Chasing Impossible (Pushing the Limits, #5)(16)

Abby

I’m against the wall, near the entrance and I’m doing my best Navy SEAL as I count the game pieces in the room. Stupid me. I should have caught on faster. Should have seen the strategy being formed, but I was caught up first with the narc and then with Logan.

Rule number three: don’t allow any distractions.

Dad ought to be proud of me. I’ve done nothing but surround myself with distractions over the past few months.

Two of Ricky’s guys are in the crowd. Both of them have made eye contact with me from across the room, but neither has approached, which means the situation we’re in is as bad as it gets. Tommy is the one who meets my eyes the most. He’s the protégé of the only guy I trust in Ricky’s organization, so at the moment, that makes Tommy my tightest alliance.

Tommy’s all mouse-brown hair and sharp angles. It’s easy to see why Linus picked him to mentor like my dad chose to mentor Linus. Tommy flashes four fingers and I tip my head to let him know I understand. There are four of Eric’s guys here that he’s made—possibly more. Eric is Ricky’s greatest enemy on the streets.

All around us are people way too young to become casualties of other people’s, specifically my, bad decisions.

I texted my safe word and location to the anonymous number, following protocol. Now I wait. For a reply from Mr. Anonymous, or a text from Logan saying he’s outside, and my stomach twists. If he texts or calls, I should ignore him and not drag him deeper into this nightmare than he already is, but at the same time, I don’t need Logan trying to save the day if I don’t answer and getting himself killed. Because that would seriously piss me off and make me possibly cry and I f*cking hate crying.

I wait longer than I would have thought for either response then another buzz:

In my truck. You still in the club?

Yes.

Stay put. I’m coming to get you.

Right as I go to respond, another buzz and it’s not Mr. Anonymous and it’s not Logan. It’s unlisted, unknown and it’s numbers. Fear turns violent and becomes a sharp pain in my chest. It’s a code given to me by my father and it means the foundation on which I’m standing is crumbling.

It also means to trust no one, not even Ricky himself, and it means to get the f*ck out.

Players, on both sides, have always been known to change allegiance in midcharge and I’m being warned that pieces are shifting.

A glance up and both of the boys on my side are watching me. So are Eric’s boys. According to the code, I’m prey and any of them staring me down could be the hunters.

Survival instincts flood my system and all the two million thoughts I’d been having streamline into one—I need to disappear.

A group of boys maneuver past me. I push off the wall, slip into the middle, and walk with them the several feet needed to reach the exit. The moment I’m out I’m texting the only piece around not knowingly playing the game: I’ll meet you halfway. I need out of here.

It’s after midnight and the sidewalk outside the bar is still packed with people willing to party. There are a ton of bars on this strip of road and they don’t host teen nights.

I asked the narc if he was a child of the night. Am I? I don’t know. I love summer nights. I love the heat rolling off the sidewalk. I love the humidity hanging in the air. I love the dark.

It doesn’t scare me. It’s the people who smile at you during the day while plunging a knife in your back that are the monsters. It’s bills I can’t pay. It’s systems that fail. It’s people preying upon the weak who fill my nightmares.

My phone rings and I accept it when I spot Logan’s face. “What?”

“You never listen.”

“I like walking. Fills my lungs with oxygen. It’s good for the circulatory system. Healthy and all that shit.”

“I told you to stay put.” I can imagine that serious expression on his face. The one where his dark eyes blow into storm clouds and everything about him becomes clipped. It’s not a huge change, it’s subtle, but I’ve memorized it.

“Miss me?” I tease because that’s more comfortable than focusing on terror. “Because I missed you, and I wanted to see you faster.”

“What happened to your plan?”

“It changed.”

“You in danger?”

Yes. “You’re cute. I forgot I’m not capable of walking down a street by myself. Just a friendly stroll and you’ll pick me up along the way.”

“You sound scared.”

As I’m scanning the crowd a flash of anger joins the fear he’s hearing. “Bite me, Logan.”

“I don’t like you on the open street.”

“Well, life f*cking sucks.” I pause and switch mental directions. “You don’t want bullshit—how’s this? I’m in deep and I don’t even know what I’m dealing with.”

Logan’s silent, and I pray he’s struggling with how to tell me he’s leaving and heading home, but another part of me begs him to stay. Without a ride, I’m an easy target. My need to live and my need to protect him are colliding in my brain.

“Move!” A loud horn blaring from his end and I check out the road. It’s bumper-to-bumper. People coming into the area to party, people leaving the area to party. He won’t get here. He won’t reach me fast enough.