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Jana held on tight. Zane’s muscles were like stone beneath her hands and her hair whipped behind her. No helmet. She might as well be begging for death.
Once he dumped her at Night Watch and the creeps in charge decided what to do with her, well, she just might actually beg.
No.
Begging didn’t do any good. She’d begged before. When she’d first been locked up. Begged to see her mom. Begged for help.
She’d gotten nothing.
Then when those bastards out there on her trail had learned about her power, she’d begged to be left alone.
What had Zane said? Normal. Yeah, she’d wanted to be normal. She’d begged for that, too.
Begging got a girl nowhere, fast. Fighting, shoving, letting the fire rage—that was the only way to make a difference.
When she got to Night Watch, she’d do whatever was necessary to stay alive. And if she had to let out the flames, then the place would burn.
And if innocent people were inside?
She pressed her face against Zane’s back and wondered just how far into the darkness she was willing to go.
The motorcycle took another curve, nice and slow. Zane hadn’t driven fast. He’d been careful the whole time. After one accident, maybe he was worried about a repeat. She sure was.
They eased from the curve, heading down the long road, and sirens screamed at them.
What? Jana’s head whipped around just in time to see a patrol car fly out of its nice, sneaky hiding place on the side of the road. Blue lights flashed, and the siren wailed louder.
Go. Faster. Faster.
She always had the same response to cop cars. Mostly because those cars were usually chasing her. Just like this one.
The motorcycle began to slow down. “No!” she shouted.
But Zane was stopping. He pulled the motorcycle over to the side of the road and shoved down the kickstand.
Her nails bit into his side. “What are you doing?”
He turned his head and met her gaze. “We aren’t wearing helmets. The guy’s got to stop us.”
She gulped. Right. Helmets. A normal stop. And such a Boy Scout thing for the demon to say.
Zane climbed off the bike. The handcuffs glinted in the light.
“And what are you going to tell him about these?” she asked. She wanted those things to be ash at her feet. Unfortunately, her fire didn’t work on them. She’d tried burning them last night. No luck.
“I’ve got my bounty hunter I.D.” He shook his head. “The cops can check me out.”
“Can he get us keys?—”
“Step away from the woman!” The barked order carried easily to them.
Here we go. Jana looked at the cop. A young guy, with light blond hair, a handsome, if soft face, and a perfectly pressed uniform.
The cop also had his gun up and aimed at Zane.
She straightened on the motorcycle.
“Easy.” Zane lifted both his hands, which, unfortunately, made her hand lift, too.
