Chapter 48 Natasha
NATASHA
“Get out of the car, Natasha. Now!” The sound of Lorenzo’s voice—how it slid from detached and ruthless with Lachlan to some warped … and now Italian-accented version of tenderness with me—froze me deeper than the chilled air.
Something was off with him. Very off. And I could almost hate myself for not realizing it sooner.
Many women fell into that trap. Faulting themselves for another person’s issues.
Whatever awful nature-versus-nurture situation spawned this beast was not my fault.
Envy and jealousy had consumed him and turned him rotten to the core. This. Was. Not. My fault.
I wouldn’t do Lorenzo’s job by axing my self-esteem. “Enzo, have you gone mad! You’re using me in a revenge scheme because of an ancient UFC match between our fathers? Why act as if you care—”
Lachlan’s hand shot into my line of sight, snatching the phone from me. Blood dripped from his fingers, splattering onto my jeans. He hung up, then slammed the gearshift into drive.
“He’s not worth it.” Lachlan’s voice strained, and his eyes darted between me and the dirt road. The vehicle shot forward, and we passed the pub to one side, the other lined with stones.
“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”
“Call someone. Any—”
A shadow lunged out of the fog from the top of a hay bale on the side of the road.
“Lorenzo!” I screamed.
The soldier landed on the hood, fist slamming the windshield. One bash. Another. The glass spiderwebbed under the force.
Lachlan jerked the wheel, and Lorenzo flew off, tumbling into a roll before springing back to his feet like something inhuman. My pulse shot to my throat. Jesus, a little help here.
Before I could finish my prayer, bright lights snapped on. A Jeep roared forward, headlights blinding, closing in fast from ahead. Someone was helping him.
Instinctively, I remembered the female voice from the lake. The woman engaged us in a game of chicken we’d never win in this rusted sedan. Lachlan swerved.
The Jeep’s suspension swallowed the terrain like it was nothing.
The phone fell from my hand as I clawed at the roof, needing to hold on. Two holes in the roof mocked me.
The Jeep came up from behind and drew even, trying to push us off the road. Lachlan gritted his teeth and let the driver get close. Long hair spun through the air as the driver turned to glare at us.
Lachlan cut the wheel at the last second.
Tires caught the stony ridge. The Jeep tipped, momentum carrying it into a slow-motion roll before it slammed around.
Once. Twice. Seven before it landed on its roof.
Flames erupted from the undercarriage, consuming the vehicle in an inferno.
Bathed in the fiery glow, the woman strained against the door, fighting to release her jammed seatbelt.
Her body jerked before she fell limp against the driver’s seat, flames consuming her.
As we passed, the explosion’s heat and the acrid stench of burning flesh choked me.
“Get the phone.” Lachlan tipped his chin to where it had fallen near my feet. “Call …” Even the moonlight couldn’t hide his pale complexion.
All this blood. He had to be losing too much precious blood. “Pull over, baby.”
“Nae.” He shook his head, as if trying to remain conscious. “Lorenzo didn’t have time to get in the Jeep. Safe to say, he ain’t dead. Need to find a main road. Once … once I do … I’ll know our direction. You can dri—” His eyes fell shut.
“Lachlan!” My scream ripped as his head dipped. The car veered toward the stone barrier over a black river. Loch Ness? Where were we?
He roused, slammed the brake, and then he was out. Unconscious.
I maneuvered the car into park and scrambled from the vehicle, my legs shaking, the cold biting my skin. Dragging him proved impossible after I groaned and tugged and shot glances over my shoulder to confirm if Lorenzo had caught up. We were a few miles away, but the maniac could run.
After adjusting the driver’s seat, I entered the back and tugged Lachlan over. Once I tucked him into the seat, my fingers fumbled with the scrunchie I’d found in my pocket earlier.
Tears stung my cheeks as I tied it around his injured hand and placed his hand above his heart to help slow the blood loss.
I removed the hoodie and jean jacket and placed them over him.
As I did, I noticed a lot of blood near the pocket of his jeans.
I patted around, trying to see where he was injured, and discovered his severed finger.
I carefully pulled it from his pocket and looked for a safe place for it.
In the front, a second cupholder held a glass.
I poured the liquid out; a small amount of ice rested in the bottom.
I placed Lachlan’s finger inside, securing the cup back in the holder. Thank God for small miracles.
Teeth chattering, I slid into the driver’s seat. My hands shook as I used the dead Scot’s phone. The late model required a pattern. My shaky thumbprint traced the dots again. Triangle. Square. Tiny square. Rectangle. Bleep.
I pocketed the phone, determined to retry later, but I had to move. Tears fell from my eyes as I drove into the fog.
“C’mon, Tash … stay awake. Look for a payphone even if you don’t know anybody’s dang number.” I groaned, slapping my cheeks to stay warm.
Every shadow looked like Lorenzo. Every turn, I expected him to appear.
The road narrowed. No police station in sight. Cottages and dark apartment buildings slipped past. I was too afraid to stop. The men had hated Lachlan because of his name. They’d known who he was. I couldn’t chance approaching the wrong door for help.
The engine came knocking around three hours later, after I’d wrestled in my mind if Lorenzo had said Louis Gotti. If so, his anger made no sense … Gotti won the match.
“Noooo …” My palm gave the steering wheel an encouraging pat.
My eyes zipped past the faded radio clock, which read 1:32 a.m., to the fuel tank.
Oh. Empty. That made sense. Although I capped the credit cards Pop gave me, I’d never driven to a gas station.
Heck, I only paid attention to the dash when Simona and I drove to Vegas or Palm Springs.
As the engine choked, Lachlan groaned awake. His bloody, scrunchie-tourniqueted hand pawed his skull. “Ugh, this is real?”
“Yeah. Glad you’re back.”
“Where are we, love?”
I dunno. “Noticed a sign for Dundee some time ago. Didn’t know whether to chuck your cellphone out the window—which I keep checking—or drive as fast as I can so Lorenzo couldn’t catch us.”
“Dundee …” he murmured.
“What? They’re famous for the cake your mom sent me the recipe for.”
A laugh barked up his throat. “And crime.”
I laughed softly.
Lachlan draped his forearms over the passenger seat headrest, his head shifting as he glanced around.
“I just, uh, drove quick. I was too afraid to assume the woman who cornered us was also the one who hacked our location for him. Besides, she didn’t make it.” I gulped. “Maybe he has a team?”
“Could be. Jamie mentioned a lass. She helped him and Jordyn with some work. Her name was Ra … Rain.”
“Rain?” My mouth quivered, animosity pouring through me.
“Know her?” he asked, handing me Rory’s sponsor hoodie.
“Keep the hoodie, Lach.”
“You run cold. Take it. Do you know her?”
I stuffed myself into the hoodie and jean jacket, tense from the crap Lorenzo put me through. “A version of her that died from cancer—his cousin. Not a common name. She has to be …”
“The one you planted that tree for? He gave you a sob story, picked this woman’s name on the fly?”
Silent, I worked my jaw. Lorenzo preyed on my weakness. My love for those who lost their lives to cancer. C’mon, Tash, you’re such an idiot. Okay, so maybe not shouldering the blame for his actions would take time? I punched a hand against the steering wheel, and it blared.
“Let’s keep a low profile.” Lachlan gestured toward the glove compartment. “Check that for food?”
I hadn’t thought of that. I should’ve read the books Simona did. Not cheesy romance.
I snatched out a silver flask, a package of Abernathy biscuits, and a potato chip bag—Haggis and cracked pepper crisps.
“Put them in your pocket, Lassie, and when I say go, we’re gonna run to that motorcycle at the edge of the lot.
” His chin jutted to an area half a block away.
The store was a triangle shape with glass walls and expanded outward.
Some type of twenty-four-hour Walmart? “Natasha, with people entering and exiting, we won’t know the bike’s owner.
While I hotwire it, you just look like your usual beautiful … muddy, bloody self.”
My gaze flicked to the hoodie I now wore again. I rolled my eyes. “Hah. Where will we go, Lach?”
“Kieran has a safe house in this area.”
“Are we keeping your iPhone?” Because Lorenzo can track us … and … I-I caused this.