Page 142 of Resisting Isaac

Wind buffets the wings as I track the route to the highway below, the plane slicing through gray. I spot the SUV weaving through traffic like it owns the road.

I usually turn my phone off when flying but thank fuck I didn’t, because Brett Mitchell calls me just as I almost lose sight of the SUV.

“What’s your twenty?” I bark out hoping like hell he’s in the area.

“Just got off work, heading down I-90 East.”

“Can you head toward Livingston? Looks like that’s where he’s headed.”

“Copy that,” Brett’s voice comes back tight. “Getting off at the interchange now.”

I drop altitude, keeping pace overhead. Every muscle in my body coils tighter with each mile marker.

On the ground, Brett’s truck swings into the merge. He’s not far from Diego but not close enough to cut him off before I can land somewhere.

“Pick me up behind the old, abandoned strip mall. I’m landing now.”

“10-4. Beau is on his way.”

Just as I’m about to set the plane down, a black Triple Creek Ranch truck speeds toward Diego from the opposite direction.

I don’t see what happens next because I’m landing in a shitty excuse for a decent place to do so. I bank toward the grassy knoll beside the abandoned mall and set the plane down rough. My pulse pounds in my throat.

I’ve barely cut the engine when Brett whips into the lot in front of me. I make my way out of the plane and into his truck as fast as I can.

When we turn onto the main road, the Triple Creek Ranch truck and Beau Mitchell have boxed Diego in next to theTown Pumpgas station and truck stop.

Diego’s brake lights flare, then flash, like he’s thinking about ramming what I think is Wyatt and maybe Lane Colter in the work truck.

When I skid up behind them, Beau’s already yanking Diego’s door open. Rain pelts the asphalt, hot steam curling off from the earlier sun.

Diego’s security spill out of the back of the SUV, two men with shaved heads, matching skull neck tattoos, and leather cuts stamped with the wordsDepraved Souls.

What the fuck?

I thought these guys left town years ago. A nearby group called theBroken Savagesran them out of town because of rumors of drug and human trafficking. Brooklyn Harris’s mom had disappeared with them. But two of them are right here in front of me.

Guess they’re assholes for hire these days.

Wyatt walks calmly over with the confidence of a serial killer in a movie. He has the same deadly look I’ve seen only twice before in my life. When Ivy’s ex showed up on theranch and when the Sheriff told us our father was murdered. Colter follows behind him looking as blood-thirsty as I’ve ever seen him.

Beside me, Brett moves like a boulder rolling downhill, an unstoppable force. His brother yanks Diego out of the vehicle and slams him against it, grinning like it’s his birthday.

I’ve never been so damn grateful to have unhinged family members and friends.

Diego glares like the devil himself, pulls a gun from his jacket, then it’s chaos. One of the bikers grabs Beau from behind. But Brett is faster. I barely make my way around a flurry of fists, shouts, and bodies hitting the ground before Diego tries to get back in the SUV.

I grab his jacket from behind, yanking him to me. “Of course you’d try to bolt, you fucking coward. Where is she?”

“She’s none of your business. She’s mine,” he sneers. “Always has been.”

“Elena!” I roar.

The passenger door bursts open. She stumbles out, rain plastering her hair to her face, eyes wild.

Diego takes advantage of my momentary distraction to land a punch to my jaw.

I grin at him because if that’s all he’s got, he’s fucked.