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Within minutes I'd joined the steady flow of traffic heading for the city. Quinn's black Porsche was three cars behind me.
We were on Queens Road, cruising past Albert Park, when I saw the truck. It was on the other side of the road and driving way too fast, its movements erratic, swiping the cars that were trying to get out of its way and sending them spinning into others.
I edged over into the other lane, hoping that would keep me out of harm's way. After surviving a silver bullet, the last thing I wanted was to be mown down by a goddamn truck.
I couldn't see any cops behind the truck, but they surely couldn't be too far away. The driver was obviously high on either drugs or alcohol, and someone would have reported him by now.
He drew closer, but the sheer height of the cab and the darkened windows made it almost impossible to see the driver. He was little more than a dark shadow, and for some reason, the small hairs on the back of my neck rose.
Which was ridiculous.
He was just another idiot in the grip of some form of substance abuse or this was his idea of fun driving. I'd seen plenty like him before, and I had no doubt I'd see plenty in the future.
And yet something suddenly felt wrong.
I watched him draw closer, my fingers tense on the wheel. The truck swerved away from my side of the road and, for an instant, I felt safe.
But I'd barely relaxed my grip when the truck's tires squealed and the huge grille suddenly filled my vision. I cursed and ripped the wheel sideways as I hit the gas pedal. The car half spun as it surged forward and the truck hit the rear, smashing me into a lamppost. The impact flung me about violently and the side airbags popped, catching my head before it could hit the window. Metal crumpled as the passenger side of the car bent around the post.
We'd barely come to a standstill when another car hit us head-on. It tore my car away from the pole and sent it skidding backward, the windshield shattering under the impact and spraying me with glass. For a moment I couldn't see anything, my vision filled with white bags and the steam erupting from my engine. I eased up on the gas pedal, but it didn't make a damn bit of difference. I reached forward and turned the key, shutting the engine off. Moisture ran down the side of my face as I moved, stinging my eyes. I swiped at it irritably, and my fingers came away bloody. I hadn't even felt a bump to the head.
Over the groaning of metal and the hiss of escaping steam came the deep-throated growl of the truck's engine. The driver was still moving, still finding targets. And Quinn's car had been three behind mine.
Fear surged and for a moment I couldn't even breathe. Then I grabbed the handle and flung the door open. In my haste to get out I forgot the seat belt and it snapped tight, almost choking me.
I cursed, undid the thing, then climbed out. The road was awash with wrecked vehicles and dazed people getting out of cars. Ahead, the truck had found another victim. A black car had been turned onto its side, and the truck was hitting it again and again, rolling it over and over. There was blood on the windshield, and the back half of the car was crumpled almost beyond recognition. No one could survive such a mess ...
Suddenly, what I was seeing hit.
That black car belonged to Quinn.
"No!" The scream was wrenched from my throat. I flung myself past the door and ran down the road. I couldn't lose him as well. Not like this. Not in some stupid, senseless act of violence ...
Something sharp hit my arm and I stumbled, whacking against the road hard, skinning my hands and knees in the process and grunting in pain.
I swiped at the thing in my arm and realized it was a dart. A goddamn hunting dart. "What the fuck?"
I reached for it, but my vision was suddenly blurry. The dart became two, then three, then all of them danced away. I swore and tried to get to my feet, tried to keep running, to get to Quinn and to stop the truck, but my legs wouldn't obey me.
The world was spinning; my mind was spinning. Everything was going around and around, until I just wanted to throw up.
"Well, what have we got here?" The voice was rich and somewhat arrogant. It was also far too familiar.
Blake.
The Alpha of the red pack. The man who'd made my childhood hell. The wolf who'd sworn revenge for the humiliation I'd dished out to him not so long ago.
Kye had warned me Blake was planning his vengeance, and yet despite that, I just hadn't expected he'd act this soon.
He moved toward me, his bulk filling my vision and his gait oddly erratic. Like something was wrong with one of his legs and he couldn't put much weight on it.
"You'd better hope you haven't killed the man in that black car," I croaked, blinking desperately to gain some clarity in my vision.
God, I just wanted to close them. To rest.
I jerked them open instead. There were fading bruises and almost-healed scratches all over his face, an indication he'd been in some sort of accident recently.
Shame he didn't die in it, my inner wolf snarled. It would have saved me the trouble.
