Page 116 of Claimed
The dock appears and the bright light of mid-day glares down at me as he sways at my side.
Dropping the gun with a clatter, I wrap an arm around his waist. “Caine?”
He weaves, his crimson eyes glowing and then dimming alarmingly. “The truck, baby.”
I turn and spy the box trucks. Helping him down off the dock, I have to damn near lift him to get him inside. He collapses in the passenger seat, the cases tight in his grasp.
Running around to the driver’s side, I climb in and quickly assess everything. “Keys,” I mutter. “We need keys.”
I pull down the visor. Nothing. I rummage through the side pockets on the door and the center console before producing a set.
Jamming them all into the ignition, I try each one as the door to the dock bangs open.
“Check the trucks,” comes an angry male voice.
Ducking down in the seat, I try another key. In the mirror, I can make out dark clad shapes as they work their way between the vehicles. Side panels open and close and others look under the framing.
“Come on,” I breathe. The last key fills my fingers and I slide it into the ignition and turn. A well-tuned purr fills my ears. I whoop and slam the truck into drive.
We screech away from the dock as gunfire belts the refrigerated body. Every ding makes me wince as I take the wide turn around the side of the building. The warehouse is overrun with running employees and the distant wail of the alarm.
There is an audible crack. I look through the spider-webbed front glass into a partially changed face of long white teeth and glowing yellow eyes as he hangs on for dear life.
My teeth bare in response and I snarl before wrenching the wheel and careening right through the fence.
Chapter 43
Onyx
We hit the curve outside the warehouse and one of the shifter’s hands slips. I turn the wheel again, busting through the Golden Sun sign. The bits of wood pelt the man, the truck. I slam on the brakes and he rockets off the front. He doesn’t get up.
Caine pitches forward with a groan and the cases tumble into the floorboard.
“Sorry, love,” I apologize as I lay on the gas and drive around the crumbled shifter. We jet down the street.
He slowly pulls the darts from his skin, every movement seeming very painful. I chance a glance his way as he sags into the seat.
“Caine?”
He cracks one eye. “I’m fine, angel,” he tells me. But he doesn’t look fine. His normally pale skin is almost gray, and his red eyes could land an airplane. “We need to ditch this truck. It’s too recognizable.”
Oh.
I drive us out of the warehouse district and head toward downtown South Miami. At a gas station, I park and help Caine from the truck.
We walk down the block to an overrun shopping mall and duck into the store.
Though we get quite a few strange looks, we secure a backpack for the cases and some different clothes.
I help Caine adjust the black cap over his head as we wait on a cab. His skin is almost feverish considering his normal heat. I peer at him constantly and cannot stop my worry.
The cab pulls up and we get in as a dark SUV creeps down the street.
Caine goes still at my side and we watch the vehicle crawl past before speeding up and fading into the distance.
“Head to the airport,” Caine tells the driver. “As fast as you can get us there.”
The man peers at us in the mirror and maybe there is something on my face because he barrels into traffic at a blistering pace.
