Page 78 of Twisted Cage

Grigori slams on his brakes so Sasha and Gleb can jump out of the back. Guns drawn, they keep their eyes trained on the wreckage.

“No one gets away. Call Logan for extraction and cleanup. Anyone alive goes to the den. We’re getting Nikoletta.”

Grigori peels away. The call with Roddick is now disconnected. The tracker on the other vehicle is a reassuring green flash on the screen of his phone.

My heart thunders in my chest and a buzzing fills my ears as we snake through the winding roads, careening around tight corners, getting closer to them with every passing second. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”

There’s no way Grigori can hear the chanting under my breath between the sound of the engine and squealing of tires, but it doesn’t matter. He knows.

“We’ll get her. We should see their taillights just over this ridge.”

Before I can blink, we’re cresting over the incline and my heart lurches into my throat at the sight unfolding before me.

Roddick goes left around a massive tree. The car chasing them goes right. When they converge, the bastards chasing them smash into the passenger rear, sending Roddick into a skid that rips through the grass and dirt so hard it’s spraying a good ten feet into the air.

Just as I think they’re good and their ass end starts to come around, their tire catches on a rock and the SUV rolls onto its side, skidding until the roof slams against a massive tombstone.

It was too fast. They were going too fucking fast.

Blood pounds in my ears and everything goes eerily still. Grigori swears next to me, but I can’t make out the words past the pounding panic in my skull.

She’s buckled. If she’s buckled, she’s fine. She is buckled. Roddick would have made sure of it.

If he could control her.

And that fucking temper.

My lungs heave as I search for any signs of movement. Something. Anything.

Our enemies slam on their brakes before the tree line beyond and execute a tight turn back in our direction.

Just as they advance, Roddick kicks out the passenger side window, climbs up onto the door, and pushes himself up to standing. Nikoletta appears next, her face mottled red with rage, her hair slipping from its updo, a blade already in her hand.

My lungs ache in my chest as I search over her skin.

She’s fine. Pissed, but fine.

But exposed.

Grigori skids to a stop, and I’m out the door, my gun drawn, aiming right at the gun appearing from the passenger side window of the other car.

Time slows, the smallest action distinct.

“Nikoletta, down!” I yell.

“Stay down!” Roddick barks at her at the same time.

He spins to face the car heading for them.

She doesn’t listen to either of us and hoists herself up until she’s half-in, half-out of the car.

My heart is literally walking around outside of my chest once again. For the hundredth time. Maybe the thousandth. I lost count years ago.

Three bullets pop off within a split second of each other.

Roddick’s, mine… and theirs.

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