Page 33 of The Billionaire Alpha's Surprise Baby

“Going which direction?”

“Uh . . .” My mate hesitates, and I say another prayer that my girl has some sense of direction. “North, I think.”

“Okay,” I huff, trying not to panic as I fly around the corner, speeding up as another car comes flying through the intersection.

The driver swerves and honks angrily, but I’m already gone. My mind is racing as I try to picture the route that Robert would take — the roads and hazards that would present the best opportunity to kill Ava and make it look like an accident.

“W-what did you mean before?” Ava stammers, smartly not saying the words out loud.

I open my mouth, but then it hits me — the Speer Boulevard Bridge. Situated over the South Platte River, the bridge is a major roadway spanning eight lanes of traffic.

I know what Robert has planned.

“Shit,” I whisper. “I’m coming, angel. Put the phone on speaker.”

Mercifully, Ava does as she’s told, and my voice trembles with the force of my alpha command. “Robert, turn the car around and —”

There’s a click before I can finish that sentence, and I know he probably snatched the phone away from Ava and flung it out the window.

“Fuck!” I yell, pounding the steering wheel as I merge onto I-25 and press the pedal to the floor. I fly around cars going ninety miles an hour and earn several honks from angry motorists on their early-morning commute.

My wolf whines and claws at my insides. If Robert allowed Ava to answer my call, he must think I’m already too late.

The urge to shift overwhelms me as I speed through traffic. I tilt my head to the side to crack my neck, trying to ignore the uncontrollable urge to shed my human skin.

“Not helping,” I mutter to my wolf, who’s trying desperately to take over.

Normally, my beast and I operate like two beings who share one mind — one purpose. But with our mate in mortal peril, my wolf seems to have lost it.

It’s just as well. When I get my hands on Robert, I’ll succumb to the beast within and let him do his worst.

Robert might be my sister’s puppet, but he isn’t suicidal. He’s a shifter with supernatural healing abilities, while Ava is a fragile human. Robert could walk away from just about any car wreck unscathed. Ava wouldn’t be so lucky.

When I finally reach the bridge, my heart stops beating.

The acrid stench of smoke and burned rubber fills my airways. I can see Robert’s tire marks and the section of crumbled concrete where he flew off the edge of the bridge.

There are few cars on the bridge this early in the morning, but I know it’s only a matter of time before someone calls in the wreck.

Throwing the car into reverse, I speed backwards around a conversion van and pull off the side of the road. I abandon the Bugatti and sprint down the embankment, not bothering to keep my shifter speed in check.

Robert’s car is lying upside down on the gravel, the front end crushed from the impact of where it careened into the concrete barricade and flew off the side of the bridge. The scent of gasoline burns my nostrils, and I spring toward the back passenger side, my wolf howling for our mate.

Broken glass litters the ground like diamonds, but it’s still too dark to see if Ava is alive. Gripping her door with both hands, I rip the thing clean off its hinges and toss it into the dirt.

A low female groan rumbles from the vehicle, and relief surges through me.

Getting down on all fours, I see her. She was wearing her seatbelt, thank god. It’s the only reason she’s still alive. She’s hanging limply from the nylon straps, and I rip the seatbelt apart with my bare hands and catch Ava before she hits the ground.

“Garrett,” she rasps. “He just —”

“Shh,” I whisper, setting her on the ground and frantically searching her body for wounds. The irony tang of blood sticks to my tongue, and my eyes snap to the side of Ava’s head, where she has a bloody gash.

Anger pangs in my chest at the sight of the wound, but it’s nothing a human doctor can’t fix.

Then my gaze goes to her belly.

“Is the baby —” I break off, too terrified to put my fear into words.

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