Page 63 of Never Wed an Outlaw

Instinctively, I knew the second I got inside that car, I wouldn't be coming back. It would probably be the end of me. Dom's face flashed in my brain, evil and furious, ready to rip me apart with his switchblade with the same ruthless precision he used on pomegranate skin.

A heavy blow crashed across the back of my head. “Bitch! Do you know how to listen? I saidget in.”

I'd waited too long. Hiding my tears, I reached for the handle, popping the door open. I dragged myself into the backseat and laid down.

“Honestly, I never thought we'd find you. Thought I'd go to my grave knowing the cunt who killed Franco got away with it. I don't care about the honor or the accolades. I'm after all the things Dom's gonna do to you when I get you home.” He paused, his dark eyes staring back at me in the mirror. “I want to watch you suffer. When Dom says the word, I'm going to make damned sure I'm the guy holding the knife.”

His vicious threats blurred by me as my mind detached. Adrenaline heightened my heartbeat, my nerves, my need to run for my life at the first chance. But it also numbed the sheer terror I should've felt.

I pushed my face into the leather seats in the back, still laying down, and breathed the strange, luxurious calming scent. This was the closest thing I'd find to Dusty's familiar leather smell, whenever he wore his cut.

The car moved. We roared through the parking garage quickly, down the ramp, and stopped for the ticket agent.

My captor laughed, muttering a few words as he paid the parking fees. “Real bad stomach bug for the wife. Yeah, she'll be all right. Just got to get her home, give her the old routine of soda and crackers...”

I dared to twist my face up then, just enough to see the monster's eyes staring back at me in the mirror.Don't you fucking scream, bitch,they said.If I go down, you're coming with, and so is he. I'll gut this asshole in the booth in front of you.

My hand drifted slowly down to my thigh. He'd torn my purse away from me when we were in the elevator. I managed to stuff my phone into my pocket before all hell broke lose, and he hadn't noticed in the commotion.

But the phone wasn't what I was after.

Ever since the fateful week we'd gotten married, when Dusty dispatched two of the same animals as easily as pulling up weeds, I hadn't taken anything for granted. He'd given me another wedding present, something the stupid, sick asshole at the steering wheel forgot to check for when he'd marched me out to his car.

My fingers slipped into my pocket when we were several miles from the hospital, heading for the highway. The switchblade's cold, steel handle rubbed my thumb, and I felt the groves outlining the Deadly Pistols MC logo.

Dusty told me it belonged to his father, once. Ironic, since I could tell he hated the man, even if he never went into a lot of detail. The old blade practically burned in myhand, as if it wanted to live again, kill again, and save my fucking life.

Deep breaths,I told myself.Count to ten. Wait for the car to slow, just enough to give me a chance to survive the crash. That's when I'll do it.

Once I knew I had a good grip, I sat up, rubbing my eyes to make him think I'd been too busy crying to worry about anything else.

“Fuck, you don't look so good.” His cruel eyes flashed back at me. “Put your fucking seat belt on. Last thing I need is a state trooper giving us shit if I get pulled over. We're blowing through these mountains fast, all the way to Nashville. There's a private plane waiting for us there.”

A plane meant there could be only one final destination in mind. I'd be back in Seattle if I let him take me, staring at Dom face-to-face. My odds of surviving this would go from about one percent down to zero.

He drove on a few more miles in total silence. I let the hate come into my eyes, taking a good look at the man I wanted to kill.

“Why the fuck you staring at me?” he snorted awhile later. “Don't tell me it's that PTSD shit setting in already. We haven't even started yet!”

My fingers tightened on the secret weapon in my pocket. I narrowed my gaze on him harder, sharper, never breaking for anything.

“You're one creepy little bitch,” he spat, steering us slowly into a sudden bend around the mountain. “I shouldn't care what you look like, one way or another. Howdid Franco look when he died? Only fucking thing that matters!”

His voice trembled. Grief poured out his lips. The extra jerk in the steering wheel wasn't much, but it was noticeable.

I knew the roads around here, but not so well I could totally predict the sharp mountain turns. I'd wait for the next one before I took my chances. Fortunately, he wouldn't know either, so he'd be taking the entire pass slow. I saw my opening.

“Now you're going back to sleep?” he asked, noticing my eyes were closed. “Okay, I get it. You just want to fuck with me. Well, fuck you, too.”

“When you asked me about how your brother looked when he died...did you really want to know?” I said, slowly looking at him again.

His eyebrows went up, confusion setting in. “What kind of question is that? Seriously, how fucking stupid are you? I wasn't really asking, Miss Creepy Shit-for-Brains –“

I snapped my seat belt button and lunged forward, grabbing at his throat with one hand before he could finish. He stomped the brakes. I leaned forward with all my might, fighting the G forces trying to throw me backward.

Time to pray.

The next few seconds were critical, the last before he died, or we both went spiraling off the next curve, into the nearest ravine.

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