Page 11 of Awry
I move into another opening between cars even before it’s fully clear.My foot heavy on the accelerator, I jump us ahead of the bikers, weaving through traffic again.The BMW is older and likely not as souped up as the motorcycles, but it has to be faster.Right?Except I’m not much of a driver, and most bikers live and breathe riding at high speeds from a young age.
“I’m on my way to you,” Rath says.“I’m going to send you somewhere safe.I’ll text the address and the route you should take to this number, okay?”
“Okay …” Presh swallows.“How far away are you?”
“I’ll be there,” Rath says, not actually answering her.
Too far away.I know it even though he doesn’t say it.I know because there is no way I can manipulate a knowing and bend Presh’s fated path without having payment come due.Being able to simply deposit Presh into her brother’s arms would be way too easy.
Rath is talking to someone in the background, lots of muffled shouts and orders.Presh leans right over the phone, trying to hear.Bowed over like that, she meets my gaze and swallows.
I keep my foot on the accelerator.
Rath is going to direct us off the highway.There’s a slight chance that if I get far enough ahead, I can exit without Breaker and Chains noticing.A slight chance that I endeavor to give a littlepush.
The problem is, I can’t affect my own fate, only the thread that is tied to Presh.And Breaker and Chains.Even my ability to tweak other threads still has limits — or it did before the amulet I now wear was involuntarily slung around my neck.And those limits are randomly enforced by an occasionally capricious universe.
Alternatively, what I perceive as a tiny twist of fate might be amplified far beyond my intent and control.For example, if I weren’t already riding aknowingand trying to keep Presh focused while driving a car, I could try to reach out and coax Breaker to crash into the highway guardrail.But even if that actually worked?I might murder a dozen or more innocent bystanders at the same time.While Breaker, presumably a bear shifter, would likely walk away.
“Sent,” Rath says over the phone.His tone becomes edged, hard and forbidding.“Zaya Gage, get my sister to me and I’ll give you anything —”
“I’m set,” I say glibly.
“I mean it,” he snarls.“The Cataclysm —”
“Are bad guys.I get it.”
I can practically hear his jaw clench as he bites off his next words.“Breaker is a berserker.”
My stomach sours.Everything glib and sure slides away from me as my connection to theNowgoes a little fuzzy.“Oh,” I breathe.
“Yeah, oh,” he says mockingly.“Are you strong enough, fast enough?”
“Strength and speed aren’t going to have anything to do with it,” I say hollowly.I glance at the rearview mirror.I’ve put some distance between us and the bikers.But I do wonder — before I can stop myself — how awful it’s going to be to die under the teeth and claws of an unhinged berserker.
Wondering isn’t going to stop it from happening, though.
“Most packs … put berserkers down.”
“Yeah,” Rath says.“Most do.”
“Zaya?”Presh whispers.“It’s okay.We just … have to not provoke him.”
“That ship has definitely sailed, Precious,” I say, mostly feigning my glib tone.“But I promised you.My word is binding.Literally.”
Presh nods.
“Good to hear it,” Rath says.“Your exit is coming up.Pay attention to the road.”
I stifle a snarky response to that command.I haven’t taken my full attention off the road once.
“Check in every ten minutes by text,” the bossy asshole continues.“Call me if you need me.I’m coming to you.I’ll find you.Do you have the link?I’ve sent you a specific route, don’t deviate.Don’t get out of the car.”
Presh pokes around on the phone.“Got it.”She clicks the link in a text from Rath, and the map app opens again.“We’re still an hour and fifteen minutes away,” she says, renewed fear whispering through her words.
“Check in every ten minutes,” Rath reiterates.“Don’t stop.Don’t get out of the car.”
He can’t do anything about it either way.No matter what sort of safe house he’s sending us to, we’re on our own until we get there.And possibly even after if I can’t shake the bikers.
