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All at once, the moments right before rush back. I grabbed the wheel, and the car flipped. I pry my eyes open and immediately close them against the disorientation.
The world is upside-down.
A cough forces me to gather my bearings, and I glance over at Agent Bell—the Alpha. Everything sweeps in, too much information, the force of a hurricane battering my brain. I dislodge my arm from between the door and seat, gritting my teeth against the pain, and wince at the handcuff biting into my wrist. I breathe deeply, alleviating the pressure in my chest.
The key.
The smell of gasoline fills the car. Hazard lights flash through the shattered windshield. I first try kicking at the door to break the handle, but every move sends an excruciating jolt of pain to my bones.
I wriggle closer to Lena and reach into her pocket. My fingers latch on to a key ring. Relief speeds my movements. She doesn’t stir as I flick through each key, seeking the one to free me. On the third try, the cuff opens, and my arm drops.
Needles stab my skin as my dead arm rushes to move.
Seconds stretch as I process my next move. The urgency to flee barrels against all logic, but I can’t think like a victim. Phone. Gun. I glance at her once more, making my decision.
For this to end, she has to be brought down. She’ll never stop. Lena is a psychopath of the most frightening variety. She’s built an empire off of her madness, and so far, she’s succeeded. That makes her even more dangerous.
There are other victims.
I reach a shaky hand into her jacket and search for the phone. Blood mats her hair, drips down her forehead. The roof of her nose is gashed. I instantly diagnose her wounds: concussion. Possible internal hemorrhaging. If she doesn’t wake…maybe she never will.
She coughs again, and icy fingers circle my wrist, shocking me still. Like a scene from a bad horror movie, Lena comes alive.
Jerking out of her grasp, I take advantage of the fact that she’s still strapped in and brace my back against the door. I grip the handle and push against the console, groaning as I wrench the door open a fraction.
“Fucking cunt,” she mutters. Then she’s racing against my efforts, her hands wrestling with the seatbelt. Her gaze swings to me when the buckle clicks.
We stare at each other, one moment of sizing up, before she springs and I fall backward.
Shards of glass and rubble bite into my back, but I use the sharp pain to center my awareness. The world rights itself in an instant, and I climb to my feet. The dark road shows no signs of life. When did we leave the highway?
A shrill scream from inside the toppled car snares my attention, and I look down the road. Both ends. I have to run. It’s not right if I don’t run. If I go along the road, she can shoot me. She might not…she still needs me. But I can’t play chance with a crazy FBI agent.
The driver-side door scrapes open against the road, and my instincts kick in. I take off toward the tree line. My feet pound the turf, each thud sending a fire-hot spasm to my back. I break into a run when a shot cracks the silence.
She’s fucking shooting at me.
“I can take out your leg,” she shouts. “That was a warning.”
I believe her. The next shot sends a tuft of grass flying right ahead of me, and I dive to the side, covering my head. Shit. Shit. Shit. Sweat stinging every cut and scrape on my body, I unsteadily rise to my feet. Adrenaline sears my veins as I turn to face her.
Lena takes her time getting to me. Her leg drags the ground, every step exposing pain alighting her face the closer she gets.
“That was uncalled for,” she says, then whips the gun across my face. This time, the force is brutal. The night flashes in and out, blinding pain blacks out my vision. Then I’m looking up from the ground. I blink past the tears welling in my eyes to see her standing above me.
“That’s for my busted face.” She sniffs hard as she touches her nose. “The car can be replaced.” She reaches down and drags me up to stand, then she holds the gun to my forehead as she brings out her phone.
“Donavan,” she says, breathless. “Track my location. The ME and I need a ride to the airport.” A few seconds pass where I stare down the barrel, churning thoughts of retaliation, then: “That is unacceptable. Make it happen!”
She taps the phone screen and then laughs vacantly. “Look here. A missed call from Detective Quinn.” My heart rockets to my throat. “I must be missed at the crime scene.”
I kick my chin high. “Or he knows, Lena. Quinn is a hell of a detective. Do you think my absence from the lab has gone unnoticed? Or that Carson hasn’t told Sadie—”
“You took it upon yourself to meet the Alpha, remember?” she says, and panic lances my chest. “Quinn is a good detective. He’ll start looking for you exactly where you led him. The warehouse.”
She’s right. Sadie has probably already told Quinn about the message.
“And Carson is dead,” she spits.
