Page 165 of Vampire so Virtuous
She yanked at her belt, pulling uselessly at the chest strap. It wouldn’t budge.
“Zoey!”
No response. Blood matted Zoey’s hair, smeared across her cheek. Her right forearm was mangled, a jagged bone pressing up into her jacket sleeve.
“Noah!”
Still limp, pinned by the airbag, his face smashed against it. Could he even breathe?
Cally fumbled with the belt release again, but it held fast. She shifted, trying to ease the tension, but hanging upside down made it nearly impossible. Her fingers ached from the strain.
Crunching glass. Boots closing in.
A magazine slammed into a weapon. Chik-chak. The metallic sound echoed in the quiet.
Zoey’s knife.
It had been loose. Could be anywhere. She twisted, scanning the overturned cabin, her head pounding. Glass. Debris.There. Wedged under Zoey’s leg, the handle barely visible against the crushed roof—now the floor.
Cally stretched, fingertips scrabbling at Zoey’s trouser leg. She brushed the handle. Another inch—got it. She flicked out the blade.
Forcing it under the belt was awkward; the strap was tight. Sawing was worse, her grip clumsy. But the blade was sharp, and the fabric frayed. The point of the knife bit into her hip, but she ignored the sting, working it frantically back and forth.
The belt gave way.
She dropped hard, crashing onto her shoulder and neck, a cry escaping as the blade sliced into her thigh. Her body crumpled sideways, legscollapsing onto Zoey’s unconscious form as her shoulder flared with sharp pain.
“What the hell is—”
A pair of boots turned toward the shout, grinding glass into the asphalt. The shout cut off.
“Not my business, man,” the same voice, quieter.
She could picture the raised hands, the good Samaritan backing off at the sight of weapons.
Shots rang out—small firearms, numerous guns. Not from the men nearby.
“Shit!”
The shout came from beside the car, followed a second later by the roar of automatic weapons as the gray SUV men fired at the new intrusion.
It had to be their backup—finally.
Cally yanked the door handle. It wouldn’t give. She spun onto her back, adrenaline battling the pain in her shoulder, grimacing as she kicked with both feet. The door flew open.
“Noah! Wake up!”
She levered her legs out and grabbed Zoey by the shoulders, dragging her across the crumpled roof, stars swimming in her vision as her shoulder screamed in protest.
“Noah!”
He was on the same side as their attackers, pinned by the airbag. But she had the knife.
She dropped Zoey, scrambling over her to lean between the seats. She punched the blade into the airbag. Noah slumped forward as it burst, arms falling limp.
“Wake up!” she screamed into his ear. He jolted.
Thank God. He wasn’t dead.
