Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Milo gripped the door handle and vomit hit the back of his throat. Jesus Christ, he hadn’t puked since he was nineteen and he sure as hell wasn’t going to now. He swallowed back the acidic tinge of bile and watched the SUV in front of them swerve back onto the road.
Something had happened.
If Serena had tried something on her attackers, he’d throttle her.
It was unlikely they’d shoot her while driving and have evidence splashed all over the interior of their vehicle, but it wasn’t a chance he wanted her to take.
She still had the gun—maybe she’d shot them?
No. The SUV would have crashed for sure.
Milo rubbed his palms on his jeans. Moments before they’d gotten out to meet the kidnappers, he’d been so close to throwing caution to the wind. To ripping his heart open to Serena.
He’d almost told her.
The words had been on his lips. And now he’d never get the chance to say them, to tell her how sorry he was, to tell her that he couldn’t live without her.
“We’re getting close to the interstate. I don’t think Rhett and the cops will make it in time.” The words drifted from Milo’s lips, distant and haggard, as his brain cells fired toward another plan.
“What can we do?” Peyton had been silent until now.
Milo didn’t turn to look at her. He feared the SUV would disappear into thin air if he took his eyes off of it.
Indecision raged inside him. If they shot out the SUV’s tires, the vehicle would flip—and he’d bet his last bullet that neither Serena nor Dani was wearing her seatbelt.
But they couldn’t do nothing. If they didn’t stop them soon, they’d lose the SUV in the city’s tangled streets.
The cops would look for the vehicle, but odds were the kidnappers would have Serena and Dani killed before the cops found them.
“Milo,” Brock said, bringing him back to the moment. “I need you to call it. What do you want to do?”
Milo exhaled from his nose. Fuck it. “Get close. I’ll shoot out a tire.”
“No!” Peyton shot forward and gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “They could die.”
He grabbed her wrist, flicking off her hand. He’d made up his mind and for fuck’s sake he didn’t like the decision any more than Peyton did. “Do you have a better idea? Speak up now.”
Her lips snapped shut and her eyes lowered.
Milo nodded at Brock, and he pressed his foot harder on the gas.
Milo checked the clip of his Beretta. Satisfied with the number of bullets he had, he rolled down the window and released his seatbelt.
He dug his elbow into the frame of the window and hefted his head and shoulders out of the vehicle.
Peyton moaned. Milo focused his gaze on the red taillights ahead of him.
The wind whipped over his hair and rustled in his ears.
He squinted one eye and steadied his hold, but his finger shook on the trigger.
The SUV approached a bend and Milo muttered a curse as the truck shifted, throwing off his shot.
“Keep it steady,” he barked.
“Sorry.”
Milo repositioned himself and aimed at the rear tire. He pushed a mouthful of saliva down his throat, but his tongue was as rough as sandpaper. If he killed Serena, he’d never forgive himself.
Please, God . . .
“Shoot!” Brock yelled.
Milo pulled the trigger.
Crack!
Serena yelped and grabbed Dani, pulling her so she bent at the waist, her head below the windows. She ached to see inside the vehicle behind them to determine if Milo was in it.
“Sonofabitch,” Angelo growled. “Shoot back!”
Ian rolled down the window and pulled out a gun.
No! She couldn’t let them get shot at. On this road, they could easily go over the side of the hill.
Now that they were so close to the city, it wasn’t nearly as dangerous, but they could still be badly hurt.
Irritation fizzled through her. If Milo had survived, she’d have a few words with him about shooting at the SUV while she was in it. If they all survived.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Tires screeched, but no sound of collision followed. Serena swallowed and worked her hand to the knife at her waist. Her sister’s upper body blocked Angelo’s and Ian’s view of her. Dani’s shoulders tightened, and she shook her head sharply. “No,” she whispered.
Serena clenched her muscles and unsheathed the knife. Dani must have figured out what she was planning to do, because she grabbed her shoulder. She pushed at Dani’s hand. “I have to.”
She sighed and coiled backward, allowing Serena room.
“Did you get him?” Angelo asked.
“No. I hit the windshield, though. They’ll have a hell of a time trying to see.”
“Get their fucking tires, Ian.”
“I’m on it.” He situated himself at the window again. From what Serena had heard, Milo hadn’t returned fire, which only made panic boil over in her chest.
She shifted her feet under her and zeroed in on her target.
As she sprang forward, a cry screeched from her lips, and she brought her arm down on Ian’s back.
The knife ate through his thick sweater and resisted as it cut through flesh and stopped at something hard—bone.
His back buckled, and his arms gave out on top of the open window.
The clank of metal dancing across pavement reached her ears. His gun.
A deep-rooted wail sounded on the wind and ricocheted through the vehicle.
He reached behind him and grabbed Serena’s sleeve.
Angelo’s hand stretched for her too, and the SUV jerked to the side, tossing her around the back seat.
All the moisture left her mouth, and her blood pumped through her veins with the speed of a freight train.
Ian still half-hung out the window, but his grip on her arm tightened.
If he was able to dislodge the knife, he’d turn it on her.
She wouldn’t be able to stop him and had nowhere to run.
The SUV sideswiped the rock escarpment. Momentum tossed Serena into Dani’s lap. Her sister’s hands caught her shoulders and righted her. Angelo stopped grasping for her and snapped the vehicle off the shoulder and onto the road.
Reaching under Ian, she pulled the door handle.
The door unhinged and the roar of the wind grew deafening.
Ian twisted toward her, rage etched on his features.
She tucked in her knees and kicked him in the ass like a kangaroo.
The door snapped open and his body flopped onto the road.
A sickening crunch and splatter split the night.
“You fucking bitch!” Angelo bellowed over the blustering air.
The metal door bounced and swung with each erratic sway of the SUV.
Serena hung on to the back of the driver’s seat in a frantic attempt to stay inside the vehicle.
Angelo stomped on the brakes. The piercing squeal of tires penetrated her consciousness, and her body flew toward the gap between the driver’s and front passenger’s seats.
Fear, raw and sharp, chomped through her soul.
She squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hands as the windshield rushed toward her.
A sharp grip pierced her arm, slowing the force that pulled her toward the mouth of glass that would tear through her flesh.
Her abdomen connected with the console and the wind left her lungs.
The vehicle jerked with a halt, and she fell back into the footwell.
The sound of the driver’s door being kicked open reached her ears.
No, no, no.
Angelo would finish them off. She pressed her palms into the rough carpet and lifted her head.
Dani stared at her, her face white as a sheet.
Her seatbelt was crossed over her chest, and her fingers still clung to Serena’s jacket.
Had Dani not been strapped in and hanging on to her, Serena would have gone through the windshield.
A shadow filled the open door. Angelo’s chest heaved.
“You fucking killed him!” He snagged a handful of Serena’s hair and dragged her out of the vehicle. Pain burned her follicles as the hairs threatened to rip from their beds.
“Let her go!” Dani’s sob crackled in her eardrum.
She toppled out of the car. Gravel pierced through her pants and into the thin skin of her knees.
Tires squealed to a stop—Milo? But he was too late.
Angelo would have a bullet in her head before Milo could say a word.
Angelo’s brown leather loafers shuffled in front of her face.
He yanked her upward, bringing her to a near pirouette in the direct beam of the headlights behind Angelo’s vehicle.
She squinted against the glare as the passenger door opened.
Please, god. Let it be Milo.
A hulking shape stomped forward, followed by two others.
Hope made room in the tight confines of her lungs and she sucked in a breath.
A chortle bubbled from Angelo. Serena watched his lip ripple into a snarl.
His eyebrows came down in hard slashes over his dark eyes.
Wrinkles cut through his skin, and gray hair smattered his temples.
The click of metal chirped in the night.
“Raise your fucking—” Milo came to a dead stop.
The headlights cast a shadow over his face, but she could see his dark beard, just longer than stubble, so similar to his father’s, and his stark green eyes, which focused like a laser over her shoulder.
The strength in her legs faltered and relief so great it nearly brought her to her knees overtook her.
He was alive. Thank god, Milo was alive.
Her lips trembled as she watched his formidable stare, murder etched on the planes of his face.
A deep need pulled at her heart, calling her to his body, but she couldn’t move.
Angelo cranked her neck back so the crown of her head dug into his sternum. The muscles in her shoulders screamed, but she kept her gaze glued to Milo. Angelo shifted, and cold, hard steel ground against her jaw.
“Don’t take another step.”