Page 177 of Victorious

“Like I care.” She looked around. “Where’s Victor?”

For a moment, she was afraid he’d caught the worst of the blast and was now scattered with the other bodies, which would really put a damper on Syd’s rescue. But then she saw him, storming toward the tree line.

“Vic?” called Mitch, so loud she thought he’d probably sustained some temporary hearing damage.

Victor stopped and stared into the woods.

“What is it?” asked June, jogging toward him. Up close, she noted he had a deep scratch on one cheek, a line of blood running from temple to jaw. But otherwise, he seemed unhurt. Then again, with Victor, it was always hard to tell.

“Did you see anything?” he asked.

“Besides the bomb that landed at my feet? No. Why?” she pressed. “What did you see?”

His jaw ticked. His eyes narrowed. “Nothing,” he said at last, turning back toward the pickup. “We need to go. Now.”

June didn’t bother asking where. She knew. She knew when she stole the roadster. She knew when she answered the text. She knew when she showed up in the bar that night, looking for purpose. That somehow, at some point, she’d end up on this road.

And it would lead to one place.

EON.

Mitch, meanwhile, had climbed into the front seat of the transport van, and was now tearing pieces out, ejecting debris onto the road.

“What are you doing?” demanded Victor as a radio hit the pavement, followed by a helmet.

“Looking for something I can use.”

“Like what?” asked June.

Mitch appeared a moment later, hoisting his treasure in one hand. “Like this,” he said, triumphantly. June had been hoping for a missile launcher.

But it was just a laptop.

“Underwhelming,” she said, as Victor slid behind the wheel of the pickup.

The engine revved and she was about to climb into the backseat when she stopped.

“Um,” she said, “there’s a dead dog in your truck.”

“He’s not dead,” offered Victor, “just heavily sedated.”

“Okay. Well. I still call shotgun.”

She hoisted herself up into the passenger seat, leaving Mitch to squeeze his massive form into the back with the dog. Which seemed like the least he could do, since she did just save his life.

Eli knelt on the forest floor, a hand on his shoulder and a gun to his head.

“Stay down,” warned Noah, cocking the gun.

Eli had no doubt he would survive the shot, but after pulling shards of bone out of his hand, he worried what might happen to his skull. So he knelt, watching the scene play out on the road.

He’d seen the blast go off, the bodies tumbling like dominoes. The woman—Marcella’s old right hand, June, he realized when he saw her change—absorbed the worst of the damage, shielding Mitch in the process. Victor had gotten lucky, too, managed to dive around the side of the transport van the instant before the explosion.

“I’ve got him,” Noah said into his comm. Then, “Yes.”

A moment later, Eli felt the metal plug being forced back into his ear, and then Gabriel was there again, inside his head.

“Eli,” he said with a sigh. “I’m disappointed.”