Page 22 of Broken Highway (Cult Boys #1)

NOAH

The faster my heart beats, the more the world slows, teetering toward a sudden halt.

Seconds erode into minutes. A lifetime of waiting for the other shoe to finally drop.

The pulsing blue and red lights cast a shadow upon the highway patrolman as he approaches the car.

He arrives with a knock on the window. It takes a second knock before I find the urgency to crank down the window.

When I turn to him, I’m blinded by a flashlight as he searches the car.

I blink as the light passes over to Seven, sitting silently in the passenger seat.

He clicks the flashlight off and drops it into a holster on his hip.

“I’m guessing you know why I pulled you over?” He grins, bearing a row of yellow teeth. His breath reeks of tobacco. “That’s a rhetorical question. Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that going thirty over the speed limit is quite the offense.”

“Yeah.” I force a smile, hoping to match his energy. “I’m sorry about that. We’ve been driving through the night, and I guess I’m just anxious to get off the road and get some sleep.”

“You’re a long way from Manhattan.” He taps his fingers on the roof of the car.

“I consider myself a generous guy and look, I get it.” He brings a pointed finger to his skull.

“Sometimes when we’re tired, we don’t think straight.

” He looks away with a huff. “Sometimes, some people don’t ever think straight. ”

“What the hell are you implying?” I scowl and am met with a jab of Seven’s elbow against my side. “I’m just tired.”

“I could let you go, sure. But before I do something crazy like that…” He reaches past me and rips the key from the ignition, “I want you to tell me why in the hell you’re speeding down my beautiful highway in a car that belongs to a dead person.”

The curse of being at a loss for words is a new diagnosis for me.

“What’s a matter, boy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“When did he die? I mean, this isn’t his car. It’s my car. He’s my husband.”

“Exactly what I said. Some people never think straight.” He smirks as he dangles the keys in front of the window. “I’m going to hold these while I go make some calls. No funny business from the two of you.”

He departs, heading back into the darkness behind us while the sun breaks over the line of trees ahead. He bends over, reaches through the window to grab a radio, and begins talking into it, but I can’t hear what’s being said. He doesn’t take his eyes off us as he continues to yack away.

“I’m sorry.” Seven places a hand upon mine.

I continue staring in the rearview mirror and shake my head. “The reason I pushed his sorry ass down the stairs is because I wanted him to die.” I look at him. “So, what the fuck are you apologizing for?”

He just nods in return. Says nothing. The punk has finally learned his lesson that sometimes it’s best to say nothing at all.

And that’s exactly what I need—nothing. In the back of my head, I had to have known it’d come to this, but I was so hellbent on writing my own ending that I somehow misjudged how long it was until my past caught up to me.

It was always there, nipping at my heels.

After everything that sorry sonofabitch did to me, I refuse to go out like this.

I refuse to go out in a prison cell while he gets off scot-free.

My only regret is that I lost control and stole away the last miserable years of his life. Like Mama, he deserved to go out choking on his dying breaths. What I stole from him, he’s about to steal right back. Just when I was starting to feel something—anything—again .

“At least there are hot men in prison,” I say jokingly, but Seven isn’t amused.

He narrows his eyes on me. “Remember that whole thing about me being yours? If you go down, I’m going down too.” He squeezes my hand tighter. “Where you go, I go.”

“I’m not letting you—” I stop abruptly when I take another glance at the rearview mirror.

A black SUV pulls off to the side of the road, coming to a rolling stop right behind the patrol car.

Seven turns his head over his shoulder and then, panic in his voice, says, “Noah! Drive, now!”

“He took the fucking keys,” I say deadpan, unable to break my attention from the scene playing out in the mirror.

Two men get out of the SUV and leave the car doors open before approaching the cop car.

The patrolman holds a hand out in front of him and yells, “Stop.”

They do no such thing, continuing their advance.

The patrolman reaches for the gun in his holster as he shouts again.

I dig through a console full of junk and retrieve a pocket knife from the bottom. Flip it open and get to work, using the blade to pop open an opening underneath the dash. There’s a sea of wires. “I’m just being honest with you, punk. I don’t know how to fucking do this. ”

Seven slams the glove box closed and dangles a spare set of keys in front of my face.

I rip them out of his hands and give him the biggest fucking smooch on the lips.

I twist the key in the ignition. The engine roars to life, the tires screeching over the asphalt as we speed away.

When I pull away, I’m left with a mental image I kind of want to remember forever. Despite the dire circumstances we’ve found ourselves in, he has the biggest smile on his face. A smile bright enough to do what the sun ahead couldn’t.

A smile to give me the strength to fucking drive.

Seven watches out the back window while I focus on the road ahead.

“What’s happening back there?” I question, not able to make out anything in the rearview mirror as the daybreak ahead blinds me.

“You don’t want to know.”

Well, now I must know. I turn my head over my shoulder. The patrolman’s body lies in the middle of the road while Seven’s two best friends hurry back into the van, immediately giving chase.

“Noah, I don’t want you dying because of me.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“They want me. You just happen to be standing in the way of that.”

The boy has absolutely lost his fucking mind. “I’m not giving you up, if that’s what you’re implying. ”

“They’re not going to stop. Ascension is too important to Silas.”

“I don’t know what the fuck that is, and I don’t care.

If you go down, I’m going down, too. That’s what you said to me.

” I grab him by the shoulder and pull his head next to mine.

“There’s a trail of bodies behind us. If I throw you to the wolves, then I’m dealing with that shit on my own. I’m not fucking doing that alone.”

I haul him in closer.

Close enough to plant a kiss on his forehead without breaking sight of the road ahead.

He braces a firm hand over my chest, his eyes looking up at me. “In this together?”

“Like Bonnie and Clyde.”

He jerks his head to the side. “You know they both died, right?”

“I’m not going to let you die.”

“What about you?”

“I said I’m not going to let you die.”

“I’m going to go do something really stupid.” He frees himself from my grip, retrieves the gun from seemingly nowhere, and cranks the window down. “Just keep your eyes on the road.”

And just like that, he believes himself to be a baddie.

I grab him by the shirt and pull him back. “What in the holy name of crucifying fuck do you think you’re doing?”

He waves the gun in the air. “You’re my Bonnie. Leave the Clyde to me.”

He must have his characters mixed up because if anyone is Clyde, it’s me.

But he does as Clyde does—climbs halfway out the window with his knees braced against the inner panel. Wind tears through his hair and lifts the shirt up his back as he takes aim at the cultists trailing behind.

Bang!

The SUV swerves to the left, careening over dotted yellow lines.

Bang!

The tires of the SUV dig into the dirt on the shoulder.

Bang! And he’s zero for three. If the real-life Clyde had such bad aim, it’s no wonder they both ended up dead.

Click, click.

“Shit!” Seven climbs back inside the car. “Empty.”

Somewhere out there, I think there’s a rule about not taking a shot unless you know you won’t miss. Trying to shoot someone and failing spectacularly only serves to piss them off even more.

The SUV revs, pushing the engine to its limit.

It’s time to play. I push the pedal to the floor and tear away.

Seven rips the seatbelt over his chest and fastens it into place.

Braces his hands on the dashboard—exactly where they shouldn’t be if we happen to crash.

The faster we go, the looser the steering wheel.

Driving in a straight line isn’t a chore, but as the highway begins to curve, I find myself trespassing over the yellow lines.

Up ahead, a minivan flies down an offramp. The driver doesn’t even pretend to be paying attention as they merge onto the highway without a blinker.

I jerk the wheel to the left, narrowly avoiding a collision with the minivan, but in doing so, I lose control. The back of the car fishtails sideways. Seven screams as I fight to regain control, zigging and zagging until I’m able to straighten the car out.

The cultist fucks remain hot in pursuit.

Remain completely in control as I desperately try to shake them.

There’s no way to win on these straight stretches, so I await the moment to make my move.

Watch as the next off-ramp comes into view.

And then wait until the last second to dip, clipping the wheel to the right.

We spin over gravel, kicking a cloud of dust behind us.

In the rearview mirror, the SUV misses the exit.

Doesn’t buy us enough time to escape but it does buy us enough time to have a prayer in shaking them.

The road is lined in solid yellow down the middle as it dwindles into a narrow, winding road.

Each sharp curve rounded without sight of the SUV is one more stretch of lonely road that separates us from the enemy.