Page 56

I sit up straighter, looking in the rear-view mirror, but it’s so damn dark, I can’t see anything.

“Cortland,” I whisper through my fingers.

He puts a heavy hand on my thigh, squeezing me gently. “Shh, baby,” he says, and I see his finger is on the trigger of the gun.

My heart is thudding too loud in my chest, and I keep glancing around the tinted windows, out the windshield.

Another thud of the truck.

Cortland has the gun aimed upward, at the roof, but he’s looking out the side-view mirror, his hand still on my thigh.

I can feel my pulse thrashing in my ears, my legs weak even though I’m sitting.

“Cortland,” I whisper again, “who do you think?—”

A loud, smacking sound makes me jump in my seat, instinctively moving closer to the center console. Closer to Cortland, his hand still parked on my thigh.

“Get down in your seat,” he says quietly, but his words are a command.

“You, too,” I hiss at him, my eyes scanning the forest, but there’s nothing. No sound. Nothing.

And before I can move, I feel something cold against the side of my head.

Turning, I see Cortland has the gun to my temple.

My breath leaves me as I lock eyes with him and my heart seems to stop beating in my chest.

“Now is not the time to argue with me, baby.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine. He drags the barrel of the gun down lightly, to my mouth, brushing it against my lips. He nods his head toward the floorboard. “Now, get down.”

I swallow down my nerves, then do as he said, sliding down in the seat, my body curled up as I position myself under the dash.

I glance up and see Cortland’s eyes on mine, a slight smile on his lips, that gun still pointed up, the veins in his forearms bulging from the faint light of the dash. His aim is steady.

“I’ve got you, baby.”

But then his door is snatched open and I scream, scrambling up from my seat, throwing open my own door as he’s pulled out.

A shot rings out, reminding me of that movie before I fell apart in Storm and Cortland’s arms.

My chest hurts, but my Chucks hit the floor of the forest and I plant my hand on the hood of the truck and climb up, using the tire.

Then I jump off on the other side, adrenaline flooding through me as I land, crouched down.

The echo of the gunshot is still ringing in my ears as I see someone grabbing Cortland.

They’re dressed in all black as they drag him away from the truck.

I don’t see the gun, and I don’t think.

I just charge at them, my fists flying to their chest, then I hook one arm through Cortland’s, pulling him toward me.

“Let go of him,” I snarl, my words angry, that emotion riding over my fear. The only person I ever loved was already taken from me. No one is getting Cortland too.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders, tugging out from the person’s grip, their hood pulled down low.

But behind me, someone’s arms wrap around my waist, yanking me apart from Cortland. I’m kicking and screaming, my fingers digging into their hands around me.

Then I hear laughter.

I freeze, the sound familiar.

It grows, deep and dark, and I see Cortland in the light spilling from his truck, his eyes angry as he spins around, upright and away from his attacker.

And Storm brushes his hood off of his head, his tattooed hands visible in the truck light.

“You almost shot me,” he says, his white teeth flashing. Then he nods toward me, and I turn my head, see Brinklin’s green eyes on mine, an amused expression on his face. I whip back around, angry, and Storm tips his head back, his throat exposed, tattoos edging up it as he keeps laughing.

He dips his chin, running a hand over his dark wavy hair. “And she was gonna kill me,” he says, a note of pride in his voice that, despite my anger, makes me feel good.

But before that smile leaves his face, Cortland cocks his fist back, and drives it into Storm’s nose.

Storm staggers back as my mouth drops open and Brinklin grips me tighter, my hands still on his wrists.

I see blood blossom down Storm’s face, and he doesn’t bother trying to cover his nose, to stop the blood flow. He bounces on his toes, shaking out his hands. Then he charges at Cortland, slamming him against the side of the truck.

I struggle in Brinklin’s grip, but he doesn’t let me go.

And Cortland doesn’t need my help.

He grabs Storm’s shirt, flips him around, so he’s against the truck. “You stupid fucker,” he growls, slamming his forearm against Storm’s throat, blood still pouring from his nose. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“He got into the coke,” Brinklin says behind me, his words quiet.

Despite myself, my lips twitch, and I have to fight back a laugh.

Cortland’s mouth falls open as he looks from me, to Brinklin, back to Storm. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Storm starts laughing like a maniac, and Cortland drops his arm, backing off, running a hand through his hair.

“Let go of my girl,” he commands Brinklin, still staring at Storm, leaning against the truck, blood flowing freely down his face.

Brinklin releases me and I run to Cortland, his arm around my shoulders.

“Fuck, you’re insane,” he says, and at first, I think he’s talking to Storm, but I look up, and his gray eyes are on mine. “You jumped over the hood of my truck,” he says with a throaty, husky laugh that makes my toes curl. He grabs my shirt and yanks me to him, kissing me before I can speak.

Storm is still laughing, and I hear Brinklin join in.

Cortland pulls away, both of us breathless, but he’s still holding onto me.

“You are fucking crazy,” he says again, pride in his words.

I stand on my tiptoes, wrapping my arms around his neck. “You almost shot someone for me.”

He laughs, and Storm laughs even harder, and it’s him that speaks next.

“Chase is gonna be a problem,” he says quietly, “and if we’re not careful, little wolf, next time, it won’t be an almost.”