Page 15 of Scorch

“Yeah, I fucking knew they were coming.” He shakes his head. “No matter what happens, stay in the car,” he orders, his voice like steel. “Don’t move.”

Panic grips me. I’ve never seen him hold a gun before. And while I knew who he was, at least on paper, I’ve never seen him act any way but civilized and refined.

My breath catches as someone yells, and shots ring out.

The car lurches forward suddenly, hit from behind. I scream as Timur leaps back inside, slamming the door. “Get down!” he shouts, pressing on the accelerator. We’re speeding down the bridge, the sounds of gunfire and shouting fading into the distance.

“What’s happening?” I cry, fear clawing at my chest.

You’re in danger.

Is this what Vera was talking about?

He doesn’t answer, his focus razor-sharp on the road ahead. But when a loud bang rocks the car again, we swerve wildly. I scream, clutching the door as we crash into the guardrail. The world spins, and to my horror, the car flips, skidding to a halt upside down. The airbag balloons out, crushing me. My head smashes against something, and pain ricochets through my skull. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.

I’m crying, dazed and disoriented, as I fumble with my seatbelt, the world a chaotic blur of noise and pain. I have a vague idea I should assess the situation, but I’m confused and can’t figure out how. I somehow make it outside, my vision blurred and hazy. My dress hangs wildly off one shoulder, torn to shreds.

My eyes are wild with fear as I scream for Timur, but he’s already gone, running toward the edge of the bridge.

A large figure cloaked in darkness stalks toward him; something about his heavy, unhurried steps terrifying. His eyes are locked on Timur.

“Stop!” he barks, his words a harsh command. Timur turns, gun in hand, and I scream aloud.

Strong arms wrap around me. I struggle, trying to push them away, but I’m hurt, and my reflexes are slow.

“No! Let me go!” I yell, thrashing against my captor’s grip.

The world around me seems to blur as adrenaline surges through my veins, heightening every sense to a fever pitch. I hear a sickening thud and a cry of pain. I scream and push, but it’s no use.

Someone’s got him. Whoever has come for us has Timur, and they’re beating him.

“Stop! No!” I yell. “Help!”

Each blow feels like a physical blow to my own body, each cry of pain a dagger to my heart. I want to look away, bury my head in my hands and block out the nightmare playing out before me, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the horror.

Why won’t anyone stop to help?

A gunshot rings out. Timur takes off, hoists himself up on the bridge—and he’s gone.

I scream and struggle, but it’s no use; whoever’s holding me has me secured.

“Let me go!”

“Stop fighting.” The voice is deep, commanding, and unfamiliar. I look up to see a tall, hulking man with a shaved head and a scar running down his cheek. His strong, unyielding grip terrifies me, his presence overwhelming. He holds me easily as if my struggles are nothing.

An alarm clangs in my memory. Somehow, he looks vaguely familiar. I don’t know him, but I’ve seen him before.

A hysterical scream is torn from my lips. “No! Timur!” I sob, my body trembling uncontrollably.

“Fuck!” one of the men yells. “Fucking get him!”

“Listen to me! You’re safe now, Lydia.”

He knows my name?

The fucking liar.

I continue to shove and scream, but I might as well be a mouse in the paws of a lion. With practiced ease, he deflects my blows, as if they barely register, before he bends and lifts me. He tucks me against his chest gently, but he’s so much bigger than I am that I can’t fight him off.

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