White Hot (Hidden Legacy #2)(35)

The sign announcing the exit flashed by. An exit-only lane peeled off from our lane, running parallel to the main road. A concrete barrier loomed ahead, where our lane split: the left side kept going with Katy, the right joined the exit lane and veered toward a high overpass.

The barrier sped straight at us.

Troy took a sharp right onto the exit and stepped on the gas. The Range Rover flew down the lane. The 4Runner behind us picked up speed. We hurtled up the curving overpass, the ground far below.

A black Suburban drew even with us in the left lane. A man in the front passenger window looked at me, his face smudged behind the rain-splattered window. Maybe midthirties, blond hair brushed back. The man leaned closer to the glass and smiled. The Suburban shot past us. The wet pavement behind the large vehicle turned white with frost. Ice sheathed the road.

The Range Rover slid. My stomach jerked left, then right, trying to escape my body. I grabbed the seat in front of me. We fishtailed down the overpass, Troy’s face a white mask in the rearview mirror. My heart hammered in panic. The Range Rover veered into the concrete outer rail. A hideous metal screech ripped through the cabin. A hundred feet below us a parking lot yawned.

We were going to die.

Troy wrestled the wheel back. The Range Rover skimmed the icy road like a pinball shot out of the machine, cleared the apex of the curve, and sped down the overpass. Ahead, the Sam Houston Parkway stretched, the entire right lane glistening with ice. We were going too fast, but if Troy slammed on the brakes, we’d skid and die. The Range Rover slid to the left, then to the right. Troy was pumping the brakes gently, trying to shed all of that speed.

A semi roared next to us in the left lane, blocking us in. We fishtailed down the lane, caught between the semi and the concrete rail.

The familiar 4Runner slid behind the semi. The passenger window rolled down.

Here’s hoping Rogan’s money bought us enough armor.

“Gun!” I warned.

Bullets sprayed the road behind the car. Something hissed—they’d hit our tires. The rubber inserts meant we’d keep going, but steering had just gotten extra complicated.

The Range Rover slid again, skidding on the ice. Troy caught the skid, steering into it.

They hadn’t attacked us while Rogan was in the car. They weren’t ready for that confrontation, which meant even now they would want to keep their identity a secret. If I didn’t want an attack to lead back to me, I’d use stolen cars, and if the 4Runner chasing us was stolen, it had no armor.

I tried the window. Locked.

“Lower the window.”

“Can’t do that. Stay buckled.”

“Troy!”

“I lower that window and crash, you’ll fly through the windshield,” he growled.

Getting off the highway was our only chance. “If you don’t roll down the window, they’ll keep shooting us. Even if the car shields us, the bullets will ricochet. There are innocent people on this road. Open the window!”

The window slid down. I unbuckled, took aim at the 4Runner, and fired five shots in a tight pattern. The windshield fractured. The 4Runner dropped back. The semi slid between the 4Runner and us, blocking the shot.

Three rounds left.

Ahead the exit lane for Hammerly Boulevard peeled off the highway.

The semi roared, speeding up. Troy stood on the gas, but it was too late. I locked my seat belt and thrust the gun down to the right, so I wouldn’t shoot myself or Troy.

The semi rammed us. The Range Rover jumped forward, slid, hurtling out of control, the truck thundering past us as it veered back into the left lane. We smashed into something solid. The impact punched me. The gun slipped through my fingers. The seat belt burned my shoulder and chest, knocking the wind out of me.

I opened my eyes. The deflated sacks of the front airbags hung from the dash. Troy lay limp in his seat. The impact had bent Troy’s door in, forcing his seat all the way back and pinning my knees in place. My Glock was somewhere in the car, probably on the floor by the passenger seat on my right, and I had no way to reach it. Great.

“Troy?”

He didn’t respond.

I put my hand on his neck and felt the fluttering of a pulse. Even; didn’t seem weak, although I wasn’t a doctor. I held my hand close to his nose. Breathing. Okay. Where the hell was that semi?

I tried to turn to look behind me and managed a half glance over my shoulder. The semi was gone.

The 4Runner had stopped ahead of us on the tollway in the right lane, its front toward us, oblivious to traffic that had to flow around it. The driver door swung open. A leg emerged below the door. It ended in a hoof.

A wave of dread rolled over me, a sickly overwhelming fear. My heart raced. Cold sweat broke out all over my body. The hair on my arms stood up. I had to get out. I had to get out now.

A second foot joined the first. Something wide and dark rose above the door. The dark thing unrolled and snapped into a leathery bat wing.

My chest hurt. My throat constricted, choking me. I unbuckled the seat belt with shaking hands and jerked, trying to get my legs free. Stuck.

It couldn’t be real. People summoned monsters from the arcane realm, but I’d never heard of anyone summoning actual demons. Yet it was right there, living, breathing, real, and every instinct I had howled and clawed at my logic.

The creature started toward me. Panic clamped me in an icy vise. The demon stood seven feet tall, its enormous leathery wings mottled with green and brown and streaked with thick cables of veins. Python scales sheathed its muscular arms and torso, the ridges of its bones cutting through the scaled hide to form an exoskeleton on its chest. Sharp bone ridges thrust up from its neck and shoulders. Its powerful dinosaur tail snapped from side to side.