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I was flying across the road.

“Cain!” I cried.

But he couldn’t do anything.

I couldn’t do anything.

I slammed on the brake.

But I was going too fast.

There wasn’t enough time.

The tree got closer and closer.

Then it happened.

I was aware of the crunch of folding metal. The explosion of a white airbag in front of me.

And then just… nothing.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Cain

“Fuck!” I yelled.

I heard it.

The crash.

Through the phone.

But, worse yet, just a few yards ahead.

That unmistakable crunch.

The horrifying silence afterward.

Hearing it too, the bikes broke like waves around the SUV I was driving, racing out in front of me, their engines rumbling almost deafening on the silent street.

I had a brief moment of satisfaction at seeing the car that had struck Georgie backing up, throwing it into drive, and peeling away, before I saw Georgie’s car crunched into a tree on the side of the road.

I tried to tamp down the panic, reminding myself that while the crash was bad—and the car totaled—the crush stopped around the shattered windshield.

She probably wasn’t even entrapped.

That knowledge didn’t make my panic any better, though, as I slammed to a stop, barely remembering to put the car in park before hopping out and running to the car.

“Georgie,” I called, pulling uselessly at the door, but it was locked. It wouldn’t budge. Neither did the rear door.

“Fuck!” I yelled, seeing Georgie slumped over the deflated airbag on the steering wheel, blood trickling down from her forehead and nose—comic book bright on the white material.

“Here,” Briggs said, rushing up from the SUV, a bat in his hand.

He didn’t hand it to me, just came up behind me and swung at the rear door window, smashing it inward.

I didn’t hesitate, just reached inward, feeling the broken glass slicing into my arm as I pushed the unlock button.