With my back seat occupied by NOS tanks, we couldn’t take one car. Ryker drove Chuckie in the back seat of the Raptor so he could lay him down, but I also couldn’t risk leaving the Mustang at the house for Erik to steal.
‘I’ll follow you,’ I nod. ‘I can’t leave the Mustang here, either. It’ll be safer at yours.’
Ryker takes my face in his hands. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?’
I reach up, gripping his wrists. ‘I know.’
He opens the door for me and I sink into the driver’s seat.
‘Stay close on my tail, yeah?’ His knuckles rap against the Mustang’s hood as he walks away and then gets into his truck.
I follow the Raptor through Booker Bay. We’re not far from the bridge when I tense up. In my rear-view mirror, I’ve watched a car without its headlights on following our last two turns.
I wonder …
I take the next left. Anticipation hums in my chest as I eye the car behind me. The small amount of hope I had comes crashing down like a sack of bricks when the car takes the turn too.Shit.With headlights now on, it’s coming up dangerously close. And fast.
I speed through the streets, taking any and every turn I can. Up ahead, I notice the underground car park from the race with Landon.Erik.My body jolts as I race over the speed bump. I turn my headlights off and pull into one of the bays behind a large pillar.
I wait for the car to come into view, on edge as the shadows play tricks on me. But nothing comes.
Maybe I’m just being paranoid.
After a beat, I calm my shaking hands and twist the ignition back on. The sound booms through the empty lot. Shifting into reverse, I back out of the bay. Suddenly my body is thrown forward. I’m saved only by the seatbelt as my back window shatters and the Mustang spins out of control. I’ve just been hit, and the oncoming headlights are the only warning I have to brace myself for a second blow. More glass shatters around me as I’m thrown around in the seat. I press my back deep into the seat and put the Mustang in gear. The car is blocking the exit; my only option is up.
My blood races as I spiral up the ramp.
The screech of tyres follows close behind me. I look in my rear-view mirror and the bright headlights of a red Civic are right on my tail.
Shit. It’s Erik.
The Civic rams the back of the Mustang and I’m violently jerked forward, my head nearly smacking against the steering wheel. I hit the gas, continuing toward the rooftop. I gain some distance, holding the wheel steady with one hand while reaching for my phone on the passenger seat with the other. Ryker’s name is already flashing on the screen but my fingers are fumbling while my eyes dart between the track ahead, my mirrors and my phone. Instead of continuing up to the roof I exit on the third level. If I have more space maybe I can gain some distance and get a clear run back down to the exit. I grab my phone, about to swipe and accept the call button, but I’m hit again.
I drop the phone as the back of the Mustang fishtails. The screech of metal pierces my ears, and my arms grow heavy from fighting for control. I’m hit again and I careen off the track and into the pillars. The Mustang’s front crushes as the hood wraps around a cement slab. My world spins. Glass shards blast around me, a deafening noise that’s quickly followed by a piercing ringing in my ears.
Swallowing around my cotton mouth, I push through the nausea and force myself to move. It’s a miracle when my fingers work enough to unclip my belt.
I’m not sure if I’m conscious, unconscious or in between, but I can feel a sharp sting as I’m suddenly wrenched out of the car window and broken glass slices across my legs.
‘Tell you what, Booker Bay trash,’ Erik rasps. ‘You’d better not be dead. I need you alive.’
Stabbing jolts of pain sear through my body and I’m unable to keep my eyes open.
Then darkness swallows me.
Chapter 31
Gianna
PRESENT
Static.
My head is buzzing, as though my brain cells are being rearranged. A dull pain throbs on one side of my head and the more I blink, the more the ache blooms, spreading across my skull, making me groan.
My body doesn’t feel like it belongs to me, as though I’m a puppet and someone else is pulling the strings. My eyelids feel too heavy to open and when they finally blink a few times, it feels like sandpaper is being scrubbed against my irises.
Where the fuck am I?
