Page 14 of Gatling
No one would take me seriously if I gave an explanation like that.
Gripping my keys, I hurried to my car. The knot of tension between my shoulders eased a little, knowing I was safe behind locked doors.
Testing a theory, I turned south, driving in the opposite direction from my apartment. If this truck really was following me, I didn’t want to lead them back to where I lived.
For the first two blocks, there was no sign of the truck.
Then it rolled into view, practically kissing my bumper. My Volkswagen felt so miniscule in comparison. The huge, menacing grille filled my rearview mirror.
My heart lurched against my sternum.
Stay calm, stay calm.
I flicked my flashers at the truck and gestured for the driver to go around me.
In response, the truck revved its engine and tapped my bumper. I lurched with a noise of surprise, clutching my steering wheel with trembling hands.
Reaching out, I dug around frantically in my purse and found my phone. I needed to call for help—Ryker, Noah, the police, anyone.
The truck plowed into the back of my car, pushing me forward. My car skidded sideways, burning rubber with an acrid stench.
My phone fell from my fingers, skidding across the floor. It ended up somewhere near my brake pedal—too far out of reach to retrieve it.
I hit the gas, trying to escape the truck’s onslaught.
My tires gained no traction. I couldn’t get away, trapped like a bug against the truck’s grille.
Then a familiar figure on a motorcycle turned the corner up ahead. Ryker. Speeding toward me, he lifted his arm, pistol in hand. Eyes cold. Jaw set.
He fired three times. The truck took a sharp turn and roared away.
I hit the brakes hard, tires squealing. My teeth chattered with shock. I sat there, frozen.
Ryker shouted something from behind me. I saw him gesture sharply in the direction of the truck. Another biker took off after it, skidding around the turn.
A moment later, Ryker rapped his knuckles against my window.
“Kelsie, it’s me. Open up.”
Peeling my hand off the steering wheel, I pressed the unlock button. As soon as Ryker heard the locking mechanism release, he yanked my door open, pulling me out of the car.
“I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
I stumbled into his arms with relief. He held me so tightly that I couldn’t breathe.
“The truck—” I rasped.
“I know.”
“It was following me. It—it tried to run me off the road.”
“I know.”
Ryker cradled the back of my head in his palm, folding me even harder into his chest. The leather of his cut was warm from the sun. He smelled like pine forests and black coffee. I curled my fingers into his shirt, burrowing against him.
I marveled that he could be so calm, when it seemed like my knees had turned to jelly, threatening to fold under me at any minute.
“Let me look at you,” Ryker said firmly.
