Prisoner (Criminals & Captives #1)(51)

The nose of the car is smashed sideways into a tree.

“You okay?”

She looks at me, dazed. Her eyes are wide. Scared. How did she get mixed up in all this? But that’s life—it’ll drag you down no matter how sweet and innocent you start out. I grab my piece. I see the blue sedan in a ditch on the other side of the road.

I jump out. Everything’s quiet.

A shot explodes the silence. I duck behind our vehicle. He’s behind his, behind the engine block. Only one of us will be getting reinforcements soon, and it’s not me. Things are only going to go downhill for me from here, so I charge his car, right across the road, shooting. Shoot your way out. It’s desperate and ballsy. It’s something he won’t expect.

I run right up, one boot crashing onto the middle of the hood, and I’m landing right on him, feet first. He gets a shot off, but he’s moving—he expected me from a side. So the shot goes wild. I’ve got him under me now like a stomped sack of potatoes. I grab his head and ram the hard plate of my forehead into the delicate structure of his nose, a vicious head butt that breaks his face and knocks him right out.

He slumps onto the dirt. I wipe his blood from my eyes.

Our truck is f*cked up now, so I get into his car, making a U-turn and screaming up right next to the Suburban. I get out and clamber in the still-open driver’s side door. She’s there, cringing against the passenger-side door. She didn’t run like I told her to. In shock, maybe.

“Let’s go,” I say.

The way she looks at me, I’m guessing my face is pretty bloody. She fumbles her door open. I reach for her wrist, but she’s too nimble. She takes off down the road.

Now she runs.

I’ve got a functioning car. I could get us out. But the governor’s guys are on their way. If they catch her up and she tells them her story, it’s not just Stone and Nate in trouble. They’ll figure out she means something to me, considering I didn’t kill her, considering I f*cked her. And before long her fingers will be showing up places where I’m most likely to hear about them.

I look at the barren landscape that will soon be crawling with the governor’s vehicles and the cars of dirty cops. I go back to strategy, because it doesn’t fail me. What’s the best thing to do? The smartest thing? Shoot her.

I tear out after her instead, down this road barely wider than a single lane, a straightaway for as far as the eye can see. Catching up to her is not a problem. Hours upon hours of physical exercise in the yard and in my cell means I’m on top of my game. But dragging a fighting girl back to the car, all before the governor’s guys show up? I’m sweating that.

A shiny town car comes tearing up the road from far ahead. She’s running, waving her arms for help.

“No, Abby!”

She keeps on going, and I keep after her even though it’s crazy. I could still make it back to the blue sedan.

“No!” I shout. “Don’t trust them. Abby!”

She speeds up, thinking she has safety in sight.

Fuck. It’s just the opposite.

The car pulls over some ten yards ahead.

The guy’s in a suit. I recognize his red buzz cut and pinkish complexion from the last time the governor’s guys cornered me. I don’t know his name, but it doesn’t f*cking matter. History is repeating itself, and the scariest part is that Abby’s here for it. He takes cover behind his car door, piece flashing in the sun.

“Get away from here!” I yell. She could still get away. It’s me he wants to kill.

Shots ping around my feet. I dive for the ditch and roll, shoot back. He ducks behind his door.

She’s like a deer, frozen at the side of the road, not quite between us but too close for comfort. “Abby! Get to the blue car and take off—I’ll cover you. Come on, you want to be free, right? Drive out of here. I’ll deal with him.” I’m revealing her value to Red Crew Cut, but he’ll figure it out anyway. “Go!”

She just stands there, probably more shocked by the sound of me begging than the gunfire.

Hell, I should turn around and head back to the sedan myself. I could still do that while Abby’s out there creating confusion. It’s a good plan. “Get out of here!” I yell.

It’s then, I suppose, that he catches on. “It’s a trick, Abby,” he says. When he says her name, it feels like spikes in my spine. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Abby,” I yell. She looks back at me, eyes full of regret.

There’s fear too, because some part of her knows it’s not normal for a guy in a suit to stop his car and start shooting. He didn’t announce himself as a police officer because he’s not one. Her survival instinct is telling her she isn’t safe, but her mind is overriding that. Because of me. What I did to her.

“We’ll put Grayson back where he belongs,” the governor’s man says, voice smooth with authority. “Come on back here where you’ll be safe.”

“He’s lying, Abby!” I picture her relief when they take her into custody. She’ll think it’s over. And then her horror when they start hurting her.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” she says, backing toward the town car, voice cracking. She takes another step toward him. Then another. She’s five feet away from the car.

This is my punishment. That’s all I can think about. Her soft flesh sucking me in. Her moans filling the air like goddamn music. I took what wasn’t mine, and this is my punishment: watching her get destroyed.