Chapter 4
Xavier
The truck we’d stolen hit the asphalt hard, and Cassidy buried her foot on the accelerator like she was trying to punch a hole through the floor. The engine roared, and it wasn’t the growl of a well-tuned machine. This thing was ancient and abused, and she was pushing it well past its limit.
This was insane. This entire night is insane.
The tires slid off the edge of the asphalt. Gravel hammered the undercarriage in a deafening rattle. She corrected the slide with a rough yet controlled flick of the wheel, and my shoulder slammed against the passenger door hard enough to bruise.
I twisted to look through the shattered back window. Behind us, the other pickup truck swung onto the road in a screaming arc of headlights, and they closed the gap fast.
I glanced at Cassidy. "They're not going to let this go, are they?"
"They never do." Her voice was steady, but her knuckles were bone-white on the wheel. She peered in the rear-view mirror, and her jaw clenched. She didn’t look one bit scared, though. She was furious.
Christ, she was something.
A sharp crack split the night, and a bullet punched through the truck bed with an enormous metallic bang.
I ducked. "Son of a bitch. Are they actually trying to kill us?"
She shot me a look that said I was a complete idiot. "What do you think?"
Right. Stupid question.
"Who are they?"
"The Henderson brothers."
Another crack. This time, the bullet grazed the edge of the tailgate, kicking up sparks that lit the night like fireflies. "Shit!" My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought one might crack.
Back in New York, the most dangerous thing I’d ever dealt with was a hostile takeover bid. This was insane.
"They're still gaining." I strangled the handle above the window as Cassidy jerked the truck left, then right. Her jaw flexed with each correction, her gaze darting from the road ahead to the rear-view mirror like she was calculating variables.
"Damn bastards," she muttered.
"How do you know them?"
"We're neighbors."
I stared at her. "Neighbors?" What kind of neighborhood was this? “Why are they so angry?"
"They were born angry."
The engine roared behind us, and they came close enough that I could make out three silhouettes crammed across the bench seat, their faces illuminated by the dashboard lights. Bruce’s face was twisted with fury, and he gripped the steering wheel like he was trying to snap it in half.
"Christ. Bruce looks like he wants to murder us."
"Makes sense." She didn't glance at me. "We stole his ute."
"Right. Then maybe we should?—"
"What?" She glared at me, eyes flashing in the dashboard light. "Pull over and give it back?"
"It's worth a shot, don't you think?" Even as I said it, I knew how ridiculous it sounded.
The brother with the broad shoulders leaned out the passenger window, rifle braced along the frame like some Outback sniper. "Shit! He's lining up another shot."
Their truck surged closer, engine howling like something feral that had caught the scent of blood.
Cassidy yanked the steering wheel hard. The rifle cracked again, and I flinched, waiting for the impact. But the bullet missed us, vanishing somewhere into the dark.
"Still think it’s worth a shot pulling over?" Cassidy ground out.
I groaned. “I get it, now. Loud and clear.”
Their truck was bigger, newer, and mean-looking with a chrome grille guard that caught the moonlight like a bulldozer’s blade.
The truck we were in was ancient by comparison, with rust eating through the flat bed, paint on the hood faded and peeling like sunburned skin, and the engine screaming like it was about to tear itself apart from the inside out.
We had no hope of outrunning them.
None.
"Christ. What do we do, Cassidy?"
The skinny brother in the middle was shouting something I couldn't hear over the roar of competing engines and my pulse hammering in my ears.
A third shot cracked out.
The bullet punched into my side mirror. Glass exploded, and the entire frame ripped off in a shower of sparks.
I threw my arm up. "Fuck!"
Is this how I die, shot on a dirt road in Australia over a truck stolen by some crazy woman?
"Hang on," Cassidy said, and the savage look she gave me shot pure adrenaline straight up my spine.
Oh God. What’s she doing now?
I gripped the handle harder and braced against the dashboard. "What are you?—"
She slammed on the brakes.
Hard.
The world pitched violently forward. My seatbelt locked across my chest like an iron bar. Tires screamed beneath us. The acidic smell of burning rubber flooded the cab as the front end dipped so low I thought we'd flip.
The Henderson truck slammed straight into us.
The impact detonated through the vehicle with a sound like the end of the world. Metal shrieked. The entire tray lifted off the axle, going airborne for a second before crashing back down with bone-jarring force.
My teeth clanged together so hard I tasted copper. What was left of the rear window exploded inward in a spray of safety glass that peppered my neck and hands like hot needles.
But we didn't break free.
The rear of our truck jerked sideways with a sickening lurch that pulled us off course.
Metal screamed against metal. Sparks fountained into the night like fireworks.
The steering wheel kicked violently in Cassidy’s hands.
The entire cab shuddered like we were being dragged by something bigger than us.
"What's happening?" I yelled.
"I rammed our tow ball into their radiator, and now we’re fucking hooked!" She stomped on the gas, and the engine roared. But we were trapped together.
We weren’t being chased anymore.
We were being pushed.
"Shit!” She yanked the steering wheel hard left. Both engines squealed, locked in a violent tangle.
A bullet punched through the roof just above Cassidy's head.
"Shit! We have to get out of here!" My heart tried to punch through my ribs.
The bullet hole in the roof made the edges peel outward. Christ, that was close. She could have been shot or killed.
“Cassidy. Go. Go!”
"I'm trying." Her jaw flexed.
"You're dead!" Bruce's guttural voice tore through the shattered window, dripping with violence that had to be about more than just the stolen truck. "You hear me, ya Branson bitch? Dead!"
Branson.
The name detonated in my mind.
I twisted in my seat, staring at her profile. "You're a Branson?"
"Trying to concentrate here." Her jaw flexed again, eyes locked forward with laser focus.
Bruce hit the accelerator, and both vehicles fishtailed together across the road like some metallic beast.
I'd crossed the world to find Frank Branson.
My stomach dropped. She must be related to him.
The bigger truck rammed us, and we skidded diagonally across the asphalt, tires screaming in protest. I gripped the handle. “Oh shit!”
Cassidy fought the wheel with everything she had. The muscles in her forearms bulged. Her cowboy hat stayed perfectly in place despite the chaos. Her intensity was mesmerizing. The way she fought for control, refusing to give up … she was magnificent.
The vehicles bucked and ground together. Steel tearing at steel in brutal screams that set my teeth on edge. Steam spiraled from the Henderson’s hood in thin wisps.
"You're dead, Cassidy!" Bruce's voice cracked with fury. "Dead!"
Another bullet ricocheted off the tailgate with a high metallic whine and vanished into the darkness.
"Get us out of here!" I yelled, gripping the dash hard.
"I'm trying!" she shot back through gritted teeth.
The steam from under their hood thickened, pouring out in white clouds that billowed across their windscreen and swallowed their cab whole.
Their engine revved damn hard, and steam vented in violent bursts. The steam thickened, no longer wisps but rolling clouds. The grille was crumpled inward. Coolant would be dumping fast.
Their engine wouldn’t survive much longer.
But Bruce didn't back off.
He punched the accelerator again, shoving us harder. Our wheels lifted just enough to lose bite. He was trying to shove us off the road, and we slid toward the dark scrub lining this remote stretch of nowhere.
Wayne leaned further out the window, rifle braced against the window frame. His face was twisted with concentration, lining up a shot.
“Cassidy!” I cried.
"Hang on!" Cassidy yelled and cranked the steering wheel hard right.
The angle shifted violently. The torque between the two vehicles reversed with a sound like a cannon blast. Metal tore as the Henderson grille ripped backward with a shriek of failing steel.
Their front end dropped as something critical in the engine bay gave way completely.
Steam exploded upward in a thick white column, swallowing them whole.
We broke free, and Cassidy floored it.
Our truck surged forward, finally unchained from its death grip. The sudden acceleration threw me back in my seat, and my head hit the headrest.
Behind us, the Henderson truck punched through the steam cloud and kept coming. But the engine was strained, damaged, and dying a slow, violent death.
We hit open road for maybe two seconds before Cassidy yanked the wheel hard and sent us careening off into the paddock.
"What are you doing?" My voice came out higher than I would’ve liked.
"Making it harder for them to follow."
Of course, she was.
Our truck launched off the shoulder and hit uneven ground like a missile dropped from a high altitude. The suspension bottomed out with a bone-jarring crash that rattled my spine. My head smashed into the roof hard, and I bit down on a string of curses and pressed my hand to the roof to hold on.
But I couldn't look away from her.
She was reading the terrain like she'd memorized every rut and rock in this godforsaken paddock, adjusting her trajectory as quickly as obstacles appeared. She drove like she was in a rally car, not a battered farm truck.
The other truck followed us off-road, crashing over a couple of shrubs. Steam billowed so thick I couldn't see Wayne anymore, just the orange glow of their headlights cutting through the white.
The steam turned gray, then became black smoke.
"Their engine's going to blow," I said.
"Yep." She grinned, and my breath caught.
She was terrifying.
And I couldn’t stop watching her.
A grinding, metallic scream tore through the night, and I turned to watch their truck.
Their hood flew backward and slammed into the windscreen with explosive force, and the vehicle swerved as Bruce lost all visibility, jerking left and right.
Their engine gave one demonic shriek and died in a choking cloud of black smoke.
"Fuck yeah!" Cassidy cheered, keeping her foot pinned to the floor.
"Holy shit. You did it!" I laughed, riding the adrenaline or insanity. Maybe both.
Behind us, the Henderson truck rolled to a stuttering stop in the middle of the paddock. Black smoke poured into the night sky like a funeral pyre.
Two more wild gunshots cracked out behind us, but they didn’t hit their mark.
"Take that, assholes." Grinning, Cassidy flashed them the bird out her window.
I smiled at her, riding the high of still being alive. But then I saw a neat hole punched through the crown of her hat. "Jesus. You have a bullet hole in your hat."
"What?" She yanked the hat off, turned it over, and poked her finger through the puncture. "Goddammit. This is my favorite hat."
My jaw dropped. "I think you're missing the point. They nearly killed you."
She snorted and shoved the hat back on, adjusting it with both hands as if the bullet hole were just a fashion statement. "They've been trying to do that for years."
I couldn't stop staring.
She hadn't panicked. Hadn't screamed. Hadn't frozen.
She'd just handled the fact that she’d nearly died like it was nothing.
Back in our New York boardroom, I'd sat across from executives in thousand-dollar suits who had talked about high-stakes decisions like they were warriors. Men who thought closing a hostile deal or crushing a competitor in arbitration made them dangerous, made them tough.
But this woman had just out-maneuvered three armed men in a dying truck on a dirt road in the middle of the Australian Outback.
Those boardroom sharks would've pissed themselves before the first shot was fired.
Cassidy looked like she could do it all over again and still laugh about it.
I swallowed hard and studied her profile in the dashboard glow—the sharp line of her jaw, her sun-kissed skin, the way she pressed her lips together in concentration as she navigated through the paddock.
And somewhere between the grinding steel and the shouted insults, I'd learned something far more shocking than being shot at.
She was a Branson.
Oh, God.
Is she Frank's daughter?
The question sat heavier in my chest than the adrenaline still flooding my system.
I had crossed the world looking for one man.
I hadn’t prepared for the possibility that he had a family.