Page 44 of The Outlaw's Savage Revenge

A few light taps, almost like some kind of morse code.

Trust me,that touch says as clearly as words.

Mybody wants to trust him, but my mind catalogs all the warning signs—his unnatural calm, the practiced way he weaves through traffic, and his ability to anticipate our pursuers’ every move.

This isn’t his first chase.

We exit onto a maze of residential streets and small businesses, heading north of the city, though it’s hard to keep track at this speed.

Just when I think I can’t take any more high-speed twists and turns, Cade makes one final exit toward an industrial area on the city outskirts.

Ahead looms an unfinished warehouse, a stark skeleton of steel and concrete standing alone amidst overgrown lots. Cade pulls up next to the building.

“Why are we stopping?” I cry.

For a moment, I’m sure this is it—we’re done for. But as I look around, I realize we’re no longer being followed, thank God.

But shouldn’t we be zooming away, not waiting for them to catch up?

Cade gets off the bike, wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me off with embarrassingly little effort.

“Hey! Put me down. I’m sure I can find my own way off—”Shit.My protest dies the moment my feet hit the ground and my knees buckle.

I fall against his chest, and his arm tightens around me. Between all that vibration and that orgasm, I can’t feel my lower half. Though the way he’s holding me against him is sending plenty of feeling rushing back.

“Easy, princess,” he murmurs. “Here, lock your knees.”

Feeling self-conscious, I brush him off and snap, “I’m fine. Why are we stopping?”

Instead of replying, he points to the warehouse, “Listen carefully. I want you to climb to the second floor and stay down. No matter what you hear . . .” He leans in, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that makes me shiver. “You stay down. Understand?”

Snarky comebacks die on my tongue. He looks . . . dangerous. My heart knocks against my rib cage as I take an involuntary step back, only to find his hand gripping the back of my neck, stopping my retreat.

“Understand?” he repeats.

I nod, unable to form words.

His gaze softens for a fraction of a second, and then, like the shutting of a trap door, his eyes go hard and cold. “No peeking, naughty girl. Now go.”

And then he’s speeding back the way we came—right back to our pursuers.

Terror grips me as I scramble up the cracked steps and into the musty building.

The building is rough and unfinished, but there are enough sturdy beams and half-built floors to make the ascent possible. Dust hangs thick in the hot, whistling wind, stirred through empty window frames as my footsteps echo across crumbling stairs.

By the time I reach the second floor, I’m breathless, my palms raw and stinging.

Crouched behind one of the frameless windows, I scan the deserted road below, its edges swallowed by overgrown weeds. Heat ripples off the asphalt, bending the horizon like a mirage.

Then I hear the sound of revving engines.

Cade appears first, a blur of motion on his bike, weaving across the road in sharp, erratic angles. The black sedans follow close behind him. A shooter leans out of the car, rifle raised, but can't seem to find his aim with Cade's rapid switches.

Then, without warning, Cade spins and charges straight for the lead sedan.

My heart slams against my ribs as gunfire erupts, the cracks ricocheting off the surrounding buildings.

“Cade!” I yell before I can stop myself. Was I supposed to stay silent? Or not look? I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter—he’s going to die.

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