Objective (Bloodlines #2)(69)

“Bentley?” he nods at the truck containing Cane and Bentley three cars up.

“Nope!” I chirp. Maybe if I play my cards right I can use Brock to secure my plan. I need to get to the trailer and I need to figure out why that backpack is so damn important.

“That other dude. Uh, Cane!” he tries again, grinning.

“Bingo!” I sing. “Your turn.”

“I spy something brown.”

I look around as he slows the car down slightly.

“You’re full of shit. There is nothing brown!” I complain craning my neck to look behind us.

“What the hell?” he complains as we slow even more. I plop back facing the right way to see what his issue is. The car in front of us keeps hitting his brakes. I can’t make out the truck anymore either.

“Pass him,” I say, feeling nervous. It’s probably nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing. I suck in three deep breaths to calm myself and focus on something else.

“Yeah, yeah, girl, I’m working on...” A sharp pain erupts in my side followed by a feeling of weightlessness. My head thrashes back and forth violently. The high-pitched sound of metal rubbing together and crunching fills the car. Glass shatters, exploding inward and cutting my face. The car rolls top over bottom three times that I can count before stopping upside down, suspending both Brock and me by our seatbelts.

“Brock...” I wheeze. I try to turn towards him but my neck refuses to cooperate.

“Brock....” I hear him groan but he doesn’t properly answer. The sound of glass being crushed under heavy boots refocuses my attention.

“Cane? Bentley?” I try and call out. My voice sounds feeble, though. I tilt my head to the left as much as possible to see out the gaping hole in the shattered windshield.



Ezra stands outside the car, squatting down to look inside the car. I recognize his stance, the tightness in his shoulders and the clinched jaw. It's time to call it or fold and I don't think folding is an option. I push the button at my hip and fall unceremoniously to the roof of the overturned car. I nudge Brock roughly but he doesn't move. Reaching a shaking finger to his neck I check for a pulse. Still alive. I try to position myself quietly so I can crawl into the remains of the back seat. I move one knee forward but am yanked on my belly sliding backward. Ezra drags me from the car through the remains of the windshield, little pieces of glass tearing at my stomach as I go. I scream in pain but kick and twist furiously as he tugs. He drops my legs when I’m on the pavement. The car is totaled. It’s the kind of wreck that makes you wonder how anyone could possibly survive. I gasp, hoping that Brock is truly okay and not bleeding out internally. My head hurts, it’s pounding and I can hear my own pulse in my ears. I scramble to my feet but only make it two steps before crumbling to the ground. I’m so dizzy. Ezra approaches and I swing blindly at his figure. My fear ruling my actions. I need to calm down. I need to focus. His arms slide under my armpits and he lifts me to my feet. “This doesn’t even seem like a fair fight,” he sneers. “And I’ve heard you were training for this moment for so long.” I want to do something, anything to hurt him but my body won't oblige.

“Fuck you,” I bark and spit at him. A bloody loogie lands at the corner of his mouth. He cringes, takes a step back from me and wipes it away. His hand rears back. I watch the motion, as I was trained to, stay present in my body and follow the hit. Before he lands his throw, I block it, step forward and hook my foot behind his. With all the strength I can muster I lunge forward. He doesn’t anticipate this and loses his balance as he sails backwards over my foot. His head makes a sick thwapping sound when it connects with the pavement but it doesn’t seem to deter him for long enough. I swing my leg back and kick him swiftly in the kidney, causing him to curl into himself. As I pull back to kick again he uncurls himself and raises a gun to me.

Time stands still. Everything slows down for me. One. Two. Three breaths. I reach down, tucking myself under his outstretched arms, and slip the heel of my hand to where his right thumb rests over the release and slam it hard into my other hand. He lets out a deep grunt when my back collides with his chest. The clip slides out, clattering to the ground beside us. I throw my elbow into the side of his head and roll off him. I push up to my feet and start to run. I’m only a few strides away when he tackles me down. My temple slams into the road, my vision turns hazy and no matter how hard I fight it my eyes flutter closed.





Chapter 22





“Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse.”- Yann Martel


It’s black. Fabric over my eyes makes it impossible to see anything. Aches and pains radiate throughout my body and I’m hot, so freaking hot.

“A present for you.” His voice is calm and smooth. It’s not really characteristic of him at all. He forces my hands in front of me and puts something hard and round in one hand. My fingers are wrapped around warm metal. Every joint in my body is tense and sore. I hear the sound of steel scraping against steel. “Squeeze tight,” he says with a chuckle. I do as I'm told and try my best not to tremble. Sweat drips down the sides of my face. It’s so hot in here.

“Did you really think there was a distance you could cover or a hole deep enough you could hide in, Cypress? There's nowhere in the US that my reach doesn't go when it comes to what you took. Granted, it’s unfortunate that you chose to take the pack but...it is what it is.” I hear his heavy boots clunking on the rickety wooden floor boards as he walks away. Is he leaving me? When the door slaps shut I yank the blindfold down with one hand, open my eyes and look down.