Page 162 of Mess With Me

They’d want to hide.

Suddenly my eyes go wide. I smack Ford’s window with my hands hard enough he looks like he’s going to pull his weapon. Then I jump on my bike.

CHAPTER45

Sasha

It worked. I can’t believe it actually worked. I say a little—no, a huge prayer of gratitude for Griffin—then get Sam’s hands free. I have to tell him what to do so he can do mine. Even with his nonexistent nails, he manages to manipulate my thumb back and the tie forward to get my hands free.

Outside, a car door slams. Boots tromp on the gravel. From the footfalls alone, I can tell the guy’s pissed. More than that. Murderous.

I’m still working on my legs when the door to the cabin slams open.

His eyes land on me. “What the f—” But Brick only gets half the word out before Sam clocks him hard in the head with his chair.

The sound echoes through the room. The giant falls to his knees. Sam hits him again from the back, using the full force of his body. He screams as he does it. His arm flops to the side as he drops the chair.

“Run!” I yell the moment I get myself free of my leg ties.

They’re still in my hand as we stumble from the cabin.

Brick’s not knocked out. I know that. Sam’s ability to swing was impeded by only having the use of his left arm. But he bought us time.

Not that much, as it turns out.

A deafening bang sounds, and in front of us, a chip of bark flies off a tree.

“Get down!” Sam yells. We dive for cover behind a fallen log.

“No point running!” Brick yells. “I can see your asses.”

Another shot.

I yelp and cover my mouth. In the distance, I hear the roar of an engine.

More than one.

The log in front of us explodes. Both Sam and I stumble back behind two separate trees. Sam lands on his bad arm.

He hisses in a breath, burying his face in his shoulder to hide the scream.

“Sam,” I hiss across the space between us.

He lowers his good arm from his face. “Run,” he manages through gritted teeth.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“Fucking run, Sasha. I’m begging you!”

“No!”

Footsteps crash through the brush from the direction of the cabin.

He shakes his head. For a moment, he looks impossibly sad. Then he makes a grunting sound and gets himself up onto his knees. Too high. Too careless as he staggers to his feet.

“He’s going to see you,” I say, my tone pleading.

“That’s the point,” Sam says. Then he steps out from behind the tree.

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