AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Orin’s dead-of-midnight eyes raked over me for a brief second before returning to the road. Apparently, that was all the answer I was going to get.
Then, he murmured, “You can let go of the gun now.”
My gaze skittered down to my lap. My fingers were aching. Taking in a shallow breath, I tried to relax them, but I couldn’t seem to get my brain and hand to communicate.
“Fallon?” Orin’s voice was gentle. “Look at me, Filly.”
I turned to look at him, and my question was a whispered, “What did you call me?”
He glanced away, suddenly intent on looking anywhere but at me. Holding out his hand, he waited for me to do as he demanded. When it was clear he wasn’t going to answer my question, I forced myself to relax and released the gun into Orin’s large, waiting hand.
Without taking his eyes off the road, he popped open the lid of the center console, slid the weapon inside, and closed it.
Orin continued to guide my car across the lanes of increasing traffic, weaving through impossible spaces all in the hopes of losing our tail. Christ, I never thought I’d say those words. This wasn’t my world. This was my brother’s world, although now that I had shot a man in the head, I supposed it was mine now, too. My eyes darted to the center console.
“Fuck.” Orin’s dark eyes cut to the rearview mirror, his brows dipping low.
“What is it?”
“The fucker is still behind us.” He cut the headlights on the Mustang, making the road in front of us disappear for a moment.
Panic clawed at me almost immediately until I realized that the night blindness was wearing off and I could see the freeway just fine with the intermittent lighting alongside the stretch of road.
We eased off the road at an exit, and I watched to see whether the Rover would follow us. It did, Farrell pulling in hard to the exit and speeding up. We were spat out into an industrial area, but soon, the two-lane stretch of asphalt became narrower … and darker until finally, we were heading out of whichever town we’d driven through and out onto a regional road. Orin flicked the lights back on to illuminate the road in front of us—although road was a generous term for it. It was more like a lane, with intermittent stacked stone walls on either side of the shoulder, along with overgrown grass and bramble bushes.
It was barely wide enough for one car, let alone two.
Up ahead, there were a set of red taillights, which were moving a hell of a lot more slowly than we were. Orin saw the slower-moving vehicle ahead before his attention returned to the rearview mirror.
“Motherfucker.”
I peered over my shoulder to see that Farrell was still there. The Rover’s high beams were spotlighting us. As Orin swerved across the road, I blinked away the glare and saw a hand stick out the window, and in that hand was a …
“Get down!” Orin grabbed the back of my neck and forced my upper body to fold down. The side mirror disappeared in a spray of glass, and my heart thought it was a good time to start pounding extra hard. Orin hit the gas, sending my Mustang hurtling forward until we were practically kissing the car in front’s ass.
More shots were fired, and the car in front nearly made us smash into him when he suddenly swerved off the road and onto the narrow shoulder that couldn’t have been more than a foot wide. Of course, given the width of the road, we were forced to swerve onto the other side to avoid hitting him.
Another shot pinged against the rear of the car, and I was never so glad that Grayson had insisted on making my car bulletproof. I had no idea it was even possible, but he’d apparently made it happen.
Up ahead, another car appeared on the other side of the R-road. Orin put his foot down and accelerated toward it. I clutched at the edge of my seat and watched in wide-eyed terror as he played chicken with the oncoming traffic.
I licked my lips. “Orin?” I asked.
“Trust me.”
We were probably only a couple of hundred yards away now, and it didn’t look like he was going to move in time. With one yank on the wheel, he slid over enough to be able to pass safely, but so did Farrell.
Orin growled, dark eyes bouncing between the road and the rearview mirror.
For miles, we zigzagged between oncoming cars, always pulling onto the correct side of the road at the last minute.
“Come on, you bastard, make a mistake,” he muttered under his breath. He suddenly smiled, and I looked ahead to see what had caught his attention. An articulated lorry was heading right toward us. There was barely enough room for us to pass one another, so Orin stayed in the middle of the road.
“Orin,” I repeated, this time clutching his forearm. He hissed at the contact, his dark eyes swinging to mine. I swallowed. “Please.”
“Do you trust me?”
I answered him honestly. “I don’t know you.”
