Crash into You (Pushing the Limits, #3)(118)

“You were the one not paying attention!” the girl shouts. “And besides, this is a parking lot, you moron. Not a dragway. You were going, what? Fifty?”

The word moron slips underneath my skin and my muscles tighten. But she has me. I was speeding. “Are you hurt?” I ask.

“What?”

“Did my car hit you?”

The fire within her wavers, and she peers into the dark again. “No.”

I follow her gaze. Two huddled forms skulk near the back of the building. I refocus on the walking, talking inferno in front of me and despite my Calc teacher’s opinion of my intelligence, I’m able to do the math. “Is that trouble for you?”

Her eyes shoot to mine and in them is a blaring yes, but because girls make no sense she answers, “No.”

A crackling sound draws my attention. The edges of a small white paper bag poke from a plastic bag. It’s a prescription. I give her the once-over then turn to the guys hiding by the building. Dammit. Even the book geeks at my school who’ve never seen the outside of their PlayStation basement shrines are aware of the urban legends surrounding this neighborhood. She can deny it all she wants, but she has problems. “Get in my car.”

The fire returns. “Hell no.” She inspects the bruises forming along my jawline then surveys my scraped and swollen knuckles.

“Look, it’s me or them.” I motion toward the thugs with my chin. “And I’m telling you, I’m not the bad guy in this scenario.”

She laughs. And if it wasn’t such a beautiful sound, I’d be insulted.

“Because a guy driving an Escalade in this neighborhood is the equivalent of a Boy Scout.”

The right side of my mouth tips up. Did she call me a drug dealer?

“From the looks of you—” She glances at my knuckles again. “Well, let’s just say you must have your own baggage, and I’m not a baggage claim type of girl.”

“No, you’re the type who runs into traffic.”

She smiles and I like it. The anger that raced through me moments before vanishes. I rub my jaw then lean my hand against my open car door. Long light brown hair with waves, dark eyes that sure as hell suck me in as they sparkle, a tight body and a kick-ass attitude. Truth be told, I like more than her smile. Too bad I almost killed her by running her over. It’ll make asking her out awkward.

“Get into my car and I’ll drive you home.” I hold up both my palms. “I swear. No drive-by’s on the way.”

The smile fades when I say the word home, and her eyes lose the sparkle. Something deep within me hollows out.

She slides close, very close—as in her clothes brush mine. She angles herself so that she’s between me and my car door. The heat of her body rolls onto me, and my fingers itch to touch. I suck in air, and I’m overwhelmed by the sweet scent of wildflowers.

She lifts her face to look at me and whispers, “Getting into that car with you is as big a risk as walking down that viaduct. If you’re bent on helping me, do me a favor.”

“What?” I breathe out.

“Stand here and act like you’re talking to me. Convincingly enough that it’ll buy me time.”

And before I can process a word, she cuts past me, crouches against the Escalade, ducks behind the vehicle and escapes into the night. “Hey!”

The shadows emerge from behind the building. Two guys bolt into the beams of my headlights and in the direction of the neighborhood. Their feet pound the concrete.

In the distance, instead of two dark forms running into the night, there are three and the first one doesn’t have a decent head start. I jump into my Escalade and tear off after them.





Haley

MY LUNGS BURN AND MY arms and legs pump quickly. The graffiti on the concrete walls of the freeway viaduct blend into a colored blur. I’m out of shape. Six months ago, I could have outrun them, but not now. Not today. My feet smack against the blacktop and the sound echoes in the tunnel. The stench of mold and decay fills my nose.

There’s a splash as someone stomps into a puddle, followed by the sound of more shoes against the street. My breath comes out in gasps, and I will my muscles to move faster.

Heat rises off my body and into the cold night and my nose begins to run. I don’t want them to hurt me, and the thought of a man’s hand colliding with my body causes my heart to clench. My fist tightens around Dad’s medication. I don’t want to lose it. The answer is to be faster but, if they catch me, I’ll be left with no other choice than to fight.

Their footsteps ring closer in my ears, and my old training floods into my brain. I need to turn, face them and form a defensive stance. I can’t be dragged to the ground by my hair.

Lights from behind create a beacon of hope. My pursuers’ footfalls continue in their hunt, but fall off near the walls of the tunnel, out of sight of the approaching car. I put on a burst of speed. Two more blocks and I’ll be inside. Safe from this.

Brakes squeal and a door snaps open. Voices. Shouting. The sound of a fist smacking into flesh. Continuing, I peek over my shoulder and air slams out of me when I notice the Escalade.

No.

Please, God, no.

My body rocks forward as my feet become concrete. It’s the guy from the shopping plaza. He’s fighting them. Three shadows spar against the headlights; a hellish dogfight of arms, fists, legs, grunts and growls. They’re all the same height, but I know which one’s him. He’s thicker. More muscular. He’s a scrapper, but he’s going to lose.