Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60921 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Backup.
Of course.
“Move,” I breathe.
We run.
Branches whip at my arms, cold air burning my lungs. The car is a dark lump in the trough between two pines, exactly where we left it.
I throw myself at the driver’s side door, fumbling the handle. It opens with a groan that sounds deafening.
Lark is already tossing the duffel in the back. “Keys?” she pants.
I flash them. “On it.”
We piled in within seconds—she in the passenger seat, slamming her door, me behind the wheel.
The first shout goes up from the direction of the cabin.
“Back! They’re out back!”
I turn the key. The engine coughs, then roars to life. Headlights stay off. We can’t risk spotlighting ourselves.
“Seatbelt,” I snap, flooring it.
The vehicle lurches forward, tires spitting mud and pine needles. We bounce over roots, rocks, and a half-rotted stump. My teeth rattle, but the engine holds.
Behind us, a flashlight beam cuts through the trees, wild and swinging. Something thuds against the car’s rear quarter panel—a bullet, maybe, or just a branch. No time to check.
The old service road looms ahead, a darker line between the trees.
I wrench the wheel, sending us fishtailing onto it, gravel and slush crunching under the tires. The car skids, catches, straightens.
“Knight,” Lark says, voice too steady for how wide her eyes are. “There’s a guy with a gun on the road.”
Of course there is.
He’s standing dead center of the track like he owns it, gun up, braced, totally unfazed by two tons of car barreling down on him.
“Duck,” I bark.
She does.
I slam my foot down harder, the engine howling.
For a heartbeat, it’s a game of chicken—him with his payout, us with nowhere else to go.
He breaks first, diving to the side as we roar past. A shot cracks, punching a hole through the windshield on the passenger side, spiderwebbing the glass inches from Lark’s head.
She yelps, ducking lower. “Okay,” she gasps. “Not a fan. One star. Would not recommend.”
“You okay?” I grunt, fighting the wheel as we hit a rut.
“I’m fine. Windshield’s not,” she says. “You?”
“Adrenaline’s doing all the work,” I say. “Check the back window. Are they following in a car?”
She twists in her seat, peering through shattered glass.
“I see movement near the cabin,” she says. “Flashlights. But no headlights yet. I don’t think they had time to park anyone closer than the access lot.”
“Then we’re ahead,” I say, more to convince myself.
The service road vomits us out onto the old county highway—a strip of cracked asphalt winding through the dark trees. No street lights, no houses. Just miles of empty.
I gun it, still no headlights, counting on the weak glow of the dash and the sliver of moon to keep us out of the ditch.
Lark braces one hand on the dash, the other clutching the oh-shit handle.
“At what point,” she says tightly, “do we tell Arrow that his ‘stay put’ plan is officially not working?”
“Soon as we’re far enough that we’re not handing these assholes the GPS coordinates to the cabin and the car at the same time,” I say. “Another ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”
“Can we survive ten minutes?” she asks.
“That’s the fun part,” I say. “We’re about to find out.”
She snorts, a shaky little sound, and then reaches over and grabs my forearm, her fingers squeezing tight.
“Hey,” I say.
“Yeah?”
“We’re not dying tonight,” I say it, meaning every word. “Not after… all of this. Not when we haven’t even told your brother yet. I refuse to let my ‘we’re dating’ announcement be a memorial.”
Despite everything, a choked laugh escapes her.
“Dark,” she says, “but fair.” She stares straight ahead at the broken road, jaw set.
“I’m serious,” I say. “You don’t get to die on me. Not here, not like this, not for sixty stupid Bitcoin. I will follow you into hell if I have to, but I am not doing it tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” she says, quietly.
The road stretches out in front of us, an endless strip of cracked black. Behind us, no headlights yet. For now, it’s just us and the empty.
“We’re going to need a new plan,” Lark says after a moment, voice calmer. “Cabin’s burned.”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re mobile now whether we want to be or not.”
“Dean’s going to love that,” she mutters.
“Dean will survive,” I say. “We just leveled up from sitting ducks to moving targets. Different kind of problem. We’re better at those.”
She glances at me, eyes searching my profile. “You okay?” she asks softly. “Really?”
I keep my gaze on the road, the wheel steady in my hands. “I had a guy call me by my real name and try to stab me in my own murder cabin,” I say. “I’m somewhere between furious and focused. We’re going to make Luka regret every Bitcoin he put on our heads.”
Her grip tightens on my arm. “Good,” she says. “Because I’m not done making plans with you.”
The corner of my mouth lifts. “Plans, huh?” I say.