Defy (Brothers of Ink and Steel Book 3)(35)

“All of those cops are on Miguel’s payroll? How do you know? Why wouldn’t they have just killed me?”

“Listen, I—” But he suddenly swears and then swerves. The car lurches to the right as he flies against the flow of traffic then detours through a back street. “Put on your seatbelt, Farrington.”

“No!” I don’t know who to believe or what to think. I need a minute to think this all through—a moment to process everything without the feel of the damn handcuff against my wrist, reminding me . . .

We go soaring over a frost heave and land with skidding tires.

“GET THAT SEATBELT ON BEFORE YOU FLY OUT THE FUCKING WINDSHIELD!”

I do it, but my face is burning with rage and confusion.

He makes a sharp right hand turn and fishtails the car down an alley. The action jostles us violently. With my left hand, I reach to the dashboard for stability.

I whip my head around to look out the back. Two cars are most definitely chasing us. One is an SUV that had been one of the three in my escort, the other is a blue four-door sedan.

Where did that car come from? Is it an unmarked police car? I wonder.

Turned around like I am, vertigo washes over me. Quickly I face forward again and see, on my right, two bicycles we’re coming up on fast.

“RYDER!”

Slamming his fist on the center of the steering wheel, he blares the horn, and the two cyclists pull out of the way. Darting between cars, he accelerates around the outskirts of the city.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Someplace safe.”

“What about the FBI agents?”

“Exactly,” he says gruffly, weaving in and out of the traffic.

“Exactly what!?” I suck in a frightened breath as we streak through the middle of the Louisiana State University campus. “They’re going to come after you until they catch you,” I try warning, but he doesn’t answer me.

For a moment, I study Ryder. His eyes are full of danger and intensity as he scans the road methodically. His right hand works the stick shift of the Dodge Avenger while his left grips the steering wheel. He’s not nervous or uncomfortable—just focused and determined. The way he handles and controls the car is at a professional level—he’s done this kind of driving before.

A car turns out onto the narrow road in front of us. I’m sure he’ll be forced to stop.

Ryder swerves just in time to miss a collision and rolls up onto the sidewalk, straight between two groups of students who stand gaping at the chase in shock. Even though Ryder has expertly maneuvered the car to avoid them, they leap out of the way in terror. Books and papers scatter into the air.

He careens back into the flow of traffic before the blue sedan comes out of nowhere to block the road about twenty feet ahead of us. And the distance is closing fast.

My heart is slamming in my chest, out of control.

“Ryder, I want you to stop the car and let me out,” I try to say calmly, but it comes out in a tremoring voice. This has to stop. We’re not going to come out of this alive, and Ryder still hasn’t given me any reason to truly doubt the police. If he was so worried about them, he should have just stuck around and come with us.

“Can’t do that, Farrington,” he answers plainly.

He wraps his fist around the lever of the emergency brake and yanks it up as he cranks the wheel to the right. The vehicle stops its forward motion but now slides in an arc to the left until it’s lined up side-by-side with the sedan.

Ryder drops the brake lever and slams on the gas as we pitch forward down a cross street.

The emotion, the stress, the fear—it all comes to the surface and I blow. In a frenzy, I curl around to face him, bring my legs up between us and kick and punch him over and over as hard as I can.

“I WANT TO GO WITH THE POLICE, RYDER!” I scream as I assault him with every bit of strength I have. “LET ME GO!”

The car screeches around a sharp corner, and as it does, my body is thrown against the passenger side door. From my weight, it swings open and I freefall towards the concrete.





Chapter Nine



Ryder





I watch the door come ajar from my peripheral. I grip hold of her calf and haul her back up towards me—grateful for the seatbelt still holding her snug around the waist.

“Pull it closed tight,” I say.

Farrington’s visibly shaking as she straightens her body under the belt and slams the door shut. She sits still, gulping deep breaths of air.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head no and stares forward, obviously traumatized. Maybe she’ll stay put under the entire seatbelt now and not try jumping from the car.

One of the black SUVs has gained ground and tries ramming us.

“Get your head down, Farrington.” I don’t wait for her to comply. I reach my hand over, grab the back of her head and pull her down.

As I do, the perp in the SUV sends three bullets into the side of the car, making me careen into oncoming traffic on the opposite side of the road.

“What are they doing?” she cries in confusion. “Oh my God, they’re shooting at us!”

“I told you, you just need to trust me,” I answer.

Three cars collide in the chase’s wake, one of them rolling over into the midway. I was trying to avoid that, but it does block off the SUV.