Page 11 of Saving the Last Heir
“Shit.” I glanced around, hoping to see a key on a hook somewhere. A small office was tucked in the corner of the warehouse. The room looked to be a little bigger than a closet. Sprinting for it, I threw caution to the wind and raised my leg at the last second, kicking the spot beneath the knob. The door crashed inward, revealing a bare wall with a single lockbox attached at eye level.
“Damn it,” I grunted as I reached up and grasped the box. “You’d think they were trying to keep people from stealing these fucking things.”
After three or four good pulls, I managed to yank the whole box from the wall, the drywall screws ripping out in a cloud of dust. Lifting it high above my head, I slammed it down onto the concrete floor. The hinge shattered, sending the door flying wide open, and several keys skittering across the floor. Hitting my knees, I scrambled around, and sighed with relief when I grabbed the one for the Lamborghini.
Before I could stand, my cell buzzed in my pocket.
“Yes?” I whispered into the phone.
“Jackson, get out of there! They’re coming in the back door. You gotta go. Now! I’m gonna give you a way out,”Christian screamed, then hung up.
The words sent a surreal, dreamlike panic through me, the way you felt in a nightmare and you’re trying to run, but your legs won’t move. Snapping my head around and looking to the rear of the warehouse, I spotted a folding table with a bottle of whiskey and a pile of playing cards on top of it.
Distantly, I heard the sound of a lock being turned.
Fuck.
With no time to come up with a better plan, I grabbed a second set of keys and tucked the Lamborghini key fob into my pocket. Picking up the heavy lockbox, I sprinted toward the cars. The entire world seemed to be going in both slow motion and fast forward at the same time. The closer I got to the cars, the farther away they seemed to be.
I glanced at the random key I’d taken, then angled for the Rolls Royce, unlocked it, and shoved the key into the ignition. The moment I did, a great rending, squealing, and tearing sound erupted from behind me. I craned my neck to look through the rear window and gaped as Christian’s massive wyrm head tore through the garage door like it was aluminum foil. Well, he was definitely getting me a way out.
“Hey! What the fuck?” The voice tore my attention from Christian to the wolf shifters running in, all of them staring in open-mouthed shock as the gigantic wyrm shredded the door.
They hadn’t seen me yet. Good. The bad part was that two of them were reaching into their jackets for guns, and another had already shifted, turning into one of the biggest goddamn wolves I’d ever seen in my life.
With a flick of my wrist, I spun the key, and the engine rumbled to life. I put the heavy lockbox on the gas pedal, sending the engine into a roaring rev, then slammed the shifter into drive.
The wolves looked away from Christian and his destruction to see the massive five-thousand-pound hulking vehicle rushing toward them. As they dived aside and screamed out curses, I ran for the Lamborghini. Opening the gullwing door, I slid into the seat.
Dumbfounded, I stared at the interior. The inside looked like a spaceship—all buttons, knobs, and switches I wasn’t used to. Thankfully, the ignition button was bright red. I pressed it, and the car roared to life, like some chained animal ready to tear free of its prison. Sparing a quick glance in the rearview mirror, I spotted Christian thrashing his huge wyrm head back and forth, destroying the last of the door. Pressing thereversebutton, I hit the gas, gasping as the powerful engine caused the tires to spin on the slick concrete floor.
Holy shit, this thing is a beast.
“Freeze, motherfucker,” a voice shouted.
One of the wolf shifters aimed a gun at me. Another was sprinting toward me in his wolf form. Behind them, the Rolls was half buried in the wall, the tires still spinning maniacally, smoke pouring out and filling the warehouse.
Taking the chance that they wouldn’t want to damage their boss’s car, I tapped the gas again, backing up to give myself room to aim the hood toward the wide open door. I didn’t bother looking back as I hit thedrivebutton and slammed my foot on the gas.
The tires spun again, but this time, they caught traction and rocketed me forward. Remembering what Joseph had said about scratches, I clenched my hands on the steering wheel and eased off the gas enough to control the thing as I drove into the alley and then down toward the street.
I nearly whooped in relief, but then I glanced in the rearview mirror. Christian was slithering away from the scene, moving with the speed and grace of a ghost, but the Ferrari and Maserati came screeching out of the destroyed door, sending up clouds of smoke as they burned rubber.
“Fuck,” I hissed, stepping on the gas.
The road ran straight for about a mile, then split into a four-way intersection. The traffic light was red. Gritting my teeth, I clenched the suede covered steering wheel and focused on the intersection. A quick glance in my side mirror showed the two cars gaining on me. The Lamborghini was newer and more powerful, but out here in the city, its top speed didn’t matter as much.
It was nearly one in the morning, and traffic was light, but a few cars were still slipping through the intersection. A dozen worries bounced through my mind like ping pong balls. I couldn’t let the car get damaged. I couldn’t be captured. I couldn’t bail and let them have the car. I couldn’t hurt any innocent bystanders. How the hell was I supposed to do this?
At a hundred miles an hour, the intersection came on so rapidly it terrified me. The Maserati was beside me, a man leaning out the window as the driver angled the car toward me. Was he going to try to jump on the damn Lamborghini?
At the intersection, a white van lumbered across the road. Making a split-second decision, I tapped my foot back and forth from the gas to the brake, doing my best to control the speed as I yanked the wheel to the right. A squeal of tires tore the night apart as the car swung wide and drifted, and I clutched the wheel in a death grip. Eyes wide with fear and concentration, the Lamborghini spun in a hundred-and-eighty-degree circle as I revved and braked. The rear end hung out ahead of the work van, and I caught a glimpse of a man inside. The older Hispanic man’s eyes and mouth were open in shock as the crazy fucker in a Lamborghini tried his best to control the machine.
The car screeched to a stop, its ass pointing the wrong way. Thankfully, the Maserati had overshot the intersection, and the driver laid on the brakes, sending white smoke into the night sky. Jamming my foot on the gas, I sent my car rocketing forward, heading in the opposite direction. The Ferrari chased after me, rounding the corner like an Indy car.
The Lamborghini roared like a demon as I poured on speed, leaving the older supercar to fall behind. Slowly, I put more distance between us, but up ahead, a new problem presented itself. I cursed under my breath at the sight of work trucks, flagmen, flashing lights, and construction equipment. A massive orange sign screamedDETOURat me as I approached. An arrow pointed to the left, into a small two lane side street.
I crushed the brake with both feet, the rear end doing all it could to fishtail as I slowed from a hundred-and-twenty down to thirty. The construction crew dived aside, screaming in terror as the monster vehicle rushed headlong at them. Thankfully, the car swung enough that I was able to hit the gas and shoot down the side road. Behind me, the Ferrari followed, its headlights shining like twin suns in my mirror.
