Page 39

The helmets had Bluetooth. It was how we communicated on the highway. It was silent as he weaved around taxis, buses and pedestrians trying to get us out of the city as fast as possible. My arms wrapped around him tightly, my heart racing as I imagined all the different things we could be running from.

“I’m sorry, Angel. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll explain, I promise.” His voice echoed in my helmet.

“I trust you,” I replied, turning my head to rest it on his back.

An hour passed before I finally relaxed my grip. We had made it over the bridge and were well onto Route 80. Whatever threat Eliot saw must be gone by now.

“Are we…Is it safe now?” I asked, hesitant to distract him, but desperate for some sort of update.

“I’m not sure. Do you need to stop?” My bladder protested, as did my stomach, but I didn’t want to put us at risk.

“I’m okay, but I might need to use the bathroom soon,” I mentioned, feeling like I was disappointing him.

“Okay, sweetheart. There’s a rest stop a couple miles ahead.” His voice was soft even over the crackling speaker.

Silence returned as he drove on the highway at a breakneck speed, the concrete and trees speeding past in an almost nauseating blur. Shutting my eyes, I only opened them when I felt us slowing down. A rest stop just off the highway had only a bathroom and truck area. Eliot followed me inside, bringing me into the men’s bathroom and locking the door.

We both relieved ourselves before making our way back to the bike. As the engine roared to life, I wrapped my arms around his waist. With a final glance around the lot, he froze, pausing on a car behind us.

“You see that sedan? The green one with the broken front light?” he asked. I froze. Trying to be subtle, I glanced around, instantly spotting the car he was talking about.

“Yes,” I said, and his back straightened.

“Let me know if you see them after we leave here. Hold on tight,” he said, and I obeyed. We rode off in silence, the tension between us cold and foreign. I could only imagine what Eliot was thinking. Somehow, I knew it was worse than whatever was in that green car.

The car stayed just far enough behind us that I wouldn’t have noticed if I weren’t looking. Almost forty minutes later, and it was still on our tail

“He’s still there,” I spoke into the speaker.

“The guys are on their way. Should meet up with them in an hour,” he replied, but there was anxiety in his voice.

“And if that’s too late?” It was completely foreign territory for me. Eliot’s silence said more than any words could, and the miles continued to pass in a blur of anxiety and tension. Then, it started to rain. Only a drizzle at first—slow, fat drops that didn’t sting too bad…Until the wind picked up.

After passing the Delaware Water Gap, the traffic waned, only a few cars on the highway, leaving large swaths of road empty. On a particularly blind curve, the bike dipped low, causing my stomach to drop. Right as we straightened out, the green car came from nowhere. It had gotten ahead of us somehow, shooting out and nearly hitting our back wheel, which it would have if Eliot hadn’t navigated it so smoothly.

“Hold on! Lean with me!” he yelled, and I did as he said. There was a break in the metal guard rail ahead, and Eliot directed the bike through the small gap, the transition from pavement to grass disarming.

For a moment, I almost exhaled, no sign of the green vehicle and no way he could fit through that space. Before I could get too comfortable, though, the car came swinging out from our left side, tires skidding in the wet terrain. While the trees buffeted us from the rain, it wasn’t enough, and we slid out, Eliot just barely pulling the bike to a stop before we crashed head-on into a tree. Instead, it slid to a stop, the back wheel slamming into a trunk and launching us off the bike.

The landing was hard, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been. There was no time to be thankful as the headlights of a car came barreling toward us. Eliot threw me out of the way as he shot at the car, a gun appearing out of nowhere.

The tires squealed, a bullet piercing them as the car swerved out of control. Eliot had pulled me up and further into the trees. A thick trunk, broken in half appeared and he pushed me toward it.

“Behind there. Stay down. No matter what,” he ordered, checking his gun as he looked back toward where the car was.

“Come back to me,” I whispered, afraid for him to hear it.

He stalked off like a phantom, disappearing into the fog that had descended upon us. The sound of crashes and grunts rang out, and I tried to stay put. I really did. When a loud cry—a mix of pain and surprise—echoed around me, I couldn’t handle it anymore.

Grabbing the largest rock I could find, I tried to creep over to where the noise was coming from. In a small clearing ahead, the green car was smoking, the front crumbled against a tree, Eliot’s bike trapped underneath it. The driver was a man around our age with greasy hair and a vest that looked like Eliot’s, but it had a different design on the back.

The man’s face was bloody, as if he had smashed his head, and he had a shard of glass in one hand, a knife in the other, swinging and jabbing with startling accuracy. They were both covered in blood, and I didn’t know where it was coming from. Sliding around, I tried to figure out a way to get behind the man. If I had any chance of helping rather than making it worse, I had to make sure I had a solid hit.

It could have been minutes or hours by the time I found myself crouched behind the vehicle, getting my first look at Eliot since I got there. His cheek was cut, as were his knuckles, his expression was a blank mask as they exchanged violent punches, dodging each other in swift, sure movements.

Where is his gun? Why isn’t he using it?

Scanning the ground around them, I tried to find it, but I could barely make anything out. The sky had darkened with storm clouds, made only more dense under the heavy canopy of trees we were currently ensconced in.