Erasing Faith(81)

The sedan had mirrored my every turn. I could see it edging out of the cell lot, back into the gridlock behind me.

Shit. Definitely following me.

My grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles went white.

I looped through the airport departure drop-off zone, changing lanes several times to conceal my car in the fray.

The sedan was still there every time I looked back.

I wound around the arrival concourse, speeding up to cut off several large coach buses.

Seconds later, the sedan was five cars behind mine, edging ever closer.

What the f*ck did I do, now?

***

It was a split-second decision.

The kind you make when you’re at a restaurant and you’ve got two meal choices floating in your head. You’re wavering, completely undecided, and the waiter opens their mouth… and, suddenly, your tone is confident and you’re saying chicken parmesan as though there was never a question about what you were ordering.

You’ve decided, but it’s not even a conscious decision. Not really.

That’s the closest I can come to describing why I did what I did.

The options were clear: on my left, the exit lane that would lead me out of the airport; on my right, the terminal, where I knew there’d be two uniformed police officers stationed just inside the sliding entry doors.

I’d wonder later if, at that moment, I’d chosen differently, if I’d picked the other option… how would it have ended for me?

But in that infinitesimal moment of time, with my car in the middle lane and both options approaching as my tires ate up asphalt too rapidly for rational thought… I didn’t consider the future. I made that split-second decision.

I turned the wheel right.

Slamming the car into park before it had fully stopped rolling, I looped an arm through the strap of my black duffel, slung my purse over one shoulder, and double checked that my gun was still stashed inside. My eyes locked on the rearview mirror and what I saw there made my stomach clench so hard I nearly threw up.

The sedan was swerving onto the shoulder. In seconds, it would be directly behind my car and my tiny window of escape would close.

Without another thought, I grabbed the handle and swung open my door. As soon as my feet hit the pavement, I was running. My door slammed shut, my soles pounded the blacktop, and I began to round the front hood.

I shouldn’t have looked back, but it was as if my eyes were no longer controlled by my brain. I couldn’t stop myself.

And, surely, they weren’t going to try to abduct me here, now, surrounded by cars and cameras and countless witnesses… Right?

Wrong.

Time shifted into slow motion as I watched him climbing out of the car. Reaching into his suit jacket. Pulling out a gun.

And I knew, deep in the marrow of my bones, that I was never going to make it to the police officers. The entry doors were too far away; I’d never outrun his bullets.

One good shot, and I’d be gone — for good, this time.

I felt my eyes go wide when I saw the man’s face. Recognition and horror burned brightly in my mind, causing me to stumble for the briefest of moments. My hands slammed against the hood and I dropped into an instinctual crouch, using the car as a shield.

Overwhelmed by distress, I didn’t process the roaring sound until it was right on top of me, skidding to a stop in front of my car, mere inches from my body. The motorcycle was so close I could feel the heat its engine emitted, sizzling the hairs on my arm. Its steady rumble was so loud it hurt my ears, but its rider was a one I recognized easily.

Black bike. Black leather. Black helmet. Black jeans. Black eyes.

Black heart.

A hand stretched down to me. “Let’s go,” he yelled.

I knew that voice. Still, I hesitated.

I was frozen with fear and indecision. Caught between two choices, neither of which I liked.

He cursed, loudly, and ducked down to grab my wrist in a bruising grip.

“Get on the damn bike, Red, or I’m leaving without you,” he hissed, tugging hard on my arm. “And you’ll be dead.”

The jarring sounds of a gun firing, of a bullet scoring the metal of my car, finally shook me out of my stupor. My hand clasped his so hard I thought I’d break his fingers as I scrambled to my feet and swung my leg over the back of the bike. My ass had barely settled on the seat when he took off, the tires screeching noisily against the tarmac as the bike skidded into gear.

I somehow managed to wrap one arm around his waist and hold onto my duffel bag with the other as we sped away, leaving my rental car — and my stomach — behind.

I couldn’t think about the fact that I’d almost just died, or that Wes had saved me. All my energy was concentrated on not falling off the damn bike as we flew down side streets and alleyways, cutting a path so muddled, I knew no one would ever be able to trail us. The bike hurled around a hairpin turn, tilting at such a steep angle I feared my foot would scrape pavement, and I saw my life flash for the second time in less than ten minutes. Tucking my head against Wes’ back, I hugged his chest in a death grip and squeezed my thighs against his like a vise.

“Trying to asphyxiate me, Red?” he yelled, once we’d left the city behind in favor of a secluded back road.

“Could you blame me?” I muttered, loosening my grip marginally.

He laughed and accelerated until I felt moisture gather in my eyes from the sheer speed of the wind against my face.