Page 169 of Maddox
Turning I meet Draven’s wide eyes through the windshield and her ashen features twist into a grimace before she starts the vehicle and puts it in gear.
By some miracle we make it to the highway without interference.
When she pulls onto the road like one of those muscle cars on the racetrack, I careen against the window, smacking my forehead into the glass.
Of course, this is when my injuries flare to life and biting back a moan, I lean my head back against the seat.
The cab is quiet but for the sound of the tires churning on the black top, leaving me to my thoughts, such as they are.
What happened to Kidd? Please, if there is a god, let his end have been instant because death by fire is too painful to consider.
“Fuck,” Draven snarls, snapping me back to the present and I follow her gaze over my shoulder.
Of course, because fuck my life, half a dozen motorcycles are closing in on us and with a groan, I ask, “What do we do?”
Swinging back to the road, her hands tighten on the wheel, and she leans forward, staring out the windshield as she says, “Outrun them.”
It’s better than anything I’ve got but we’re already going way too fast down a slick road which with the dropping temperatures could be icy.
When she presses her foot on the accelerator, we shoot forward and fishtail before she manages to correct the vehicle.
Unfortunately, the ice hasn’t deterred them either because when I look over my shoulder, they’re still behind us.
Years of Peter’s lectures about driving in the snow dance through my brain before I throw that shit out the window and say, “Floor it.”
We lurch forward again but they just keep gaining speed and despair washes through me as I slam my fist against the console.
Why won’t these assholes give up?
“Shoot ‘em,” Draven shouts and I turn to her blankly.
Huh?
When she swerves, I careen to the left and she barks, “Goddamnit Delaney!”
“Fuck off,” I mumble before curling around the seat and rolling down the window.
Despite Peter being a cop, I’ve always been afraid of guns, although I know the basics of gun safety.
I’m also in a moving vehicle, so I don’t bother to aim at anything in particular when I squeeze my eyes closed and pull the trigger.
The first shot hits the back of the truck and Draven says, “Are you kidding me?”
“You wanna do it?” I bark, and she turns to me with a snarl while I shake out my arm.
Before she can respond, the truck jolts and I cry out, bracing myself against the dash. It’s probably stupid but I didn’t expect them to return fire, and I duck behind my seat when the back window shatters.
What the actual hell?
Draven glances at me with a grimace and sucking in a breath, I chuckle, albeit hysterically as I say, “Look, now we have air conditioning.”
Immune to my humor, such as it is, her brows furrow and I rise to my knees, firing out the back.
I can’t say that I hit anything, but the shots inspire the assholes to swerve which slows their momentum.
When one of the men raises a gun, I duck down, covering my ears just in time because stuffing explodes from the headrest above me.
My eardrums ache from the loud report as I shoot back and when the gun clicks signaling it’s empty, I say, “What now?”
