No Place to Run (KGI #2)(78)

Tomas yanked a cell phone out of his pocket and thrust it—and the gun—in her direction.

“You call him,” he demanded. “You call him and tell him I want that goddamn key or I’ll kill you and his brat.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. An hysterical bubble rose in her throat and escaped through lips that flapped like a fish gasping for air on dry land.

“I don’t know how to contact him, Tomas. I’ve never called him. Shouldn’t you know how to call him? You were holding his mother hostage for God’s sake.”

He swung at her with the stock of the pistol, but she dodged and his hand hit the headrest instead. The Hummer swerved again, and something snapped inside her. Sam wasn’t going to get her out of this. Neither was Garrett or the fourteen jillion other men KGI employed.

If she was going to survive this, if she was going to protect her child, she was going to have to do it herself.

When Tomas started to swing at her again, she reached up and grabbed his wrist with both hands and yanked as hard as she could.

Curses filled the air. The Hummer swerved, and he grasped the wheel desperately with his left hand to keep control. He punched his right hand back, trying to hit her in the face, but she dodged and then sank her teeth into his wrist.

She gagged as the taste of blood filled her mouth. He wrenched away and then swung at her with his left hand. As soon as his hand left the wheel, the Hummer hit a huge bump and the world went crazy around her.

Up became down and down became up. She had the vague sensation that she was in deep shit, and then she closed her eyes and prayed.

Her head cracked against something hard. Pain speared through her hand. And then suddenly everything went still.

Though her head throbbed, she cautiously cracked her eyes open. The Hummer had righted. She looked over at Tomas to see him slumped over the steering wheel. Blood splattered the windshield in front of him and she could see it dripping down the side of his head.

Her hand hurt.

Oh God, she was losing it. Was that all she could come up with? She’d just flipped a gazillion times with a man holding a gun, and the only thing that registered was that her fingers ached like a son of a bitch.

She looked down to see her pinkie and ring finger already swelling. The angle of her ring finger looked off, but her brain was so fuzzed all she could do was stare dumbly at her hand.

Out. Get out, Sophie.

She reached across her body with her left hand to open the door. Let it open. Please. She didn’t want to have to crawl out the window.

It popped open a few inches and stuck stubbornly.

She bumped at it with her shoulder but only managed to move it a bit. Swearing in frustration, she rotated her body and leaned back toward Tomas, praying the whole time that the bastard was dead. She braced her feet against the door and pushed with all her strength.

The metal shrieked in protest, but she managed to pry it open enough that she could get out. Eagerly she scooted forward until her legs stuck through the opening. When she automatically reached for the door frame to brace herself, she hissed in pain and yanked her injured hand back.

She shook it to try and assuage the horrible ache, and finally opted to rest it firmly against her chest.

“Let’s try this again,” she murmured.

Realizing the vest was in the way and that she had a better chance of squeezing through the opening without it, she fumbled with one hand on the fastenings until she loosened the vest enough to shrug out of it. Then she sucked in all her breath and eased her way between the door and the truck frame.

As soon as she was clear, she sagged against the beat-up Hummer and blew her breath out in a long exhale.

Somehow she’d come out of this alive. She took it as a sign that someone was looking out for her. The thought bolstered her flagging spirits, and she stared out over the rocky terrain. They’d driven several miles from the house, and the logical thing to do would be to retrace that path.

As she pushed away from the truck, she heard the sound of a vehicle in the distance. She put her uninjured hand to her forehead and scanned the horizon.

A chill went up her spine when she spotted the other Hummer tearing across the rock and sand. She’d seen her father go down. Half the side of his head was gone. He was dead. This wasn’t him.

Her heart started thumping fiercely. She took one step forward. Her knees shook, and her mouth went dry. She took one more step when the truck hurled over a rise about fifty yards away. It fishtailed, then came to a grinding halt. The doors flew open, and she heard her name shouted.

Relief poured over her soul like a waterfall.

Sam.

She wanted to run to him, but she was rooted to the spot where she stood like some statue. Sam and Garrett piled out and Donovan and Ethan jumped out behind them. Suddenly their expression changed from concern and relief to horror.

She frowned.

“Sophie!” Sam yelled.

Sam and Garrett broke into a run, and Sam yanked his gun from his belt and aimed at a point beyond her.

Stunned, she turned to see what they were seeing. She recoiled when she saw Tomas stumble from the wreckage. He looked like hell, blood covering most of his face and head. But he took jerky steps toward her, and worse, he had the gun in his hand, and it was pointed directly at her. And she was no longer wearing her vest.

There was a hollow-eyed, vacant expression hovering over him like gloom. Sophie wasn’t sure he had a clue who he was, where he was or what the hell he was doing, but he had that gun pointed at her, and he seemed determined to shoot.