37
“Get us out of here,” I say to him, and he huffs.
“There’s nowhere to go,” Riggs responds calmly as the GPS blinks again. Somehow the road we’re on is steep, narrow and the only exit to it, is at the bottom. “They’re leading us somewhere…”
“And then what?” I try not to sound panicked, but the fear is loud and its claws are razor-sharp as I roll my hand over the gun in my lap.
“They kill us,” Riggs answers honestly because he’s just as scared as I am but he refuses to show it.
“Keep that close. And when we stop,” he says, his eyes flickering to mine for a brief second, “you stay in this car. The second I get out, you get in the driver’s seat and you rip this fucking thing back down that hill and meet Bird. Do you understand me?”
“Riggs.”
“I mean it,” he warns. “Stay inside. You’ll be safe in here. They replaced the windows on it, tinted, smash proof.” He explains, whipping the car around the last corner until where the GPS says the finish line is. A plan for every outcome.
“Why don’t you just stay in here with me?” The words rush out.
“Because this needs to end, and it won’t if I do.
Not until they either get you or me. And I won’t give you up that easily this time.
” His words aren’t harsh, or cold. It’s the truth, and it’s mean.
My lip quivers because I know no matter how much I argue with him that it wasn’t like that, that he never just gave me up, he’s set and ready for this.
For us. “Cress, promise me you’ll stay in the car? ”
“I promise.” I hate it. Every fucking syllable feels like a betrayal.
His eyes cast up to the rearview, illuminated by the headlights of the car tailing us as the one ahead skids to a stop, blocking the roadway. The driver climbs from his seat,a helmet concealing his features as he plants his feet in the headlights of the R35.
The sound of him shifting into park makes me flinch.
Riggs leans over, unlatching the glove box for the gun tucked inside as he unclips himself with the other hand.
He looks at me once before his hand finds the door handle and the driver’s door opens.
All I can focus on is the hard clench to his jaw, the shine of fear in his eyes, and trying not to cry mine out.
The door closes and I exhale, terrified.
I undo my harness with shaky fingertips, my eyes never leaving Riggs as he walks out toward the other driver.
The night practically swallows them both whole.
I slip one arm out at a time, then swing one leg over the center, followed by the other, my movements smooth compared to how out of control I feel in this situation.
Stay in the car.
I tell myself as I harness myself back in to secure the train of thought.
Stay in the car.
I tell myself as the driver steps forward into Riggs’s space, clearly locked in a conversation.
Stay in the fucking car.
My eyes flicker up to the mirror, keeping an eye on the car behind us, watching and waiting for the second driver to get out but he hasn’t yet.
The argument in front of me becomes heated, Riggs squares his shoulders, the muscles in his back rolling tight as he broadens his already wide chest and steps forward, closing what small gap there was between them.
“Please be careful,” I whisper to him, knowing he can’t hear me but hoping he listens.
I wrap my hand around the stick, checking the mirror again as the second driver finally gets out.
Almost like his impatience has gotten the better of him.
I breathe slowly, controlling what I can and have my foot hovering over the gas pedal in wait.
I’m not going to spook them, not if there’s a chance that Riggs gets out—
I watch his body lurch backward, the gun shot cracking through the air from behind me as the second man approaches on the left side of the car. My breathing catches in my throat as Riggs stumbles, his body wavering alongside my capabilities of staying in the car.
The car.
I shift the gear quickly, not thinking about anything other than getting him out of this place as I swerve the front tires wide and hit the gas.
Their reaction time is slow but Riggs is alert as ever as he throws himself out of the way.
The bumper of Rafe’s pristine R35 lifts the first driver by the hips and pins him to the side of his car with a disgusting scream and the sound of crunching metal.
More gun shots ring out but I keep driving the car forward until the front wheels of the unknown assailants are rocking over the edge of the hill, threatening a quick descent to the bottom of the valley below.
Just as quickly as I lurch forward, I yank the car away from the man and the carnage, grinding the tires through the gravel and whipping it around on the narrow road.
The tail end swings out, and I hold my breath hoping I also don’t end up at the bottom but the back wheels have purchase and I skid across the road and slam on the brakes.
“Stay in the car,” I whisper, revving the engine as the second driver lifts his gun, aiming straight for my window.
“Stay in the car,” I mock Riggs, only because I’m terrified as the shot rings out.
The crack of bullets on glass rings through the air, but only a small splinter cracks across the windshield.
I laugh out loud in relief, shocked I’m still alive.
My eyes dart to Riggs, his body limp, off to the side, propped up by a rock but out of the way. I clench my jaw, watching the driver realize that he can’t get to me so he changes his direction toward Riggs.
I haul the stick into gear and press the pedal down as far as it can go.
The car catches easily, the acceleration on it almost instant.
The driver has no time to get out of the way.
He’s too close to the rocky facing of the hill and I don’t have time to swerve.
I catch his body, the thud as he rolls over the top of the R35 loud and disarming as I crank on the wheel.
The right side is torn apart by the slate as I try to slow down.
When I finally come to a thunderous stop, I shift into reverse but the tires just spin endlessly, the smell of burning rubber fills the air through the vents.
I throw it in gear, urging it forward, but I’m stuck.
“Fuck!” I scream, palming the gun and panicking as I rip free of the harness. I jolt out of the driver’s side door, my eyes looking for the driver only to find him groaning as he tries to crawl across the road.
“Cress.” Riggs sounds weak, and watery. That’s bad.
“Cress!” he says again as I walk toward the driver that shot him.
“Hey,” he calls out, trying to get up but he can’t.
Blood seeps through his fingertips as he grips his right shoulder and his hair is plastered to his sweaty forehead as his body works to keep him alive.
I have to finish this. I can’t— I can’t let them go.
We can’t. It doesn’t work that way. Both Birdie and Riggs have said as much.
It has to end here. Tears fill my eyes as I kick over the driver.
He hits the gravel with a thud as he groans, feeling around for his weapon but it’s ten feet away on the road on the other side of me and him.
“Baby,” Riggs pleads without strength, and I can hear his boots in the gravel as he tries to stand again.
I ignore him and click the safety off of the gun, only knowing how to do it because Rafe taught me how when Riggs wasn’t looking.
I put my boot to his wrist as he tries to swat at my ankles and aim the gun at his chest, knowing exactly where to hit but not exactly knowing how I’m going to pull the trigger.
My brain is so foggy. This isn’t how my life was supposed to go. I just wanted to help people.
I close my eyes, breathing in, reminding myself that I’m helping the most important people in my life by doing this. There’s no other option.
My finger twitches on the trigger but a warm hand wraps around mine and the smell of copper and motor oil fills my nose as Riggs takes the gun from me.
“Cover your ears,” he says, as if I hadn’t just listened to bullets crack across my windshield, but before I can argue, I slap my hands to my ears as the shot rings out and his knees give way.
I turn into him, wrapping my arms around him, but he’s all dead weight and the blood is making him slippery.
He falls to the ground in a puddle of blood with me half beneath him.
“I need you to stay awake,” I grunt, slipping out to search the body, as I look over my shoulder at the only car still running.
I stumble to my feet, Riggs reaching for me as I kick through the gravel and start to run.
I stick my head inside the car, spotting the keys and darting back to Riggs.
“Put pressure on your shoulder, this is going to hurt,” I say, alongside a stream of quiet apologies as I hook my arms under his and start to drag him backward toward the passenger door.
I leave him for a split second, angling myself to the door to swing it open and haul him up toward my chest, begging him to find his footing just for a second.
His bloody hand slaps against the door frame as I get him up, a dark, painful, strangled growl of pain leaves his throat as he rolls into the passenger seat.
“You need—” his breathing is labored. “—to remove their helmets. We need—”
“Pictures, right…” I nod, finding my focus but not my urge to move. He looks too weak, he’s losing too much blood.
“Cress—” he pants. “—Now…”
I nod, running back to the drivers. The first helmet pops off with ease to expose a faceI’ve never seen in my life.
I commit his nasty features to memory as I fumble with bloody hands to get my phone open.
The next is harder. The car still balances on the edge and the body is mangled into the metal.
One wrong move and they’re both gone. I push up to my toes, pulling hard, and it slides off.
It’s one of the assholes from the house that night.
“Bird will be so sad she missed this,” I laugh.
It’s defeated and exhausted, but it tumbles from me in the most violent of ways as I take another photo.
The sight of mangled skin and blood turns my stomach bubbly in the worst sort of way.
The sounds of tires on gravel make me whip my head around and I can barely hear Riggs hollering over the sound as I sprint back to the car.
He closes his door with a hiss and I jump into the driver's seat, maneuvering it on the road just in time for the headlights of an unrecognizable car to come over the hill.
“Cress, we gotta go—” Riggs whispers. “Right now, drive. Now—”
I floor the pedal and whip around the oncoming car as it skids to a stop, the window comes down and two shots are fired, confirming the need to get the hell out of dodge.
My brain recalls the curves going up, rewinding it back and playing it in order as I push us down through the darkness back to the city.
The downtown lights look blurred and small from this far away, and just when I think that it might have been enough the speed, the precision, I hear the sound of the car behind us. Too close, too fast.
I exhale, hitting the bottom of the hill with more speed than I can handle and the car burns out to the left before I get it back into control.
“Breathe, Cress—” he huffs. I look over at him and there’s so much blood.
Too much. I know exactly how much more he can lose, and it’s not enough to get back to safety.
I can’t do this. He’s going to die in that seat and there’s nothing I can fucking do about it.
“Take a right—” he gasps as I jolt at the next turn.
I’m not as smooth as Birdie, not as fast as Rafe, or as smart as Murphy.
I’m not who he needs and it’s going to get us both killed.
“Two blocks—left—there’s an alley—” His breathing continues to get worse. “It runs all the way to v—”
“Stop talking and hold that!” I snap at him.
“Runs to Verrado—” he grunts when he finds his voice. “Take it to the ten.”
“To the ten?” I visualise, counting the seconds and hitting the alley right where he says it’s going to be. “I don’t think I can lose them,” I cry, my fingers growing itchy as his blood dries to my skin.
“You can—” he encourages, “just keep going. Watch the traffic, keep your eyes between the road and the mirror—”
“Okay, okay…” I do as he says, whipping through the alley but the lights are still back there, and until I lose them, I can’t take him to the garage. “I know I said to shut up but keep talking to me…”
“I’m okay, Cress, just—” he hisses as I hit a hole. “Faster. Don’t kill us.” He rolls his head to the side, his blue eyes losing their brilliant color as he smiles at me.
“Not funny,” I sob and he chuckles weakly.