Keeping my head low, I sprint across the grass. My bare feet find every damn rock and rough stick there is in the unkept lawn. I stumble forward, falling face first into a tall patch of grass Mother nature has reclaimed. I roll to my back, hold the gunagainst my chest in one hand and tighten my grip on the papers in the other. I lie still, calculating my next move.
To my right is a road that leads somewhere that isn’t here. To my left looks like it heads deeper into the bayou. Gator dodging does not sound like a good time.
The sun floats overhead like a fireball. As much as I love the feel of the heat on my skin, it makes not being seen really damn hard.
I roll and push to my feet, opting for the road out of here. With just a few steps wildflowers tangle around my ankles. Gunshots ricochet off nearby trees as the fight grows closer.
“Hey, you bitch. Where the hell do you think you’re goin’?”
I don’t know why, but instead of bursting out in a solid run, I turn at the voice of the bushy-eyebrowed Vulture who likes to tie me up.
“Screw you!” I seethe through gritted teeth.
I narrow my gaze on him and level a thousand imaginary blades at his nuts wishing my glare could neuter the bastard where he stands.
Wait. Wait.
He raises his gun at the same time I do. I guess that catches him off guard because I manage to get a shot off before he does. His misses, but mine doesn’t.
Okay, that just happened.
OHMYGODWHATHAVEIDONEcrashes through my brain at a numbing speed.
I want to marvel at my luck and also puke my guts out. Instead, I shove my glasses back up the bridge of my nose, turn on my bare heel and immediately tumble into a thicket of thornbushes.
Fuck. My. Life.
Sharp ends scrape over delicate skin. My skin burns, and my chest wants to detonate with the force of a nuclear explosion. When my body stops rolling, I take stock of what I’m left with. I haven’t let go of the stack of papers, but the gun is nowhere.
Damn it!
I push to my knees and grab for my glasses. It takes me a few tries but I finally manage to stumble to my feet. I’ve come out on some dirt road. I don’t care where it leads, at least there are no Vultures in sight.
I find the will to push myself into a jog, and then faster until I’m at max speed. I have no idea how people run marathons. I’m dying to put air in my lungs.
I press forward, every muscle straining. The noise is chaos—yells, shots, the crash of something heavy falling in the house from the hill I just rolled down.
But the chaos doesn’t stay top-side for long. The dirt at my feet bursts to life, shooting plumes of dust into my face. Bullets pelt the ground. One at first and then it’s a storm of chaos pushing me to run harder.
“Get the fucking professor, you damn idiot,” the Vultures VP shouts to I guess one of his crew. I don’t stop to see if I can spot who he is talking to.
A bend comes up in the road. If I can just make it around that curve I can be out of range for someone to get lucky with their target practice.
I get halfway to freedom when the shadows in front of me move.
I skid to a dusty stop. A man twice my size steps out from the shadows at the edge of the trees, broad-shouldered and silent. He has black hair cropped short and vivid tattoos spread over the tanned skin of powerful arms.
I inhale deeply and exhale with a force of anger and fear. For the first time in my life, I wish I had the gun I lost.
“Layla?”
The world stills.
It takes me a second to realize the beast of a man walking toward me with a handout like he’s trying to calm a scared cat said my name.
“Keep back,” I warn. Not like I have anything to fight with unless I can beat him with a rolled up stack of papers, but I don’t let my lack of a weapon deter me.
I take a step back but I only do that once because someone takes a pop shot at my feet.
