlights yet.
That would have lit up my escape like a lighthouse.
It was bad enough that this truck clanked and squeaked like it had seen better days.
Once I couldn’t see the barn behind me anymore, I pressed down the gas.
Old Bertha, which was what I was calling her, sputtered before trundling along the packed dirt road, picking up speed.
Fog and fading light covered my hasty escape.
I followed the dirt road past fields of grapevines before it curved around, leading me to a paved drive.
The house was to the left, so I turned right and pushed the accelerator down.
The sky was a bruised purple peeking through drifts of fog by the time I’d passed the open gate onto a two-lane country road.
It was empty of cars, with no headlights coming from either side.
I didn’t know where I was or in which direction civilization was, so I guessed.
Turning on my headlights, I pulled out onto the street.
There were no houses in sight, no signs or lights at all.
I rolled down my window, listening to the wind over Bertha’s clattering engine.
Somewhere far off in the distance, I thought a faint whine pierced the quiet.
I pressed the pedal down harder, even though it was already to the floor.
This had to work. I had to get away from those delicious-smelling maniacs.
Even out here with the fog-drenched wind buffeting my hair, the addictive scent of them clung to my skin, reminding me how much I liked being in Oliver’s nest with all of them.
My chest ached with the pain of putting distance between us, and my heart begged me not to go.
I sucked in a stuttering breath, gulping down a sob.
I didn’t want to, but I had to. They gave me no choice.
This was the only option I had. My vision blurred with unshed tears, and I blinked the sting away.
There had to be a way to fix this. But my brain knew better.
The truth I wouldn’t admit even to myself was that I was going to miss them—I already did—so much it hurt.
On the horizon, the sky glowed a faint peach. An abandoned shack rose out of the fog. I flew past it without a glance. I needed civilization. A phone. Something.
That same shrieking whine I’d heard earlier bounced through the thick air, and it was getting louder. It sounded like motorcycle engines.
Three sets of small lights came screaming around the corner behind me. The angled slant of the headlights looked like angry beasts hurtling through the night.
How was I ever going to get away from bikes?
I pushed Bertha for all she was worth toward the glow in the distance.
Her flabby tires ate the pavement, but the lights were gaining easily.
We broke past the trees, and dark buildings flashed by on either side, but empty houses couldn’t help me now.
A red traffic light glowed ahead of me, but there was no way I was stopping.
What’s the worst thing that could happen?
I could only hope to get pulled over at this point.
The cross street was wide with a center median planted with decorative shrubs.
Businesses sprouted on either side of the road, closed for the night and mocking me as three motorcycles edged closer, breathing down my tailgate.
I was out of options. I whipped the steering wheel to the left, barely making it through the intersection.
Bertha groaned and shuddered across the pavement, and I punched it again.
We flew past a sign for a twenty-four-hour veterinary clinic on the other side of the road.
Making sure the motorcycles were still close behind, I wrenched the steering wheel again, slamming up onto the curb, through the thicket of brush, and down the other side. “Sorry, Bertha. It had to be done.”
Bertha’s turning radius was more like a boat than a car, but we flipped the U-turn more easily than expected.
The angry street bikes stopped where I’d gone over the wide median, and I slammed the gas down.
Seeing me pick up speed and unable to reasonably get their street bikes over the curb and through the ruined bushes, they raced down the road to the closest break in the median.
With some help from the thickening fog, as soon as they were a distance away, I turned off my lights and shot onto the side street where the vet clinic sign was. With a little luck, they wouldn’t realize I’d turned off.
My heart slammed against my ribs like an enraged beast as I pulled into the small parking lot and hid Bertha behind a dumpster.
I waited, listening as the whine of the motorcycles flew past and continued into the night.