Page 2 of Axe-ing for Trouble
As stealthily as I could, I climbed out the back window and jogged around the other side of the trailer.
Razor was still banging and shouting, unwittingly drowning out any sound I made.
Since he’d so stupidly parked on the street, I snuck around my neighbor’s trailer and crouched low. At the front corner, I peeked out, then pulled back quickly again. A couple of big guys in sunglasses were climbing out of the SUV. The minute the driver slammed the door behind him, I made my move, sprinting toward Razor’s bike as fast as I could. Idiot left the keys in it. So I revved the engine and took off. I wished I could have seen his face, but I was too busy trying to keep the damn thing upright.
The dirt roads helped, and I’d been jogging around here for the last six months, so I was familiar with the trails. Keeping off main roads, I sped toward the bar. I’d talk to Otter. He was the peacekeeper, the mediator of all disputes within the club. And he’d taken me under his wing.
As I crossed the bridge over the river, two more SUVs appeared. And when they started shooting at me, I knew there was no coming back from this.
I guess I hadn’t been as stealthy as I thought. If I had to bet, someone had sold me out. Probably Razor. When I’d broken up with him, he’d taken it hard. I didn’t know why. It had been a casual thing. I was bored and lonely, and he was dumb and hot. But after a few weeks, I couldn’t even pretend to be interested in anything he said, and by then, I’d gained access to the inner circle, so he’d outlived his usefulness.
Pulling back the throttle, I headed for the forest. Dammit. I should have stopped to grab my go bag. I’d made it over the river, navigating toward Lovewell, when I realized I was running on fumes. The cheap fucker hadn’t filled up his tank before coming over to threaten me. Typical.
Continuing on foot was my only option. I’d lie low for a bit and work through my options. Then, when it was safe, I’d go to law enforcement. Thank God I’d slipped into my sneakers on autopilot. And at least I had my phone.
Given that these guys had sent the cavalry, they must have been discussing legitimately incriminating shit last night. While I jogged through the woods, I couldn’t help but grin. These idiots had likely knotted their own noose. With any luck, they’d just made my job easier.
All I had to do was stay alive. Though at the moment, that seemed difficult.
Thankfully, I knew my way around these woods, and I’d kept up with running and martial arts training on my own.
As boring as I’d found rural life, I couldn’t deny that the lack of nights out at clubs and good restaurants had given me ample time for exercise.
I tripped on tree roots and slipped on pine needles that were wet from last night’s rain, but I stayed on my feet. My thigh was bleeding, but I couldn’t stop to assess the injury. When I’d made it to the far side of the state park, I slowed a bit, sucking in lungfuls of air. I was almost certain I was in the clear until the roar of ATV engines bounced off the trees around me.
The sound was commonplace in Maine, but ATVs were banned in this part of the state park.
I stilled, eyes narrowed, trying to pinpoint which direction they were coming from. Fucking Razor knew I loved to jog in this park.
With one more deep inhale, I took off in the opposite direction. The cuts and scrapes I’d amassed during my escape stung in the cold air, but I pushed forward.
Just as I crested a small hill, I caught sight of a figure ahead of me. Before I could change direction, a gunshot rang out, and wood splintered in all directions from the tree behind me.
As panic flooded my system, I pivoted, heading off the trail into the thick forest.
I kept my head down and forced myself forward, but the forest floor was thick with vegetation and rocks. I climbed over a large boulder in an effort to put something solid between me and the men with the guns, but as I reached the top, I slipped.
Losing my footing, I scrambled for the nearest tree limb, worried I was going to crack my skull. As I clutched the branch, my shoulder popped, and agonizing pain shot from my neck to my fingertips.
With a stifled groan, I slid down, hitting my tailbone hard and landing on my knees in the brush. Tears streamed down my face as I struggled to get up. I was shaking, maybe from shock, but I kept going, putting one foot in front of the other, struggling not to scream from the pain.
When another shot cracked through the air, I knew I had to get deeper. Crouching, I banked left and ran, putting distance between myself and the place where they’d last spotted me. At a break in the tree line, I got on my hands and knees and crawled to avoid detection. I’d never felt such excruciating pain as I did when I put weight on my left arm.
Twigs and branches scratched my face, but nothing, not even the wound in my thigh, compared to the blinding pain in my arm. Even so, I kept pushing. Though with every step, I got more delirious.
I came across an area where several trees had been downed and dragged myself over, wedging my body between two of them. Both were large brown pines. They were in pretty serious states of decay, but they provided decent cover.
I pulled pine branches, leaves, and dirt over my body and shimmied as low as I could, focusing on breathing.
My body shook—a mixture of cold and shock, I was sure—as I squeezed my eyes shut and willed my being to remain still and silent. Everything hurt and the gash in my thigh was on fire. With the moldy leaves I’d used to hide myself coming into contact with all of my wounds, I’d probably end up with a staph infection.
My shoulder screamed every time I moved even an inch. My fingertips had gone numb, save for small electric shocks of pain shooting down my arm at regular intervals.
I shimmied my right arm out and reached up to my chest to make sure my phone was secure. When I was met with the give of my body rather than the hard surface of the device, my stomach sank.
Biting back a cry of pain, I shifted and forced my hand up to the neckline of my shirt. I pulled out my license and a wad of cash.
But no phone.
