The Reed Montgomery Series Box Set

by Logan Ryles

  “Clear the windshield! I can’t see!”

  Banks leaned forward, jerking her hat off and pawing at the glass. Her hair exploded in a cloud of static, obscuring his vision as he tried to see through the fog. She sat back, leaving a cleaned section of windshield about the size of a dinner plate.

  “Dog!” Banks shouted.

  Reed jerked the wheel to the left just in time to miss a Labrador standing in the middle of his lane. Houses flashed past, and he swerved back to the right as a school bus blasted by them, blaring its horn. Small stores and restaurants rocketed by on both sides.

  A street sign read State Hwy 129. Reed looked into the diminutive rearview mirror and caught sight of the Mercedes a couple hundred yards behind. Gears shrieked and groaned as Reed shifted into fourth and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. The motor strained, and the speedometer bounced at the sixty-five mark.

  “Doesn’t this thing go any faster?”

  “He’s old!” Banks shouted. “Don’t yell at him!”

  Reed swung the little car into a wide turn and downshifted. The tachometer rocketed up to the red line, and the motor whined like it was about to explode. Above it all, Reed heard the thunder of the big Mercedes, and the silver sedan closed the ground behind them in mere seconds. He could see the silhouette of the driver now: tall, lean, staring straight ahead with that same smirk plastered to his lips.

  “Get down!”

  Reed grabbed Banks by the neck and shoved her forward. He saw the muzzle of the Uzi pass through the open window of the Mercedes, and orange fire blazed through the twilight. Bullets zipped toward the Beetle and crashed through the thin metal. The windshield shattered as Reed jerked the car to the left into the oncoming lane. The Mercedes followed behind him, and Reed pulled back to the right. Once more, the big coupe swerved to follow. More gunshots rattled in his ear, and the rearview mirror affixed to the driver’s door exploded and vanished as 9mm slugs tore into it. Reed slammed the Beetle back into fourth gear and jammed his leg so hard into the accelerator he thought he might punch straight through the floorboard. The car strained and gained a couple miles per hour, but it wasn’t enough. He would never outrun a modern performance car. The killer behind him in the coupe would shoot him or run him off the road long before Reed could hope to lose him.

  Banks spat hair out of her mouth and sat up, looking through the shattered rear glass. “Gun!” she shouted, and grabbed the wheel, jerking it to the left.

  The Beetle swung back into the oncoming lane just as another burst of automatic gunfire shredded the air behind them. The driver of a pickup truck twenty yards ahead laid on its horn. Reed shoved Banks away from the wheel and pulled back to the right, swerving out of the way of the oncoming truck with milliseconds to spare.

  “Chris!” Banks screamed. “What the fuck is going on?”

  Reed’s mind raced, and he looked out the window to the right. A steep hill rose directly from the shoulder of the lane, with metal mesh staked into the frozen dirt to keep falling rocks off the road. To his left, the hillside dropped off into a short cliff, followed by another narrow ledge. Straight ahead, the highway continued, weaving its way into the mountains and toward Tennessee. A single sign marked the path ahead:

  DEALS GAP MOTORCYCLE RESORT — 1 MILE.

  Reed had been there before. The previous summer, with the car club. He drove his Camaro into these mountains as part of a charity cruise, just past the motorcycle resort, right on the state line.

  “Buckle in!” he shouted, then swerved to the left as another string of gunfire roared from behind.

  The Beetle topped a slight rise in the road, and Reed swerved into the left lane before stomping on the brakes. The Beetle’s tires screamed on the pavement, and the little car slid twenty yards down the far side of the hill. The Mercedes flashed past on his right and continued down the hill before the driver could apply the brakes.

  Reed planted his foot into the gas pedal again and continued down the hill a hundred yards before turning sharply to the left at an intersection. The new road was two lanes wide, with wide yellow stripes down the middle. Reed heard the Mercedes roaring back up the hill behind him as he worked his way through the gears. The Beetle groaned and squeaked at every bump, and what was left of the windshield was covered in frost, but Reed could now see through the shattered hole in the middle.

  Banks clicked her seatbelt into place and watched through the rear glass. Her eyes were wide with fear. “He’s coming, Chris. He’s coming back.”

  Reed looked into the rearview mirror once, then ahead. The road curved to the right, then back to the left, and another intersection flashed by. The motorcycle resort sat between the trees where two roads intersected, and fifty yards past the resort, a yellow sign mounted on a metal pole stood beside the road:

  WARNING: TAIL OF THE DRAGON PASS. 318 CURVES NEXT 11 MILES.

  The memories from the drift car rally two years before came rushing back. Hairpin turns wrapping around empty drop-offs, often without so much as a guardrail for protection. Car clubs from all across America traveled annually to ride the famous Tail, testing their curving performance against one of the most challenging natural tracks on the East Coast. But that was during the summer—never during the winter. Never with ice on the road. The pile of scrapped cars was high enough when the pavement was hot and sticky—racing the Tail during the winter was a death wish.

  Reed shifted into fourth and pressed the pedal to the floor. Just this once, failing to race the Tail might be a more certain death wish.

  Banks saw the sign and then shook her head as she reached for the steering wheel. “No, no, Chris! What are you doing?”

  “I can’t outrun him,” Reed shouted over the roar of the wind. “I’m gonna have to out-drive him.”

  The first turn snapped back to the left out of nowhere, completing almost 180 degrees as the road dove downward. Reed relaxed on the gas and pulled the parking brake. The rear wheels locked and screamed, and the tail of the car pivoted outward as a rock wall passed directly in front of them. Banks screamed. The car rolled to the right. He slammed his shoulder into the door, shifting his weight back to the left as he released the brake and stomped on the gas again. The car swung out of the turn with another screech of tires, and Reed spun the wheel to the right just in time to slide into the next curve. In the rearview mirror, he caught sight of the Mercedes laying on its brakes. The bigger car slid and fishtailed as the driver struggled to reduce his speed without flying off the road. The distance between The Wolf and his prey was increasing as Reed powered into the next curve.

  The Beetle was no drift car. It had barely enough power to break each slide, and the suspension was too loose and too high to control the body roll. With every turn, the car swung wildly to the outside of the curve, and he imagined the wheels lifting off the ground. The only saving grace were the tires that were relatively new and managed to grip the pavement well enough to overcome some of the loose suspension.

  “Grab the dash!” Reed shouted. “When I say, lean toward me.”

  He downshifted and dumped the clutch. The tachometer shot into the red, and the motor howled. Reed planted his foot against the brake and swung the wheel to the right as the next hairpin curve enveloped them.

  “Now!”

  Banks leaned against him, and Reed pressed his weight against the left window as the car slid around another curve. The rear bumper swung out, and this time Reed was certain the driver’s side wheels left the ground. The car tipped and hopped, and Reed slung his weight into the door. The tires hit the ground again, causing steam to erupt from the rear of the car. When the bitter wind ripped through the shattered rear glass, Reed couldn’t help but feel a bolt of lightning streak through his veins.

  This was it. Even here, in a race for his life, this was the thrill that kept him coming back for more. The addiction of too much speed and not enough safety. It was what made him love the Camaro, love the chase, and love pushing himself to the limit. Because in this m
oment, The Wolf didn’t matter. His confused feelings for Banks were less overwhelming. Only the thin line between himself and certain death held his attention as he danced down it, one hairpin curve after another.

  In the rearview mirror, the Mercedes had fallen back a full hundred yards, struggling around a curve in the road. The big car couldn’t make the tight turns, and the back tires were sliding off the road, slinging dirt and leaves in a cascade of brown.

  Rejuvenated by his inevitable triumph, Reed smacked the steering wheel. “I’ve got you now, bitch.”

  “Congratulations!” Banks snapped. “Now slow the hell down and get us out of here!”

  Two more curves flashed past the car, and Reed alternated leaning into his door and leaning toward Banks, keeping the car planted on the pavement. White flecks of snow appeared on the frozen asphalt, sparse at first, but starting to thicken. The sky boiled with grey clouds, and the inside of the car felt like the interior of a deep freezer.

  “Chris! Slow down. He’s gone now.”

  Reed couldn’t see the Mercedes, but he knew the driver wasn’t far behind. He needed to put at least a mile of distance between them before the road ended. That would give him maybe ninety seconds to find a place to hide the Volkswagen and take cover.

  Reed relaxed off the gas little and screeched into another curve. The mountains rose on either side of the road in steep, tree-covered slopes, with the occasional ravine in between. He couldn’t see more than fifty yards ahead through the curves. Large flakes glided off the hood of the car and gathered against the base of the windshield, perfectly white against the dirty yellow. The wind whistled and beat against the loose windows, making every part of the car rattle as they started down a hill.

  “He won’t be far behind,” Reed muttered. “Once we get through the pass, we’ve got to ditch the car.”

  “What’s going on, Chris? Why the hell is he shooting at you?” Banks still gripped the dash, her fingers the same color as her pale cheeks. In spite of the cold, beads of sweat gathered on her forehead, and her upper lip trembled.

  Reed felt no fear. His hands were steady as he gripped the wheel with his left and rested his right against the gear shifter. Nothing about impending death scared him, but her eyes, so clear and enchanting—the fear and strain in those eyes were overwhelming; it pierced him to his core, making his stomach twist and his mind go blank. As the thrill of the run began to fade, the longing in his heart returned. All he wanted to do was hold her.

  “Chris! Watch the road!”

  A turn loomed ahead, veering sharply to the left as a steep hillside rose up directly beyond. Reed jerked the car out of gear and slammed his foot against the brake. Something snapped, as sharp and loud as a gunshot. The brake pedal went limp, and Reed’s chest tightened. He snatched the emergency brake. The rear tires locked and screeched as the Beetle began to fishtail. Reed struggled to direct the car around the turn, but the back end swung out too far. Banks’s mouth hung open, but no sound came out as her nails dug into his forearm.

  Panic dulled his finer senses. The windows turned black in a storm of dirt as the air filled with Banks’s screams. In what felt like slow motion, he reached out and grabbed her hand. The car lurched over an obstruction in the ditch and hurtled forward as their eyes met, building what might be the last memory he’d ever make.

  I love her.

  Fifteen

  The rear bumper of the Beetle dug into the hillside, and Reed’s head slammed against the steering wheel as metal and glass crunched all around him. The radiator ruptured in the rear of the car, belching steam and fog through the rear seats and into the cabin. Reed coughed and clawed at his eyes as he spilled out of the car and into the snow. The forest around him danced as though the ground were a magic carpet, rippling with every blast of the frozen wind.

  Banks. Where’s Banks?

  As he reached through the cloud of steam, he felt her arm. She moved and coughed. There was no blood.

  “Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

  “You wrecked my car, you deadbeat!”

  The muscles in his chest loosened at her emotional outburst. At least she was alive. He lifted the latch and threw his arm into the door. It squeaked open on bent hinges, and the air began to clear as the steam rolled out. Reed fell into the ditch, onto hard clay speckled with ice. His fingers felt stiff and rigid, like metal implements. The world wavered as he pulled himself to his feet and leaned against the smashed car. Tree limbs danced and swayed overhead, furthering his disorientation as he took stock of his surroundings.

  The Beetle was done. One tire was blown, the back hatch had buckled as it collided with a boulder, and oil streamed over the clay. The frame must have twisted on impact—the entire car was warped, and both windows were shattered.

  Reed stumbled around the front bumper and jerked on the passenger’s door. It took him a moment to pry it open, but when he did, Banks stumbled out, coughing and rubbing her eyes. Water particles from the blown radiator glistened on her face, already freezing under the sting of the wind.

  Reed grabbed her by the hand and motioned at the hillside. “Come on! We’ve got to go.”

  They fought their way up the hill, using trees and fallen logs to help pull themselves up the slope. Banks coughed and fought her way up behind him, slipping on rock-hard clay. In the distance, a roar echoed through the mountains. He wasn’t sure if it was the voice of the wind or the snarl of the Mercedes. Either way, they didn’t have much time.

  A fallen log lay halfway up the hill where the slope moderated and opened up onto a narrow plateau running along the side of the mountain. Father on, the hillside became a rocky cliff face and shot skyward another forty yards, with trees growing out of the rock.

  The spray of snow raining from the sky had become a shower, larger flakes falling closer together and obscuring his view. The leaves were speckled white now, with fading patches of brown. Reed stopped just past the log and panted, glancing back toward the Beetle. They had cleared a hundred yards up the hill, and the road was a winding grey snake, rapidly turning white.

  The Mercedes roared.

  “Get down!”

  Banks gasped as he grabbed her, and they crashed to the ground behind the log. New frustration clouded his mind as their situation unfolded. For the moment, they were hidden, but there was no egress off of this hill without exposing themselves.

  He held her trembling fingers between his and nodded. “Stay quiet. It’s going to be okay.”

  Moments slipped by. Reed heard the Mercedes rumble around the turns and then glide to a halt at the bottom of the hill. Propping himself up on his elbows, Reed crawled to the right as his heart thumped like a drum.

  “What is it?” Banks whispered.

  Reed held his finger to his lips and peered around the end of the log. The tinted windows of the Mercedes at the bottom of the hill were too dark to see through in the gathering darkness. Snow melted and streamed off the silver hood under the heat of the big motor, while exhaust billowed from the rear bumper. After almost a minute, the driver’s door opened, and a slender white male stepped out. He was maybe five-ten, with skinny arms, holding what looked to be a glass Coke bottle in his right hand. He set the bottle on the roof of the car and stretched, rolling his neck to either side. The Wolf wore black slacks with shiny dress shoes. His torso was wrapped in a thick peacoat, but beneath the V of the collar, Reed could make out a suit jacket and a dark blue tie. The man’s hair was close-cropped, almost shaved on the sides, and just long enough on top to comb over. He wore dark, aviator-style sunglasses, and black leather gloves.

  Gloves. Who the hell wears gloves while driving?

  Banks lay on the ground with her elbows dug into the leaves, biting her lower lip as she peered over the top of the log.

  Reed shook his head and pulled on her sleeve. “Get down.”

  Banks glared at him and swatted his hand away. Reed heard a crunching sound at the bottom of the hill and turned to see the man stepping ginge
rly through the snow toward the Beetle. He walked as if he were crossing a frozen lake—as if each step might break the ice—and he set each foot against the ground, feeling out the clay before placing his weight on it. He approached the Volkswagen from the side and peered into the shattered glass, then walked back to the driver’s side of the Mercedes, high-stepping the whole way.

  Bent over, he gazed into the rearview mirror, brushing snow off his coat before adjusting his tie with a careful twist of both hands. He straightened, then adjusted his sunglasses as he walked to the rear of the car and swept his foot beneath the bumper. The lid of the trunk popped open automatically, and he dug inside for a moment.

  Reed reached beneath his jacket and checked for his pistol. It was still there, only half-loaded now. He couldn’t guarantee a lethal shot at a hundred yards. It was just too far. He might miss or hit an inessential body part, and then they’d be exposed and still short on firepower.

  The Wolf emerged from the trunk with a long black case in his hands. He set it on the ground and snapped it open, then withdrew a black rifle-style weapon with a thick barrel and a wide drum mounted beneath the receiver. Reed squinted and tilted his head for a better view and watched as The Wolf pulled the charging handle on the side of the weapon.

  “What the hell is that?” Banks hissed.

  The Wolf lifted the Coke off the roof of the car, took a long swig, and then adjusted his sunglasses again. He set the bottle back down and raised the weapon into his shoulder, directing it into the trees.

  Oh, shit.

  A shoonk echoed from the roadway, followed by a brief pause, as something grey and golf ball–sized arced through the air and thudded into the hillside to Reed’s left. A deafening blast shook the mountainside, and snow and forest debris exploded over the hill amid a cloud of smoke.

  Shoonk, shoonk, shoonk!