by Naomi West
He gazed at her with such tenderness that her throat tightened. “And you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”
“Flatterer.”
“Mean it.”
She leaned forward and softly kissed him. “I’m gonna go get fresh clothes for you. Don’t move.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She’d barely stood up when glass shattered somewhere in the vicinity of the kitchen.
“Oh God!” Katrin stumbled backward. Pistol pulled her down next to the toilet and got unsteadily to his feet. Even in tremendous pain, he still tried his best to shelter her. “Kat. Stay still.” He was already pulling on his blood-soaked jacket over his bare chest. Katrin grabbed her jacket too — it was soaked with Pistol’s blood, but she shrugged into it anyway.
More glass shattered. Someone was knocking out the panes in the back door.
“Smith,” Pistol growled. “He’s sent someone to finish what his goons started.”
“Shit,” Katrin whispered, zipping the jacket over her tank top.
“We need to get out.” Pistol was still wheezing, but adrenaline seemed to have taken over. He no longer looked like he was about to He got to his feet, flinching as they heard the back door burst open. “We have to go. The bike’s in the garage.”
“You can’t drive like that,” she whispered fiercely, nodding at his damaged shoulder. “Ride,” she corrected herself.
She could see that Pistol knew it was true. He was still weak, and every time he moved that shoulder, more blood seeped through the bandages.
He met her gaze. “Wanna learn to ride?”
“Are you—”
But there was no time to discuss it. They could hear voices now, footsteps in the kitchen, heading into the hall. Katrin looked into Pistol’s eyes, more terrified than she’d ever been in her life.
“On the count of three,” Pistol said, with surprising calm. “We run for the laundry room. Into the garage. I’ll…” He sucked in a breath, face contorting with pain. “I’ll start the bike. I’ll tell you what to do. Just trust me.”
Katrin was scared — how the hell was she supposed to learn to ride a motorcycle under this kind of pressure? But she knew there was no time to debate the merits of this plan.I have a responsibility to both of us.Allof us. She thought of the baby inside her.
“One,” Pistol said.
She gripped his hand.
“Two.” He squeezed hers.
“Three,” they said together, and burst out of the bathroom, running full speed down the short hall to the laundry room, just as they heard the shouts from her father’s men, the goons’ confused footsteps, and the sound of weapons being cocked.
They bolted into the laundry room, shutting and locking the door behind them. Then they went out the connecting door into the garage, locking that door too. They could hear the goons firing bullets into the laundry room door. Katrin tried to keep breathing. Only two doors separated them from death.
Don’t think about that now.
Katrin climbed on the bike, kicking up the kickstand. Pistol mounted behind her. His breathing was shallow, and she worried about his ability just to hang onto her on this ride.
She turned the key, and he reached around her to handle the clutch.
“Shift it into first!” he called.
She blanked for a few seconds, but then saw what he meant. These were the same controls she’d stared at over his shoulder the night he’d taken her for a ride. The same controls she’d seen in pictures online when she did private research, fantasizing that one day Pistol really would teach her to ride.
Well, that day is here.
The garage was already filling with fumes. She hit the garage door opener on the side of the bike’s tank. Even over the roar of the bike, she could hear the bullets entering the door behind her.
“Go!” Pistol called.
She was a little thrown by the weight of the machine under her — by the knowledge that this time she had to control it. Pistol helped her slowly release the clutch as she walked the bike forward, and then he was telling her to go, go, go…
She hiked her feet up, saying a quick prayer, and let the clutch lever the rest of the way out while yanking back on the throttle.
The bike roared out of the garage, Katrin clinging to the handlebars for dear life, Pistol’s hands on her hips.
“Hold on!” she shouted at him, as she struggled to figure out how to shift her weight to keep the bike balanced. Four men burst through the door behind them, weapons aimed. Katrin nearly screamed as they started firing. The bike blazed down the drive, over the curb, and then they were weaving down the street, toward the highway.
“Holy shit!” Pistol shouted. “That was close!” He sounded exhilarated.
Terror still had a death grip on Katrin’s throat, but she managed to smile. Was glad Pistol couldn’t see her. Okay,maybe she could understand what appealed to him so much about his lifestyle, with all its high-octane craziness, the sense that danger was always chasing you, biting at your heels…
She saw a neighbor look up from watering his garden as they blew past. She kind of wanted to give him a thumbs up.
“Okay,” Pistol called. “Try to stay on the right side of the road, yeah?”
She was still weaving. “Working on it!”
She was going as fast as she dared, not wanting to risk an accident, but needing to put as much distance as possible between them and her father’s goons. The bike swayed beneath her, but she was doing a good job counterbalancing now. She could feel Pistol behind her struggling to stay upright. He must be in such terrible pain.
Just hang in there a little longer.
There was a turn at the end of the road. She thought she remembered something from her online research about not braking during a turn. You had to slow down, then take the turn, rather than pumping the hand brake She released the throttle and braked slightly, holding her breath. Looked in the direction she wanted to go, and let her weight shift naturally. She swung a little wide, nearly into the path of an oncoming car. The car blasted its horn, but they made it through, and Katrin sped up toward the highway.
There was a grinding sound as the clutch engaged. She shifted into second gear, and things smoothed out.
Holy shit. I can do this. I can actually do this!
A car appeared in her side mirror, roaring up behind them.
Okay, maybe I spoke too soon.
Pistol had noticed too. He gripped her hips and called, “Swing left!”
She didn’t think, just obeyed and swerved into the left lane. There was no oncoming traffic, which was a blessing as far as not having to worry about smashing headlong into a car, but a curse, as it gave the people tailing them an opportunity to lean out of their car and fire at them.
“Shit!” she shouted, swerving right.
“It’s all right, baby!” Pistol didn’t sound like he thought it was all right at all. “Keep moving. Don’t give them an easy target.”
She did, swerving wildly amid the hail of bullets. She felt one strike the tailpipe, sending the bike skidding slightly. She managed to straighten it out.
A line of three cars was coming toward them, and the men behind them held their fire temporarily. Katrin used the opportunity to gun the engine, the speedometer’s needle climbing. Eighty … ninety…
The cars passed, and once they’d disappeared from sight, the men started shooting again. Katrin saw an upcoming turn onto a residential cul-de-sac street. She gripped the handlebars tightly, the wind whipping her hair, chapping her face, adrenaline rising in her like a whitecap. Praying there were no children at play, she waited until they were nearly at the turn, then slowed and yanked the bike into the turn. The bike skidded wildly, flinging up bits of gravel from the street. She thought they would go over for sure; could almost feel the pavement stripping the denim from her calves, but by some miracle, she got the bike upright and continued on. She heard the squeal as the car behind them braked to take the turn.
She leaned low over the handlebars, aware they didn’t have many options here. In fact, pretty much the only option was…
Dear Jesus. Please, protect me.
The cul-de-sac was coming up. It was now or fucking never.
As the car gained on them, Katrin gunned the engine and let the bike fly, leaping up the curb and through some poor suburban family’s lawn. She shot between the two-story yellow house and a line of pine trees — an aisle too narrow for a car. They rattled through another household’s lawn, smashed through a vegetable garden, shattered a garden gnome, and emerged onto another residential street.
For a second she was too stunned to do anything but just keep going straight, slowing the bike to a somewhat reasonable speed. Then she whooped, loudly, startling two kids playing catch in their yard with their golden retriever.
She heard a strange sound behind her, and realized Pistol was laughing, whooping along with her. “That was amazing!” he shouted. “Fucking amazing!”
She grinned and immediately got bugs in her teeth. Worth it.
She turned out of the residential neighborhood and headed on toward the highway. Once they’d taken the ramp onto the highway, it was easier to go fast without losing control. She privately hoped they didn’t pass any cops — the one high-speed chase was enough for the evening. She began to relax into the glorious liberty of the ride. Into Pistol’s hands on her hips, his warmth behind her. Her thin jacket didn’t offer much protection from the cooling desert night, but she didn’t care.
She wasn’t sure where exactly they were going — just that they needed to get out into the desert. She wasn’t in a hurry to leave the smooth highway for the rough terrain beyond, but sooner or later, she’d have to.
The wind slammed her face and whipped back her hair, chilling her. She felt frightened and exhilarated — wishing she had a helmet, wishing she were wearing something on her legs besides thin flats and jeans, but relishing the freedom of being out here, unhindered, wild, swallowing gnats and feeling the vibrations of the machine beneath her.
She rode until they were about six miles from Rialto, out where the highway became a narrow county road. She tried to call to Pistol, asking if he was okay, but received no answer. Fear seeped into her again. What if he didn’t make it? After all this, what if…
No. We’ll be fine. Wehave to be.
Though the moonlight was faint and there weren’t vehicles to illuminate their surroundings with headlights, she could see that the terrain to their left was ideal for hiding out — low, rocky plateaus that might lend them shelter. Shit, she couldn’t believe she was really about to do this, but…
“Hang on!” she called back to Pistol.
She was relieved to feel him tighten his grip on her. She accelerated, jolting off the highway and onto the scrubby desert sand. She headed for the plateaus, realizing as she approached that she wasn’t sure exactly how to stop the bike.
She applied the handbrake tentatively, but there were other things she needed to do—with the clutch, the throttle, something…
Pistol reached around her and put his hand on the lever. Good, so he was still with her. She braked gently, and the bike slowed near the base of a plateau. She killed the headlight. They came to a halt, the bike juddering beneath them for a moment before she shut the engine off. Looked around in the sudden silence at the night that stretched all around them, lonely and wild, a sliver of moonlight spilling down on them.
She dismounted and put down the kickstand. Pistol had climbed off the bike too, but he swayed dangerously. She caught him, offering her shoulder for support. As they hobbled toward the rocky incline that at the very least might shelter them from the chilly breeze, Katrin looked up at the magnificent array of stars.
Well, Daddy,she thought grimly.Good luck finding me here.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Pistol didn’t want to let on how much he was hurting, but holy shit. Every step was agony. Several times during the ride, he’d come close to letting go, to giving into the blackness that swarmed the sides of his vision. But he’d held on becauseshewas holding on. Because this brave-as-fuck woman had climbed onto a motorcycle and gotten them through a high-speed chase withguns. Because she wasn’t giving up yet, even though they were between a rock and hard place, for sure.
They reached the base of the plateau, and she eased him onto the ground.
He grinned up at her. She knelt close enough that her body was nearly touching his, and shivers of desire went through him.
“You ride hard, darlin’,” he said softly.
She smiled back. “I’ve picked up a thing or two, living around you.”
His smile faded but didn’t disappear completely.Damn, what a woman. Knew it from the moment I saw her.
“You gonna say I told you so?” he asked, thinking about how she’d begged him not to go to the border last night.
She shrugged. “I’m not that petty. Though…”
“Go on. Say it.”
“Jax.” Her expression was serious. “I don’t want to joke about this right now.” She placed chilly fingers against his forehead, as though checking to see whether he had a fever.
“Sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d gotten them into a hell of a mess.Sorry seemed a little inadequate.
But if I’d refused to go, Smith would’ve had me killed anyway. Sooner or later, the shit would’ve hit the fan.
His gut clenched guiltily.Maybe I shouldn’t have gone home. Maybe, if I’d disappeared out here on my own, Smith would have sent his men searching for me and left her alone. Now she’s stuck in this too.
But when he’d gotten back to town after the bloodbath in the desert, the only place he’d been able to think to go was home.
Home. It wasn’t his home. But it was whereshe was. And that made it a kind of refuge — the place he was drawn too even as his mind grew increasingly foggy, his vision increasingly black.
She pulled out her phone. Wiped the screen with her sleeve and swiped to unlock. “No service out here.”
He tried to prop himself up on the elbow of his good arm. “Did you really think there would be?”
She shot him a dirty look that played just fine even in the near-darkness, but she seemed amused too. “It was worth a try.” The blue glow of her screen was eerie out here in the middle of nowhere.
“Know what I think?”
“Do I want to know?”
“I think you liked that, back there. Not the almost-getting-killed part, but the speed, the chase…”
“No comment.” She slipped her phone back in her pocket.
Pistol shifted. “Actually, some of the hills out here have service. But I’m not really in the best shape for climbing right now.” He grunted in pain as he shifted again, trying to get comfortable. “Besides, who’re we gonna call?”
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on what we’re going to do.”
“Camp out here until I come up with a genius plan.”
“I see,” she said drily.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds. Damn his fucking shoulder.
“You okay?” she asked.
“Oh, just peachy.” He let out a long breath. Winced, his head tipping back. God, that ride really had taken it out of him. “There’s … stuff … in the saddlebags,” he panted. “’mergency kit. Some food, water. Blanket. First aid.”
“I’ll go bring the bike over.”
As she walked away, he took the opportunity to study their surroundings as best he could. He spotted something.
She walked the bike over to where he rested. They were far enough from the road that they were unlikely to be spotted even when the sun came up, but he nodded approvingly as she hid the bike behind a nearby boulder anyway.
“Look,” Pistol said as she approached him with the saddlebag slung over her shoulder. He pointed.
She squinted through the moonlight. “Oh. Well isn’t this our lucky night?”
There was a small cave
in the rocks several yards away. “We can camp there,” he said.
She turned to him. “What if … I mean, are there … predators?”
He chuckled. “Well, never say never. But no, I think if there were coyotes or mountain lions hanging out in there, we’d smell them.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. A puma would’ve bolted by now, and coyotes would be howling up a storm. I’d say we’re safe.”