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As if from a distance, Haven watched the men work to save Meat’s life, Joker’s words echoing in her ears. What was Dare dealing with out there? Was he safe?
Suddenly, those worst-case scenarios Haven had thought about on the ride down there didn’t seem like she’d imagined quite bad enough. Which meant she needed to decide how many people she was going to allow to be sacrificed so that she might stay free.
CHAPTER 30
Dare had heard the entire fucking thing, and by his count, at least three of his own were already dead or in harm’s way. Not to mention a driver and a stadium full of people. And the only woman he’d ever loved. Motherfucker.
And of course, Dare was about as far away as he could get—at the other end of the track checking in on patrol teams, as had been the plan. He should’ve known Nick would be right though, because the plan was so far fucked he could barely remember what it was.
Now, the trick was to make his way carefully in the direction of the front offices where the ticket window and control room were while not getting his ass shot, inciting a panic, or seeming otherwise suspicious to the fifteen hundred people they had in here tonight.
“We’re taking up sniper positions around the top of the building’s interior,” Nick said through the walkie-talkie. “We’ll pick them off as we see them. Nice and quiet.” Three of his men had brought gear and left it up top. Just in case. Hell, even with all Dare’s dread, he hadn’t thought it would come to this.
“Roger that,” Dare said, looking at the LED screen on his cell. Two minutes tops, unless Randall was bluffing, which Dare’s gut said he wasn’t. And, anyway, it wasn’t a chance he was willing to take. “Jagger, get that fucking kid off the track.” He walk-ran along a wall, stopping at a hallway on the concourse to check that it was clear to cross.
“I’m trying,” Jagger said. He’d gotten word to the driver’s pit crew that they needed to get their guy out of there. He’d told them there’d been a threat against the driver that they needed to take seriously, but so far, the ego-for-brains twenty-one-year-old behind the wheel didn’t want to relinquish the high position he had in the field.
Haven. Dare had to get to Haven. He couldn’t break his promise to keep her safe. And he couldn’t let her go back to the horrors of her old life. It would kill him. Whatever part of him had survived after allowing his mother and brother to die without fighting for them would die knowing he’d failed Haven, too.
A loud crash from the field. And then another, and another, as the number five car lost control and spun out in the middle of a crowded field. “Fuck!” Dare said, watching the nightmare unfurl before him as the fans jumped to their feet in a collective gasp. Crashes happened all the time—they were prepared to deal with them. But not because one of their drivers had been fucking executed—and there was nothing else to think, given that the car that started the pileup was the very one Randall had threatened. And their block of ten minutes was up.
Dare took off at a run along the concourse, no longer worried about catching anyone’s attention. When his cell rang, he was almost tempted to ignore it, but he didn’t need any more unknowns in play right now. “This is Kenyon. Talk.”
“Dare, it’s Henry Martin. I’ve got some information for you.”
“What is it, Sheriff? I’ve got a fucking situation. Randall and his men are here, and they’ve shot at least two of my guys, possibly shot a driver, and have taken Bunny hostage.”
“I know. We’ve got state and local en route. One of your guys called nine-one-one. I’m going to text you new vehicle information on Randall’s people. We were able to grab some shots off a traffic camera near that commuter lot. You’re dealing with seven men total,” Martin said.
Bad news, but useful, too. “Appreciate that. Send it now and I’ll get some people on it. We’re not gonna be able to keep this from turning into a goddamned Wild West shootout if your people don’t get here.” He continued down to the corner where the concourse joined with the next hallway.
“I hear ya. Sit tight.” Martin hung up.
As if. A moment later, Dare’s phone buzzed, and he turned the corner and rushed to the end of the next hallway while he forwarded the new car descriptions on through a group message. These fuckers might wreak havoc, but they weren’t getting away scot-free. Not once the Ravens found and disabled their vehicles and set themselves up to lay in wait. This was ending. Tonight.
He’d no more pocketed his cell and pulled the pistol from his back holster again than he turned the next corner to go outside—and found himself staring at Rhett Randall. Standing about ten feet away under the glow of a streetlamp. In the flesh.
